Dorothy Garlock (36 page)

Answers to questions that had niggled his mind for years suddenly became clear. He no longer wondered why Eustace would take Esther by the ear and force her up the stairs, and why sometimes he would shout at him and Paul to get out of the house and stay out until they were called.

Owen recalled seeing his father push Hettie into the barn ahead of him and close the door. Later Hettie came out crying and ran home. It had been his own pa who had taken advantage of Hettie, and Lily was Owen’s half-sister. Owen kept this information to himself although he thought Uncle Gus and Soren suspected. He did hint of the possibility to Paul when Esther wanted him to marry Lily.

Paul. God, how he prayed the curse hadn’t been handed down to Paul. When Harriet arrived carrying Paul’s child, all the old torment came back to haunt him. He decided that the only thing he could do to make right the wrong done to the girl was to marry her and give her child a name.

He swore that when he next saw his younger brother he would beat him to a pulp.

“Then you came, Ana,” Owen said with a long sigh, his throat dry from talking so long. “I felt as if I had been hit alongside the head with a brick. Golden hair, golden eyes, sweet and proud, and so pretty I couldn’t keep my eyes off you.”

“I thought you didn’t like me.”

“Didn’t like you?” he echoed. “By the second day I was so smitten with you, I couldn’t think of anything else. Then came the chance to marry you. God, help me, I didn’t even consider what I was doing to you.”

“What you’ve told me has nothing to do with us and our wanting to be together.” Her mouth moved lovingly over his shoulders and back.

“Dear Lord. Don’t you understand? The bad blood has been passed down from my grandpa to my pa, to me, Esther and Paul, and now to baby Harry.”

“I don’t believe in bad blood.”

“How do I know”—Owen went on as if she hadn’t spoken—“that sometime in the future the seed of evil that old man planted in me won’t sprout and grow? What if it’s passed down to our children? Dear God! I’d rather be dead.”

“I don’t believe in bad blood,” Ana repeated firmly. “Owen, look at me.” When he refused, she moved around in front of him and eased herself down on his lap. “Am I hurting your leg?”

“No, love—” He shifted her weight to his good thigh and wrapped her in his arms.

With her arms around his neck she pulled his head to her shoulder. “Absolutely nothing you have told me will change the way I feel about you.”

“Ana, Ana, for God’s sake, think—” His voice caught on a sob.

“I don’t need to think, my love. Your father learned that despicable behavior from his father who may have learned it from his father. It can stop.”

“But . . . Paul used that girl to satisfy his own lust. He could have gone to a whore—”

“My guess is that Esther shielded Paul the way she shielded you and what happened between Harriet and Paul was a coming together of two people who thought they were in love. Think of this, Owen. There are preacher’s sons who go bad. Bloodlines have nothing to do with a person’s morals. Esther is the one who has suffered.”

“Poor Esther. She’s had so little that was good in her life.”

“Owen, you couldn’t have prevented what happened to Esther. You were just a child. Then, after you grew up, she was too ashamed to tell. As soon as you knew about it, you didn’t hesitate. You went storming into that room and faced that ugliness.”

“I didn’t know what was going on when I went away and left her here. Dear God, I didn’t know,” he groaned, raising his head so that he could see her face.

“I know that.” She hugged his shaggy head to her breast. “Oh, dear man, I know. Owen Jamison, you’ve been worrying for nothing. But I love you, love you, all the more for your concern and for the courage it took to tell me this. Is there anything else you want to tell me?” She placed the tip of her nose against his.

“Just that I love you, and I’ll understand if you think it best to take Harry and go back to Dubuque.”

“You’re not getting rid of me, Owen Jamison. This thing about bad blood is nonsense. Promise you’ll stop worrying about it.”

“It doesn’t bother you?” He held her face between his palms and looked into her eyes.

