Dorothy Garlock (10 page)

“I saw Esther leaving. Has she mellowed any?”

Owen looked away from his cousin. Esther was a topic they usually avoided. Soren had no patience with Esther, but then he didn’t know the hell Esther had to live with.

“I think you’ve put on some muscle,” Owen said, changing the subject. “But that doesn’t make you a damn bit smarter.”

Soren smiled. “I’m working on the day I can take you down and sit on you—” He turned his head to listen. “What’s that?”

“That’s Harry,” Owen said, his eyes suddenly shining.

“Harry?”

“The boy. He’ll soon be three days old.”

“Pa told me. It’s hard for me to think of you as a papa.”

“It’s hard for me to think of it, too.”

“Who’ve you got taking care of him?”

“My mother-in-law is here.”

Soren raised his brows. “Mother-in-law! Lordy mercy!” He made a sour face. “Then it’s best we go out to Pa’s for what I got in mind.”

“What’s that?”

“Getting rid of a jug of good Irish whiskey.”

“Sounds like a good idea, but eat first.”

*    *    *

In her room upstairs, Ana listened to the sounds from below. She had seen Esther’s buggy leave the yard and was grateful that Esther was in it. Shortly afterward Uncle Gus came from the old house with a tall blond man dressed in the clothes of a riverman. When they entered the house, Ana heard Owen give the man a boisterous welcome. Had another relative come to pay his condolences? Would he be leaving soon?

Ana lit the lamp and listened to ascertain when the men left the kitchen. She needed to make a trip to the outhouse and she had to fix a jar of the baby’s milk to bring up to the bedroom so that she’d not have to go down in the night.

A half-hour passed and Harry began to fuss. He was wet and hungry. She changed his diaper, rinsed the wet one in the wash dish, and hung it on the towel bar. When Harry began to cry in earnest, Ana knew she could wait no longer.

The sound of the baby crying preceded her. When she reached the doorway leading to the kitchen, three pairs of male eyes greeted her. Owen and the handsome blond giant at the table got to their feet.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Ana said.

To Owen she looked even younger with her blond hair hanging loosely around her shoulders, framing her delicate features. It highlighted the golden brown eyes made more vivid by the dark smudges beneath them. She seemed different to him in a way. The soft material of her dress hugged her rounded breasts and small waist. Although she stood only an inch or two over five feet, the proud and erect manner with which she carried herself made her look taller, even statuesque.

Owen glanced at his cousin and saw the look of open-mouthed admiration on his face.

“Mrs. Fairfax, my cousin, Soren Halverson. You’ve met my Uncle Gus.”

Ana nodded to both men.

“I’m pleased to meet you, ma’am,” Soren said softly. His eyes lingered on her face and a soft smile curled his lips.

Ana met his glance with a pretense of calm.

“Please sit down. Don’t let me keep you from your meal.”

“Noisy little rascal, isn’t he?” Soren nodded toward the crying infant she was holding, and his smile spread over beautiful white teeth.

“Right now, he is. Mr. Jamison, if you’ll hold Harry, I’ll fix the milk and leave you to visit with your cousin.” Without waiting for a reply, Ana placed the squalling infant in Owen’s arms. Holding him as if he were butter that would melt and run all over the floor, Owen backed up to a chair and sat down.

“Let me have a look at your boy, Owen.” Soren moved his chair closer and leaned over to peer into the red, wrinkled little face. “Hell! He’s no bigger than a picked chicken!”

“What did you expect? He’s only three days old.” Owen supported the little head in his palm and held the infant close to Soren.

“He’s not much to look at.” Soren looked over Owen’s head and winked at Gus. “What do ya think, Pa? Do you reckon the poor little bugger will grow up to be as ugly as Owen?”

Ana saw the look exchanged between Soren and his father. Both of the men were very fond of Owen. She opened the door of the warming oven to get the jar of boiled water. It was not there. The crock that held the morning milk was no where in sight. Puzzled, Ana turned to Owen.

“Mr. Jamison, did you use all the boiled water when you fixed the bottle at suppertime?”

Owen’s eyes met Ana’s. “No. It was half empty. I asked Esther to finish filling it when the teakettle boiled.”

“The jar isn’t here, and neither is the stone jar the milk was in.”

