Dorothy Garlock (42 page)

“I’ve missed you. I haven’t been alone with you all day.” He closed his eyes and brushed her lips with his.

“It will be over soon.”

“There’s a lot to be done, sweetheart. Someone will have to take over the running of the farm for Lily and Hettie.”

“Soren said Foster is staying over there. Will he be all right?”

“Do you mean will he get drunk and burn the place down? I don’t know. He feels bad that he couldn’t have prevented what happened. He seems to have gotten a grip on himself for now. I don’t know how long it’ll last.”

“Owen, sweetheart—Lily knows that she’s your sister. You should talk to her about it.”

“How did she find out?”

“From little things her mother has said over the years. Hettie was terribly scared of your father for one thing. She would hide when he came to the farm. That isn’t like Hettie. She’s usually so friendly.”

“The low-down bastard!” Owen glanced at his sister’s still face and a moistness came to his eyes that he quickly batted away.

“He’s gone, and not worth remembering.” Ana framed his face with her hands and turned it toward her. “We’ve got to look ahead, not back.”

“Lily and Hettie can’t stay at the farm alone. Every unmarried man in the county would come to call—thinking to get his hands on the farm.”

“What do you think about them living in the old house? They could have their own chickens and garden spot. Hettie is good with Baby Harry. If they were near, Lily and I could help her to become more responsible.”

“You wouldn’t mind?”

“Heavens no! We can offer it to them. But they must decide what they want to do. Could you hire someone to work the farm? Maybe Soren—”

He stopped her words with little, pecking kisses. “Sweetheart, Soren isn’t ready to settle down.”

“It would be nice if he and Lily fell in love.”

This time when he kissed her it was deeply, holding her tightly, almost desperately. When he lifted his head, hers fell back and he kissed the pulse in her throat.

“I love you.” he whispered hoarsely. “Don’t ever leave me—”

“Nothing could make me do that . . . ever.”

*   *   *

Scandinavian dishes such as sandbakkelse, lefse, krausekake and krumkake, as well as hams, cakes, cobblers and a variety of salads filled the tables. Families came from miles around with covered dishes and solemn faces. The women who took over the kitchen began serving dinner an hour before noon because there were so many guests to feed. After everyone had a turn at the table they stood, clasped hands, and a prayer was said. When the meal was over, Reverend Larson held a short service in the parlor. The lids were nailed to the coffins, and they were loaded onto the wagon that would take them to the church cemetery. The mourners followed in their buggies and wagons.

Once again Ana stood beside Owen while the congregation sang, “Shall We Gather At The River.” This time she held onto his arm. Lily and Hettie stood beside them. Lily cried softly. Tears rolled down Hettie’s cheeks, but she made no sound.

Ana took Baby Harry from Mrs. Larson’s arms when the service ended and the handshaking was over. Owen helped her into the buggy and they drove away from the crowd in front of the church. Uncle Gus, driving the Knutson buggy with Lily and Hettie, and Soren on horseback, followed them back to the farm. Ana sat close to Owen and once out of town, placed her hand on his thigh. He covered her hand with his and gripped it tightly. Lines of fatigue etched his eyes and mouth.

“Ana, would you think it terrible of me if I say that I’m not grieving for Esther?” Torment clouded his eyes.

“No. I think I understand. Had her life gone on, she would have been merely existing.”

“She was proud. She lived in constant fear people would find out about her and Pa. And she was scared Jens would tell people that she was with child when they married. It would have crushed her to have the neighbors know. They would have found out soon that she was out of her mind. And you know how folks are about someone like that. They would have shunned her.”

“She was well thought of. You could tell by the crowd of people at the service.”

“That’s what I mean. She would have been proud of the number of people who came and had something good to say about her. Perhaps later, she would have been just crazy old Esther.”

“Owen, you’re a very thoughtful man. I’m glad you belong to me.”

“Not as glad as I am, love.”

It was late afternoon when they arrived back at the house. The weather was hot and humid without a whisper of a breeze. Ana thought longingly of the big crock of lemonade they had made that morning and hoped that some of it was left. She had covered the crock with a quilt to keep the ice from melting so fast. Owen pulled the horse to a stop near the back porch. As he was helping Ana down, the screen door was flung open and a man came out onto the porch.

