Dorothy Garlock (30 page)

Ana didn’t have much time to explore the feeling or get used to the idea. Soren’s urgent shout reached the kitchen and sent them both hurrying to the door.

“Owen!”

“Gawdamighty! What’s happened now?” Owen muttered and pushed open the screen door.

“Pa said get out here. The mare’s going to foal!”

“I checked her an hour ago and she was all right.”

“Well, she’s havin’ it and it’s coming out ass-backwards!”

“Good Lord!”

“I’ll hold breakfast,” Ana called to Owen as he ran toward the barn.

Hours later Ana was still holding breakfast. She had bathed and fed the baby. Exhausted from his sleepless night, he was now sleeping in the drawer she had lined with a quilt and set on two kitchen chairs. The table was set for breakfast and the mush waited on the back of the stove. When all was ready and the men had not come in, she made Indian pudding, poured it into a buttered pan, sprinkled it generously with freshly grated nutmeg, and set it in the oven. In a couple of hours she’d take it out, let it cool, and serve it at the noon meal with thick cream. It was one of Owen’s favorites.

Ana looked out the door toward the barn. How long did it take a mare to foal? If anything happened to the mare, Owen would be sick.

Ana’s heart gave an odd little lurch at the thought of Owen’s disappointment. In the dark of the night she had lain in bed with him, nestled close to his hard-muscled body, her head on his chest, her lips raised for his kiss, her hands free to wander over his shoulders and chest. It had been wonderful. Suddenly she was fiercely happy that Ezra Fairfax had not come to her bed. She had never wanted to explore the physical mysteries of a man and woman. But now she did . . . with Owen.

Feeling a warm flush on her cheeks, Ana chided herself that she no longer had to feel guilty about wanting Owen. He hadn’t shared that special intimacy with Harriet. Harriet had loved his brother, Paul, had lain in Paul’s arms; Owen would be hers.

Owen had not actually said he loved her. He had said he wanted to give his heart to her. “
Is there a chance for us
?” he had asked. Ana bowed her head over the dishpan. She hoped and prayed that Owen would come to love her as she yearned to be loved! She sighed deeply as she poured scalding water over the baby’s bottles, then wiped her hands on a towel.

Abruptly, a strange, subsconscious instinct caused a cold prickling sensation to start between Ana’s shoulders and travel to the nape of her neck.

She turned.

Esther blocked the kitchen doorway leading into the hall.

A
na
was so startled at the sight of Esther that momentarily she was thrown off balance mentally. Cold sweat broke out on her forehead. The palms of her hands slid slowly down her apron past the pockets and hung limply at her sides. She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. All she could do was stare at Esther’s bony face and fierce, bright eyes.

Dressed in her usual black, her hair slicked back and secured in a tight knot on the back of her head, Esther looked more than ever like a blackbird. Her face was thinner, her eyes brighter, her nose longer than Ana remembered. The picture of a silent vulture waiting for death to provide it with a feast came to Ana’s mind.

“Good morning.” Ana managed the words calmly even though indescribable panic assailed her.

Silence.

Esther fixed her bright eyes on Ana. Ana could feel the weight of her hatred.

“Owen is in the barn.”

More silence. Heavy. Threatening.

“He’ll be in for breakfast soon. Sit down and have coffee while you wait.”

Only a birdsong and the creak of the windmill broke the silence.

Praying Owen’s sister didn’t know how frightened she was, she made a supreme effort to make her voice normal.

“The mare is having her foal.”

“Shameful hussy!” Esther hissed through thin tight lips.

Ana pretended not to have heard.

“He’s hoping for a filly—”

“You trapped him just like that other slut did. Is his seed growing in your belly?”

Now wasn’t the time to show anger or weakness, although Ana’s patience was wearing thin and her legs felt like jelly. The woman was out of her mind, even dangerous. Ana held herself stiffly, unconsciously braced against an attack. She frantically searched her mind for something calming to say.

“They finished planting Uncle Gus’s broom corn yesterday.”

“Where’s Mama’s bed?” Esther demanded shrilly.

