Heartland Courtship (16 page)

“Exactly.” The woman managed to add some starch to her voice. “I don’t want her left with nothing again and when I may not be here to help guide her.” The woman’s face puckered but she kept control, brushing away a stray teardrop.

Rachel was moved. “I think the Ashfords would do their best for her.”

“Yes, but they have a daughter of their own to marry off and grandchildren in other states. They’ve been very kind to us. But this town isn’t filled with eligible young men as I had hoped.”

Rachel considered the situation. And insight came. “If I may, I’d like to point out that there is no reason Mr. Comstock couldn’t stake a homestead claim. Why can’t a blacksmith own land, too?”

The older woman glanced at her sharply. “Would he have time to prove up? That man works sunup to sundown six days a week as it is.”

Rachel considered. “I have staked a homestead claim and I could not do the work myself to prove up. Mr. Merriday has refurbished my cabin and built a small, snug barn and cleared some more land for me. My claim is nearly proved up.”

Rachel experienced a hitch of pain in her breath. The boy had complicated matters but she had no doubt Brennan would go soon. “Perhaps Mr. Merriday would help Mr. Comstock, as well.”
And stay longer in town?

The woman looked Rachel full in the face. “An excellent suggestion. Do you think Mr. Comstock would stake a claim?”

“I think so.” Rachel lowered her eyes. “He seems very taken with thy granddaughter and I have no doubt he would make an excellent husband to her. He’s lived here several years and I’ve heard nothing but good of him.”

And suddenly Rachel envied Posey Brown. She might be able to marry the man she had become attracted to.
I will not.

* * *

The day went by with the usual chores but her tension over Brennan and Jacque mounted. Why didn’t Mr. Merriday tell her what had happened between them? And when should she show him Posey’s letter from her father?

Finally, the day neared its close. Jacque ran off to “swim” in the creek, leaving Rachel and Brennan sitting in the shade on the bench outside her door.

She decided directness was her only hope. “Jacque changed yesterday toward you. What did you say or do—”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

She heard more than his words. She heard the lingering pain from the war. Twice now she’d tended to Mr. Merriday’s physical injuries. How she longed to minister to his unseen wounds.

“I’m sorry,” he said with regret. “I said that more sharp than I meant to.”

She nodded, accepting his apology.

“And I should just go ahead and tell you,” Brennan admitted. “I’m so used to hiding my past. But you deserve to know.”

Rachel was afraid to even nod.
Lord, give me wisdom and understanding.

“I told Jacque that going to a slave auction when I was near his age turned me against slavery.”

“I heard an account of one from a runaway slave,” she murmured solemnly. The account had horrified her.

“Then I don’t got to spell it out for you. When Lincoln was elected and Mississippi seceded, all my neighbors formed a militia unit. I wouldn’t join. I had kept my feelings to myself till then. But I told them I couldn’t fight for slavery or for secession.”

She heard more than the words; she heard the enormity of the day when he’d had to stand against his neighbors.

“The only thing that saved my life was jumping in the Mississippi and swimming away.”

A simple sentence and so much more behind it.

“Thee has suffered much. Why did thee hide the truth from people here? From me?”

He shook his head as if warning away a deerfly. “I get back bad memories—sometimes nightmares and sometimes in daylight even. Talking about it stirs them up I think. Besides, it wasn’t anybody’s business.”

She heard what each of these words cost him. So she’d been right. He did have spells like other soldiers she’d met. “Thank thee for telling me.”

“I want to ask you a favor, Miss Rachel.”

Not another one.
It seemed like everyone wanted a favor from her. She waited, saying, encouraging nothing.

“I can’t stay here. I’m getting restless again...like before I hurt my wrist. Jacque would be better off with you. I’m not fit to raise a boy.”

Caught by surprise, she felt her spine tighten as if touched by ice. “Mr. Merriday—” she began.

And then the blacksmith walked into her clearing. “Good evening!”

