Mary Connealy (66 page)

There were pots and pans so her potatoes didn’t have to look like coal, although she was having a little trouble managing the heat and had a tendency to scorch the poor potatoes. But she’d learn. And her steaks could be cooked without being laid directly on top of the cookstove, although they seemed drier and there was no way to get six in the two skillets she owned. So she fried away on the stovetop much the same as always.

She had a stack of sheets that needed beds to go with them and tatted lace that she planned to drape over the backs of the chairs the menfolk were making.

There were several little combs and a necklace from which dangled a golden heart that misted Grace’s eyes when she looked at it. A gift of love from Daniel to Margaret certainly, the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. She set it aside immediately. Not for a second had she considered wearing the pretty necklace.

And best of all, she had clothes.

Women’s clothes. They were far too big, but with the thread and needles found in the boxes, she had plans to alter them, if only she could figure out how to sew.

Life was good. She’d married an idiot—but a woman couldn’t have everything.

Feeling as though her life was at last in order after a lifetime of one kind of desperation or another, she now had time to fix things with Daniel. And she needed to fix more than his attitude. She didn’t like the way he worked the boys.

Until now she’d stood by while Daniel drove them like slaves to build this house. But the way he pushed them reminded her too much of Parrish. She wanted to tell him children should be children for a while, not slave labor. But Daniel, although outwardly polite to her, avoided her like a leper unless the boys were around. So how was she supposed to straighten out his crooked thinking when she could never get a minute alone with him?

With a long yell of pure frustration, Abe shook the chair he worked on. “Pa, help me fix this blasted thing.”

“Abe, watch your language,” Grace admonished.

Abe ignored her, which Grace expected, and held out the lopsided results of hours of toil. It had no back yet, but the seat and four legs were together.

The other boys had gone outside to play in the dusk, but they rushed to see what Abe had hollered about.

Daniel, sitting by the fireplace sanding a board to be used as a seat, turned from his work and picked up Abe’s chair. “That’s nice work, son.”

The four boys fought each other to be the first one inside the door, plugging up the doorway until none of them could get through. Yelling threats at each other, they shoved and punched.

Daniel and Abe didn’t look away from the chair.

Grace noticed Mark had a bloody nose. “Mark, what happened?” She rushed toward the clog of boys.

Ike crushed his little brothers enough that he finally got through. The rest of them came through like a gusher. They almost knocked her over, but she’d learned to be nimble since she’d become the mother of five.

“What happened to what?” Mark went to Abe’s side. “You’re bleeding.”

Daniel looked up from the chair then went back to work.

“Eww, get away.” John shoved him. “You’re getting blood and snot all over everything.”

Mark swiped the back of his hand under his nose, coating his hand up to the wrist in mostly dried blood. Grace could see that the bleeding had already stopped.

“No, it’s not nice work, Pa.” Abe finally acknowledged his father’s comment. “The legs wobble.”

Grace had to admit the boy was right. The chair didn’t look safe to sit on. She didn’t say anything, but she vowed that if her son made a chair, she’d sit in it and say thank you with never a word of complaint until the day it collapsed under her. Then she’d sit on the floor and pretend she liked her chairs that way.

She firmed her jaw as Daniel inspected the job. She knew he’d never let up until Abe got it right. Of course, by then Abe would be able to build a proper chair, and that was a good thing. But the boy was only ten. Did Daniel have to push so hard?

Daniel, holding the chair with the legs sticking up, turned it over and set it on the floor. Sure enough, it teetered drunkenly.

Abe ran his hands through his white hair, leaving bits of wood shavings behind. “I’ve tried to cut ’em off even, but I can’t get it.”

“You’ve gotta be mighty careful with that.” Daniel smiled. “If you keep trimming one leg after another, before you know it, you’ve got yourself a footstool.”

Abe blushed a little, and Daniel clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m not saying you’ll do that, boy. I’m saying I did that the first time I built a chair. You’ve been smart enough to quit before that happened.”

