Dorothy Garlock (16 page)

The quiet was absolute as they looked at each other. And then, from far away, came the soft, melodious call of a mourning dove breaking the silence. Owen took a step back. Ana took a quick breath.

“I don’t think you understand, Mrs. Fairfax. I’m offering you . . . my name.”

She gaped at him as the import of his words sank into her mind. “Your . . . name? You and I . . . you’re asking me to marry you?” she asked in a brittle voice.

“It’s the only solution.”

“It’s no solution at all! How can you even suggest such a thing? It’s not decent. I’m your mother-in-law!”

“What’s that got to do with it?”

Ana didn’t answer right away. She stared fixedly at him, then slowly shook her head. “I can’t do it. I’d be betraying Harriet.”

“Harriet would want what was best for you and the boy. I’m not a poor man if that’s what you think. The farm is clear. I have money in the bank—”

“You also have Esther.”

“Yes. I have Esther. Esther is my problem, not yours.”

There was another little silence while Ana looked into his face. She had married once in order to have a home. She couldn’t do it again. When she was young, like all other young girls, she had dreamed of love. As the years went by, she had come to realize that would never be. She wasn’t looking for a man to sweep her off her feet as this man had done with Harriet. But it would be nice if she could look forward to companionship in her old age.

“As my wife you’d have the duties and the authority to run the house any way you pleased, answerable only to me,” Owen said, bringing Ana’s mind back to the present.

Ana shook her head again. “Esther won’t let anyone take charge of the house . . . or you. She—” Ana bit off the words. Should she tell him that she was sure his sister had meant to smother this baby with a pillow? Would he believe her? Probably not, she decided.

Owen raked his fingers through his tousled hair. “You said you needed some things from the store. It’s just over the hill. Let’s go get them.”

Huge hands beneath her armpits lifted her down from the buggy platform. A hand at her elbow helped her back up to the seat. Ana cuddled the baby in her arms as they left the glade as silently as they had entered it.

“You’re a good little man,” Ana whispered to the baby as she loosened the blanket and held up one corner to shield his face from the sun. She glanced at Owen and found him watching her. “He is good,” she said defensively. “He seldom cries. I’m going to get a goat. Mrs. Larson said that goat’s milk is better for a newborn than cow’s milk.”

Owen turned his face away, but he could still see floating before his eyes the blond head bent over the child, the smooth cheek, the soft mouth and . . . the big amber eyes that looked so defiantly into his. She was like a wildcat protecting her young. He knew without a doubt that the boy would be better off with her. Her love for the child would be as deep as the hate she felt for him. Even so, she could brighten his life, chase away all the dark shadows that haunted him . . . if only—

Ana’s thoughts were spiraling too. She wondered what it would be like to be married to this big, brooding, silent man. He had been such a grouch on the way from Lansing. Would he be a good father to this child? He seldom looked at Harry unless she shoved him into his arms. It was clear that he and Harriet were unsuited to each other. Why had he chosen her when he came to Dubuque to sow his wild oats?

Don’t think about the past, Ana cautioned herself. Think about now and what is the best thing to do not only for the child but also for yourself. If she married Owen she would be committed to him for life. If she didn’t, would he allow her to take his son home with her? She understood his reluctance to part with his own flesh and blood even if he didn’t love the child’s mother.

One thing was certain, she was not going to leave this helpless baby at the mercy of a woman with an unbalanced mind. But on the other hand, if she took Owen up on his offer—she would have Esther to contend with.

O
wen
stopped the buggy in front of a long, two-storied building. In the space between the roof peaks, a sign read: WHITE OAK STORE—NEW AND EXTENSIVE STOCK OF STAPLE AND FANCY GOODS.

“I’ll hold the boy while you go in. Get what you want and tell McCalister to put it on my bill.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

Ana surrendered the bundle in her arms, combed her hair back with her fingertips, and reached into her traveling case for the handkerchief where she had tied her money. She backed carefully out of the buggy and went up the steps to the porch and into the store.

