Dorothy Garlock (12 page)

It was a pleasant meal. Soren complimented the cook, his blue eyes warm and friendly. Uncle Gus was quiet as usual, but on several occasions Ana caught him looking at her. Their eyes would meet for only a second before he looked shyly away. Ana decided that Soren and his father were the only members of the family she had found likeable.

“We’ll plant corn as soon as the field is ready,” Owen said. “The time is right. The leaves on the oak trees are the size of squirrel’s ears.”

“If it’s dry enough, one of us can ride the harrow and the other one plant,” Soren said after mopping his plate with his bread and poking it into his mouth. “Pa says he’s putting in the potatoes today come hell or high-water.”

“It’s the dark of the moon. They’ll make less vine and more potatoes,” Uncle Gus said in way of explanation. “I’ve used the signs for as long as I can remember, and I always have a good crop.”

“Pa really believes in that nonsense.” Soren looked at Ana and winked.

“It’s not nonsense,” Uncle Gus said. “Dig a hole on the new of the moon and you’ll have dirt to throw away; but if you dig it on the old of the moon, you’ll not have enough to fill it back again.”

“Ana, do you believe in all this moon-sign bunkum?” Soren asked trying to keep a serious look on his face.

“Of course.” Her smile at Uncle Gus brought a flush of pleasure to his faded eyes.

“Try it, you young scutter, you. If it doesn’t work, I’ll give you a twenty-dollar gold piece.”

“Why, Pa. I didn’t know you threw your money away on foolishness!”

“My granny used to believe in the moon signs,” Ana picked up her coffee cup and blew on the steaming brew. “She said the blooms would fall off bean and cucumber vines if not planted in the light of the moon. She said they planted corn so that it would flower on the bright nights of the moon. My granny was from Kentucky, and she said they even butchered”—Ana paused, suddenly realizing how she was rattling on—“by the signs of the moon,” she finished lamely.

“Your granny sounds like a smart woman,” Uncle Gus nodded in agreement.

“She was.”

Owen got up and brought the large granite coffee pot to the table and filled the cups. He had just taken his place at the table when he cocked his head to listen. Ana heard a horse snort. Owen’s brows were drawn together in a familiar frown. He left his chair to go to the door. It opened before he reached it, and Esther stood there surveying the scene at the table with a scowl of disapproval on her face.

Soren was the first to speak. He got to his feet and reached her in two giant steps. He pulled her stiffened body into his arms and gave her a hug.

“As I live and breathe. Cousin Esther!”

“Hello, Soren,” she said pushing herself away from him. “What are you doing here? You usually show up in July.”

“I got homesick to see that smiling face of yours, Cousin Esther.” Soren captured her chin with his thumb and forefinger, not in the least put out by her cold response to his greeting. “Don’t you have a smile for your favorite cousin?”

She jerked her chin loose from his grasp. “Stop acting the fool, Soren,” she snapped. “I came to fix breakfast.”

“We’ve had breakfast. Mrs. Fairfax cooked us up a bait of ham and eggs.” Soren said pleasantly. “Mmmm . . . it was good.” He patted his midsection.

Esther’s icy glance swept over Ana, over the table, and into the empty egg basket sitting on the work counter.

“I see she used the eggs I was saving for a custard. Well, I hope you enjoyed them.”

“There’s more in the cellar, so don’t fuss about it.” Owen’s voice held only a slight rebuke.

“But not enough,” Esther snapped. “I suppose she used the cream too.”

“Esther! Don’t fuss.” The tick flashed in Owen’s jaw again.

“Don’t fuss? I got up an hour early to come over here and make you a custard. I find the eggs have been used and the kitchen in a mess.”

“I told you that you needn’t come today,” Owen said in the way of an answer.

“I always come on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. I have for years and years. Why should my routine be disrupted just because
she’s
here?”

