Romancing Olive (2 page)

“Not a problem.”

“No really, had I known they were not being cared for by relatives, I would have come weeks and weeks ago. I will not impose on your generosity a moment longer than necessary. If the sheriff will wait, I will get the children and return to town,” Olive said in a rush. Surely this very young man was struggling with all the responsibilities that parenthood entailed.

The man tilted his head and looked at her. “Suit yourself,” he replied.

Olive watched as he sat down on the end of the wagon and the sheriff drove them on to the house. Her palms were sweating as the wagon stopped and the front door opened. A boy and a girl flew into Jacob Butler’s arms.

“Daddy! Why aren’t ya plowing?” the boy said through two missing front teeth.

Two more children stood in the doorway with such looks of longing it nearly broke Olive’s heart. John and Mary. She watched Mary hold her younger brother back and whisper something in his ear. But John would not be stopped and found himself a place on the man’s neck and latched on. Jacob Butler laughed and kissed each child and tickled the little girl’s side. Olive watched the stone face giant cuddle the three clinging to him. He looked up to Mary standing in the doorway.

“How is Mark this morning?” he asked.

“I can’t get him to eat,” the girl said with a shrug.

“Let’s see if I have any better luck than Mary,” Mr. Butler said as he looked at the other children in his arms.

Olive stepped down out of the wagon and followed the man as he carried the three children, hanging on at odd angles. He stopped at the door and reached to touch Mary’s shoulder but the girl slunk back and ducked into the house.

Olive noticed then the remains of a woman’s touch and it’s decay as she stepped onto the porch and into Jacob Butler’s home. The flowers near the steps were overgrown with weeds and once brightly colored fabric, now hung limp and dirty at the windows. The sink was piled high with dishes, pots and pans and a quilt, maybe white, maybe gray, covered a rocker. Her eyes rose to a small boy tied into a high chair with a wide band of fabric. The child’s head was limp and his chin was covered with drool. Jacob Butler untied him as he cooed and a grin came to the child’s face although his eyes never found his father’s.

“Why won’t you eat for Mary?” he asked as he kissed the infant and turned to the doorway. “This is my youngest son Mark. And those two are Luke and Peg.”

Olive latched onto the stares of the two remaining children. “And they are Mary and John.”

“How does she know our names?” Mary asked.

John saw his sister’s scowl and ran behind Jacob Butler’s legs.

“This is your Aunt,” Mr. Butler said.

“Which Davis are you?” Mary said with fists clenched.

“I’m not a Davis. I’m your father’s sister. My name is Olive Wilkins,” she replied.

“Well, there’s no money left, if that’s what you’re here for,” Mary said.

Olive shook her head. “I . . . I don’t know anything about any money. I came to take you back to my home in Philadelphia.”

John clung to Jacob Butler’s leg; crying and Olive saw fear grow in his eyes. And conversely, hatred in Mary’s. The Butler children sensing Mary and John’s distress began to wail as well and Olive thought her eardrums would burst. Mr. Butler carried Mark, while Luke and Peg clung to his arm and he dragged John, firmly latched to his leg, to the rocker at the window. When he had finally settled into the chair with four children in his lap, he rocked slowly and talked softly until the wails began to subside.

“Miss Wilkins?” the sheriff said. “I’ve got to get going. Are you coming?”

Olive looked from the sheriff’s sympathetic face to Mary’s seething one and onto Jacob Butler’s comforting smile for the children as he rocked.

“Mary,” Olive said, “I know you’ve had some difficult times but I have a home with a yard and a lovely school nearby. It’s where your father grew up. He’d want you to be there. I want you to be there.”

“How would you know what Pa wanted?” the girl said.

“Well, we grew up together, had a wonderful childhood and I just know that James . . .”

“If it was so wonderful and you two were so close, how come I never met you before? I don’t want nothing to do with Mama’s family, but at least I knew who they are. Where you been?” Mary asked.

Olive was stung by the scorn in her niece’s voice. “Mary, we’ve just met but I will not stand for disrespect from you.”

“Miss Wilkins?” the sheriff said.

“If you could please give me a few more minutes sheriff,” Olive replied.

“Going to take longer than that,” the sheriff said as he walked out the door.