“Howdy.” A male voice greeted her as her eyes were adjusting from the bright sunlight. A man with a white apron tied about his middle, sparse hair on his head, but with a big welcoming smile beneath his waxed mustache, came from behind the counter. “Vi-o-let!” he bellowed up the stairs as he came around to greet Ana. “Violet’s my wife. I know she’d be plumb put out if I didn’t call her down. You’re Owen’s mother-in-law, ain’t ya? I saw ya at the buryin’.”

“Yes. I’m sorry, but there were so many people I can’t remember all the names.”

“It ain’t no wonder. Name’s McCalister.” He held out his hand and Ana put hers in it. “Sure hated it ’bout Owen’s wife. My, my, that man waited long enough to wed. It’s a pure shame to have something like that happen. Violet hated it, too. Hated it real bad.” He turned, cupped his hands around his mouth, and yelled, “Vi-o-let!”

“Don’t bother your wife. I’ll not be here long. I just need a few things.” Ana took quick stock of the store. It was arranged like most all general stores—groceries on the right, dry goods on the left, hardware in the back. She went to the left and took a bolt of white cloth from the shelf. “Six yards, please.”

While he measured the cloth, she chose a piece of fabric for baby gowns and carried it to the counter. A short, plump, pleasant looking woman came down the stairs, poking stray strands of dark auburn hair into the knot on the top of her head.

“Goodness, Hershel. You yelled so loud you woke Hanna.”

“Sorry, love. I knew you’d be put out if you didn’t meet Owen’s mother-in-law.”

“Ana Fairfax.” Ana extended her hand.

“Laws! Ain’t you just as pretty as a button! You don’t look old enough to be a mother-in-law, much less Owen’s. Betcha he’s older’n you are.”

Ana, grateful for the warm welcome, smiled faintly. “Maybe a few years.”

“I’m sure glad to make your acquaintance, Ana. Call me Violet.”

“Thank you. You have a nice stock of goods.” Ana fingered the embroidery floss.

“We try to meet the needs of our customers. The floss comes a dozen skeins—any color—for thirty cents.”

The price was much more than Ana paid for it in Dubuque, but there competition brought the price down. As she visualized little blue flowers around the neck of Harry’s little gowns and over the ears of the cap she would knit for him, she threw caution to the wind. After picking out a dozen skeins, she took them to the counter.

“I also need safety pins.”

“Small and medium size are two cents each. The big blanket pins are three cents each.” Violet pulled out a divided drawer and showed her the pins.

“Give me four small, four medium and three blanket pins. Also a spool of white thread, two infant bottles with nipples, a box of starch and a bottle of olive oil. Oh, I see you have yarn. What pretty colors!”

“I picked out the colors myself when the drummer came through.” Violet delved into the pile and brought out a hank of soft pink yarn. “I made a cap and scarf out of this for Hanna.”

“That’s pretty for a girl, but I’ll take the blue for Harry. Add one hank to the bill, Mr. McCalister, and tally it up please.”

“Put it on my bill, Hershel.” Owen’s voice came from behind her.

Ana turned to see him push himself away from the wall just inside the door and come toward the counter. His eyes were narrowed, but she saw enough of them to know that he dared her to contradict him. Of course, she wouldn’t embarrass him. She would settle with him later. With his wind-blown hair and his huge frame, he looked as big and as fierce as a gladiator, but he held the baby gently in the crook of his arm.

“Oh, let me see him,” Violet squealed. She stood beside Owen, her head coming to about the third button on his shirt. “He’s just beautiful, Owen. My, look at all that dark hair. Ain’t it a pity that dear girl will never see this blessed child?” Violet sniffed back sudden tears.

Owen looked over her head to Ana. “Is there anything else you want?”

Ana shook her head.

“Got your plantin’ done, Owen?”

“No. I’m working on it. We’ll have four cans of peaches, Hershel. A box of cinnamon, a half-dozen cans of sardines”—his eyes scanned the goods on the row of shelves—“a bag of coffee beans, a scoop of raisins and one of apricots.”

