Dorothy Garlock (18 page)

“I’m sorry,” Ana said very quietly. Then with an odd little movement that surprised even Ana, she placed a comforting hand on his arm.

“Why . . . would she do this?” He stammered a little. “And in so short a time—” He looked at Ana with pure torment in his eyes. “Why?” he asked again.

“She must feel that you have rejected her, and it’s her way of getting back at me.”

“At you?”

“Yes. Because I’ll be the one to clean up the mess. She thinks of me as a threat to her position here.”

“Godamighty! I never thought she’d go this far.”

“Maybe you don’t know your sister as well as you think you do,” Ana offered.

Owen felt a sudden rush of anger. “Hellfire! I’ve a right to a home of my own! Damn her! Damn all the Jamison’s!”

“Damning everyone isn’t going to clean up this mess or keep that syrup from burning on the stove and smoking up the house.” Ana managed to keep the agitation out of her voice.

Owen swore quietly, battling to control his frustration. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, his anger leaving as quickly as it had arrived.

“You’re right.”

“How am I going to get to the bedroom to put Harry down without tracking this all through the house?”

“We’ll go around to the front door and go in that way.” He backed out the door and held it open for her. “Be careful and don’t slip.”

Ana scraped the soles of her shoes on the grass when she reached it and followed Owen around to the front door. The first thing she noticed when she entered the bedroom was that her trunk was not where she had left it. As soon as that fact registered, she became aware that the cradle was not there either. Every trace of her and the baby had been removed from the room. Owen didn’t seem to notice. He placed her traveling bag and the packages from the store on the bed and turned to leave.

“I left my trunk here. It’s gone. So is the cradle.”

“She may have taken them upstairs—”

“How could she?” Ana interrupted. “It’s so heavy I could hardly move it. Well, never mind. It’s got to be here someplace. I’ll change Harry, then I’ll start cleaning up that mess in the kitchen. He’ll be wanting to eat in a couple of hours. I hope there’s more milk in the cellar.”

“Last night’s milk should be there.”

“It’s a good thing you have plenty of brooms,” Ana said trying to lighten the mood.

“It’ll take hot water to get that syrup off the floor. I’ll build a fire under the washpot.”

“As soon as you can get in the kitchen, rake the fire out of the firebox so the range top can cool off. Phew! I smell that syrup burning.” While she talked, she took a dry cloth from her travel bag and pinned it on the baby. “I’ll be in to help you as soon as I get Harry settled.”

“You’ll ruin your dress.”

“I have work dresses in my trunk.”

She flicked a glance at him as he went out of the room. All at once she wondered if she had been wrong about him. Cold and uncaring? Not today. She couldn’t blame him for wanting to keep his son close. A son was a son even if he hadn’t loved the boy’s mother. Although he was hurt and embarrassed by what his sister had done, she could feel compassion in him too. But, she chided herself sternly, that doesn’t excuse him for what he did to Harriet. In a small way he was being paid back. Being here, she was making his sister’s life miserable just as he had made hers by being in Dubuque last fall.

Ana had settled Harry and was rolling up the sleeves of her shirtwaist when she heard Owen coming back into the front hall. He came to the doorway and stood hesitantly, holding her trunk in front of him.

“You found it. Did you find the cradle?”

“Not yet.” He set the trunk down as he answered. “I could see where the trunk had been dragged across the porch.” He straightened and they faced each other, seeing grim awareness of Esther’s mental state mirrored in each other’s eyes. Finally Owen took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “For the life of me, I can’t understand what’s got into her. She’s always been abrupt and outspoken, but this—”

“—It may have been there for a long time and is just now coming out.”

“I’ll look for the cradle later. It’s got to be here somewhere.”

“Where was the trunk?”

“In the lilac bushes at the end of the porch.” He didn’t leave as she expected him to. Instead he stood in the doorway, somberly regarding her until she began to feel uncomfortable. “I suppose this will make you more determined than ever to go back to Dubuque.”

“No,” she said firmly, shaking her head. “But it will make me more determined than ever to take Harriet’s baby with me if I go.”

He nodded slowly as if in agreement, his eyes holding hers for a long moment before he turned away.

After he left, Ana closed the door and fished around in her travel bag for the key to her trunk.

