Dorothy Garlock (43 page)

Owen looked down at his brother for a long while and a chill replaced the heat of his anger. He remembered himself, a boy of fifteen, lying in the same place where Paul lay, looking up at the man towering over him and despising him, wishing he was big enough, and strong enough, to fight back. Self-loathing washed over him, mingled with a sharp tang of regret for what he had done, and regret for what his brother had become.

God help him! He had
wanted
to hurt him.

“You can stay the night—in the old house,” Owen said tiredly. ‘I want you gone from here in the morning.”

“I wish to hell I’d never come back.”

“So do I.”

“Nothing has changed here. It never will.”

“It’s changed. So have you. Good-bye, Paul.”

Owen shoved open the barn door and went out. He walked past Soren who was filling the water tanks for the hogs and on to the shed where he worked on his furniture. He was trembling so much that he needed to sit down. In the quiet of the shed, he sat with head bowed. The fists that hung between his knees were streaked with his brother’s blood.

*   *   *

When Uncle Gus came in with the evening milk, Lily took the buckets from his hands. Ana followed him to the back porch.

“What’s going on, Uncle Gus?”

“I ain’t sure, lass. Owen worked young Paul over with his fists.” He shook his gray head. “It plumb bamboozles me. If it’d been Soren, I’d not be surprised, but Owen—. I’ve never seen Owen like that. He always thought a heap of Paul.”

“Where is he?”

“Paul? Soren took him to the old house to try’n patch up his busted nose.”

“And Owen?”

“He’s in his work shed. Just a sittin’ in there.”

“Did . . . Paul say anything?”

“He said Owen was mad about something that happened a long time ago. Somethin’ not worth talkin’ about.”

Something not worth talking about.
A slow, hot anger flowed over Ana, bringing a flush to her face. She forced herself to breathe evenly and not to let Uncle Gus see how much the careless words upset her.

“Supper’s on when you want it.”

“If it’ll hold for a bit, lass, I’ll mosey on down ’n’ see if’n I can help Soren with Paul.”

Ana watched the old man head for the house in the grove, then went back into the kitchen.

“Hettie, will you keep an eye on Baby Harry and give him his bottle when he wakes up?”

“I will. I’ll take care of him real good. Are you going somewhere, Ana?”

“I’m going out to tell Owen that supper is ready.”

“Why’d Owen hurt Paul?” The ends of Hettie’s lips sagged. “Owen never hurts anybody.”

“I’m sure Owen thought he had good reason. If you and Lily will take care of things in here, I’ll go out and talk to him.”

“When you come back, Ana, I’ll take some supper over to Foster,” Lily said, as she poured a bucket of milk through the strainer and into the crock to take to the cellar.

Worried about Owen, Ana hurried out to the shed. She found him sitting on a box beside his workbench. She closed the door. Without speaking she put her arms around him and pulled his head to her breasts. He drew her between his spread thighs and down onto his lap, holding her, breathing in the scent that was only hers, crushing her to him as though to draw from her strength.

Ana held him quietly. Her love for him was as deep as the sea. She rested her cheek on his head and waited.

“Ana . . . Ana—” He lifted his face, lined with soul-deep anguish. “I wanted to hurt him. Then I saw myself as he must be seeing me—standing over him with clenched fists—just like Pa used to do.”

“Don’t compare yourself with
him
! You’re nothing like him.”

“I realized that, sweetheart, as I sat here. Pa wouldn’t have cared how many girls Paul ruined. He would have thought it the mark of a man.”

Ana felt relief, mingled with a sharp tang of pain for his anguish.

“Did you tell him about Harry?”

“Yes. Then I told him that Harry was our son. He’ll never try to claim the boy. It isn’t in his plan to be tied down.”

“Will . . . he be staying?”

“He’ll be gone in the morning.”

“Owen, I’m sorry, truly sorry you broke with your brother.”

“So am I. I had hoped that there would be an excuse for what he did, a reason for deserting Harriet. But there wasn’t. He never intended to marry her.”

