Opal hauled over a bunch of corn, stuffed it into the top, and started turning the wheel. Same as with any machine she'd ever used, starting the thing made for the roughest work. Before long she whirled that wheel for all she was worth, excepting a few stops and starts to put in other loads. It took awhile before she filled the feed basket, but she didn't mind.
The sound of the sheller, the rhythm of the work, the sight of corn kernels piling high were the closest she'd come to home in two days. When Opal finished, she balanced the basket on one hip and headed in the general direction of the coop.
“Chick, chick, chick,” she called, clicking the roof of her mouth to catch their attention. When she spotted the first feathers, Opal began the continual process of reaching into the basket, filling her palm with corn, and scattering it along the ground. Hens came rushing around fences and from under haystacks, their thin legs at odds with their top-heavy bodies. Anticipation made them race toward her, causing the slightly hitched stride Opal found so familiar and oddly comforting.
She flung more and more handfuls in wider circles, birds following her like so many eager puppies nipping at her heels. Only instead, they darted their necks down to snatch a morsel of food with their beaks before tilting back their heads to swallow it whole.
The roosters managed to behave as though she bestowed the food upon their harem at their express command, strutting like glossy overseers. From time to time, they'd find a particularly appealing kernel and let loose an imperial “tut, tut, tut,” until a group of hens came rushing over to fight for it.
By the time she'd finished, her heart didn't feel so heavy. The simple chores reminded her that a greater design guided everything, making farmyards and animals and shelling corn the same wherever one went. It was vastly reassuring to find the familiar when surrounded by so much strangeness.
God ordered the world, it wasn't her place to change it, and fighting her circumstances wouldn't do anything but give her grief. Instead, she'd work here, help out back home, and do what she needed to maintain the balance. Because that was a different thing entirely from changing, and peace was worth maintaining.
Opal watched as Adam wiped his feet before entering the house then moved to follow him.
Whatever it takes.
Midge sucked in a breath as she jabbed another finger with her needle. With a glance around, she saw Clara rocking Maddie, listening as Saul read from the Reed family Bible. The Bible where even Midge's name pranced across the genealogy page, despite her not being related by blood.
As that blood, tainted by the past Saul saved her from, welled into a droplet, Midge stuck the injured finger in her mouth. Of all the folks in Buttonwood, only Saul and Clara knew the truth about where she came from.
The first honest, truly honest, people I ever met, and I made liars out of them without even meaning to.
Over two years, and they hadn't breathed a word that Saul hadn't found Midge on the streets of Baltimore. She'd found him while trolling the streets.
But not in time to save her sister. No. By the time Midge brought him back to their alley, Nancy's blood had left her body.
And Nancy left me.
Midge looked down at the diluted smear around her pricked fingertip and squeezed it until it welled dark red again. She stared at it for a long time. The more of it that gathered, the longer it sat, the darker it became until the red seemed closer to black.
This is who I am. I don't belong with the Reeds any more than Opal belongs with the Grogans. The only difference is I'm lucky. And since I don't deserve my good fortune, and Opal deserves better than her misfortune, I have to figure out a way to help her.
She sniffed, trying to dislodge the lump in her throat. It didn't do much good. But suddenly, something Saul was reading caught her ear.
“Wait a minute!” She sat up straighter. “Can you go back a bit? Reread that last part?”
“Of course.” Surprise lined Saul's face, and Midge knew Clara's expression would be the same if she cared to look.
But for now, her attention stayed riveted on her adopted father as he read from Galatians.
“âBut the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance: against such there is no law.'”
Saul made as though to go on, but Midge cleared her throat to stop him. It would have been disrespectful to outright interrupt a reading of the Holy Bookâasking for him to reread part didn't countâbut she had a question. They were always encouraging her to ask questions about God and the Bible, so for once she aimed to take them up on some answers!
“Yes, Midge?” Excitement gleamed in Clara's green eyes, making them almost catlike.
“Is âfruit of the Spirit' another way to say virtue? I mean, I thought there were only seven virtues, but there are two extras tacked on.”
“Fruit of the Spirit are traits of good character. You can call them virtues. We all fall short but keep trying.” Clara's explanation didn't quite answer what Midge was looking for.
“I think she's referring to the classical virtues.” Saul's expression grew thoughtful. “They are both lists of goals for behavior, but they are different. The fruit of the Spirit are spiritual values, Midge. Classical virtues have more practical applications.”
