Mackinnons #02 For All the Right Reasons (14 page)

“You’re no match for me and you know it. Now, you can stand out here all night playing ‘yank the hoe’ or you can be sensible and come inside with me.”

I’d love to go inside with you, if you’d promise to stay with me.
Katherine glared hotly at him, glad there was still enough light for him to see just how put out she was. It wasn’t the first time since his return that she found him horning in on her affairs, always butting in with his advice on how to do this or that, what he thought needed to be done. Only yesterday he’d taken a look around the yard and said it needed a good cleaning.

And the day before that, he’d come by when she’d been harnessing Clovis. She was just putting the blinders on Clovis—because that helped control his biting a bit—when Alex walked up and said, “That leather needs mending.”

“I can see that, but I don’t have any leather to mend it with and no money to buy any.”

“I’ve got some leather you can have.”

“We aren’t running a charity here, Alex. You better be keeping your leather for your own mending. Unless I miss my guess, you’re only a couple of steps farther from poverty’s door than we are.”

“Katherine, why won’t you accept my help? I’ve offered several times to come over here and clean this place up for you.”

“I’ll do my own cleaning, thank you, and I’ve told you that before.”

“There are some things a woman can’t do. The henhouse needs rebuilding, the fences are desperate for repairs, the bed of your wagon is going to rot through any day now.”

“When it
rots
, I’ll fix it. Not before.” Here he was again, pestering and butting in with his advice. It was getting to where he gave more advice than Fanny Bright. Of course Fanny said it was because Alex liked her and that might lead to something more.

She couldn’t say that he was really interested in her, but he did have an uncanny knack for turning up at the darndest times, just to pester her. It was unnerving to have him always about and underfoot as much as an overcurious cat. The way he looked at her sometimes, as if he thought he was seeing her for the first time and yet felt he knew her from somewhere and was trying to put his finger on it. When he looked at her like that, she understood why Karin always wanted to look pretty for him, for she was conscious of the way she looked in her faded dress and her heavy work shoes. She despised herself for feeling awkward around him, for being self-conscious when he caught her looking less than her best. And now he was looking at her like that again and she felt her face heat up in response, her pulse throbbing strangely in her throat.

He reached up and placed his hands over hers on the handle of the hoe. “You’re a hard worker,” he said, pulling her hands from the hoe and letting it fall to the ground.

“I suppose I am,” she said a little harshly. “In these times, isn’t everyone?” She pulled at her hands but he held them fast. He turned her hands over in his, his thumbs brushing lightly over the thick calluses at the base of her fingers. “Some work harder than others.”

A shiver rippled up her arms and she shuddered. She felt choked by the nearness and dearness of him and wanted nothing more earnestly in her life than to be released so she could run. How embarrassing to have him catch her working late like this, how humiliating to have him see the calluses and other signs of neglect and hard work when she wanted him to see her as soft and lovely as he saw Karin.

As if sensing her anguish, he released her hands and leaned over, picking up the hoe and handing it back to her. “Hit me over the head with it if you like. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

“You didn’t,” she said hotly.

He sighed. “Always so quick to defend herself, a mother hen with no chicks.”

“Thank you for the reminder,” she said so icily he laughed.

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Katherine. I admire your spunk and your drive. Work is an honest effort that has a lovely face.”

“Work spares me from starvation, Alex. It’s not as noble a thought as yours but one more dear to me.” She looked back toward the house. “I’m sure Karin is beside herself wondering where you are. Don’t you think you should see to her?”

He shook his head in wonder. “You’re more stubborn than that mule of yours,” he said, his voice laced with humor.

“Perhaps,” she said, “but at least
I
don’t bite.”

“I’m not too sure,” he said, turning toward the house. “I’m not too sure.”

She watched him walk away until he disappeared around the house. She didn’t feel much like chopping weeds after that. But she lingered outside for a spell, sitting on the back stoop and watching the lightning bugs and listening to the coyotes yelp in the distance. She stayed there until she saw Alex and Karin start down the path for their customary walk. When they were well away from the house, she went inside and saw to a few chores before going up to her room.

