Bittersweet (6 page)

“How many d’ya normally gobble?”

“He et five yestermorn,” Ishmael said.

“With the biscuits today, these three will do me just fine.”

Ishmael sat down and Ivy turned back to the stove. She rubbed a blob of lard in the skillet and quickly fried a pair of eggs. When she came toward the table, she gave Galen a wary look. “Sommat a-wrong?”

“What makes you ask?”

“You’re a-standin’ thar, starin’ at me.”

“It’s considered bad manners for a man to take a place at the table until the ladies are all seated.”

“Niver lernt them kind of thangs.” A self-deprecating little huff exited her. “Then again, ain’t nobody ever mistook me for a lady, neither.”

“You ain’t no tart, sis.”

Galen felt a pang for her. Poor and plain, she’d not been afforded even the most common of courtesies. “Riches don’t make a woman a lady, Miss Grubb. A caring heart and hands are what count. As your brother just attested, you have sound morals. It’s plain to see you love your family, and you’re kind to cook for me, too.”

“Nice of you to say that, but your manners make me nervous. I’d rather have you et whilst the eggs’re still hot.” She sat down.

Galen took his seat and cast a dark look at her plate.

“My belly cain’t holt three—not if ’n I holp myself to a biscuit. Ain’t had me flour-built bread in ages, so I aim to save room for that treat.”

She wasn’t complaining or trying to call his attention to what she’d done without. Her voice rang with the same cheery tone Laney’s did when Ma surprised her by baking her favorite pearsnapple pie. Galen smiled, then said, “In my home, we start each meal with a prayer.”

Ishmael promptly stuck his elbows on the table and clasped his hands. Ivy copied him.

Galen clasped his own, bowed his head, and closed his eyes. “Beloved Lord, thank you for this meal. I ask you to bless the hands that prepared it and to strengthen us so we can accomplish all we need to do today. Envelop those we love with your tender care and bring them back to us safely we pray. In Jesus’ name, amen.”

Ishmael grabbed his fork, but Ivy studied her clasped hands. “Don’t reckon they look no diff ’rent. Niver had nobody ask God to bless my hands. How’s a body s’posed to know if that Godfeller listened?”

“God always listens to His children.”

She sighed and attacked her eggs with a fork. “You ain’t a child. You’re a man.”

“Mr. O’Sullivan explaint it to me yestermorn.” Ishmael’s voice took on a behave-yourself undertone. “Christians figure since God made ’em, He’s their pa.”

“Seems to me you got thangs backward. A child don’t tell his pa what to do. Why should that God-feller be listenin’ to you ’stead of you listenin’ to Him?”

“I do listen to Him. He speaks to me through the Holy Bible. In church, the minister preaches and I learn more about the Lord. I also have very dear brothers and sisters in Christ who have given me wise counsel.”

“Don’t thank I’d be happy with that many folks tellin’ me what to do. D’ya mind if ’n I use a dibby-dab of that butter?”

“Help yourself.” Galen scooted the dish closer to her.

“What did you wanna get done today?” Ishmael asked as he sopped his biscuit in egg yolk.

Galen outlined his plans. It was a bittersweet thing to do. Da used to do the same thing each morning, and since his brothers weren’t old enough to handle a grown man’s share, Galen hadn’t carried on the tradition. Part of him withered in grief while the other part felt great relief in knowing they would achieve far more than had been accomplished in a single day for the past several months.

Ivy slurped coffee, then set down her mug. “Onc’t I wash up the dishes, I cain meet you in the barn and—” “Miss Grubb, I didn’t expect you to join us.” Galen shook his head. He’d purposefully chosen chores that required brute strength.

“I got a strong back.”

“Actually, I planned on you tending Ma’s garden. It’s quite sizable, and without her and my little brothers here, weeds have sprung up all over. You’re to harvest whatever’s ripe, then weed until noon. At midday, I’ll divert water from the stream so everything is watered.”

