Coldwater Revival: A Novel (6 page)

“Stop it, you two. Stop it this instant!” Baby Abby whimpered and writhed in my arms, readying herself for a full-blown yowl. “Now, see what you’ve done, you two dimwits? You woke Abby.” Knowing ’twas my own shrillness that had roused Abby from her baby dreams, I ceased my shrieking. I patted her tiny body with powder-soft strokes until she quieted and snuggled into my neck as though I were her mama. “Please, Elo,” I whispered. “Just tell me what you’re talking about.”

Elo glared at Gavin, his mouth clamped as tightly as the lid on Mama’s pressure cooker.

Whiffs of barn air wormed their way into my nostrils. Though saturated with danger, the pleasurable rankness of musty hay and horse droppings calmed my nerves. Stillness settled between the two men I loved, not a twitch disturbing the raised hair on their arms. Elo’s anger remained a mystery to me. But, because Gavin’s behavior lay in the path of my brother’s displeasure, I had to seek it out.

I heard Gavin emit a soft chuckle. I whipped my head in his direction. How dared he laugh, as though the victor, while my heart shuddered with the dread of truth.

“I’m thinking I know what’s got yer brother’s tail in a twist,” Gavin half-laughed, half-spoke. “’Twas because he saw his sweet Coralee and meself passing the time of day together over at Kerner’s Drugs.”

Elo jerked his fist to the air and took a step toward Gavin. Gavin thrust his shoulders forward, his smile abandoned for a lip-curling snarl.

I glanced at Elo, not previously aware of his affection for Coldwater’s most beautiful maiden. That is, if the contest didn’t include The Ollys.

“Elo, are you and Coralee seeing each other … I mean, are you sweet on her?” If my voice sounded incredulous, it was because of the absurdity that rich, snooty Coralee Kerner would have anything to do with a poor farmer like Elo, handsome though he was.

While I waited for Elo’s answer, the two men glared holes into each other, their bodies coiled and ready to spring into action. Ruggedly handsome they were, with their blond hair and blue eyes that could stir a woman’s heart to palpitations. Elo’s height held no advantage over Gavin, and Gavin’s strength, mighty though it was, could do no more than equal that of my brother’s. Who would be the victor in this senseless war? I wondered.

With a suddenness that shocked me, Gavin retracted his claws and slumped into a friendly, buddylike posture. His grin reappeared, melting the anger from his face, altering his expression from foe to ally.

“Listen, man. I know where ye’re coming from. Tell ye what. Why don’t I put in a good word fer ye … speak to the lass about the feelings ye have for her? You know—sort o’ build ye up a bit. What’a ye say?”

“I ain’t no Cyrano de Bergerac, and Coralee ain’t no Roxanne. I don’t need no dumb foreigner speaking on my behalf.” Elo’s words expelled from his mouth in a roar that made Abby jump in my arms again. With feverous rocking motion, I held her close to my heart and soothed her back to sleep. I needed the comfort of her in my arms. She felt right in a world gone awry.

My mind couldn’t believe what I’d just heard. All the years Papa read stories to us, Elo hadn’t paid the least attention, or so I’d thought at the time. Too involved, he’d been; rubbing beeswax into a catcher’s mitt, honing a frog gig to piercing deadliness, burnishing his rifle until it glistened like fire-spitting sparklers. Not once had he asked a question, or quirked a brow to advise us that he’d heard what Papa said. But my brother had been listening! He’d heard the story of Cyrano de Bergerac and his beloved Roxanne. My heart thumped with pride for Elo.

“I’ve not had the pleasure of making this Cyrano fellow’s acquaintance,” Gavin said on a grin. “And, as far as the lass Roxanne is concerned, ’tis God’s truth I’ve never laid a hand on her. But the offer stands. I’m thinking Coralee might sweeten up to ye a bit if I was to—”

“If I ever …
EVER …
hear your filthy mouth speak Coralee’s name again, there’ll not be enough left of your body for Emma Grace to marry. Do you understand what I’m saying,
Boy-O?”

It seemed as though the sun proceeded through its daytime courses before I saw Gavin nod his head, almost imperceptibly. He clenched and unclenched fists that, I’m quite sure, itched to take a crack at Elo’s jaw. He kept them glued to his side as he turned his dazzling eyes in my direction, sharing a sliver of rascal smile with me. I nodded at Gavin before turning away on the pretext of tending Abby’s needs. I knew the truce had cost Gavin dearly. Like Elo, he wasn’t one to back down from a fight.