“Of course it bothers me, but only because I’m sorry you had such a miserable childhood, and for what it’s done to your sister. Don’t worry about little Harry. His papa will love him and teach him all the right things.” She gently kissed the dent in his chin. “From now on I’m going to love you so much that that unpleasantness will seem like a bad dream.”

His face was still, but she knew he was crying inside when a tear formed on his lower lid, then slid slowly down his cheek. She put her lips to it and sipped it away.

“Don’t you want to kiss your mother-in-law?” she whispered in a light teasing tone.

“No. I want to kiss my . . . beloved wife.”

*   *   *

The sun was peeking over the horizon when Ana awakened and sat up in bed. Heavens, it was sunup! What would everyone think? Her face became hot. In the wee hours of the morning she had gotten up to feed and change the baby. When she returned to the bed, Owen was awake and waiting. They shared kisses and a few whispered nonsensical phrases before she fell asleep in his arms, feeling warm and small and protected. For Ana it was like coming home after a long journey. Owen was home to her now.

She lay listening to him talking to Baby Harry.

“Phew. You’re soaked.” When Harry began to fuss, Owen’s voice came again. “Be quiet, boy, you’ll wake her. C’mon, let’s get out of here and find you some dry britches.”

When Ana heard Owen’s footsteps going down the hall, she got out of bed. Surprised at the soreness between her thighs, she hurried to the other room, washed, dressed and pinned up her hair.

The memory of the night in Owens arms, sharing with him the intimacy of their bodies, answering his kisses and caresses, and talking quietly with him, brought a deep blush of pleasure to her cheeks. Incredibly, Owen Jamison, the
grouch
who had met her at Lansing, had become the joy of her life, the center of her being. Love for him had rooted itself firmly in her heart, and life was beautiful.

Ana tied a clean apron around her waist and went to the kitchen. When she reached the door, she halted in surprise. Harry lay on the kitchen table, emitting cooing, happy sounds, his arms and legs flailing in the air. Owen was struggling to fold a dry diaper in the correct shape. A soft expression of warmth and gentleness shone on his face when he looked up and saw Ana standing in the doorway.

“Did we wake you?”

Ana moved into the kitchen, leaned over the table and offered her lips for his kiss.

“How could I sleep when this is the happiest morning of my life?” she whispered as if there were ears other than the baby’s to overhear.

“Mine, too.”

He savored the warm eagerness of her mouth as it molded against his and sighed as her lips moved away. His mind reeled back to her shy but charming boldness of the night before. He could only marvel at the change she had brought to his life.

Ana straightened and smiled into his eyes. “Besides, today is washday.”

“I didn’t know that beautiful, loving angels washed clothes.” His eyes sparkled as he gave her a long, deliciously lecherous perusal that made her heart thud in a wild, frantic rhythm.

“They do, and they cook breakfast for their husbands, too.” Her ragged whisper came from smiling lips.

“Ana, I can’t believe we’re . . . truly man and wife.”

She chuckled softly, leaned forward and kissed his lips again. “When I start to nag, you’ll believe it.”

“Then nag, sweetheart, nag!”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he jumped back and looked down. “Hellfire! You . . . you little d-devil you!”

Ana glanced quickly at the infant lying on the table between them. Water, sprouting up from the baby’s stiff, little nubbin, was wetting the front of Owen’s shirt. The laughter that bubbled up was a whole chorus of joyful notes soon joined by Owen’s deeper tones.

“Harry, darling, it’s not your fault. Your papa should know better than to take off your diaper and put you on the eating table!”

Looking at her, Owen felt purged, cleansed of the ugliness he had lived with for so long. He felt as if this was the first day of his life. Ana’s smile, a smile of pure enchantment said,
Me, too.

“I didn’t know he was going to do
that.
”

“Of course, you didn’t. Let this be a lesson. When he has to go, he goes. And to be on the safe side, you keep this end covered up.”

“He’s like a fountain!” Owen grumbled holding his wet shirt out from his chest.