“Mary, listen to me. I have the finances to provide you with a good education and clothes and in my home there is a bedroom for each of you. A yard to play in and . . .”  Olive stopped as she saw Jacob Butler’s mouth turn into a grim line. “Oh, Mr. Butler, I didn’t mean to imply that your home is less than . . .”

“If it’s all right with Jacob, we’ll stay here,” Mary said.

“But he’s not family, Mary,” Olive said and took a step towards her niece.

Mary moved to within a foot of Jacob Butler and he watched as she did.

“He come and got John and I and buried Mama. He’ll do.”

“Came and got,” Olive said.

“What?” Mary asked.

“The correct grammar is ‘he came and got John and me,” Olive said as she wiped her forehead. “Never mind.” The sullen state of the children, their tattered clothes and dirty hair were shocking. Their anger and fear, palpable with every word Mary spoke, was horrifying. How could this Jacob Butler, even as a widow, allow these children to fall to such a state.

“Mary, will you hold Mark for me?” Mr. Butler said as he rose.

Jacob Butler went out the door without a glance to Olive. She followed his broad back and when he stepped down from the porch, he turned to her.

“Miss Wilkins, may I make a suggestion?” he asked.

“Certainly,” Olive replied.

“Why don’t you stick around here for a while and let John and Mary get to know you?”

“I could tell the sheriff to have someone come back for me this evening, I suppose,” Olive said and shaded her eyes with her hand.

“No. Not one day. I mean for a while,” Mr. Butler said.

Olive brooded a bit, mumbling to herself. “I imagine it would be easier on the children if I did. I can’t imagine staying much longer at the Jenkin’s Hotel, though. Is there a reputable boarding house in Spencer?”

“There’s nothing reputable in Spencer. And anyway I don’t mean an hour away in town. I mean here.”

Olive’s face tightened and her mouth flew open in shock. “Mr. Butler, to suggest such a thing!”

“Look all I’m saying is that you don’t get to know children or anyone for that matter till you’ve lived with them,” Mr. Butler replied.

“Miss Wilkins!” the sheriff called.

“Fiddle dee dee! Can’t you see I need a moment?” Olive said and began to pace the narrow porch. “Sheriff?” she said when she looked up.

“Yes, Miss Wilkins?” he replied.

“Couldn’t I stay at my brother’s farm? Would anyone object?” Olive asked.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” the sheriff replied, shaking his head.

“That would solve everything,” Olive said. “The children would be back in their own home and we could get to know each other and in time I could convince them to move back to my home in Philadelphia.”

“Before you talk to John and Mary, I think you should go see you brother’s place,” Mr. Butler said.

“Yes, I suppose you’re right. I may have to go back to town for supplies. Sheriff, can I trouble you?” Olive asked.

“Sorry, no, Miss Wilkins. Got to get going,” the sheriff said with a shake of his head.

Olive looked to Mr. Butler and he turned and went into the house. When he came out, he motioned her to follow and they walked to the barn.

“What are we doing, Mr. Butler?” Olive asked.

“Going to your brother’s place,” he said as he began hitching a wagon.

“Who will stay with the children?” Olive wondered.

“Mary can handle them for an hour or two. It’s not far and if there’s trouble, I taught her to fire the gun,” he said as he harnessed the horse.

“Mary is going to defend herself and four children?”

“No, she’ll fire into the air and I’ll come,” Mr. Butler said and climbed up on to the seat.

Olive pulled herself into the wagon on her own, scuffing her shoe and nearly putting a hole in her stocking. “Humph,” she said and turned to face this giant beside her.

The man lifted the reins lightly to the horses’ back. Olive was anxious to see her brother’s home and make it ready for the children. She may be scrubbing floors and beating rugs for days to come but she knew John and Mary were worth the effort. Olive made a mental list of supplies and groaned when she could not remember the name of the soap that Millie, her mother’s housekeeper, had used to make the furniture and floors shine. She felt Mr. Butler’s eyes on hers and she turned to look at this stranger who was so intimately entwined in her life without her permission and without her regard.

Jacob Butler’s chest was huge and his arms barely fit through the rolled up cuffs of his shirt. The gentlemen of her acquaintance, business associates of her father or patrons of the library, were smallish men who made their way with their heads not their hands. They were gentle men and learned men. Olive caught a whiff of earth and lard soap as she stared and raised her brows in question.