Abe smiled.

Grace wondered if Daniel knew how much his approval meant to the boys. She wondered if he knew they would work themselves to death trying to please him.

Daniel pulled up the wood stump he’d dragged into the house from the cave.

He looked at his boys. “Gather around and we’ll have a chair-making lesson. We’ve gotta make enough chairs for all of us, so we’ll be plumb good at it before long.”

The boys all dropped to the floor and listened with rapt attention—until Luke screamed.

Grace looked immediately at Mark, who held up a bent pin he’d found among the household treasures in the attic. Unrepentant—in fact, eager to admit what he’d done—he waggled the little pin in Luke’s face.

Luke launched himself into Mark, who tumbled backward and grabbed Luke around the neck, jabbing at him with the pin.

Daniel somehow reached into the middle of the ruckus and snagged the pin away from Mark, then ignored the boys as they rolled around on the floor.

A solid smack of a fist earned a yell of rage from Mark. He tossed Luke hard away from him, and Luke rolled into Ike. Ike would’ve smashed the half-built chair to bits, except Daniel swept it out of the way of the tumbling bodies and kept talking to Abe and John as if the other boys were still listening, too.

Ike jumped to his feet and took a dive straight at Mark. Mark ducked sideways, and Ike hit the floor, rolling straight for the fireplace.

Grace took a half step toward her son’s certain death before Ike caught himself. Stopping inches from the flames, he charged toward Luke, roaring like the Chicago train that had taken Grace west. He shook the sturdy new house like those trains had done, too.

Daniel didn’t seem to notice Ike’s brush with death or the racket. He talked in his usual too-loud voice to Abe and John as they whittled away at the chair legs.

Grace raised her hands helplessly toward heaven, then turned to tidy up the kitchen and play more with her new dishes.

Sophie rocked one of her fussy sons in front of the fire while the other—Tillie thought it was Jarrod—lay fidgeting in the cradle, close enough for Sophie to nudge it with her foot and keep it rocking. “I would never get by without you, Tillie.”

Sophie was strong, and Tillie knew she’d be going full speed if necessary. But Tillie’s presence allowed her generous hostess to rest, and Tillie felt as if she earned the roof over her head.

Serving Sophie and Clay and their children was similar to being a slave in the work Tillie did. But there was no comparison. Just Sophie’s constant thank-yous made a world of difference. But there was more to it. The freedom of knowing she stayed by choice rather than by force was heady to the point Tillie felt almost as if she could sprout wings and fly if she wanted.

“God sent you to us, as sure as can be. I thank Him for you with nearly every breath I take.”

Tillie sliced through the last eye-stinging onion for tonight’s supper as she opened her mouth to tell Sophie, “I thank God for you, too.” But Tillie couldn’t say the words. It wasn’t true. She hadn’t talked to God since Master Virgil had told her the truth about the War Between the States. If God was up there, He was cruel. If He wasn’t up there, then what was the point of praying? Either way, Tillie didn’t have the breath to waste on such a God. But talking to God was an old habit. One she’d learned at her mother’s knee. Now in this pleasant house, Tillie had to fight the urge to return to her old ways.

Tillie added the last of the savory onions to the stew meat that had been simmering to perfect tenderness all afternoon. Then she stooped over the fireplace to settle the pot of beef stew onto the hook. The ranch house door swung open, and all the girls crowded in, home from school. They rushed to peek at the babies and giggled. “Hi, Ma. Hi, Tillie.” Their chorus of greetings was as nice to her as to their ma. Such sweet girls.

Tillie loved being part of this happy family. Suddenly her eyes stung with the realization that her separation from God created a separation from all believers, however kind they were. That wasn’t of the McClellens’ making but of hers, because they talked of God often and with much sincerity. Tillie couldn’t join in.