Ana picked up the cooing, happy baby. “Come to mama, darling. We’ll have to teach your papa a thing or two about taking care of you, won’t we?” It was the first time she had referred to herself in those terms. It came so naturally that she didn’t even notice. “Leave your shirt in the tub on the porch with the rest of the dirty clothes, Owen.”

Soren pulled open the screen door as Owen reached it. He stepped aside and Owen went out onto the porch.

“And a good morning to you, too, cousin,” Soren said cheerfully. “My, what happened to you? Did Ana have to cool you off with a dipper of water?”

“Say more, cousin, and you’ll be eating your breakfast with loose teeth.” The happy smile on Owen’s face was a contradiction to his words.

“The chores are done. Your mare and the filly are doing fine, so Pa says. He said to tell Ana that Catherine is going to be sausage very, very soon. Owen, that fool goat tried to walk across Pa’s buggy and went through the top.”

“That’s nothing to be mad about. Tell him we’ll make a tighter pen. How’s Foster?”

“Still sleeping it off. What’s the plan for the day?”

“I’m going over to talk to Jens after breakfast and after I draw washwater for Ana.”

“I’ll set up the boiling pot and fill it. Do you think Jens will let Lily and Hettie come?”

“I don’t know. If hitting him in the pocketbook won’t convince him, nothing will.”

“Good luck. I told Pa we’d better hold off working on the house until we find out how Jens feels about Esther coming here.”

“She’s coming here,” Owen announced firmly. “Jens will be glad to be rid of her. If he won’t let Lily and Hettie come take care of her, I’ll hire someone.”

Soren shrugged. “Sure you don’t want me to go with you?”

“You just want to go over there and devil Procter.” Owen grinned at his cousin’s scowl.

“Devil him? I want to lock horns with the bastard. Remember that big Swede in Saint Louis who thought he was king of the hill and I—”

“—I remember. You’d better stay here and keep an eye on Foster. Remember the time he came out of one of his drunken stupors and ran around the yard naked as a jaybird?”

“No. But I remember the time he got up on top of the barn and crowed like a rooster.”

O
wen
walked through the cornfield toward the Knutson farm, his boots sinking into the soft, black, fertile soil. Occasionally, he stooped to pull a pesky sunflower plant from between the evenly spaced knee-high shoots. It had been a good growing season; plenty of rain and sunshine. The field, already cultivated twice, would have to be hoed by hand as soon as the threshing was done. These thoughts floated only vaguely in the back of Owen’s mind.

In the forefront was the remembered ecstasy he had shared with Ana—Ana of the golden hair and eyes. Dear Lord, how was it possible that she loved a rough clod like him? He had told her what he had thought he could never tell another living soul—and she still wanted to be his wife. She had brought him through the boundary of common sense and made him realize that what his father and grandfather had done had not been his shame, but theirs. The ugliness and ambiguity were gone when he thought of them now. God help me, he prayed, not to disappoint her.

As he approached the farm, Owen forced his thoughts away from Ana and to the matter at hand. Jens and Procter were working to shore up the end of the chicken house that had been undermined by the streams of water that came down from the hill behind the farm during heavy downpours.

“Morning, Jens. Morning, Procter,” Owen said, wondering if he’d get a chance to speak to his brother-in-law alone.

“Ja,” Jens grunted and strained on the pole they were using as a lever to hoist up the corner of the building. Procter ignored him.

“Let me do that, Jens. Procter and I should be able to put enough weight on the pole to lift the corner for you to set a stump in place.”

Without waiting for an answer, Owen leaned his considerable weight on the pole and Jens moved to roll the block of wood under the building as soon as it was lifted high enough. Within fifteen minutes the work was done, and in all that time Procter hadn’t spoken a word to Owen but had given him a few mean glances.

“I need to talk to you, Jens.”

“Ja.”

Owen waited for Procter to move away, instead the man leaned against the chicken house and poked a straw in his mouth, his small eyes suddenly bright with interest.