* * *

Jacob looked at this spinsterish woman riding beside him. He could hardly believe this frightened, mousy thing was Jimmy Wilkins’ sister. Not a hair was out of place under her dark bonnet.  Schoolmarm glasses, a brown cape and a black dress. Was she dressed for mourning? The only hint of color on the otherwise drab woman was a pair of clear blue eyes. Her skin was pale but she obviously enjoyed the feel of the sun on her face

“What was the grunt for?” he asked.

“Ladies do not grunt, sir. I did not grunt,” she replied.

“Yes you did, ma’am,” Jacob said. They rode on silently for a few minutes.

“I can’t seem to remember the name of the soap our housekeeper used. And I was wondering if it would be available in Spencer,” she said finally.

“Soap?”

“Yes, Mr. Butler. I can’t think of the name. But it certainly did work. Mother wouldn’t let our housekeeper use anything but it on our furniture and floors and banisters. I can smell it as I sit here.” She turned and looked at him from under the wide brim of her bonnet.  “What, Mr. Butler? Have you never been unable to remember something? It’s on the tip of my tongue.”

Jacob could only tilt his head and shake it in amazement at this woman. She had no idea of what she was going to see when they came to Jimmy’s farm. It might be fun watching this proper know-it-all when she realized there were no floors to polish, just dirt to be swept. He could have revealed a thousand indignities surrounding the home of Jimmy and Sophie, but he decided this woman needed to see it with her own eyes.

* * *

Humph, Olive thought. Does he think I’m so old, I’ll forget my name like Mrs. Patterson? That poor soul didn’t know a spoon from a fork and needed round the clock attention from her daughter Theda. Poor Theda. She would never experience anything like this and couldn’t wait for Olive’s return with her niece and nephew. Theda and Olive had discussed at length this mission of mercy that she was now embarked on. Olive was counting on Theda’s help with John and Mary, knowing her lifelong friend would love these children nearly as much as she.

Mr. Butler turned the wagon onto a rutted lane and Olive was nearly knocked from her seat by the jostling. The holes were filled with dark, slimy water and Olive felt a fine spray of moisture hit her face as the horse trotted down the road. She grunted as the wagon pitched and noticed a spot of dirt on her brown coat and picked away the droplet of mud. Olive saw Jacob Butler didn’t shift at all in his seat. Just braced one long leg on the buckboard as Olive hung onto her glasses.

“Is there another road we can take to get to James’ home?” Olive asked.

“We’re on Jimmy’s land now. No other way to get to the house.”

Olive sat up at his announcement. This was James’ farm. Her head twisted and turned but she saw only barren ground with an occasional boulder here and there. A huge, dead tree lay on its side, partially pulled from the ground, some roots still holding. Grass grew from a hole in the side of the trunk and contrasted the gray of the bark. A fence began on her right only to abruptly stop at a stack of rotting rails near the end, weeds growing up and around them. A rusting saw straddled the wood and the sun caught the edge of the metal, forcing Olive to shield her eyes. James must have been very busy with his home and crops to leave the entrance in such disrepair. But Rome wasn’t built in a day, she reminded herself.

Olive sat up straight as they crested a hill. The sun shone brightly and Olive squinted to get her first look. “Where’s the house?”

“Right there,” Jacob Butler said and nodded ahead.

“All I see is a shed of sorts, Mr. Butler,” Olive said as she shifted in her seat.

“That’s the house, Miss Wilkins.”

Realization dawned on Olive and she turned to the man beside her. “No, I’m sure you’re mistaken.”

Mr. Butler stared straight ahead. No reply. Olive turned and focused on the grim scene before her. She saw a clothesline strung from a tree to the house. A line of birds sat on it and sang and chirped beautifully. Olive wondered if Sophie could see them from her kitchen window in the morning. But as Olive let her gaze roam she was overcome with despair. The house was big enough for one room, listing a bit, with shingles, tumbling off.  The plank siding was brown and weathered.  No yard really, just a stretch of mud broken by an overturned bucket.

Olive stepped down from the wagon and watched Mr. Butler wrestle the door to the house off its hinges. He ducked through the opening and came back outside.

“Seen enough?” he asked as he approached.

Olive’s hand was a fist around a wooden slat on the wagon. She glared at him as she marched by. He grabbed her arm, stopping her abruptly.