Dorothy Garlock (9 page)

Ana placed the infant on the bed and took the cape from her trunk. After carefully untying the end, she pulled on the yarn, wrapping it first around two fingers, then rolling it into a ball.

The house was full of people again. They were laughing and talking. Ana understood that weddings and funerals were a time for families to get together. It had been the same in Dubuque. This group wouldn’t lack for something to eat, Ana thought drily, her own stomach rebelling against the thought of food. There was enough down there to feed an army.

Owen had introduced her to aunts and uncles and cousins on his mother’s side. Most of which, Ana was sure, hadn’t even met Harriet. Ana had paid little attention to any of them. Why were they here now? Why hadn’t they come when Harriet needed them?

Undoubtedly Esther was in her glory. Everyone conferred with her before they did anything. She was a tyrant who ruled the family with an iron hand. Her husband was old and spoke very little English. Of course Hettie needed supervision. But Lily, poor girl, was totally dominated by Esther.

Ana thought back to the night she arrived. Had it been only two days ago? Esther had threatened to leave and never come back if Owen used her mother’s sheets on Harriet’s bed. That hadn’t lasted long. She had been back the next morning acting as if she lived here, enjoying the attention as the neighbors came to call.

Of all the family Ana had met, Gus Halvorson was the most likeable. She had been surprised to learn that he was the brother of Owen’s mother and that he lived here with him. Had Esther, Hettie and Lily taken care of the women’s work here as well as in their own home before Harriet came? Harriet would have been capable of taking care of the house if Esther had allowed it. Had Owen allowed his sister to run roughshod over his wife?

No sound prepared her for Owen’s appearance in the doorway. She looked up and he was there. Their eyes caught and held before hers traveled down the length of him and saw that he wore no shoes. He was still dressed in his dark trousers, but his shirt was open at the neck. The high stiff collar was gone and his hair looked as if he had run his fingers through it. He looked tired.

“We’ve getting ready to sit down to supper.”

“I couldn’t eat a thing.”

“You ate hardly anything at noon.”

Ana shrugged and pulled on the yarn she was wrapping into a ball.

“What are you doing?” Owen took a few steps into the room, his eyes on the fluffy white bundle in Ana’s lap.

“I’m unraveling this cape so I can make booties, a cap and a cloak for Harry.”

“We can buy yarn. You needn’t destroy something you’ve put hours of work into.”

“It’s mine, Mr. Jamison. I don’t need your permission to unravel it.” Ana clenched her jaws to keep from crying.

“Suit yourself.” He looked about the stark room. Her towel was on the rack above the washstand, her shoes sat on the bare wooden floor beside her trunk. The windows were bare of curtains.

“Would you rather use the downstairs bedroom?”

“Whatever for? For the time I’m here, this room will do. I’ve never seen lovelier furniture than this.”

“I suppose you’ve seen plenty.”

“I have. I’ve worked in some of the finest homes in Dubuque.”

The baby awakened and began to cry. Ana put the shawl down on the end of the bed and picked him up. Making a cradle of her arms she clucked to him softly. He continued to cry.

“I’ll bring up the cradle,” Owen said.

“He’s hungry. It’s time for his bottle. I’ll have to fix it.”

“I can do it if you tell me how.”

Ana looked at Owen gratefully for she had dreaded going down to the kitchen.

“All right. The bottle is there on the bureau. Fill it with one third milk and two thirds water from the jar in the warming oven.”

“Is that all there is to it?”

“Be sure the bottle and nipple are clean. Is Mrs. Hanson still here?”

“Yes, she and Lars are staying for supper.”

“I’m sure she won’t mind fixing the bottle.”

“I can do it.”

When he added nothing to that stark reply, Ana turned her back. He picked up the bottle and went out.

^“
T
here’s
no reason for you to spend the night here, Esther.”

Owen sat at the kitchen table, one hand clutching his coffee cup, the other rubbing his thigh.

“It’s not proper for you to be here alone with that woman.”