“Gardenin’ ain’t work—’tis a pure pleasure. You got buckets or baskets to hold the truck I pluck?”

“There’s a wheelbarrow in the barn. You can pile baskets and bags on it. At noontime, I can help haul the harvest back here.”

She beamed. “Is it true you got yourself a pear tree?”

“Several. Ma makes pear butter and pearsnapple pies, and she dries pears so we have ’em all winter long. I’m sure you’ll want to take some home with you so you can dry them, too.”

“Can’t recollect the last time I et a pear.” Ishmael finished the last crumb from his biscuit. “Sounds like a golden reward for our work today.”

Galen thought about taking the last biscuit. Instead, he nudged the plate toward Ivy. “Your brother and I dug right in. Your biscuits are good.”

“Well, have that last ’un.”

“I’ve had plenty.”

“I’m full up, too, sis.” Ishmael cracked his knuckles. “Why don’tcha tuck the straggler in your pocket and nibble on it later?”

Suddenly Ivy sniffed and popped up. “Corn bread’s done.” She pulled a pan out of the oven and set it aside. “I got beans asoakin’. Come suppertime, all you need to do is change off to fresh water and bile ’em. You’ll have yourself a stick-to-your-ribs meal.”

“Appreciate that.”

Once Ivy went to the garden, Galen and Ishmael used a pulley to haul feed into the hayloft until it bulged with cured, healthy hay for the coming winter. One of the barn doors sagged and had become difficult to move. Ishmael held it in the correct alignment and Galen rehung it.

As they finished, Ishmael looked at a fallow field. “We a-gonna plant anything thar?”

Galen nodded. “That field’s ready to hold barley again.” “You got plenty of land. Good to let a plot lie fallow now and again so’s the soil don’t weary. Bet that’s why your crops thrive.”

“God’s been gracious.”

Ishmael shrugged. “Don’t know ’bout that. Seems to me you’ve worked dreadful hard.” He scanned the farm. “Ain’t seen such bounty—and Pa’s drug us clear ’cross the country.”

“Where did you come from?”

“Crooked Leg. Dependin’ on who you ask, ’tis in ’Bama or Tennessee. Anyhow, been over six years since we was there, though. Want me to walk that field and clear the stones whilst you hitch up a horse and ready the plow?”

Galen nodded. He took the hint and said nothing more about the Lord. Long ago, Da told him the soul was like a field—until the rocks were cleared and the soil turned, seed went to waste. Trying to douse a man with living water before the Holy Spirit had wooed him only mired everyone down. The best thing a Christian could do was set a good example and let God use him in whatever capacity He willed.

“Any time you want my holp, you jist holler.” Ivy stared at the crate at Ishmael’s feet. Cabbage, tomatoes, and pears filled it.

Beside the crate, a burlap bag bulged with string beans, broccoli, and apples.

Galen O’Sullivan smiled. “I’ll be sure to tell Ma you’re a hard worker. Could be she’ll want a day’s help from you.”

His red curls were as different as could be from Ishmael’s straight tow hair, but the kindness glowing behind their eyes was alike.
This here feller’s one I cain trust
.

Ishmael hefted the crate. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“See you then.”

Ivy reached for the bag.

“Hang on, sis.” Ishmael set the crate down. “This here crate has handholds. You and me can tote a side each, and I’ll get that bag.”

“Okay.”

“We’re used to workin’ side-by-side,” he said to their boss. “Twins’re thataway.”

Galen nodded in acknowledgment.

As Ivy held her side of the crate and headed toward “home,” she cast her brother a look. “I coulda toted that poke. ’Twasn’t too heavy for me.”

Ishmael sauntered along. He always matched his stride to hers when they walked together. Just as he shortened his stride, Ivy attempted to lengthen hers a bit so as to meet him halfway. “I reckoned havin’ Boss watch us working together would set in his mind that he can ask you to come holp at all manner of thangs.”

“You’re cleverer than a fox.”

“You’ve got a fine mind, too. Sharp. Noticed how you chose truck that’s good for eatin’ now, but some of it cain be dried up for later.”