For a long while she stood before the small oval mirror that had belonged to her mother. She stared at herself, leaning closer and drawing the lamp closer as well. She hadn’t been too careful about wearing her bonnet lately, mostly because of the heat, and now she could see the consequences. Her face was lightly tanned and sprinkled with a few new freckles. She ran her hand over her cheek, wondering how long before it would be dry and wrinkled and leathery like most of the hardworking women in these parts. She held up her hands, inspecting the darker skin there as well. Her nails were short and broken, rimmed with dirt and rough as cobs. There hadn’t been money for anything as frivolous as softening cream, so she had taken to smearing her hands with saddle oil or lard and rubbing it in. She remembered how soft and delicate Karin’s hands had looked at supper.

Picking up the lamp she walked to the rocker in the corner and picked up a book,
Flora of the Southwest
, and began reading about herbs and wild edible plants. But it was difficult for her to concentrate tonight, for the touch of Alex’s hand upon hers was still strong in her mind. Sometimes the ache she felt for him, this tightening in her chest she called love was so overpowering she wanted to cry.

She closed the book and undressed, pulling the worn cotton gown over her head, and crawled into bed. Tomorrow she would pull the calf off the cow so there would be more milk to sell. Tomorrow she would pick peaches and make a pie and preserves.

Tomorrow she would have to find the time to go down to the creek and fish, for they hadn’t had any kind of meat in over a week. Her mouth watered at the thought of a fat old catfish frying to a crisp golden brown in her cast-iron skillet.

Katherine heard Karin and Alex return, the soft, hushed tones of their voices, the creak of the porch as they stepped across it, the silence that followed. It was always this spell of silence that was the hardest, for she imagined the kinds of things they were doing. Katherine always saved her prayers for the silent spell and she rolled over baring her heart to the Lord. She was still praying when she heard the click of the door as Karin stepped inside. A few minutes later Karin’s voice whispered across the darkness. “Katherine? Are you asleep?”

“No, I’m not. I was just finishing my prayers.”

“I’m glad because I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry about the way I acted today.”

“I know,” Katherine said. It was dark inside the room and Katherine couldn’t see Karin’s face, but she had seen it enough times before to know exactly the way she looked. Upon first entering her face would have been rapt and radiant, only to turn mournful and penitent the moment she started speaking.

“Oh, but I feel so bad about it,” she said with a quiver in her voice. “I behaved terribly. I hurt your feelings I’m sure. I don’t know why I always want to rail at you about everything, even poor old Clovis. I guess it’s because I’m a dreadfully wicked and most ungrateful person. You’re so good and kind and giving. Say you’ll forgive me. I shall die of sorrow if you don’t, and I’m sure you wouldn’t want that on your conscience.”

The sincerity was unmistakable, but Katherine knew how well Karin enjoyed
her periods of penitence
—how she seemed to revel in the thoroughness of her abasement, how she drew strength from occasional walks in the valley of the shadow of humiliation. “It’s all right.”

“Say you forgive me, please.”

Katherine sighed, feeling older than her years and tired. “Of course I forgive you.” Karin hurried across the room and kissed Katherine on the check. “Thank you. I’m sure I shall sleep ever so much better now.”

“Yes, I’m quite certain you shall,” Katherine said dryly, but Karin, not being overblessed with perception, missed the implication.

Breathing an exaggerated sigh of immense relief, Karin said in a swoonlike state, “I can’t tell you how relieved I am. ‘Let not tile sun go down upon your anger,’ as the Bible says.

“Yes, that’s what it says all right.”

“Oh, my dearest, sweetest Katherine, you are a veritable pillar of strength to me. I do want you and me to always be this close. I should die of sorrow if we weren’t.” She walked back to the door. “Good night.”

“Good night,” Katherine said as Karin closed the door.