Ana wasn’t sure, but when Owen’s lips moved she thought he swore under his breath.

“Watch his head,” he said gruffly and passed the infant to Soren.

“Hellfire, cousin. I’ve caught fish in the creek that weighed more than this little scrap.” Soren’s friendly blue eyes met Ana’s briefly, then he was smiling down at the infant and lifting him up and down. “Hush your bawling, little scrap. Your cousin Soren’s got you.” Unexpectedly, the baby stopped crying, found his mouth with his tiny fist, and began to suck. “Whatta you know!” Soren said with a delighted smile. “He likes me! His eyes are wide open. Look, Pa. They’re blue, like mine!”

Gus shook his head and chuckled. “He ain’t got no more sense than he had when he left, Owen.”

While Ana ladled water into the teakettle from the water pail, Owen shook down the ashes, opened the firebox and poked in kindling from the woodbox. Then he lifted a trap door in the floor at the far end of the room, went down into the cellar, and came up with a covered stone jar.

“Is this what you’re looking for?” Owen asked, setting the crock on the work table.

“Yes. We’ve used out of it all day. Mrs. Larson said to let the milk age for twenty-four hours and skim off the cream before feeding it to the baby.”

Ana removed a lid from the stove and set the kettle over the flame. She searched the cupboard and beneath the work counter for the glass jar. Finally she looked in the pie safe and found it back in a corner.

“It’ll be a while before the water cools after it boils. Hettie probably threw the other out.” While Owen was speaking he studied her face with his intense blue gaze; starting at the top of her head, he took in every feature.

Ana shifted, uncomfortable under his intense perusal. She breathed easier when he went to the stove to add another stick of firewood, determined to swallow her resentment of the man—for the time being. How convenient to blame Hettie, Ana thought. She hadn’t been here long, but she knew Hettie and Lily didn’t make a move without Esther’s permission. This was Esther’s doing. The woman was going to do her best to make her stay here as unpleasant as possible. Now Ana knew what Harriet had meant when she said, “Don’t let her run you off.”

Ana was embarrassed at leaving the men and going directly to the outhouse, but it had to be done. Owen had sat back down and was watching Soren bounce the baby. When they began to talk about putting in the crops, Ana opened the screen door, went out onto the porch, and started across the yard to the small building that sat among the honeysuckle bushes.

“Miss . . . ah . . . ma’am—” Gus called, holding the lantern that hung on the nail inside the kitchen door. “You should take the lantern—” He was lighting it by the time Ana got back to the porch. The light shone on his kindly face.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, lassie.”

Gus watched the bobbing light until it disappeared inside the outhouse before he went back inside. Esther was up to her mean tricks again. One of these days she would meet her match. With her bossy ways and possessiveness of Owen and the farm, she had made Owen’s wife miserable. Esther was sly. He and Soren had talked about the hold Esther had on Owen many times. Would the man ever see his sister for what she was—a miserable woman who was determined to dominate all of those around her? Mrs. Fairfax was a nice woman. Owen should get down on his knees and beg her to stay and take care of his son. She would certainly be a better influence on the lad than Esther.

“She’s not like any mother-in-law I ever saw,” Soren was saying when Gus went back inside the house. “Hell’s bells! She’s pretty as a speckled pup.”

Owen grinned. “A speckled wolf cub is nearer the truth. She can get her back up quicker than scat. Then watch out. She was Harriet’s stepmother,” he said as an afterthought.

“That’s more like it. How about Harriet’s father?”

“Mrs. Fairfax has been a widow for five years.”

“She’s a damn handsome woman.” Soren looked hungrily at the pie his father brought to the table. “I bet Esther went up like a puff of smoke as soon as she set her eyes on her.”

“I’ll take the boy so you can finish eating. Uncle Gus, cut this hungry gut a big hunk of that pie.”

The water had boiled and the teakettle had been moved to a cooler part of the stove when Ana came in. She washed her hands, then the baby’s bottle and nipple. Now there was nothing to do until the water cooled. Owen was holding the baby, his blond cousin was eating, and Gus was listening to the conversation between the two men.

“That’s the God’s truth, Owen. It’s called the Maxim machine gun. It’s got a single barrel and will shoot six hundred rounds a minute. It’s being built in England, but it was a man here in America that invented it.”