“Hey, Owen. What’s going on?”

Ana looked at Owen. There was no welcoming smile on his face. She looked back at the man who looked strangely familiar. He stepped off the porch and sauntered toward them. He was of medium build, had beautiful brown, wavy hair, a waxed mustache, and a smile that spread charm all over his face.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” His eyes were blue, but not as blue as Owen’s. His clothes were well cut and his shiny black boots were made of fine leather. He smiled at Ana, looked down at the sleeping child in her arms and grinned a lopsided grin at Owen. “What’ve you been up to while I’ve been—”

He never finished what he was saying. Owen’s fist lashed out. Before the young man could draw a breath he was flat on his back in the dirt. He lay there holding his jaw.

“Goddammit! Why’d you do that?”

“Get up,” Owen snarled.

“Owen?” Ana gasped.

The man got slowly to his feet. With his eyes on Owen, he haphazardly wiped the dirt from his clothes.

“Fine welcome,” he muttered, and glanced at the buggy coming up the lane. “What the hell is going on?”

“I’ll talk to you in the barn.” Owen took Ana’s arm. “After I take my wife and my son to the house. Ana, I’m sorry to say that this is my brother, Paul.”

Paul.
Ana stared at him. This was Harriet’s laughing, dancing man. The one who had taken her innocence and then so cruelly deserted her.

“Well what do you know?” Paul’s smile returned and was charming. “I bet Esther blew a cork when you brought home a wife.”

“We just buried Esther,” Owen said bluntly, coldly. With his hand cupped to Ana’s elbow he urged her up the path to the porch.

“Buried Esther? Oh, my God!” Paul grabbed his arm. “Owen, for God’s sake, what happened?”

Owen jerked his arm free of his brother’s hand and battled the storm of anger that pounded inside him threatening to accelerate out of control.

“Wait for me in the barn. I’ve things to say to you I don’t wish to say in front of my wife.”

Ana glanced up at Owen’s face and what she saw there was frightening. His eyes were pinched, his jaws clenched, his mouth as hard as stone. Yet the hand beneath her elbow was gentle. He ushered her through the house to their bedroom. A chill of dread settled on Ana. That irresponsible, charming
boy
was the one who had seduced Harriet and caused her death.

While she changed the baby’s napkin and settled him in the cradle, she could hear Owen in the other room changing his clothes. A thought struck her and she hurried to the doorway.

“Owen, don’t tell him,” she said anxiously.

“Don’t tell him what?” He pulled the wide suspenders up over his shoulders and buttoned them to the front of his britches.

“Don’t tell him about Harry.”

“He’ll not take him away from you. He’ll have to kill me first.”

“Why does he have to know?”

“Because he has the right to know why I’m going to beat the daylights out of him. Besides that, he should know because, rotten as he is, Harriet loved him.” He came to Ana and put his arms around her. “When Harriet lay dying she asked me to tell him that she loved him. I’ll tell him . . . after I give him a thrashing for what he did to her.”

“Oh, no! Owen, please. What good will that do?”

“It will make me feel better.”

He went through the hallway to the kitchen and out the back door. Ana followed him to the porch and watched him go to the barn where Soren and Uncle Gus stood talking with Paul.

“Why’d Owen hit Paul, Ana?” Hettie asked. “Why’d he tell me and Lily to come to the house?”

“He knew that I needed you and Lily to help me with all the food that was left. It’ll soon be supper time. We’ll put aside everything that will keep until later. Tonight we’d better have the chicken and dumplings and sage dressing.”

Ana followed Lily and Hettie into the kitchen and began removing the clean dishtowels that covered the bowls of food on the table, but her mind was on what was going on out by the barn.

*   *   *

Uncle Gus and Soren had been pulling into the yard when they saw Owen hit his brother. Their curiosity was aroused farther when Paul indicated that he was puzzled by Owen’s actions too.

As he approached, Owen’s eyes were on his brother. He eyed Paul’s polished boots, the fine, vested suit and the gold watch chain stretched across his chest.

“Uncle Gus said Esther fell off a wagon and broke her neck. God, I hate that. Esther was meaner than hell sometimes, but she was my sister.” Paul’s voice was not quite steady.

“Excuse us,” Owen said to his uncle and cousin. “I have some private words for this . . . young dandy who’s been out sowing his wild oats.”