Rachel leaned back against the log wall, disgruntled at the interruption. “Good evening, Mr. Comstock,” she said with a sigh. “Why doesn’t thee pull the rocking chair out here and be comfortable?”

The man evidently took this as a good sign because he beamed at her. Within moments, he had intimidated Brennan into taking the rocker for his rib’s sake and was sitting beside her.

“I did speak to Posey’s grandmother today,” she said.

Turning sideways, Levi looked intently into her face.

“We discussed her objection to Posey marrying a blacksmith—”

“She doesn’t like my trade?” Levi asked, looking startled. “Why?”

“She doesn’t object to thy trade, merely that thee doesn’t own land. She does not want Posey in the future to be left with nothing but a forge—if anything would happen to thee.”

The blacksmith seemed to take this as a blow. “That’s why she won’t let me court Posey?” He sounded mystified.

Rachel touched his sleeve. “Thee must take this in context.”

“What do you mean?”

“Because of the war, Mrs. Brown has witnessed her granddaughter lose everything her father had worked to provide for the security of his family. She doesn’t want Posey to find herself unprovided for again.”

The big man chewed the inside of his cheek and pondered this.

“I made a suggestion to Mrs. Brown,” Rachel continued. “I told her that thee could claim a homestead here if that’s what she required.”

Levi turned sharply to her. “What did she say?”

“She said that was a good idea. She said everyone vouches for thy sound character. It’s just a matter of owning land.”

“I intended to stake a claim,” Levi said with audible relief, “just haven’t gotten around to it. And I’d have five years to prove up.”

“I suggested to Mrs. Brown that Brennan helped me prove up my claim.” Realizing that she had used Brennan’s given name, abashed, Rachel did not look in Brennan’s direction. “And perhaps he might be persuaded to help thee raise a cabin before winter. And begin cutting winter wood.” She looked at him then.

Mr. Merriday glared at her.

Levi swung to him. “I know you’re healing, but it wouldn’t take us long to put up a snug cabin before fall even.”

* * *

Brennan did not appreciate being put on the spot. But gazing into Levi’s hopeful face, he knew he couldn’t let down a friend. Friends were too rare in this hard world. “Sure. As soon as I can swing an ax again.”

Levi leaped up. “Should I go tell Mrs. Brown that I’m going to stake a claim?”

“I think,” Miss Rachel said, “thee should find a good claim nearby and stake it. Then go and show the paperwork to Mrs. Brown and Mr. Ashford and ask permission to court Posey.”

Levi pulled Miss Rachel up and threw his arms around her, lifting her off her feet. “Thank you, Miss Rachel! You’ve made me so happy!”

Brennan fumed at the man’s taking such liberties.

Miss Rachel looked startled, but chuckled. “I think thee should say these words to Miss Brown, not me!”

The big man laughed out loud.

“What’s the blacksmith hugging Miss Rachel for?” Jacque asked, arriving in the clearing.

“Miss Rachel did me a favor.” Putting her down, Levi looked like a different man as he thanked her again and started away.

“Jacque, you go along with Levi and get up to bed,” Brennan said. “We probably got another busy day tomorrow.”

Jacque looked as if he might object, but Levi scooped him up and tossed him onto his broad shoulder. “I’ll give you a ride!”

Jacque objected but only a little as Levi began teasing him and asking him about fishing.

Brennan, still resting in her rocker, watched Miss Rachel sit again.

“Why did you volunteer me to work for Levi?” he asked, nearly snarling. “I just told you I’m restless.”

She smiled at him in that way he didn’t like. “Restless or not, thee must stay till the letter comes from Louisiana. And I’m sure Levi will pay thee and thee can use the money to set up in Canada. Isn’t that right?”

He fumed. The woman always had an answer and she was usually right. He hated that.

“Mr. Merriday, I apologize.”

Her gentle tone shamed him. She was so good, so kind, so special. He nearly leaned forward but his rib stabbed him. And he held back.

A few moments of silence passed. He brushed away a stray mosquito.

He looked at her then. He ached to tell her how he thought of her. But his mouth wouldn’t open.

