The Brides of Chance Collection (95 page)

“I’m shore they’ll be seein’ you, Bethilda.” Hattie interrupted what was sure to have been another invitation and steered Abigail Rucker to the path. “We’d best git on our way now.”

Logan smiled his thanks. There wouldn’t be any way for them to refuse a second time, and the last thing he and Bryce wanted was to be stuck with Bethilda Cleary and her daughters.

Hattie smiled as she mashed the taters, remembering the look on Bethilda’s face when Logan and Bryce had refused her invitation. The woman had become so biggity she needed to be taken down a peg or two. Hattie knew Bethilda would make her sorry she’d interrupted, but she couldn’t stand there and let the woman trap Logan and Bryce when Logan had stood up for her and Miz Willow like that—not that they couldn’t take care of themselves, of course.

Abigail sat in the rocking chair, stroking her burgeoning belly and watching Otis Nye carve another perfect checker. The old man seemed gruff and crotchety most of the time, but underneath he just wanted to be useful. If only he’d stop carving those ugly owls of his and giving folks the stink eye when they couldn’t think of anything nice to say about them.

Miz Willow put the biscuits in the ash oven and checked on the pot roast. She handed Hattie salt and butter to add to the potatoes. Hattie had already skimmed the cream from the top of the milk and poured it in. Soon enough, she was setting honey, butter, and jam on the table.

“Come on in now,” Miz Willow hollered out the window at the men. “Dinner’s ready.”

Li’l Nate trailed Logan and Bryce to the washbasin. They’d been digging a hole for a pole they’d chosen for horseshoes. Bryce had remembered some old ones in the barn, and they’d decided to get up a game before the meal.

“Pass the taters,” Otis grumbled at Li’l Nate, who was in the middle of taking another huge helping. It was a good thing Hattie had mashed about two dozen. She’d planned on making tater cakes with the leftovers but could see that wouldn’t be happening.

“Shore are good vittles, ain’t they?” Li’l Nate passed them on.

Otis sopped up some taters and gravy with a biscuit before grunting, “Passable.”

Coming from Otis Nye, that was high praise.

“I say it’s mighty fine eatin’.” Bryce shoved some pork roast into his mouth and chewed emphatically.

“Right you are.” Abigail took a sip of her milk and patted her tummy. “Babe’s kickin’ to make room for more.” She grabbed Otis’s hand and laid it on her stomach. He tried to pull away, but surprise flashed in his rheumy eyes as he felt the babe kick, and the lines around his mouth softened.

“Gonna be a strong ’un, Nate.” Otis spoke the first compliment Hattie had ever heard from him. “You gonna make a fine mama, Abigail.” Then he pokered up again. “Those biscuits ain’t gonna et themselves, boy.” He poked Logan in the ribs. “Give ’em over.”

Hattie saw Logan bite back a grin as he followed the grumpy old-timer’s command. Otis Nye’s crotchety outside hid a soft spot wider than he’d like to admit. He was the exact opposite of Bethilda Cleary, whose fake smiles hid dark thoughts. Hattie would rather see Otis Nye any day of the week.

Dinner ended, but nobody was ready to leave the table.

“Yore food done broke m’ breadbasket.” Otis Nye glowered at them while he snatched the last biscuit and slathered it with honey.

“Yep. Between yore vittles and his child”—Abigail patted Nate’s shoulder—“I’m thinkin’ I’m too big to git up agin.”

“Yore eatin’ for two, Abby.” Nate beamed at his tiny wife. “But I ken what you mean. I’m too stuffed to play a harmonica. Gonna have to let the food settle a mite.”

“I’m with you on that,” Logan agreed, and Bryce nodded.

Hattie got up to brew some coffee and then sat back down. She loved Sundays, the day the Lord Himself had set aside to enjoy hearty meals and good company.

Chapter 15

L
ogan and Bryce waved good-bye to Hattie and Miz Willow after breakfast a few days later. The Trevor boys were going to take them hunting, and they would meet halfway at the schoolhouse.

We’ve been here a week already, and this is the first time we’re going out into the countryside together, just the men. We’ll tromp around the hills all day, track animals, and maybe bring home supper. This is more like it!

“Nice day for huntin’,” Ted said in greeting when they arrived. Or was it Fred? Logan couldn’t really tell. Both of the twins wore brown buckskin trousers and cambric shirts faded gray from many washings.

“Sure is, Fred,” Bryce agreed. Logan shot him a quick look. Was he bluffing, or did he really know which brother was which?

“We figgured we’d go up aways, then double back on the meadow an’ see if we cain’t stay upwind of some deer.” The other one—Logan decided it had to be Ted since they hadn’t corrected Bryce—rocked back on his heels. Logan looked him over and tried to find a way to distinguish between the two. Impossible.

Bryce and Logan followed them up the trail for a while before cutting off into the forest. Logan gave up trying to tell them apart. It seemed as though he’d be doing a fair bit of mumbling—at least their names both ended with
ed
.

The two of them kept up a running dialogue as they passed various landmarks, keeping Logan smiling at the stories they told.