Ten

The single light bulb above our kitchen table cast vague shadows over Gavin’s features. I thought it a somber pall, fitting the occasion. I rose from my chair and lowered the window above the sink, paring off all but a small draft of October air. Soft breezes ducked beneath the window, stirring Mama’s gingham curtains to life, and raising chills along my forearms. I sensed that not all my goose bumps related to the weather.

I reseated myself at the table, across from Gavin, and with reluctance lifted my gaze to his face. His eyes held a pleading presence with which I felt most uncomfortable. Had I coveted power and control, the look on his face would have been one to relish. But I desired neither. I simply wanted to hear Gavin speak the truth.

The house droned with quietness. Mama and Papa had retired with the chickens, and rightly so, since they rose with them also. A beam of light shone beneath Nathan’s bedroom door, his attention fastened on a math formula book, I presumed, or another of equal interest. Where Elo and Caleb were I couldn’t say. Probably puffing Elo’s pipe out beyond the trees, their bodies catapulting moon shadows across the ground. Caleb’s words would be stinging the air by now, but Elo’s thoughts would remain stockpiled in his heart. Stockpiled or not, I knew they’d eventually circle back to the lovely Coralee.

“Ye’ve got to believe me, sweetling.”

Gavin’s voice fell like softly plodding raindrops, hauntingly clear, yet filled with unfamiliar angst. Like the supplications of a raw, green, wet-behind-the-ears youth.

“When I set sail for America, I left no Irish lass behind carryin’ me babe in her belly.”

Yes … but was it because of your Irish luck or because of your abstinence?

“Yer cousin gets carried away sometimes, adding sparks to his tales till they’re so far-flung he knows no one will believe them. ’Tis his way of grabbing for the attention. In me homeland we call it the blarney.

“There were two sisters, ’tis true. And they were twins. That much is fact. Somehow, the girls got it in their heads that I’d be making a fine husband. So they started fighting over me. But, outside of enjoying the fuss and the flattery, I never encouraged them—not them or their fanciful dreams.”

“And what about Coralee?” I recognized the same stab of jealousy that had pierced Elo earlier today. Though mine was more of a prick, it hurt just the same.

“That bit of English snobbery? She don’t begin to compare to you, Emma Grace. Ye’re more beautiful by ten, and yer softness … yer tender heart … she don’t know what that’s all about, little one.”

The tears in Gavin’s eyes rattled my concentration, alien as they were to his handsome features. They tracked ruddy cheeks, drawing my gaze to the mouth that had first claimed my lips for its own. Now I asked myself the question:
Had Gavin’s heart claimed ownership of another, before me?

“How many women have you loved, Gavin?” Pride pinched my breath as I awaited his answer. The long moment held a lonely feeling.

“I’ve loved others, sweet darlin’. But I’ve never been
in
love with anyone … until you.”

I sat without moving, as tight-lipped and stubborn as Elo. I would not allow Gavin to draw from his reservoir of blarney just to quench my thirst for soothing answers.

If I put a torch to your vows, Gavin, would they burn with the truth, or blow away like ashes in the wind?

Shifting my gaze, I stared at the pegboard hanging on the wall above Gavin’s chair. Papa’s sweat-rimmed hat hung from the first peg, along with a wire-mesh flyswatter, curled and frayed at the ends. Mama’s flowered apron hitched the middle peg, and Elo’s railroad cap draped the last. Elo loved that pinstriped cap. He had yanked it from the brakeman’s head one foggy night when the poor man leaned out the caboose to swing his signal lantern. A reminiscent smile curled my lips, Elo’s naughty antics a perpetual remedy for the blues. Returning my gaze to Gavin, I sought an end to the turmoil in my heart.

My breath caught when I peered into his eyes. Openness and honesty had replaced earlier tears, mirroring the exact traits I’d longed to witness in his eyes. My lips parted, setting free the clutch of air I’d been hoarding in my throat. Gavin had to have detected its noisy departure, for he squared his shoulders and stared a blue hole into the depths of my being. Since the near fight between Elo and Gavin earlier today, I’d yearned for Gavin’s honesty. Now I needed more than honesty to assuage my hurt. I needed promises fulfilled. Gavin’s words meant nothing if they’d been declared countless times, to countless others.

I recalled Gavin’s vows to me. Like a record on the phonograph player, I played them over and over in my mind. Played them until they settled into the grooves of my confusion and disillusionment. Played them until they stroked the furrows in my heart and eroded my fears to nothingness.