The golden cast of twilight bathed her. She was such a pretty woman. A man didn’t notice it right off because she...protected herself. Why was she so cautious? Didn’t she think a man could love her? Count himself lucky to win her?

He shot up out of the seat, hurting his side. “I gotta git to bed.”

She rose, too. “Thee must be very tired. Would thee like a cup of willow bark tea before—”

“No, thanks.” He held up one hand. “See you in the morning.”

“Stop.” She drew a folded paper from her pocket. “Take this.” She shoved it into his hand and moved out of reach. “Posey wants you to read it.”

He tried to hand it back but she hurried into her cabin. “Good night,” she called and shut the door.

Fuming at her managing ways, he shoved the letter into his pocket. Then he tried to walk as fast as he could without jarring his rib cage. He had indeed worsened his condition when fighting the fire. The toll of another day of pain hit him fully as he glimpsed the blacksmith shop.

He slipped inside and up to his loft where Jacque was already sleeping soundly. Brennan stifled a groan as he lay down. His mind spun with thoughts of the day, of Miss Rachel, but thankfully his fatigue was mightier. His last thought was
I must leave soon
.

* * *

Brennan woke hours before dawn and turned over. Pain and his persistent regret hit him simultaneously. His side ached worse than before the fire. Something felt odd in his pocket. The letter. The letter Posey’s father had written that mentioned him.

A sudden curiosity sparked. He looked around. There was enough moonlight to see to go down the ladder. He didn’t want to get up. Yet he couldn’t stop himself.

Moonlight led him to the shelf near the door where the box of matches and candles sat. He felt around, removed a match, struck it, the sound loud against the night cries of frogs, toads and insects. He lit one fat candle, setting it on the corner of the shelf. He sat in the chair beside the open door to the river. He slid the letter out and opened it.

July 4, 1864

Dearest Wife and Daughter,

I write to you on this Independence Day wishing that we could be together to celebrate the birth of our nation. I cannot believe the war to preserve the Union has gone on this long. I thought we’d be home in Tennessee long before this. I do not wish to complain. I am in a band of brothers. Most of us are outcasts because of our love for our nation, our whole nation.

A welcome distraction comes. Brennan Merriday, the Mississippi man I’ve told you about previously, has managed to trap a few rabbits. And he is busily preparing them for the spit over our fire. Merriday’s a good man, run out of his town because he wouldn’t enlist in the local militia. He’s a stalwart fellow who speaks little but I don’t know anybody I’d want more at my back in a fight
.

Brennan’s eyes swam with sudden tears. He pressed his thumb and index finger to the bridge of his nose and willed away the outpouring. Now he remembered Posey’s father. He began to hear in his mind Clyde Brown’s voice speaking the words of this letter. The sorrow of lost comrades rolled over Brennan—names and faces of men who’d taken him in—let him be a part of them when he was an outcast.

Of course, Clyde had spoken the truth—they’d all been outcasts in some way. He’d told them of the day in ’61 when he’d been attacked by his own outraged homefolk.

His fingers wet from his tears, Brennan pinched the candle flame, extinguishing it. If only he could extinguish the memories that kept him from peace, from putting it all behind him. He sat in the dark many more minutes, then rose and climbed the ladder.

Clyde Brown’s letter had shifted something inside him. He began to think of what he might do for a friend here and now. But was it the letter? Or was it the petite Quaker lady who had kept him here and who beckoned him even when he knew he could never be worthy of a woman like her?

Chapter Eleven

B
rennan greeted Levi at another warm, sticky dawn and started to put into motion the half-formed plan that had come to him in the early hours of the morning. After all, he must do something while his rib healed. “I was thinking that I might look around for an unclaimed tract of land for you to stake.”

Levi beamed. “I’ve been thinking about that, too. I was going to try to take off a few days, but...” The blacksmith raised both his hands.

“That’s why I thought I could look for you. Miss Rachel just needs me to cut winter wood for her but with this rib, I can’t do that.” And he needed to keep away from Miss Rachel. He felt vulnerable to her in a new way he didn’t understand and didn’t want to examine.