Ana looked up into Uncle Gus’s shy eyes. What she saw there was a brief glimmer of sympathy before he got up from the table and took the milk buckets from beneath the workbench. Soren went to the door and stood looking down at his feet. Ana didn’t know if he was embarrassed for himself or for her. She did know that she had never been subjected to such rude treatment and that she was not going to tolerate it any longer.

“What’s she doing in here in her nightclothes?” Esther continued scathingly. “She’s a disgrace, is what she is! I hope the neighbors don’t get wind of it. The Jamison’s have a good name in this county and I don’t intend to stand by and see it smirched by the likes of her!”

Ana stood. “Mrs. Knutson! Don’t talk about me as if I were not here.” Self-respect was all that kept Ana from saying several swear words that came to her mind. “How dare you stand there and tell me so piously that I’m a disgrace!”

Esther’s eyes raked over her. “I’ve got eyes. I can see what you are.”

“That’s enough, Esther!” Owen’s voiced thundered.

The silence after Owen’s shout only added to Ana’s mortification. Blood surged to her face. She clamped her lips together and willed the tears to stay behind her eyes. With her head high, she met Esther’s accusing eyes head-on before she transferred her contemptuous gaze to Owen. His tolerance of his sister’s dictatorial behavior was disgusting.

“Poor Harriet. Her life here must have been . . . hell! It’s too bad her
husband
didn’t have the guts to run his own household. In my opinion there is nothing more disgusting than a weak-kneed, henpecked man! If you’ll excuse me”—she looked at Uncle Gus and Soren—“I’ll take my leave and
she
can clean up this . . . mess. I doubt that I could do it to suit her.” Ana waved her arm toward the table and walked out of the room.

“I’m not cleaning up
her
mess.”

Esther’s voice reached Ana before she reached the bedroom. The sleeping baby was all that kept Ana from slamming the door so hard it would shake the house. Her anger was directed more at Owen than at his sister. She’d like to pound him to a pulp. A grown man who would allow himself to be so firmly under his sister’s thumb was beneath contempt.

Ana paced the room. How could she survive in this place until the baby was strong enough to make the trip to Dubuque? What could she do? She had actually begun to like Owen Jamison, not that she forgave him for what he had done to Harriet.
Don’t let her run you off!
Harriet’s pleading words played over and over in Ana’s mind.

“Don’t worry, honey,” Ana muttered. “When I leave here, little Harry will be with me.”

In the kitchen, Owen closed the door leading into the hall.

“Go on ahead, Soren. I’ll be out . . . shortly.”

“I’ll fill the water tanks, then hitch up.”

“Why’d he come back now?” Esther asked as soon as the door closed behind Soren. “Land sakes! He’s turned out to be nothing but a wanderer, floating from pillar to post turning up here to fill his stomach when he runs out of money.”

“This is Soren’s home. He’s welcome to come back anytime he wants to.”

“This
isn’t
his home. It’s yours and mine and Paul’s when he chooses to remember it.”

“Sit down, Esther. It’s time we came to an understanding about a few things.”

“What do you mean? I can’t sit down. I’ve got this mess to clean up.” She waved her arms, forgetting she had just said she wasn’t going to.

“No one asked you to clean the kitchen. Sit down,” Owen said quietly, but there was a tone in his voice that sent a chill of apprehension down Esther’s spine. She plunked herself down on a chair in an irritable manner.

“All right. I can see you’ve got something in your craw. You’ve not been the same since you brought that girl here last October.”

“There was no call for you to be insulting to Mrs. Fairfax.”

“I say there was. The idea! There she sat as brazen as a hussy in her nightclothes with you, and Soren, and even Uncle Gus fawning over her.”

“She was wearing a perfectly decent wrapper.”

“Decent? Pshaw!” Esther puckered her lips and sniffed.

Owen was quiet for a moment, then said firmly, “You’ve got to turn loose here, Esther. Your home is with Jens and Hettie and Lily. You should be putting your time and energy into a home for them. Instead you’re here three, four, and sometimes five days a week. It’s got to come to an end.”

“This is my home,” she cried, “not that rundown place up the road.” Owen tried to ignore the stricken, hurt look on her face.