“America’s a new beginning fer me, Emma Grace. One look at you, and I knew me heart had found its home. I want to marry ye, sweetheart. Have a dozen kids, and—”

“And, Ireland?” I interrupted on a whisper. “Are you thinking of going back to Ireland? Taking me and the twelve kids with you?” I smiled, letting Gavin know my soul had survived. I’d not send him packing, after all.

A long, slow breath stole from Gavin’s chest. His shoulders relaxed, as did the tension in his jaw. Had I not been sitting across from him the entire evening, I would have thought he had imbibed a calming tonic. Gradually, his countenance reverted to its old flirtatiousness, a rascal grin broadening his face like Rumple’s pregnant belly. Shaking my head, I prayed I’d never again have cause to question Gavin’s honor.

Despite my resolve to trust Gavin implicitly, I slept fitfully that night. Nightmares taunted my sleep. While my body lay bound to the mattress by the weight of a single blanket, my inner being roamed territorial waters of the past and beyond to the future. I startled awake from each dream, damp with perspiration. The future called to me, asking me to verify that Gavin was my one true love: the man with whom I wanted to spend the rest of my life. The past called upon me, also, reminding me I had unfinished business within its borders. Reminding me that a future overwhelmed by yesterday’s sorrows was no future at all.

The most disturbing dream was about me. I floated in water more vast than river or lake. The water eddied, sucking me under. I fought to stay afloat, quaffing air, spitting wetness back into the swelling sea. Peering beyond a ruffle of whitecaps, I caught sight of a man on the beach, nebulously screened between two sand dunes. A benevolent man it seemed. I lost sight of him when my attention turned to raucous laughter on shore. A pack of barefooted revelers tracked the sand, the leader aiming her derisive laughter at me like a deadly sword. Her hideous shrieks rose above the ocean’s roar, bruising my heart. Before she faded from sight, I gained clear sight of her hate-filled face. ’Twas Coralee Kerner—large with child.

I awoke in the predawn, erratic heartbeats thrumming my eardrums, wisps of damp hair clinging to my face. The sound of silence filled our old wooden farmhouse, or so I thought until I detected Caleb’s adenoidal wheezes rattling through a bedroom door. Nathan must be sleeping the sleep of Rip Van Winkle, I determined, or he would have already flipped Caleb like a pancake: stomach-down, staunching his snores.

Crawling from twisted covers, I sat on the side of my bed, sleep and I parting company for the night. I dressed with quietness, not wishing to disturb the family, especially Mama, who would have tortured me with questions about my insomnia. Snagging a jacket from the hook, I opened the back door and stepped onto our wooden porch.

The late-hour moon had strayed to the far side of heaven, buttercup beams shadowing the farm in a lambent glow. A habit from childhood had me searching for the elusive man in the moon, but finding him not. Smooth gravel formed a footpath from porch to barn. I tread it with lopsided gait, having left my platform shoes tucked beneath the bed. My bare toes tingled as they pressed the cool, mist-covered stones Papa had evacuated from the river. I reached the barn, but didn’t venture inside, electing to sit beneath the stars instead. Slipping into my jacket, I leaned my back against the barn door while worry careened across my mind like tumbleweed in a dust storm.

Last week I journeyed into the past, but had not had the fortitude to face my foes. Had I greeted guilt and sorrow head-on, wouldn’t I have severed their stranglehold on me? How pleasant it would be to bid them both a sound farewell.

Now my heart carried new doubts; questions I had to answer with haste, for in two weeks it would be too late. Was my love for Gavin true? Did I trust his fidelity? If I had it to do over, would I choose Gavin as my forever husband?

Compelled by an undeniable force, I raised my blurred gaze to heaven. Somewhere in the starry vastness, God was listening to my cries. He heard my thundering heart and saw my fear. Since his fingers had etched the pathway of my tomorrows before the existence of time, surely he would provide the answers I sought. As my gaze traveled over murky patches of the Milky Way, I agonized about which path God would have me follow. Moreover—where that path might lead.

Be still and know …

“Oh, Lord, I’m in so much trouble. I tried to face my guilt … and my grief … but it hurt too much to go back. And what about Gavin, Lord? I thought you brought him to America, just for me. Now I’m not sure. Was I wrong, Father? I have to know—the wedding’s in two weeks.”

For an hour or more my pleas rose to heaven like wisps of trail dust. Up, past the firmament they climbed, into the realm of God. Answers would come in his dear time. That much I had learned during the last five years. But I wanted more than answers. I wanted healing.