Sally had left the door ajar, and when Tillie went to close it, she caught a glimpse of Adam shaking the reins with a soft slap of leather on the broad horses’ backs as he headed the buckboard toward the barn. Tillie knew Adam had gone for the girls; he did it often. She still marveled at the way the McClellens trusted Adam and her with the children. Mas—Tillie caught herself—
Virgil
had taught her no slave would be given a moment’s trust. And thoughts of Virgil and the word
master
, brought thoughts of the nasty teacher they’d hired in Mosqueros.

She looked the girls over. They seemed fine, but Tillie knew better. No one, slave or free, was fine who had to live under a brutal taskmaster. She needed to talk to them again, but it was so hectic lately that she hadn’t had a chance.

Tillie stirred the thick broth, the smell making her mouth water. She’d been short on food for a long time after her escape, and before that, what Virgil had given her had been skimpy and often spoiled.

Bread was baking in the oven, its smell enough to weaken Tillie’s knees even after a long stretch of having enough to eat. A cobbler Tillie had contrived with dried apples and brown sugar sat warming on the cast-iron top, sweet juices oozing up through the fluffy biscuit top. The bread needed a full hour to bake, but it would be fresh and still hot from the oven when Clay came in for supper.

The whole house was overflowing with love and good food and the sweet laughter of happy, healthy little children. But were they happy? Tillie’s smile faded to a worried frown as she wondered.

Tillie went to pick up Jarrod before his fussing got out of hand, but Mandy beat her to him. Beth wheedled Sophie until she got little Cliff. Laura picked that moment to come out of her bedroom, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, and Sally went to help the little girl slip on her shoes.

After a very busy day, Tillie suddenly had time on her hands, and she considered beginning the cutting for a new set of clothes for the babies.

Adam swung the door open before she could act on the idea. “You need water or more wood, Sophie?” he asked.

“No, Clay brought everything in earlier. We’re fine.”

After making a proper fuss over the twins, Adam tickled Sally and Laura until they screamed and ran wildly around the room.

“Thanks for getting them all wound up,” Sophie said dryly.

“My pleasure, ma’am.” Adam grinned, his white teeth flashing in his dark face.

“I’m glad I’ve got someone to make that trip to town. They wouldn’t be in school if it was up to me.”

The girls all froze, the smiles drying off their faces.

Sally said with casualness Tillie could tell was false, “Ma, we’d be glad to stay home if it makes things easier for you.”

Sophie just smiled.

Tillie knew Sophie suspected Sally just didn’t like school, as so many children didn’t. But it was more. Tillie had to bite her lip to keep from saying something.

Mandy gave her a nervous look as if afraid Tillie would betray their trust.

“I was glad to make the trip. I needed to get some supplies. I’ll be starting work on my cabin in another couple of weeks.” He turned to Tillie. “I need to ride out and pace off the cabin so I can get a few things ordered. It’d take an hour or more.”

“I really need to help—”

“That’s a great idea.” Sophie spoke over the top of Tillie. “You’ve been working day and night since the twins came. It’s cold out, but the wind is low and the trail is sheltered. I think you should go.”

Tillie had lived here long enough to recognize that look in Sophie’s eyes. When the woman made up her mind about something, there was no stopping her. Tillie didn’t even bother to try. She found herself bundled in a heavy cloak, fur bonnet, and gloves and thrust out the door.

“That is one strong-willed woman,” Tillie muttered as the door shut firmly behind her.

Adam grinned. “I guess that describes my Sophie pretty well.”

Tillie glanced at him, startled. The close relationship between Adam and the McClellens amazed her.

Adam walked beside her to the barn and had two horses saddled before Tillie could offer to help. She’d done some work with the animals for Virgil and could hold her own slapping leather on a horse.

They rode out of the yard in the direction of Adam’s claim, the sharp cold making talk difficult. Their breath froze white in the air. The soft plodding of the horses’ hooves was the only sound save the singing of the breeze overhead.