Ana’s eyes darted to the baby sleeping peacefully in the bureau drawer. Good heavens! She had been prowling around in the house. The hair on Ana’s arms raised as goosebumps popped out on her cold flesh.

“Your mother’s furniture was moved upstairs. You can go see for yourself.”

“Slut! Bitch! You stole Mama’s things.”

Ana remained calm. “You’ll find every single thing that was hers in the room upstairs.”

“
He
didn’t want her upstairs.”

“Owen wanted me to use the downstairs bedroom. I was sure that you wouldn’t want me to use your mother’s furniture.”

Ana swallowed the lump of panic that rose in her when the look of intense hatred came over Esther’s face, drawing her lips back in a snarl.

“He wants you in that room so he can crawl on you when the notion strikes him. He’s a horny, ruttin’ swine just like Pa and Grandpa was. He’d poke it in anything that has a slit.” Esther was breathless after she spewed out the words.

“Don’t talk like that about your brother. Owen is a good, decent man!”

“Good? Ha! Right away he got a baby on that whey-faced slut from Dubuque.”

Ana’s face turned fiery red. “He . . . he was her husband.”

“Jamison men all got bad blood. Mama said all of old Grandpa Jamison’s brains was in that thing hanging between his legs. She told me that—”

“Hush that filthy talk!” Ana said sternly. Then forcing herself to swallow the lump of fear that rose up in her throat she spoke again. “Take what you want and go, Esther.”

A dry cackle of laughter burst from Esther’s throat. She placed her fists on her hips and swayed from side to side.

“Go, Esther. Go, Esther,” she chanted.

“I understand why you want the things that belonged to your mother.”

“Owen’s gone off and left m-me—” Her voice rose in a mournful wail. “He not goin’ to do anything, just go off. Why don’t he come back?”

“Owen is in the barn—”

“He’s gone off and left me here. He don’t care, he don’t care.”

“You’re mistaken. Owen does care. He thinks the world of you.”

“You don’t know anything,” Esther screeched.

“I know that Owen is concerned about you.”

“Get out!” Esther shouted.

“This is my home now, Esther.” Ana still tried to keep her voice calm. “I live here . . . with Owen. We’re married.”

“No!” She moaned as if she were in terrible pain. “You don’t live here.
I
live here.”

“I live here, Esther,” Ana said gently seeing the anguish on the woman’s face. “Go out to the barn and ask Owen.”

“Mama don’t want harlots in her house.” Her voice rose to an hysterical pitch.

“I’m not a harlot. I’m your brother’s wife.”

“You’re bad! Wicked! Go. Shoo . . . shoo—” She took a menacing step toward Ana, making a motion with her hands as if she were scaring away chickens. “Shoo . . . shoo—”

Ana realized that she had made a mistake in trying to reason with the woman. Owen would have to deal with his sister. The thought that someone out of their mind had been roaming around in the house without her knowing it terrified her.

Ana walked calmly across the room, picked up the baby and his bottle. On not-quite steady legs, she backed out the door leaving Esther standing in the middle of the kitchen, her hands still fluttering in the shoo-ing motion.

Ana hurried across the yard. The double doors of the barn were folded back. Sunlight streamed into the barn brightening the alley between the stalls. The men were in the stall with the mare and the foal. Owen saw her the instant she entered and came out of the mare’s stall, wiping his hands on a rag.

“It’s a filly,” Owen announced proudly with one of his rare smiles that faded quickly when he saw the look of anxiety on Ana’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“Esther’s in the house. She came in the front door.” Ana rushed on nervously. “I didn’t know she was there until I turned and saw her behind me.”

“She probably came over to get something,” he said without the least concern in his voice, although his insides immediately turned upside down.

Ana went rigid with anger. She looked at him, stunned, unable to understand why he wasn’t concerned about a woman who was of unsound mind, even if she was his sister, sneaking into the house. Couldn’t this big, stupid man get it through his head that she was insane and dangerous?