“I don’t give a damn about what’s proper. Take Hettie and Lily and go on home while it’s still light.”

“She don’t want to go off and leave you with that fast, city woman.” Hettie wiped the dishpan with a rag and hung it on the side of the cupboard.

“Hush up!” Esther said sharply. “Go on out and get in the buggy. Lily, leave the eggs here until morning. Tomorrow we’ll put them in the cellar and bring out the older ones.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Esther’s ’fraid you’ll get in bed with that blond hussy and get a baby on her like you did Harriet.” Hettie came to the table and leaned against Owen’s shoulder.

“Christ Almighty,” Owen muttered and looked down into his cup.

“We didn’t have to use a single egg,” Esther said, ignoring Hettie. “That shows you how we stand with our neighbors. Everything was brought in, including eggs, coffee, sugar—What are you waiting for, Hettie?”

“Owen ain’t married no more. He could marry me and Lily. We could live here with him.”

“Lily, take her out to the buggy,” Esther said impatiently.

“Come on, Mama.”

“I’ll swan to goodness,” Esther said when she was alone with her brother. “There are days when she drives me wild. Now, Owen, it isn’t fitting for you and Uncle Gus to be here alone with that woman.”

“
That
woman’s name is Mrs. Fairfax. She’s my mother-in-law for Christ’s sake!”

“What in the world has gotten into you? You never used to swear.”

“Yes, I did. I just didn’t do it in front of you.”

“Well! I declare.” Esther folded her arms across her flat chest and glared at him.

Owen raised the cup to his mouth and took a big gulp, almost scalding his tongue. “Don’t push me, Esther. I have a splitting headache. Go on home and take some of that food with you. It’ll spoil before we use it up.”

“Oh! The whole family has been in a hubbub since you married that—”

“Enough!” Owen slammed his hand down on the table. “Go on home. I’m tired and want to get to bed. I’m behind with my work. Tomorrow I’ve got to harrow that field behind the barn.”

“Why didn’t you have Uncle Gus do that? Land sakes, Jens has our field planted. Gus don’t do enough around here to earn his eats.”

“Don’t tell me how to farm.”

“You lost two days work going to Lansing to get that woman. I suppose you’ll lose two more days taking her back. As far as I’m concerned—the sooner
she
leaves the better.”

“Drop it. I have enough on my mind without butting heads with you.”

Esther was undaunted by her brother’s angry scowl.

“Don’t worry about the baby. With my help, Lily will make a good mother.”

“I’m not going to marry Lily. Good Lord! Can’t you get that through your head?”

“Why not? You married that . . . girl, and she was but sixteen. Lily’s almost eighteen.”

“Leave it be and go on home.”

“If Paul hadn’t run off—”

“He didn’t want to marry Lily, either. He has a right to decide for himself what he wants to do with his life.”

“Then who is going to marry a girl who was born out of wedlock to a mother like Hettie?”

“If you’d stop bringing it up that she was born out of wedlock, people would forget it. If you’d give her some freedom, she might meet someone.” Owen’s hand went to his thigh and massaged the sore muscles.

“The neighbors know anyway.”

“I am tired, I don’t want to talk about Lily, Hettie, or Mrs. Fairfax.”

“All right, I’ll go. When is she leaving?”

“I haven’t asked her.”

“I’ll be back in the morning.”

“You needn’t bother. I’ll be in the fields at first light.”

“All the more reason for me to be here.”

“Do you think she’s going to steal something?”

“You can never tell about women like
her.
”

“Thank you for what you’ve done.”

Esther sniffed. “What’s a sister for if not to pitch in in times of need.” She covered her shoulders with a shawl and picked up a basket. At the door she paused and looked back. “After Mama died, I was all that stood between you and Papa when he got in one of his mean moods. Do you remember that, Owen?”

“I remember.”

“I’ve always wanted what was best for you. You’re very dear to me, Owen.”

“I know that,” he said gently.