“It wouldn’t be so rundown if you spent more time there and took an interest in it,” he said kindly.

“I was born here. Mama died here.”

“You married Jens—”

“I had too. What else could I have done?”

“I don’t know. The decision was yours.”

“Don’t drag up that muck again!”

Owen covered her clasped hands with one of his. “I won’t bring it up. I’m just trying to make you understand that the time has come for you to let go here. Esther, I want a home and a family.”

“Well, for goodness sake! You’ve got a home and now a son to carry on after you’re gone. What more do you want?”

“I want peace. I hate to say this, but I think Mrs. Fairfax may be right. You made life hell for Harriet. The girl could do nothing to please you.”

“That stupid girl didn’t know the first thing about running a house or anything else. I washed and ironed and cooked and cleaned while she lolled around upstairs in the bed. I can see now why she was the way she was. A fine example that woman set for her!”

“You disliked Harriet from the first.”

“Yes! A girl like that had no business here. Why did you get tangled up with her in the first place? You didn’t have to marry her to . . . sleep with her.”

“I don’t have to justify my actions to you.” Owen’s eyes searched every feature of his sister’s face and found nothing but bitterness. “You’ll always be welcome in my home, Esther, but it is my home.”

“And mine,” Esther said stubbornly. “My garden is here and the chickens that I raised in a box behind that stove.” Her voice rose as she pointed her finger to the cookstove, then softened. “Oh, Owen, things will settle down once that woman leaves. Lily would make you a good wife. She’s biddable and does what she’s told. With my help she’ll soon learn how to take care of little James.”

“The baby’s name is Harry.”

“Harry? No one in our family is named Harry.”

“There is now. I named the child Harry after his mother. I’ll tell you another thing. I promised Harriet that I’d make arrangements for Mrs. Fairfax to raise the boy.”

Esther gasped. “Why in the world would you do such a thing? He belongs here . . . on the farm. Your son should be here to take over the farm some day. We can’t depend on Paul. He’s just like Soren. Now if you and Lily—”

“Gawddammit! I will never, never marry Lily.”

“Well, I never! You’ve gotten to where you swear like . . . a drunken sailor. At least Lily isn’t a slut like the one you married. She’s never been with a . . . man. I’ve seen to that. She’s pure as the driven snow.”

“I have nothing against Lily. She’ll make some man a fine wife, but not me.”

“All right, Owen. I never thought you’d forget all we’ve been through together and turn your back on me. I remember standing over you and taking the lash when you left the gate open and the hogs got out. Have you forgotten the times Pa would have killed or maimed you for life if not for me? His temper was a terrible thing. I know that more than anyone. I’ve still got scars on my back.”

“I remember all those things too. I doubt if Paul and I would be alive if not for your taking care of us after Mama died. It doesn’t change the way things are now. I’m grown up, Esther. I don’t need you to protect me anymore.”

There was a long silence between the brother and sister. Owen sat with his head down, staring at his clasped hands. He didn’t want to hurt her. Poor Esther had had no girlhood. He shuddered when he thought of what she’d had to endure those years before and after he’d gone away. Oh, hell! If only he’d known what was going on, he would have never left her here alone. Esther’s scathing voice broke into his thoughts.

“When is she leaving?”

“I haven’t discussed it with her.”

“The sooner she leaves, the sooner things will get back to normal.”

“Go on home, Esther,” Owen said tiredly. “I’ve got a field to plant.”

“Then go plant it. I’ve a few things to do.”

“I don’t want trouble between you and Mrs. Fairfax.”

“There’ll not be any if she stays out of my way. My land, Owen. I can’t imagine what’s come over you. Things will work out. We Jamison’s have always looked out for one another.”

Esther emptied the teakettle in the dishpan, ladled in cold water from the bucket and set the kettle back on the stove. She hummed softly to herself as she worked, confident that things would work out just as she wanted.

O
wen
stood on the porch, uneasy about leaving Ana alone in the house with Esther.