Well, that's good. I'm not peaceful, longsuffering, gentle, good, meek, temperate, or someone who shares this faith! Love has to be earned and joy's hard to come by, so those don't overflow from me either.
Midge decided to can the fruit.
Practical sounds more my style.
“Then what are the classical virtues?” She crossed her fingers behind her skirts. Sure, she knew Saul and Clara wouldn't like the old superstition, but she couldn't help hoping she scored better marks on the next list.
“Faith, hope, and charity are the first three.” Clara's comment didn't make Midge feel much better.
Well, I do have hope....
“That sounds a lot alike to me.” And her saying so sounded like a grumble, but she wasn't pretending to be longsuffering, after all.
“Temperance makes both lists, too. It's the other three virtues that sets them apart.” Saul pinched the bridge of his nose, the way he always did when he was thinking.
“Oh?” Midge inched toward the edge of her chair.
“Prudence, justice, and fortitude.” He sounded triumphant that he'd remembered.
“Prudence means wisdom, right?” Midge decided that being able to keep her head in a tough time counted, so she gave herself a check mark for that when Clara and Saul nodded. And hadn't she just thought the other day that she had a strong sense of justice? This was more like it! “What's fortitude?”
“It'sâ”
“Wait!” Clara hushed Saul before he could make things easy by just telling her. That was the hitch about Clara having taught her to read and writeâshe kept wanting to make Midge think and learn. “What does it sound like?”
“Fort and attitude put together, so like someone who acts like they can't be brought down.” It sounded silly to Midge, and she got a crazy image of someone wearing a little wooden fort and walking around as though nothing could hurt him.
“That's actually very good.” Saul's brows went up over his spectacles. “Fortitude is another word for perseveranceâa way of saying it's someone who doesn't give up, even when things seem impossible.”
Well, what do you know?
Midge popped to her feet and went to give each of them a hug. She would've tickled baby Maddie but didn't want to wake her up.
“What's this for?” Clara's smile seemed a touch confused.
“Not much.”
I got a solid four out of seven.
Midge scampered up the stairs with a lot of planning to do but decided to let her family know why she seemed so happy. “It just turns out I'm a virtuous woman, that's all!”
But I've still got a few tricks up my sleeves....
“Adam?” The feminine voice called loud to carry into the field and reach him.
Adam pushed on, the steel tip of the plow he guided, breaking thick earth behind Daisy's powerful pull. His wife may have avoided him two days ago, but he hadn't yet found the temperance to hold another conversation with her since the morning before.
His grip tightened on the worn handles as he remembered the way she oh-so-casually walked away from her promise to reveal the identity of her child's father. Literally turned her back to him and walked away as though she owed him no explanations simply because the sun had set and risen.
And I let her do it.
Adam pushed harder, and Daisy picked up her pace.
I let her walk away because I was afraid of my own anger. Of what I'd say. Of how I'd make things so awful for her here that she'd run away and the feud would descend upon my family after all. Biding my time is the best choice.
“Adam?” The voice sounded closer now, slightly out of breath.
“I'll speak with you when I'm good and ready.” He bit out the words without so much as looking over his shoulder. “Not before.”
“Well, I'm ready now.” Now that her breath caught up with her, the woman didn't sound familiar. “And I hope you weren't planning to talk to Opal that way.”
“Who are you to tell me how to speak to my wife?” His shoulders stiffened, but he kept plowing forward.
Maybe you
need
someone to tell you how to talk to your wife.
A small, too-logical part of him made the suggestion, but he squashed it. He'd been more than reasonable.
“Someone who knows you should at least look a body in the eye to have a civil conversation.” Midge Collins bustled into view, walking backward so she could face him. “But maybe I overestimated your ability to
have
a civil conversation.”
“Whoa,” Adam called the big draft horse to a halt and stared at his unwelcome visitor.
With her arms folded across her chest and freckles marching across her nose, Midge Collins looked determined to have her say. What she had any say in escaped him at the moment, but Adam knew he'd be hearing about it.
“I'm not in a civil mood.” He stalked past her to unhitch Daisy from the plow, leading her across that field and the next toward the nearest stream. The sound of Midge's footsteps tracked him. “You don't belong here.”
“It's God's green earth, so I figure I belong as much as anyone.” A defiant note crept into her voice. “And I need to talk to you.”
“You know it's not proper to be alone with a man.”
Think, girl. Days past you were at my wedding, the penalty for me supposedly fornicating with a young woman!
He'd always found irony laughable in the past, but this went beyond what anyone could term humorous.