“We’ll take care of the boy—Lily and I.”

“Goodnight, Esther.”

The house was as quiet as a tomb after Esther left. For a man who liked peace and quiet, the last few days had been a nightmare for Owen. He leaned back in his chair, his arms raised, his hands laced together behind his head. He was twenty-nine years old and had lived half his life. Would he spend the last half alone? At times he longed for the companionship of a sweet, soft woman; one who would be waiting for him when he came in from the fields. He wanted to hold her at night and talk about the events of the day, plan with her, work for her, cherish her.

The lass he had married was but a child—the poor little thing. She had given him the boy, a tiny little human being to love and who, he hoped, would love him in return. Little Harry might have a yen to see the world and would turn away from the farm as Paul had done. Maybe someday he’d go to the university. Maybe he’d take to the river boats. Maybe—

Owen didn’t understand why his thoughts had taken that direction. The immediate problem was how to care for the boy now, not what he’d do twenty years from now. The child needed a mother. It wouldn’t be hard to find a woman to take care of him, but if he wanted a mother for the boy and a wife for himself he didn’t have much to choose from. Half the women between here and Lansing were related to him; the other half married or older widows.

Esther had pushed Lily at him for the past two or three years. It was one of the reasons he had married Harriet. Esther just couldn’t understand why he refused to court Lily, and he was determined not to tell her.

A heavy step on the porch broke into Owen’s thoughts.

“What ya sittin’ in the dark for?” Gus’s voice boomed in the quiet as he came into the kitchen. “Looky here who’s come.”

Owen squinted at the tall man following his uncle, then got up from the chair.

“Soren? Soren, you ornery cuss!” Owen held out his hand. “I’ll be damned. I didn’t expect you until time to cut the winter wheat.”

“Howdy, cousin.” The tall man clasped Owen’s hand. “I guess I got homesick.”

“Mighty glad to see you. Mighty glad.” Owen continued to pump Soren’s hand, his stern features softened by the broad smile on his face.

“Pa’s been telling me you got yourself a wife and lost her since I was here last. Sorry to hear it.”

“Thanks, Soren.” Owen lit the lamp. He turned to look at his cousin, then clapped him on the shoulder affectionately.

Soren had the blue eyes and the blond hair of his Swedish mother. Two years younger than Owen, he had grown up with him, and the two had left home together to see what was down the big river. One Christmas, Owen came home for a visit. While he was here, his father was gored by a bull. Owen’s thigh was pierced by a horn as he tried to rescue him. The elder Jamison died, and it took the rest of the winter for Owen to recover. He stayed to work the farm and Soren had continued to roam, coming home once a year at harvest time to help Owen and to see his father.

“Welcome home.” A broad smile washed the gloom from Owen’s face. “Are you hungry, Soren? There’s plenty here.”

“Pa told me the neighbors had dragged in something to eat. I’d sure like to have a go at it.”

Owen laughed and glanced at his uncle. Gus stood with his hands in the bib of his overalls watching his son and his nephew greet each other. They were both fine men and he was proud of them.

A broom-maker by trade, Gus had moved out to the farm when Owen took it over. He lived in the small log house Owen’s father and grandfather had built when they settled here in 1840. He had a patch where he grew his broom corn and a shed Owen had built for him to dry his crop. Twice a year he took a wagonload of brooms to Lansing. A merchant there resold them to the merchants down river.

“I saw one of your brooms in New Orleans, Pa,” Soren said. “The name Halverson burned in the handle just jumped right out and grabbed my attention.”

“’Twas more than likely the pretty lass sweepin’ with it that caught your eye,” Gus snorted.

Soren laughed. “It was standing in the corner of the toughest saloon on the river front.”

“Humph!” Gus turned his back to hide his smile, took a plate from the kitchen cabinet and began to fill it for his son.

“How’s all the folks, Owen?”

“Folks are fine. Most of them came today.”

“Heard anything from Paul?”

“Not for a while. Paul always hated the farm.”