Levi nodded eagerly. “There’s some land near Noah Whitmore’s place. That’s not too far from town and my wife...” The man blushed. “If I find one, my wife would be near some nice women, Mrs. Whitmore and Mrs. Steward. That’s important to women. They need somebody to talk to.”

Brennan felt his face break into a grin he couldn’t hide. Younger than he, Levi had not been old enough to fight and Brennan was glad the war hadn’t touched him. Levi would make Posey a good husband. A momentary twinge reminded him that he wouldn’t make anybody a good husband, least of all...

Levi pointed out the trail near the Ashfords’ toward the northeast where Noah lived.

Behind them Jacque splashed, wading out of the river, his face, bare feet and hands washed. “We going to breakfast?”

Brennan almost said no. He really didn’t want to see Miss Rachel today, but not to show up for breakfast at her house would shout to the surrounding village that something had changed. And not going when expected would be impolite to the fine lady. So Brennan nodded, but he must give some thought to how things were now and might be in the future. What exactly had changed he didn’t understand yet. But change had come, wanted or not.

* * *

Brennan walked beside Jacque into Miss Rachel’s tidy clearing. She stood outside, singing to a little brown bird. The bird was singing back to her. He stopped, riveted, and laid a hand on Jacque’s shoulder. The two waited and watched. Brennan half expected the bird to fly down and light on her hand like in a story. But the exchange lasted only a few more moments and then the bird flew away.

“You were singing to that bird!” Jacque exclaimed, running toward her flat out.

Miss Rachel smiled at him and the sun shone brighter. Brennan firmly took himself in hand. He must not let whatever had opened up inside him last night, when he was reading that letter, spill over on to Miss Rachel. He must not mislead the lady.

“It was a humble thrush, but they can sing so prettily,” Miss Rachel said, leaning down and talking to Jacque in much the same way she’d sung to the bird.

“Can you teach me that? How to sing to birds?”

She looked to Brennan. “What does thee think, Mr. Merriday?”

“I think he could—easy.”

The boy looked up at him shyly. “You think so?”

Brennan nodded, feeling a stirring around his heart.

“How do I learn to do it, Miss Rachel?”

“It is a skill that one must learn by himself. Thee must listen and then try to make the sounds. The younger the better, if thee wants to sing to the birds.” She chuckled. “My mother started me listening and trying to imitate the birds when I was much younger than thee.”

Brennan patted the boy’s shoulder while he tried to stop looking at her but it was like trying to ignore the sun. The place where iron gates had stood inside him was now melting. He stiffened himself.

She looked up then and caught him gazing at her. She lifted an eyebrow but smiled. “Come! Griddle cakes for breakfast! And I have some syrup my cousin Sunny gave me. She and Noah tapped sugar maple trees this March.”

His mouth watered. Griddle cakes with syrup.
What a woman.
And for so much more than just her delicious meals...

* * *

Later Rachel watched Brennan and Jacque head off to scout land for Levi. She had packed them a lunch in case they couldn’t get back to her at noon. Something had changed about him, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

Did this have to do with Posey’s letter from her father? She had hoped he would talk about the letter, but no, not a word.
That man.

She turned back to her day’s work. Before long, she heard a boat whistle. She had made more caramels and sponge candy earlier and headed to town to sell several trays of it.

“Miss Rachel!” Levi hailed her from his doorway.

She waved and then had a thought. “Mr. Comstock, when Mr. Merriday returns, please accompany him and Jacque to my place for the evening meal.”

He looked surprised and pleased. “Thank you, miss! I’ll do that.”

She hurried on with only a nod in reply.

People from two boats vied for her candy, some pushing forward like children. A tall man in a suit bought a bag and one individual portion and then stood in the shade, eating it and observing her. His attention caused her to be wary. Why was he watching her so intently?

She sold out and then began to turn.

“Miss Rachel?” The man who’d been looking at her moved closer.