She hurriedly dressed in a workdress and tied a faded apron around her waist. She sat on the edge of the bed and took off her shoes, reasoning that her feet would be easier to wash than the shoes. After she propped the door open so that she could hear the baby if he cried, she went down the hall to the kitchen.

Ana had taken only a few steps into the room when Owen’s voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Wait! Don’t move! There’s a broken fruit jar here.”

He had a scoop-shovel in one hand and a broom in the other. He leaned the two of them against the table and came to her. Before she knew what happened, one arm was beneath her knees, the other at her waist. He swung her up in his arms as if she were a child. Her arms went around his neck and she held on to him tightly. She had never been lifted and held like this. It was frightening, yet exciting.

“Oh! Put me down! I’m too heavy—”

“Too heavy? Good lord! You don’t weigh as much as a sack of grain.”

He stood holding her, looking for a clean place to set her down. He decided on the end of the counter. His heavy boots smashed the broken glass on the floor as he carried her there. As he eased her down, she held onto his shoulders to keep her balance. She thought he would move away, but he grasped her bare ankle in his big hand and lifted her foot.

“Did you cut your feet?” He peered at the bottom of first one foot and then the other.

“I don’t think so.” She wiggled her toes. “But that syrup sure is sticky.”

“Sit here until I get the floor cleaned up.”

Wondering why her stupid heart was acting like a runaway train, Ana watched him sweep the broken glass and globs of food into the scoop-shovel and dump them in a bucket. He pried the bread-dough from the floor, righted the tin flour barrel and set it on the porch until they could wash the syrup from the side. He worked swiftly and efficiently with no awkward pauses. It made Ana uneasy to sit and watch him.

“If I had my shoes I could help.”

“No need. There’ll be plenty for you to do.”

He swept and scooped until he cleaned up everything he could attack with the broom. Flour, cornmeal and sugar glued to the floor with syrup had to be scooped up with the shovel. After he set the bucket and shovel on the porch, he carried out the kitchen chairs.

Ana had braced herself to slide off the counter and take her chances on the floor when Owen came in with a wet cloth in his hand. To her utter amazement he began to clean the muck from her feet. She stared at him with panic running just below the calm image she presented to him. Every nerve in her body jumped to attention. The warm fingers curled around her bare ankle sent blood surging to her cheeks. She was forced to disguise the raggedness of her breathing.

“You . . . don’t need to do that—”

“I know it, but I want to,” he murmured and reached for her other foot.

Ana tried not to look at him, but this was the most intimate she had ever been with another person. He seemed to surround her. His physical nearness paralyzed her thought process, but not so much that she didn’t realize that she wasn’t indifferent to him. Far from it. She was tingling. Although her expression was calm, her nerves were quivering.

Owen concentrated on his task. Her feet were narrow, her arch high, her ankle so slim he could span it with his thumb and middle finger. When he finished, he looked into her face and saw a breath quiver her parted lips. As a blush began to stain her cheeks, he became fascinated by the sight of her clear, white skin turning rosy pink and the startled questioning expression in her amber eyes. Vaguely he noticed that her hair had come loose from the knot, framing her face with golden wisps. Over the lingering odor of the burnt syrup, he could smell the sweetness of her.

Owen was acutely aware that this was a woman as a woman was meant to be. Her beauty was so subtle that he really had to look at each of her features to see how pure and classic her face and figure were. Why couldn’t he have met her long ago? Although there was a good chance that she would stay here, there was an even better chance that she would never be whole-heartedly his even if she did marry him. Because the thought was so depressing, he clamped his teeth against the hurt, and the tell-tale muscle jumped in his jaw.

“I’ll take you to the hall and you can get your shoes,” he said gruffly and picked her up.

The distance to the doorway took only a few steps, but it was long enough for Ana to feel the pounding of his heart against her ribcage and his warm breath on the side of her face. He let her down slowly, removing his arm from beneath her knees, but holding her tightly to him with the other until her feet reached the floor. She could feel his eyes on her face as he loosed his arm and straightened, towering over her.

“Thank you. I’ll get my shoes and be in to help.”