For a while after Karin had gone, Katherine lay there reflecting on Karin’s burst of contriteness, which wasn’t by any length of the imagination, her first. Bursts of contriteness, periods of penitence, bouts with guilt were as much a part of Karin as her blue eyes and blonde hair. Karin was what Katherine called a bit temperamental and excitable and was, more often than not, guilty of jumping to conclusions, unjustly placing blame, or sometimes being just downright disagreeable, or just plain selfish. And just as predictable as these outbursts were was the remorse that always followed. She was like a child in that respect, or so Fanny Bright said, for she thought she could say the first thing that popped into her head, no matter how hateful, or heap accusations until she was blue in the face and that those things should all be forgiven the moment she appeared the least bit repentant. Many times Katherine wondered what Karin would do if she said simply, “No, Karin, I don’t forgive you.”

True to her resolve the night before, the next day Katherine pulled the black and white calf off its mama, and put it in another pasture with two young heifers. After cleaning the house and sweeping both porches, she picked a bushel basket of fresh rhubarb, cleaning and slicing it, putting the choice slices aside for a pie and what was left in a pot, adding sugar and setting it to simmer slowly. She made the pie, putting a fancy lattice top on it and put it in the oven. She had no more than opened the oven door and leaned over to take it out when Adrian poked his head in the back door.

“Ye gods and little fishes! Sweet Katherine, seeing you like that makes me feel friskier than a flea on a fat dog.”

Katherine came up quickly, banged her head on the low-hanging shelf over the stove and burned her hand. How she managed to hang on to the pie she would never know. Her temper rising faster than the temperature, she slammed the pie down and rounded on Adrian.

“I was not put here on this earth for the sole purpose of making you feel friskier than anything, and I’ll thank you kindly not to make reference to any positions you might happen to catch me in in the future. Now, I realize you might have thought you were paying me a compliment, and I am not above receiving such. I think a compliment from time to time is quite permissible and often very nice, but a remark like you just made is neither permissible nor nice. I have never, by any scope of the imagination given you permission or any encouragement to make such comments to me. It is beyond me how you always manage to find the time to go flitting around the countryside poking your head in kitchen doors unannounced and scaring the drawers off half the women in Limestone County. You came close to making me drop my pie and I can tell you right now that if that had happened it would be too wet to plow around here as far as you’re concerned. I’m not telling you these things to offend you, but simply for your own good. You are going to get yourself shot or arrested if you don’t start knocking before you walk into a body’s house. It’s only been a year or so ago that old Mr. Hawking over near Waco was surprised by a neighbor who just walked into his house one evening. Mr. Hawking can’t see worth a flip even with his glasses on, and that night he didn’t have them on, so when this neighbor walked in, old Mr. Hawking mistook him for a no-good and pulled his old blunderbuss down from the peg over the fireplace and blew a hole in his neighbor big enough to drive a hay wagon through. Now, if that’s the kind of end you want to come to, you just keep on going as you have been and I’ll promise to cry at your funeral.” Katherine stopped talking when she saw the way Adrian was doubled over with laughter.

“Katherine, you have talked a full five minutes by your clock. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you go on so.”

“You’ve never come bounding into my house like an intruder before either. Now, state your business so I can get on with mine.”

Adrian was grinning at her. “I’m on my way into town and thought I’d stop by and see if you need anything.”

“Even if I did, I don’t have the coin to pay for it, so you’d best be on your way.”

“Would you like to go with me for fun?”

“Fun? Adrian, if I didn’t know you better, I’d swear you’d been working in the sun with your hat off. You call riding into town in a bumpety old wagon in this blistering heat fun? Out of curiosity, I’d like to know just what you think would be fun about that?”

“I thought I’d entertain you with a few stories.”

“I get all the stories I want at church. Besides, I’ve heard all your stories a thousand times.”

‘I’ve learned a few new ones since I was away.”

Up went Katherine’s brows. “I’m sure you did, but they’re probably not the kind of stories you should be telling a lady.”

He laughed. “I’d buy you a lemonade in town.”

“I just had a glass of peach nectar and that was quite sufficient, thank you.”

“I could show you the picturesque points along the road to town.”

She gave him a sour look. “I’ve been going down that road for nineteen years and there isn’t a part of it I haven’t committed to memory years ago. And furthermore, there isn’t a picturesque point on that road between here and Waco and you know it.”