“That's all right.” She stopped right beside him as they reached the water's edge. “I'm not planning on a proper conversation.”
“What?”
“Go ahead and smile.” She tugged at her bonnet brim. “You look like you don't know if you want to grin or try for a quick escape. I'm pretty fast, so my advice is you let out a smile. It'll make you feel betterâcivil, even. Then hear me out.”
“Miss Collins, you have my full attention.” Adam kept a lid on his grin anyway.
Not planning a proper conversation. Ha!
“I'm glad you're not feeling civil. It means I don't have to shillyshally around things, talking about the weather or,” her voice took on a clipped, oh-so-proper enunciation, “how pleased I was to attend your wedding.” She dropped the pretense. “Sometimes civility can be silly.”
“There's a difference between chitchat and civility.”
“Not for women.”
Silence wound around them while they considered that.
“I think you may be on to something.” The thought made him grin.
“You'd be surprised what I catch on to.” She reached out to stroke Daisy's mane. “Now, Adam, fact of the matter is, I did attend your wedding because Opal's my friend.”
“Don't be so sure.” A sudden memory of his bride-to-be's youngest brother ratting him out revived old anger.
He gawked like I'd look at Midge if I thought no one was watching.
Seemed far too coincidental that the witness Pete “happened” to run across was none other than the girl before him. But Adam wouldn't stoop so low as to say so.
“Well, Pete asked me because he likes me.” Her matter-of-fact answer gave him all the satisfaction of having taken his revenge on Pete, with none of the guilt. “I went because I care about Opal.”
“You two are that close?” Adam trod carefully.
Could Midge tell him the name of any men hanging around with Opal?
If he worked it right, maybe she'd never know what he was angling for....
“Close enough to know that she'll make you a good wife. Then again, I'm not close to you, but I didn't try to interfere with the wedding because I thought you'd make her a good husband.” She cast him a shrewd glance. “I caught you gaping at her from the Burns' stable annex while she talked with Brett, you know.”
“I don't gape.” He bristled at the idea he'd been caught staring at Opal.
Twice. In one week. By two different people.
He stopped bristling.
“Pete said he caught you so easy because you were busy gawking at her on the farm. Do you like that better?” She shrugged. “It doesn't matter. I just figured you were smart enough to realize what a special woman she is and scooped her up.”
“She's special, all right.”
And driving me mad with her secrets. Mad enough not to trust myself around her.
“I shouldn't have swallowed the story so fast.”
“Story?” It took effort not to shift or make any movements to give away his unease.
Midge, true to her word, still caught on. “You just went still as a statue and twice as stony.”
“What story?”
What do you think you know?
“Now that's the question, isn't it?” She cocked her head to the side. “Some stories, folks carry around until they wear out then patch them up with new material to trot around again. But the most interesting tales are made up out of whole cloth. Like this one.”
“I'm not here to amuse you.” He didn't pretend he didn't understand her direction.
“Never said I was amused by it.” Midge's gaze pinned him with the finality of truth. “You never touched Opal before your wedding day, and we both know it.”
“Don't make assumptions.”
“There's advice you should take to heart.” She hadn't blinked in too long. “But anyone who knew Opal, or who cared more about her than their own pride that day to look, could see it on her face that you'd never kissed her before.”
Adam remembered the feel of Opal in his arms, the soft look of wonder on her face when he drew back, his initial impression after their embrace.
Midge offers a better explanation than Opal'd never been kissed at all, considering the situation.
“No need to admit it. You swept her away with that risky moveâone that almost had the Speck boys have you leave with a bullet as a souvenir, by the by.”
Swept her away, eh?
He felt ... taller ... at the idea.
“You went still again,” Midge's observation broke through his thoughts, “but I'll discount it since that grin takes away the stony look.”
“Is that why you came?” He wiped the grin from his face. “To tell me you believe I wasn't her lover?”
And still aren't, but that will change as soon as she coughs up the name of the child's father.
“That and to see your reaction.” Midge started tromping back up the short embankment. “Judging by that grin you aren't sporting anymore, seems I won't need to deliver my warning.”
“I trust you'll keep your suspicions to yourself?” Adam wouldn't verify them but didn't want her blabbing.
“Of course.” She stopped. “And I'd like to help Opal with her apiary. I know it'll need to be moved, and I'm interested in learning about the bees, if that's all right.”
“All right.” Not that he'd deny a simple request when she kept such a dangerous secret, but Adam couldn't shake the feeling Midge had another motive for wanting to be around Opal.