The Brides of Chance Collection (97 page)

As they were eating, Logan tipped a piece of corn bread onto Miz Willow’s plate, then passed one to Hattie. He knew it was her favorite, and he’d been right to think it would be gone before she got there. She flashed him a surprised look, then a grateful smile.

“Thankee.”

“Anytime.” He smiled and leaned back.
This might just turn out to be a fun evening
.

After their early supper, the men gathered around to toss horseshoes and play checkers in the waning light while the women cleared up the tables—not that they had to take care of anything except dirty dishes. Not a speck of food was left in sight.

“Yeah!” Logan whooped as his horseshoe ringed the pole.

“Come on, everybody back to yore seats,” Asa called out, ringing a bell to make everybody listen. “We’re ’bout ready to light the bonfire.”

Everyone quickly went back to the seats they’d taken for supper, but Logan didn’t see Hattie. Lily and Lark looked at him and Bryce, and the men immediately sprawled out a little, taking up the whole bench. One of the boys lit the bonfire, and in the light it cast, Logan could see Hattie. She crouched in front of a little girl, spreading something on her hand and drying her tears. While the musicians tuned their instruments, she gave the child a hug and sent her scampering back to her mother.
She has such a big heart, my Hattie
.

My Hattie? When did she become mine?

Chapter 17

L
ogan pushed the disquieting thought aside as Hattie walked toward them and nudged Bryce to scoot over so she could sit between him and Miz Willow. She smiled and wiggled in, adjusting the cloak behind the older widow’s back to make her more comfortable.

“What was wrong with the kid?” Logan nodded toward the little girl, now snuggled on her mama’s lap.

“She took a tumble and scratched her hand.” Hattie tucked her medicine satchel back beneath the bench. “I cleaned it and put some marshmallow salve on to take away some of the sting.”

They stopped talking as the musicians began to play. Most were like no musicians Logan had ever seen. They sat scattered around the bonfire, so noise came from all sides. Fred and Ted rattled the washboard and boinged a mouth harp with youthful vigor. Rooster, who’d shown up just in time for the food, blew into a good-sized jug to add hollow hoots to the tune of Asa’s fiddle. Otis Nye clacked on a pair of spoons with surprising energy and skill, while Silk plucked the strings of a simple dulcimer. Next to Logan, Li’l Nate wailed on his harmonica, making sweet music on the instrument so tiny in his big hands.

All together, they made the music lively and loud. Logan didn’t know too many of the songs, but he pitched in when he could. Most of time he clapped along with the music, stomping his feet when his hands stung from the evening air and too much clapping.

“Any requests?” Rooster took a nip from the flask in his pocket and swayed a little on his tree stump.

“Equinoxial and Phoebe!” A woman called out. Logan didn’t recognize her voice or the name of the song, so he sat back to listen:

“Equinoxial swore by the green leaves on the tree

He could do more work in a day

Than Phoebe could do in three
.

“So little Phoebe said to him, ‘This you must allow
.

You can do the work in the house and

I’ll go follow the plow….’ ”

Logan couldn’t help laughing as the song progressed. The man got kicked in the head by the brindle cow, slipped in the pigs’ mud, set the food on fire, and lost the hen before his wife came home. The last verse summed it all up:

“Now Equinoxial says, looking up to heaven
,

Phoebe could do more work in a day

Than he could do in seven!”

A great burst of laughter erupted from the circle, the women nodding vigorously as the men shook their heads and rolled their eyes. For his part, Logan saw the truth behind the words—not that women could do more than men, although some could, but that men didn’t always value how hard women worked to hold everything together.

Hattie, for example, cooked, cleaned, laundered, sewed, and tended to the livestock like any housewife. In addition, she gathered, dried, crushed, and combined all the plants and things she used to heal the people around here. Hattie did with care and skill what he hoped to do with money—use the things the people in the holler already had to better their lives. If he did half as much good as Hattie managed, he’d have used the money well.

The musicians took a break, and people got up to stretch their legs. Logan went to get a drink of water and saw Hattie off to his right, cuddling a bundled baby. The smile on her face glowed brighter than the bonfire itself.

“Such a shame,” Bethilda Cleary sidled up to his left.

Serves you right for not keeping on guard
, Logan chided himself ruefully.

“What’s a shame?” he asked as he wondered how he could get away before her daughters joined them.

“Hattie, of course.” Bethilda widened her eyes. “Oh, I thought you knew.” She made a
tsk-tsk
noise. “The way she’s been hogging you, and now you cain’t take yore eyes off her….” The woman’s voice trailed off as she shook her head.