She sized him up. Dressed in a neat, dark suit with a stiff white collar and a gold pocket watch, she guessed from the elaborate fob, he didn’t incite anything beyond polite interest. “My full name is Rachel Woolsey.”

“Is there somewhere we could discuss a matter of business?”

This stopped her in her tracks. “Business?”

“Yes,” he said, smiling.

After a few moments of surprised indecision, she led him to the wide front porch of the Ashfords’ store and invited him to sit beside her on the long bench there. No one could make anything of that.

The man drew a small ivory calling card from a gold case in his inner pocket. “I’m the owner of several concerns in Dubuque, Iowa. I am interested in adding an exclusive candy counter to my food emporium. Have you ever considered selling in bulk?”

She stared at him and then read the card. “James Benson, proprietor and owner of the Benson Food Emporium. Office Second Street, Dubuque, Iowa.”

“I must confess that I am surprised at this question,” she murmured at last.
And that a man will talk to a woman about business.

“The news of your fine candies has traveled down the river. A friend brought me a few not long ago and, Miss Woolsey, I have never tasted a better caramel. And your sponge candy—” he held up a piece “—is excellent, too. I always like to meet the person I do business with if I can. So I decided to come up and see if you’d like to supply my stores with your caramels and perhaps sponge candy.”

She blushed at his praise. “I never thought of selling in bulk,” she admitted. “I work alone.”

“Then perhaps it’s time to expand your operation,” he replied, smiling. “I hope you will write to me soon and let me know if you could supply me with several dozen caramels a week—until the river freezes. I have an open account with certain riverboat lines to convey products to my warehouse. I would of course expect exclusivity in your distribution to Iowa.”

“I will... I’ll think about it,” she stammered.

“We will need to discuss pricing and my percentage of each sale, but we can do that by mail after you’ve had time to consider my suggestion.”

She managed to nod.

He rose. “Thank you. I look forward to hearing from you, Miss Woolsey.”

She shook his hand and he strode away toward the boat landing. Her mind whirled with this news. The man had spoken to her as one businessperson to another, a revelation.

Mrs. Ashford whipped outside, her skirts snapping with her haste. “Miss Rachel, Ned told me you were talking to a man on our porch.”

The woman’s nosiness acted on Rachel like a spring tonic. She rose and held out his card. No use sparking speculation by withholding the facts. “He wants to order my candies in bulk.”

Mrs. Ashford snatched the card and read it. “Benson Food Emporiums. Oh, my. That is a large concern. How did he hear of you?”

Rachel recounted what she could recall of the interesting yet surprising encounter with Mr. Benson.

“Well!” Mrs. Ashford exclaimed. “Well!”

Rachel couldn’t decide whether the woman was happy for her or disgruntled or just surprised. “I must be getting back to my place
.
I have a lot to do today.
”
And a lot to think and pray about.

As she hurried homeward, rolling her cart through town, she felt Mrs. Ashford’s curiosity-filled gaze burn into her back. When she reached her place, she rolled the cart into the shade and then sat down on the bench near her door.
Sell in bulk? What an idea.

She wished suddenly that Mr. Merriday were here. She’d become accustomed to his being available...but perhaps that wouldn’t last much longer. He still wanted to go to Canada.

She’d have time to observe him again at supper. Maybe then she could figure out what had changed. And what that change might mean.

* * *

Rachel took pains to look her best, sweeping her hair up, changing into a fresh white apron and splashing cool water on her face. She told herself it was because Mr. Comstock was to be her guest, but she knew better. She wanted to look her best for Mr. Merriday.

The sweltering day had been a long and lonely one. She’d tried to ignore the lonely part, singing to the birds that hopped on the nearby tree branches and even chatting away to the huddle of chickens in the yard. But now she could share her news with Mr. Merriday. What would he have to say?

Finally she heard male voices and forced herself to remain inside until the last moment. She didn’t want to betray how eager she was for their company, for his company. So she opened the door to find Brennan and Jacque washing their hands by her door.