“She didn’t come to get
something,
” Ana said frostily when she found her voice. “She’s crazy as a loon!” It was a cruel thing to say, and she was immediately sorry.

He choked when he started to speak. “Did . . . ah . . . did she try to hurt you?”

“No, but she made it clear that her mama doesn’t want a
harlot
in her house.”

“I’ll go talk to her.”

“You do that.” She couldn’t keep the impatience out of her voice.

Ana turned her back on him and looked into the stall, her mind so confused she barely noticed the foal standing on weak, spindly legs, or Soren on his knees wiping it with a rag. Her mind was in such a turmoil that she was unable to appreciate the miracle of the birth.

“There, there, lass,” Gus crooned to the head-tossing mare. “Your little one be in safe hands. Move her up close to the teat, Soren. Once she starts sucking she’ll be all right.”

Soren straddled the little filly to guide her head beneath her mother’s belly. The eager little mouth grabbed a teat and began to suck. The two men grinned happily at each other, backed out of the stall, and closed the door.

Ana walked out of the cool barn and stood hesitantly in the shade beside the big doors. She looked toward the back door of the house, then away. She didn’t think she could possibly cope with any more verbal abuse from Owen’s sister, even after making allowances for her mental condition. She wanted to cry, to scream that it wasn’t fair for Esther to make her so miserable just when she was within reach of all she had dreamed of having. Ana repressed the awful need to give vent to her feelings, lifted the sleeping child to her shoulder, and headed toward the orchard.

“Ana, wait—”

Ana’s steps never faltered, nor did she look back.

“Let her go, son. If Esther’s in there, Ana needs to get away from the house for a spell.” Gus looked past his son to a cloud of dust on the road, but didn’t mention it.

“Something is going to have to be done about Esther, Pa. Lily says she’s getting more unreasonable and harder to handle all the time.”

“You’re right,” Gus agreed quietly, still watching the traveling dust. “You been seein’ Lily, have you?”

“I’ve been going to talk to you about that, Pa. I’ve been meeting her at night. That old Jens is as ornery as a mule with his dinger caught in a barb-wire fence. He’d not welcome me as a caller to the house.”

“I figured that’s where you were headin’ when you took off across the field.” Gus turned a stern face toward his son, caught his eyes, and held them. The meaning in them was perfectly clear.

“Pa! Don’t look at me like that. I’d not dishonor Lily if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Gus’s eyes searched his son’s face. “I guess I knew that, son, but for a minute—”

“Lily’s a sweet girl and she’s not had much to be happy about. I’ve been thinking, Pa, that I’d . . . marry her.”

“Because you feel sorry for her?”

Soren’s handsome face took on a troubled expression. He chewed on a straw poked into his mouth.

“No. Well, to tell the truth, I’m not sure yet.”

“Be sure, son. It’d not be fair to Lily or to you if you wed her for any reason but the right one. You always did have a soft spot for anythin’ bein’ put upon. Don’t get carried away with feelin’ sorry for the girl.” He put his hand on Soren’s shoulder and squeezed. “We’ll have to finish this another time. It looks like somebody’s comin’.”

Soren turned to see a wagon coming up the lane at a fast clip. Lily was on the wagon seat, Hettie’s head was visible above the sideboards of the wagon bed.

“What the hell are they in such a hurry for?” Soren trotted toward the wagon as it entered the yard. He caught hold of the bridle to stop the horses.

“Procter hurt Foster,” Hettie blurted. “Procter’s a dumb ass, is what he is.”

Gus came to hold the horses as Soren went back to lift Lily from the wagon seat. Her serious brown eyes clung to his face.

“Are you all right, honey?” he whispered, before he set her on her feet.

“Yes, but Foster’s got a big cut on his head.”

Soren’s hands moved down her arms and squeezed her hands. He held one tightly in his while he looked over the sideboards at the man sprawled in the wagon bed, his head in Hettie’s lap. Blood oozed from a cut on his forehead, rolled down over his eye patch and onto his sunken, whiskered cheeks. His clothes were ragged, his body filthy dirty, and through the gap of his torn shirt Soren could count every rib.