Ana was surprised that her voice was so normal because she certainly didn’t feel normal. By golly damn! What was the matter with her? She wasn’t an adolescent school girl but a mature twenty-six-year-old woman, for heaven’s sake! Feeling absurdly nervous, Ana went quickly to the bedroom, and even though it wasn’t necessary just to put on her shoes, she firmly closed the door.

*   *   *

It was late afternoon before the work was finished. Ana was so tired that she felt as if her arms would fall off. The only time she had rested was when she stopped to feed the baby. The diapers she had put to soaking that morning were found in the horse tank; the small washtub and the rub board were hanging on the porch. Ana set them soaking again with the day’s accumulation. She had to cut a length of the new material from the store in order to keep the infant dry.

Owen brought meat from the smoke house. As soon as the stove was clean, Ana cubed the meat and put it on to boil. Later she would add dough to make dumplings. It would have to do for the night meal. Owen went back to the field, saying that he and Soren would be in at dusk.

When Uncle Gus came to tell her the sow had farrowed and all the piglets had lived except two, Ana made a hasty trip to the barn to see the new arrivals. She looked with delight at the eight tiny piglets already sucking lustily at their mother’s teats.

“I didn’t think they would be so strong,” she said with laughter in her eyes. “Look at the greedy little things tumbling over each other.”

“Wait ’till you see the new calves. They’ll stand within a few minutes of birth and follow their mamas. It’s more’n humans can do.”

“And the mare’s foal? Will it stand right away too?”

“If it comes out all right. Owen’s going to be sorely put if it don’t.”

“Oh, I can hardly wait to see it.”

Suddenly she sobered. What was she saying? She hadn’t decided to stay here. She hadn’t even had time to think about Owen Jamison’s offer. She glanced at the old man leaning on the rail smoking his pipe. On a sudden impulse she put her hand on his arm.

“Oh, Lord. I don’t know what to do,” she whispered as if to herself.

A wrinkled, rough hand slid over hers and squeezed gently.

“Ya, lass. ’Tis a hard choice. This ain’t a happy place.”

“But . . . could it be?” she asked with desperate eagerness.

“I’d not be knowin’ that. Owen’s grandpappy come from Norway and built this place. He handed it down to Owen’s pa along with a mean streak a yard wide and a temper to go with it. They loosed it on man, woman or beast alike. This ain’t never been a happy place,” he said with a sigh.

“I can feel it—in the house.” Her voice held a queerly resigned note. “Mr. Jamison asked me to stay as his wife and take care of his son.”

“I figured he would.”

“But . . . I’m his mother-in-law! It doesn’t seem right.”

“You ain’t blood kin.”

“I wasn’t blood kin to Harriet, but I loved her as if she were my own. I can’t leave her baby here, and he won’t let me take him with me.” She felt the damnable lump come up in her throat and tears sting her eyes.

“It’d go hard to give up a son.” The old man smoked quietly for a moment, then he said, “Owen ain’t got a mean bone in his body, lass. He shies from quarrels. That’s the reason Esther’s got such a foothold here.”

“Will he take my side against his sister if I marry him? He didn’t take Harriet’s. He let Esther run roughshod over her,” she added bitterly.

“Ya. But the lassie made no effort to be lady of the house. ’Twas easy for Esther to keep on a doin’ as she’d always done—takin’ charge.”

“If I stay, it’ll mean that I’ve burned my bridges behind me. This will be my home, and I’ll not stand aside for Esther or anyone else to take over. But, oh, it will be grief if I go and grief if I stay.”

“Ya.”

Ana went out into the sunshine. She stopped in the middle of the yard, and turning slowly, she looked at everything in sight. If she stayed, this would be her home for the rest of her life. She looked toward the field where Owen worked. The dust no longer trailed the drag. Soren and he were walking the rows side by side, planting the corn they would harvest in the fall. This earthy man would be no Ezra Fairfax, allowing a marriage in name only. He would expect to be welcomed to her bed. The thought was not repulsive to her, but it brought her no joy to think of a loveless marriage.

The big fat goose waddled up and picked at the laces on her shoe. Her ears were tuned to the sound of the hens clucking in the hen house and the robins singing happily in the tight grove on the north side of the farm. A strutting rooster with a high, proud comb pranced across the yard in search of a tidbit. Pigeons resting on the barn roof disregarded the iron cow on the weathervane that turned gently in the breeze, and cooed softly to each other.