“That’s where Uncle Asa got chased by Otis Nye’s old ram. Ended up sprawled on the ground a few times afore he clambered up that thar tree.” They pointed out a Fraser fir to their right. “Shore were a sight—that goat were as cantankerous as his owner.”

A little farther in, they showed off a small cave in the mountainside. “Here’s where we tracked the red fox as was killin’ off our layin’ hens.”

After a while, they left off talking. Logan realized they must be getting close to the place where the twins had last seen the deer. Sure enough, they could catch glimpses of the meadow just a little ways off. The twins led them to a huge fallen log where they hunkered down to wait.

It was long past noon before anything moved. A few rabbits hopped around the clover, but they held off. One shot and no other animal would come near the meadow again. Then they saw it. A young buck, judging by his antlers, crossed the meadow kitty-corner to them. It put its nose out to test the air, but they were downwind.

Ever so slowly, they all aimed, careful not to move quickly and scare it off. They shared silent nods and fired within seconds of each other. The buck fell immediately, and they hurried over. If they hadn’t shot it in the head or heart, they needed to put it out of its pain as quickly as they could.

It was a clean kill, though, so they set to work. They picked out a fallen branch big enough to do the job and lashed the deer to it. They took turns, two at a time, holding either end of the branch to carry it back down the mountain. It was just the beginning of summer, so the buck hadn’t had a chance to fatten up like it would have managed by fall. All the same, it was big enough to fill their need.

After they dressed it, the Trevor boys would take half home and leave half for Miz Willow, Hattie, Logan, and Bryce. It was a good start toward restocking the healers’ larder, Logan realized. He and his brother had sadly depleted the smokehouse.

The women would stretch and cure the hide to make deerskin pouches for their herbs or scrape it thin to cover windows. The sinews would be dried and used as twine. Nothing would go to waste.

Stooping to harvest useful plants, Hattie sang a verse of “Fairest Lord Jesus”:

“Fair are the meadows, fairer still the woodlands
,

Robed in the blooming garb of spring;

Jesus is fairer, Jesus is purer
,

Who makes the woeful heart to sing.”

The world around her was teeming with life and the things to sustain it. Today Hattie was looking for particular yarbs. The warm months always brought on rashes and poison ivy, so she’d need jewelweed and marshmallow for sure. She’d already added to her supply of yarbs to help with childbearing, and they were well set for coughs and fevers. It was a healer’s duty to be prepared for everything possible.

After breakfast when Logan and Bryce had left to meet up with the Trevor twins, Miz Willow had given her a list of things to look for. From the plants listed and what Hattie knew of their uses, she had an idea why she was gathering them.

Dandelion root cleaned out the body and purified. Elder-berry leaf was good for headaches. Milk thistle was a help for poisoning, whether snake, spider, plant, or drink. Lady slipper root took care of pain and sleep. Peppermint soothed the stomach, and scouring rush cleaned the bladder. Evening primrose could help with moodiness and ease the need for liquor in some.

The last one tipped the scale. Miz Willow was preparing for Rooster Linden. He hadn’t come by yet as he’d promised, but they reckoned it was only a matter of time. Sooner or later, he’d make himself so sick, his body and his soul would overrule his habit—and when that happened, they’d be ready with all the help they could offer.

Gathering all of the necessary plants took Hattie through most of the holler, but she didn’t mind. These were her very favorite kinds of days. Fluffy clouds moseyed along in the bright blue sky like they had all the time in the world to pass the mountains guarding the horizon. Everything around her was green and thriving. Birds sang to the bees in the blossoms. Flitterbirds sipped from the flowers just long enough to be seen, and butterflies danced along a breeze to tickle the tall grasses.

The sun warmed Hattie’s hair and neck when she wasn’t under the cool trees. When she took out her sack lunch of cheese and bread, she chose to sit near the stream. The water burbled along, clear and inviting. Hattie took off her shoes and dangled her toes in the cold water, flinging drops into the air to catch the light before they rippled back into the brook.

God was everywhere around her, just shining His love through beautiful things. This was her home, her holler. She could only wonder if Logan and Bryce Chance saw how special and precious it truly was.

“I’m glad yore back, Hattie-mine.” Miz Willow pulled the door shut and waved a letter at her. “Lovejoy done writ us back, and I’ve been waitin’ on you.” The old woman practically danced around the cabin.

“All right. Let’s hear—wait a minute.” Hattie peered out the window. “Where’re the menfolk?”

“They shot a buck up the mountain with the Trevor boys and brought it back here to butcher it. They took the horses and carried half of it all back to the Trevor place. They left awhile ago, so they’ll be comin’ home soon. I’ve already got venison stew ready and simmerin’ in the pot, and corn bread keepin’ warm in the fire.” She pushed the letter into Hattie’s hands. “Go on an’ read it. I cain’t keep still after that much waitin’!”

Hattie opened the envelope and began to read aloud:

Dear Hattie and Miz Willomena
,

I shore was shocked when I got yore last letter. I don’t know ’bout any trunk in the barn nor any carved wooden box. It’s a mark of what fine folk live in the ole holler that you done tole me instead of puttin’ what you found to use
.