Levi waved from behind them. “I washed up at home.”

She grinned at this. “I’m glad to have thee join us tonight. This is a sort of celebration. I’m anticipating that Mr. Merriday will have news about thy property and I...” she paused for effect “...have news of my own today.”

“What happened to you?” Jacque asked, drying his hands on the hucksack towel.

“All in good time,” she teased. “Come in.”

She’d prepared fried chicken. Mrs. Brawley, a neighbor, had decided to thin her chickens and had delivered birds already plucked. Since Rachel expected company for supper, she had purchased three.

“Wow! Fried chicken!” Jacque exclaimed and Levi joined in, too.

Soon the four of them sat at her table. She bowed her head for grace and then looked up. “Mr. Comstock, please help yourself.”

The blacksmith grinned and took a piece from the platter of crisp, golden chicken. By the time it reached Jacque, only a drumstick remained. She rose and filled the platter again to vocal approval.

“Now, Mr. Merriday, did thee find some land for Mr. Comstock?” she asked as she began to slice her chicken breast.

Brennan chewed and swallowed. “Good chicken, Miss Rachel, and yes, I found two tracts that are near the Whitmores.”

“Great,” Levi said and then bit into a crispy wing.

“Which one does thee think is best?” she asked.

“The one with its own spring,” Brennan said between bites. “In a drought year like this one, springs flow while wells may dry up.”

For a moment all four were silent as they contemplated the dry weather and the recent grass wildfire.

“What else?” Levi asked.

“Got a good stand of trees a-course. Creek runs near it, too, and a small meadow where we could build your cabin.”

Rachel’s heart lifted against her will at this news. She shouldn’t care that this sounded as if Brennan would be staying longer, but she couldn’t lie to herself.

“Sounds great.” Levi continued eating his chicken and cornbread with a smile on his face. “I’ll apply for the claim on that land tomorrow.”

“Sight unseen?” Brennan asked.

“You were a farmer, weren’t you? You know more about land than I do. I was raised in town to be a blacksmith like my dad.”

“Is it hard to learn to blacksmith?” Jacque asked.

All three adults turned to the boy.

“’Course you could,” Brennan said.

“I think it would be interesting,” Jacque said with a shrug. He tried not to look pleased. Then he looked to her. “What’s your news, Miss Rachel?”

From her pocket, she retrieved the business card and handed it to Brennan.

He read it aloud and looked at her questioningly.

“Mr. Benson wants to buy my caramels and sponge candy in bulk.”

All three males stared at her. Openmouthed.

“Well, what does thee think of that?” she asked.

“What does in bulk mean?” Jacque asked.

“That means they want her to make large batches and they’ll sell her candy in their stores in Dubuque,” Levi replied. “That’s big.”

Rachel felt herself turn rosy with pleasure. “I don’t know if I can handle that. I mean soon Mr. Merriday plans on moving on—”

“What?” Jacque turned to Brennan. “What? Where we goin’?”

Brennan sent her a dark look. “Nowhere—yet. I had thought of Canada, but I’m not going nowhere anytime soon. It’s just I been helping Miss Rachel prove up her homestead and now I’m going to help Levi. No time to get my own land.”

Rachel frowned at him. Giving only part of the truth ranked as bad as an outright lie. And getting his own land—that was downright misleading. What about Canada? Had that changed? She wouldn’t let herself hope.

He sent her a stern look, forbidding her to contradict him. And he squeezed the boy’s shoulder. “Don’t be worryin’.”

Jacque looked down.

She drew in a deep breath. “Whether or not to sell in bulk is a big decision for me. But a welcome problem.”

The meal passed then with the three males talking little and eating every last piece of chicken. She wished Levi were married and Posey had come with him so she would have had someone to chat with, someone to distract her from staring at Mr. Merriday.

Afterward Levi sat with Brennan outside near where Jacque and she washed and dried the dishes. Then Levi thanked her again for a wonderful meal and at Brennan’s request let Jacque walk with him toward town.