“Sometimes out of disaster a miracle occurs. It happened when your father took advantage of Hettie. Lily is Hettie’s miracle. I lost Harriet, and you are mine.”

“No, sweet woman. You are mine.”

“We have more to do than sit here arguing about that,” Ana said with a sassy grin. “In case you’ve forgotten, we have a son to raise, a farm to run, and we’ve got to decide what’s best to do for Hettie and Lily.”

“All of that? I don’t suppose we have time for a few kisses.”

“We’ll take time.”

His mouth was tender on hers, almost reverent, giving, yet taking. The soft utterance that came from her throat was a purr of pure pleasure. Slowly, deliberately, his mouth covered hers, pressing gently at first. She automatically parted her lips in invitation. The touch of his tongue at the corner of her mouth was persuasive rather than demanding. Caught in the throes of desire, she pressed herself against him, her arms winding around him with surprising strength.

The fervor of her passion excited him, forcing him to use utmost restraint. Resisting the pressure of her arms, he lifted his head to look at her. Her breath was cool on his lips made wet by her kiss.

“Whoa, sweetheart. I’ve got a feeling I shouldn’t have done that,” he confessed in a raspy whisper. “It’ll be a while before I can go in the house without embarrassing the hell out of myself.”

“You can wear my apron.” Ana giggled happily and slipped off his lap.

They stood with their arms around each other. He turned his lips to her forehead. “I don’t feel lonely inside anymore,” he whispered.

“I don’t either. Kiss me once more before we go in.”

Christmas 1885

The sleighbells jingled merrily as the horse trotted toward home. Snuggled close to Owen and covered with a fur robe, Ana found it hard to believe that the temperature was twenty degrees below zero. The sun was bright, the air still. The sleigh pulled by two prancing, steaming horses glided noiselessly over the fresh snow. Ana’s laughter rang out when a brightly colored cardinal flew out of a tree beside the road and crossed in front of them, and she flashed her husband a happy smile. Peace existed for him in this sweet woman. He had watched her with loving eyes as she shopped this last time before Christmas.

The store in White Oak had taken on a delightful new appearance since their last visit. Boxes, barrels, and sacks obstructed the passageways, and overflowed onto the shelves and counters. Crates of oranges were opened and leaned end-up against barrels holding nuts, fresh oysters and pickled fish. Boxes of candy vied for space with sugar and coffee. The counter was lined with a variety of firecrackers, torpedoes and Roman candles. Ana pointedly looked the other way when Owen had Hershel put some of each in a sack and he slipped it into his pocket.

Christmas in rural Iowa was a time for feasting and visiting with friends. The harvest was over, the cellars were full of food, the barns filled with enough hay and grain to last until spring. The week before Christmas, Ana and Owen had gone to the Christmas program at the church, and to a Christmas dance held in Oscar Hansen’s new barn.

Owen and Ana were disappointed when, after the harvest, Foster left to go back to his haunts along the river. He had gained weight and put on muscle during the summer and had promised to return in the spring. Owen fervently hoped peace and contentment such as he had found would come to Foster.

A distant cousin of Owen’s, Byron Jamison, had taken over running the Knutson farm after Foster left. Sophia Hendricks, a widow from Lansing, had moved into the house with Lily and Hettie to keep down talk in the community. As soon as it was discovered that Jens Knutson died a rich man, callers by the dozens had come to pay their respects to both daughter and granddaughter. Mrs. Hendricks was as protective of them as a mother hen with two chicks and had sent more than one ambitious suitor down the road with a warning not to come back.

Hettie had new pride. Lily had patiently taught her to write her name and to read a little. Ana had taught her to knit and to make rugs on a loom. Mrs. Hendricks mothered both Hettie and Lily and they had never been happier.

Lily was shocked, as they all had been, when Soren had departed with Paul the day after Esther’s funeral. He had explained to Owen that matters between him and Lily had become too serious and he had to put some distance between them so that he could sort out his feelings. Ana wanted to shake Soren for leaving Lily without a single private word. The young girl had been broken-hearted for weeks, then gradually the sad look had left her eyes, and she began to take an interest in her new life without her grandpa and Esther.