“I got in that tobacco you like—that Kentucky in the round can.”

“Give me a can. We’ll take a dozen sticks of peppermint and a lead pencil too.”

Ana had heard him use the term
we,
but had kept her eyes straight ahead, determined that she would pay for what she had bought when they left the store.

“Anything else, Owen?” Mr. McCalister sacked the raisins, the coffee beans, and set the last of the cans on the counter. “I got lemons in yesterday,” he said while he counted out the peppermint sticks. “They came all the way upriver from New Orleans.”

“There’s nothing I like better than lemonade on a hot day.”

“Did you put up much ice last winter?”

“Enough for a while. We’ve got it bedded down in sawdust and straw. I’ll take a half a bushel of lemons. They’ll keep in the cellar. Add on a fifty-pound bag of sugar, Hershel. I don’t know what we’ve got at home, but if we don’t need it now, we will later on when the fruit comes on.”

“Tell Gus to bring me a dozen brooms when he comes to town. I’ve got only two left outta that last batch.”

“I’ll tell him.”

Ana turned and Owen wordlessly put the babe in her arms. She moved away from him and edged toward the door. Irresistibly drawn to a table of books, she caressed the covers with her fingertips, surprised to find in this country store a five-volume set of the
Leather-Stocking Tales
of James F. Cooper and a six-volume set of Alexander Dumas’s romances. She had read Cooper’s
Deerslayer,
and Dumas’s
The Man in the Iron Mask.
In her mind she totaled the cost of the books—one set sixty-nine cents, the other seventy-eight cents. Ah . . . she caught her breath—almost a dollar-and-a-half. They were too dear for her now—but someday.

She pulled from the stack a book that was a good two inches thick.
Common Sense Medical Advisor.
She opened it and thumbed through it with one hand. A large portion of the book was on the care and feeding of infants—what to do for colic, fever, running off at the bowels. The price was one dollar and twenty-five cents. She closed it and put it back on the stack. She couldn’t afford to spend so much money until she decided what she was going to do.

She looked around for Owen. He had taken the lemons to the buggy, returned and hoisted the bag of sugar onto his shoulder. Now he stood beside the pickle barrel watching her. It made her nervous. Ana hurriedly said her goodbyes to the McCalisters and went out to the buggy. Owen, coming back for the rest of the load, stood aside and allowed her to pass. She could feel his eyes on her face, but she didn’t look up.

Harry let out a loud angry cry as soon as Ana settled into the buggy seat. He was hungry and was letting her know in the only way he knew how. She dug into her travel bag, found the bottle of milk, and was feeding him, crooning to him, when Owen climbed in beside her.

“I’ve decided to go home with you for now, Mr. Jamison. I’ll tell you tomorrow what I decide to do about the . . other. But I wish to make one thing clear. If I leave here, I’m taking this baby with me.”

“We’ll see.” He turned the horse around in the middle of the street and headed out of town.

The short, stark words made Ana angry, made her want to cry, too. They also made her speak more sharply than she would have otherwise.

“I’ll pay you for what I bought. I didn’t want to make a fuss in the store.”

“What you bought was for the boy. I can pay for what he needs. I’ll hear no more about it”

“We’ll see,” she said making her voice just as curt as his had been when he had said the same words.

When the road smoothed out, Owen put the horse into a trot. Once again he had retreated into the deep recesses of his own reserve.

Ana squinted against the bright sunlight and listened to the sound of hooves striking the hard-packed road, and to the jingle of the harness. They covered the distance to the farm quickly—too quickly for Ana. She was much too tired to face the confrontation with Esther that she was sure awaited her.

It was an hour past noon when Owen turned into the lane leading to the house. Beyond the apple orchard, a cloud of dust trailed the heavy iron drag Soren was using to smooth the field for planting. The blade on the windmill spun lazily. The air was warm and scented with the blossoms of flowering trees and vines. It was a glorious spring day, Ana thought, or would be if not for Esther’s dust-covered buggy, unhitched now, sitting in the yard like a black omen.