“People are getting too smart. A crazy man could wipe out a whole town with one of those.”

“That’s the price you pay for progress. Say, this is good pie. I’d marry a woman that made pie this good.”

“I think Widow Larkin is looking for a man,” Owen said seriously. “I know she’s got at least two head of hogs, one cow, about twenty chickens and a goose or two. She’d make you a good wife, Soren.”

“
Old
Widow Larkin? Christ! She’d be older than my grandma if I had one.”

“Many things get better with age,” Owen said with a straight face. “Wine, whiskey, cheese—”

“But not women!” Soren said with a snort of disgust.

Ana saw a twinkle in Owen’s eyes when they met hers. He had a sense of humor after all. She refused to allow her heart to soften toward him. If not for him, she and Harriet would be at home in Dubuque. Instead, she was an unwanted guest and Harriet was in a cold . . . grave. Desperate to keep her mind from dwelling on her loss, Ana took a plate from the cupboard.

“If the pie is so good, maybe I’d better have some.”

“I highly recommend it,” Soren said pleasantly. “It’s pumpkin with raisins. It’s good, but my favorite is rhubarb.”

Ana helped herself to the pie and sat down at the far end of the table. She caught Owen looking at her and thought once again that he had the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. Was it his eyes that attracted Harriet to him? How different he was from his cousin. Soren seemed to have a permanent smile on his handsome face. Ana had seen Owen smile only one time and that was when he first looked at his newborn son. He held him now cradled in the crook of his arm. He didn’t appear to be in the least uncomfortable holding the child.

Uncle Gus, quietly listening, took his pipe from his pocket and filled the bowl with tobacco from a tin can. The aroma was very pleasant.

“The country’s changed from the day you and I went down the river, Owen. Telephone poles all over Chicago. Can you believe you can talk on the wire all the way from Chicago to New York City? By the way, I brought you a couple of books. A fellow by the name of Mark Twain wrote a book called
Huckleberry Finn.
It’s the damnedest thing you ever read. Have you read it, Mrs. Fairfax?”

“No, but I’ve heard about it.”

“You might not like the other book, Owen. A lady friend gave it to me. It’s about a white woman and her Indian lover. It’s full of love and tears—the type of stuff usually written by a female.”

“Are you talking about
Ramona
by Helen Hunt Jackson?” Ana asked smoothly. She loved reading above all else. Her leisure time was limited, but when her employer offered to lend her a book, she made the time to read it.

“That’s the one. It’s a mushy tale of love and sacrifice.”

“
Ramona
is a beautiful story. It’s not only about the love of a woman for her husband, but it tells of the unjust treatment of the American Indian. It should arouse public sentiment for improving the conditions described in that book. Mrs. Jackson also wrote
A Century of Dishonor,
critical of government Indian policy. She’s a great lady and a talented author.”

“Bless my soul, Owen,” he said with mock horror. “We’ve got one of those free-thinking women in our midst.”

Soren winked at Owen, then smiled directly into Ana’s eyes. It was impossible for her to be irritated with a man who had such a lilting voice and beautiful smile.

“Mr. Halverson—”

“Call me Soren.”

“All right . . . Soren. Why shouldn’t women have a say in matters that affect their lives as well as the lives of their husbands and children? Women in government would be far more practical than men. If women were running things there would be a smaller national debt and no more wars. You can be sure of that.”

“But, my dear Mrs. Fairfax, if women were running things, the country would be in even more of a mess than it is. There wouldn’t be a decent saloon in the country where a man could drown his sorrow.”

“Why should they
drown
their sorrow and disappointments? Why don’t they face up to them like women do? Furthermore, I didn’t know there was such a thing as a
decent
saloon.”

“By all that’s holy, Owen! She’s a member of the Temperance Union too!”

“Not yet, but I’m thinking about it!” Ana retorted. “But I’ll tell you this. You and I may not live to see it, but someday every woman in this country will be able to vote and hold public office. One might even be president. Heaven knows, a woman would be better than what we’ve got.”

Soren leaned on his elbows, his smiling blue eyes locked with her amber ones. Soren loved nothing more than a good debate, whatever the subject.

“You’re a female Republican!” he accused in a horrified tone. “You’ll have to admit that old Grover Cleveland isn’t doing too bad a job for the short time he’s been in office.”