Owen stopped the sleigh beside the back porch and helped Ana carry the packages from the store into the house. While outside the fields glistened with snow and ice, inside, blazing fires gave the home a warm, hospitable glow. The sight and smell of Christmas was everywhere. The aroma of freshly made cakes, pies and candies filled the house. Handmade decorations added a touch of color in every room. A tree, adorned with red ribbon bows, strings of popcorn, and candles for lighting Christmas morning stood in the parlor.

Uncle Gus sat in the rocker with Harry on his lap. Both he and Hettie spoiled the child outrageously. The baby looked more like Owen each day, a fact that pleased Owen no end. Only Ana, Owen and Paul knew the truth about the baby’s parentage.

When Owen came in after putting the horse away, he picked up the boy and held him high over his head.

“Owen, your hands are cold,” Ana scolded.

“You don’t mind, do you, son?” Owen flung the child up and down a few times. Harry went into spasms of laughter. Suddenly the baby belched and began to hiccup. “Oh, shoot! You little devil! You puked on me. Here, go to your mama.”

“Serves you right for throwing him around like that. You’re teething, aren’t you, sweetheart?” Ana took the baby, wiped his mouth and cuddled him. The infant spit, cooed and smiled. “Your papa’s got so much Christmas spirit, he can’t settle down.” Her eyes, soft with twinkling lights, rested lovingly on her husband’s face. “You men had better get out of the kitchen or I’ll put you to work.” Ana sat the baby in the highchair and buckled the strap to hold him in.

“We have a turkey and a goose to pick, Uncle Gus,” Owen said and put on his old work coat. “We’d better go or she’ll have us rolling pie crust.”

“There’s no rest ’round here atall,” Uncle Gus grumbled, pulling himself up out of the chair. “This Christmas thing is gettin’ outta hand.”

“Hush your fussing, Uncle Gus. Tonight you and Owen can pick out nutmeats and . . . pull taffy.”

“Pull taffy!” Both men spoke in unison.

“Lordy mercy.” Uncle Gus looked as if he were headed for the hanging tree, but his eyes were full of affection when they looked at Ana.

“That’s bullfoot, huh, Uncle Gus,” Owen muttered while ushering his uncle out the door.

Ana had caught the look Owen had given her. Their eyes had met, as they did many times during the day. He did not have to touch her, or hold her in his arms for her to know that she was wrapped in his love.

*   *   *

“It’s snowing.”

“It always snows on Christmas morning.”

Owen came up behind Ana, pulled her back against him, and nestled his face in the curve of her neck. His nose tickled; she giggled and dropped the window curtain.

“Merry Christmas.”

“You already said that—this morning—when I—”

“—When you told me about my Christmas present,” he finished for her.

“It’ll be a Fourth of July present. I shouldn’t have told you until after the holidays. You haven’t stopped grinning.”

“When can I open my
other
present? The one you’ve been working on behind my back.” His hand on her lower belly stretched from hipbone to hipbone and he caressed it lovingly.

“Owen Jamison, you’ve been snooping in my knitting bag! Well, you’ll not see it until Lily and Hettie get here.” She turned in his arms and put hers around his neck.

“If you’re going to be mean to me, I’ll not let you open your other present.” He took a package out of his pocket and stuck it in the branches of the Christmas tree.

“Oh, what is it?” She made to snatch it and he caught her hand. “You know I hate surprises.”

“You don’t. You love surprises.”

“Somebody better get in here. Harry’s playin’ in the punkin pie,” Uncle Gus called.

Ana pulled herself out of Owen’s arms and hurried to the kitchen.

“Uncle Gus! You’re a tease,” she accused when she saw that Harry was in the highchair sucking on a stick of candy. “Now I know where Soren got his devilish streak.” She opened the oven and peeked at the huge turkey in the roasting pan. “Lift it out for me, Owen. I want to dip off grease for gravy. Oh, I wish Soren was here. Remember how he loved stuffing?”