“Ain’t so much my choice. I took what he had on hand. Jist so happens to be the season whar lots cain be stored up.” She sighed. “I’m sorta thinkin’ on us stopping afore we reach Pa. Mayhap we could hide away a little of this for later. He done et so much the last few days, I’m afeared he’s a-gonna gobble through all this afore I cain squirrel any away.”

“Someday, sis, we’ll have a place as nice as the O’Sullivans. I know Pa makes promises he niver keeps, but I mean it. You and me—we was borned together, and I always sorta reckoned we’d stay together. When I find me a wife, she’ll love you, and yore welcome to stay with us. You got my word on it.”

“Ishy, you got my promise straight back—if’n I ever get a man what’ll jump the broom with me, he’ll know yore kin and be glad to have you.”

As they continued walking, Ivy sighed again. “You got me started a-dreamin’ of a good future, and that’s a bad notion. We’re like gophers—diggin’ ourselves in and outta holes all our lives. Like as not, we’re gonna get throwed outta ’nother eight places afore we get shot by the law or starve to death.”

“You got us a fair garden planted here. We’ll be eating more’n we have in a long while.”

“Ishy, I’m sore afraid we’re gonna wake up tommorry and find out Pa sat hisself down and et most of this here food that O’Sullivan man paid me.”

“He couldn’t.”

“Could, too. You brung them boilt eggs home and he et nigh unto all of ’em. Me and you—we each got one. I reckon he’ll gobble his way through all this.”

Ishmael chuckled. “Even half of half of it, and he’d wind up with a bellyache.” The daily drudgery and hunger had left her numb … but a day of helping at the O’Sullivans’ farm, of seeing a sound roof and verdant lands, jolted Ivy out of her daze. Desperation made her dare to broach a subject she’d never dared speak aloud. “I been ponderin’, Ishy—other folks claim land. How’d they do it, and why don’t you and me jist find us a parcel of land and do it, too? Cain’t be that all the land is already took up.”

“Cain’t, Ivy.” He gave her a sorrowful look. “Plenty’s the time I spent dreamin’ on that very notion. Didn’t venture to say nothin’ to you on accounta we cain’t do it.”

She set down her side of the crate. “Why not?”

Ishmael lowered his side of the crate and carefully released the bag so nothing would spill out. As he straightened up, he gave her a mournful look. “Wouldn’t work for us to break off from Pa. Wouldn’t have no seed or mule or plow. Wouldn’t have no ax, neither.”

“There’s gotta be a way. We could hire on at some farm or ranch. I could cook and clean whilst you worked with the critters.

We would save up every last bit of money till we could buy those thangs.”

“I ciphered it. More often than you’d guess. But I cain’t make it work.”

“You keep workin’ on that, Ishy. I ain’t givin’ up. Neither of us is scairt of hard work. It shames me to have that nice O’Sullivan feller pay us with so much good food and let us live on his place, when we’re smilin’ and pretendin’ nary a thang’s wrong. We’re liars—bald-faced liars. I don’t care what it takes. I want more outta life than shiverin’ under a thin blanket inside a battered old tent, a-wishin’ my belly wasn’t empty.”

CHAPTER FIVE

T
he train’s going to be crowded,” Laney said as she looked up and down the station.

“It’s nigh unto impossible to read signs.” Hilda shot a man a dirty look for bumping into her. “Between all of these election posters and banners, you’d think this was Washington.”

“It’s an important election,” Laney said. “The future of our nation weighs in the balance.”

“If it’s so important, why is someone trying to get votes when he can’t even spell his name?” Sean pointed at three different posters. “Abraham. Abrm. Abram. If he can’t decide how to write his name, how will he ever decide how to lead America?”

“Well, now, in the Bible God changed Abram’s name to Abraham.” Mrs. O’Sullivan threaded her fingers through her son’s unruly mop of red curls. “And Abraham ended up being the father of Israel. He was a good and wise man.”