“What’s got you in such a snit?” Paul demanded angrily, a dull flush staining his cheekbones.

“In here.” Owen opened the barn door.

“What’s this all about?” Paul took a step back.

“You’ll find out. Now get in here!”

“Have you gone crazy?”

The word lashed Owen like a whip. Crazy! Was the whole damn family crazy? He grabbed Paul by the shoulder, shoved him inside the barn, and slammed the door shut.

“What’s this all about?” Paul said again.

“It’s about a girl from Dubuque named Harriet Fairfax.”

“Harriet Fairfax? What’s she got to do with anything. She was just—”

Owen hit him. Paul staggered back down the aisle between the stalls and sat down hard on the packed ground.

“Goddammit! What’s got into you? Are you out of your mind?” Paul dabbed at his split lip with the back of his hand.

“Harriet was an innocent little girl. You ruined her, damn you!” Owen stared into his brother’s face, an emotion akin to hatred stirring in the pit of his belly.

“Hell! She was willing. I’ve never forced a woman.”

“Not physically. You seduced that girl. She was willing to let you have your way with her because you promised to marry her and bring her here to the farm to live. She fell in love with you.”

“Well, so what!” Paul got to his feet. “A lot of women have fallen in love with me. I’m a charming fellow.”

Owen drew back his fist. “Let’s see how charming you are with your nose spread all over your face.” This time the blow put Paul flat on his back. Blood spurted from his broken nose and ran down on his fancy vest. “Get up, you sorry excuse for a man. You made that girl pregnant and ran off and left her.”

Paul lay on the ground holding a handkerchief to his nose. Finally he sat up. His eyes, gleaming with defiance, reminded Owen of their father the last time he saw him.

“You’re wondering how I found out,” Owen snarled. “She came here looking for you.”

“Shit! I knew I shouldn’t’ve told her where I was from.”

“The baby you saw in my wife’s arms is the result of what you did to that girl.” Owen’s fists clenched.

“I suppose you think I should marry the little twit.”

“Say one more thing about her and I’ll stomp you into the ground.”

“Well, goddammit, Owen, how was I to know she’d catch the first time?” Paul sat in the dirt and dabbed at the blood running from his nose. “You broke my nose and ruined my suit!”

“I should break off that whacker you’re so proud of, so you’ll not ruin another young girl.”

“Ruin? Shit! Why didn’t she find some sucker to marry her?”

“She did. Me.”

“You? Good God! No wonder you’re pissed. But . . . but you said the blond was your wife. Where’s Harriet?”

“In the cemetery at White Oak.” Owen saw shock replace the sneer on his brother’s face.

“Christamighty!” Paul opened his mouth to say something more, then closed it.

“She died giving birth to your child, but before she did, she asked me to tell you that she loved you. Doesn’t that make you feel proud of yourself?”

“Believe me, Owen, I’m sorry about Harriet. But, shitfire, she followed me around asking for it.” Paul started to get to his feet, but thought better of it and sank back down. “So the kid’s mine. Hell, I’d like to see what he looks like.”

“He’s
my
son. Harriet was
my
wife when he was born. There’s no way in hell you can legally claim him.”

“I don’t want to
claim
him. I just want to see him.”

“You go near him, or mention that you even knew Harriet, and I’ll break both your legs.”

“It didn’t take you long to get another woman in your bed. This one’s a hell of a lot better looking than Harriet.”

Shocked by his brother’s callous attitude, Owen gazed at him in silence.

“You’re just like Pa. All your brains are in that thing between your legs.”

“What about you . . . brother?” Paul snapped angrily. “I guess you think you’re
not
like him? The only difference is that you do with your fists what he did with the buggy whip.”

“Shut your mouth, damn you!”

“I’ll not shut up! You’re as much of a bully as Pa. You’re following in the old man’s footsteps. He got his up by beating women and kids . . . all in the name of righteousness, of course.”

“You should be horse-whipped for what you did to that girl.”

“I don’t suppose you’ve ever diddled around.”

“Shut up,” Owen thundered.

“I’m guilty of plowing a willing woman, but I’ve never beat someone smaller than myself. You’re a hell of a lot more like that old bastard than I am . . . damn his rotten soul to hell.”