“Hattie Thales is a good woman.” Logan bristled. “She’s been kind enough to introduce me and Bryce to everyone around.”

“So yore not castin’ glances at her?” Bethilda’s eyes narrowed in challenge.

“I was just noticing how no matter where I go, women will always gather around a baby.” Logan shrugged.

“True,” Bethilda said, smirking. “Especially ones who cain’t have their own.”

Logan stalked away from the malicious woman and sank back down onto the bench, crossing his arms and scowling as Lily and Lark looked to come near.

So that’s why Hattie hasn’t married again. She can’t have children. What’s wrong with the men in these parts? Don’t they have eyes to see that Hattie’s a prize in and of herself?

Otis growled at them to name a song, and a few hesitant suggestions cropped up.

“ ‘The Old Maid’s Song,’ ” Bethilda ordered, gazing directly at Hattie.

Logan leaned close to Hattie to try to make out the words of the song. Was it his imagination, or did he see a flash of sadness in those beautiful blue eyes?

The song moved through several verses about the type of man a maid wouldn’t marry. Only unmarried women sang these, with the rest of the town repeating the refrain. He watched Hattie without her noticing as she sang the last verse with a wistful smile.

“But I will marry a man that’s kind
,

Who’s honest and wise

And will always be mine….”

Then the refrain answered back:

“Then you’ll not marry at all, at all
,

Then you’ll not marry at all.”

Logan frowned at the words, which seemed to imply that no such man existed, or that if he did, he wouldn’t want to marry the maid.

Says who?

As they walked home, Hattie stayed quiet. Too much was turning over in her mind— like the way the Cleary sisters made eyes at Logan and Bryce all evening. But she’d been expecting that. What she hadn’t expected was for Logan to be so attentive. It was thoughtful of him to bring Miz Willow and her some corn bread—it was her favorite. And how had he come to know her so well, anyway?

She remembered the way the firelight lit his golden tan, playing on his strong fingers as he clapped his hands to the music he didn’t know. She wouldn’t even have that memory but for the fact he’d saved her seat. She saw the way he’d elbowed Bryce to move over and make room.

He’d played the harmonica with more energy than accuracy that night and had a heap of fun trying out the washboard and spoons. The boy inside the thoughtful man came out and surprised her at times. Then he would look at her with a strange intensity, like when they sang “The Old Maid’s Song.” Why did it matter to her that he hadn’t joined in the chorus?

You know very well why it matters, Hattie Thales. If he’d looked at you in the glow of the fire with his handsome blue eyes and ready smile and sang along, “Then you’ll not marry at all, at all, then you’ll not marry at all,” whatever is left of the girl you once were would’ve just shriveled up and died
.

The next two weeks rushed by more quickly as Hattie kept busy treating cuts, rashes, poison oak and ivy, turned ankles, and the run of typical summer maladies. Every time she was called away to some home or another, she was aware of an air of expectation before they realized Logan and Bryce weren’t with her.

It wasn’t only the single girls who liked having them around, either. The Trevor twins, who at the advanced age of nineteen still provided an impressive number of the scrapes she treated, were always coming by looking for the Chance brothers to go fishing, hunting, trapping, or swimming. Edward Trevor swore Bryce could help him tame the orneriest hound dog alive, and Li’l Nate always stood ready to whip out his harmonica and teach them a few bars. At every house she visited, the children tugged on her skirts, begging for Uncle Logan and Uncle Bryce to give them horsie rides or play hide and seek. Even ole Otis Nye growled at her to bring the boys by for a game of checkers when she dropped off the tea for his rheumatism.

It was enough to make a gal feel about as wanted as a tagalong younger sister who followed after the boys. Hattie wondered whether the Chance brothers knew how much they’d come to mean to Salt Lick Holler. She’d gladly tell them, but they were hardly ever home, and when they were, they kept her laughing too hard to remember. When they left, they’d take a piece of the holler with them and leave behind a gap in the lives of everyone they knew.

“We want to leave something behind that’ll really change things around here.” Logan paced in the loft—sort of. He managed about four steps one way before having to turn back around because of the slope of the roof.

“I thought we’d already gotten that far.” Bryce stretched out on his pallet. “Hey, would ya quit walkin’ over me?”

“Sure.” Logan sat on the bench. “I’m edgy because we haven’t gotten any further in deciding what to do with the money.”

“Yep.” Bryce nodded. “We’ve been kept pretty busy these past weeks.”

“Don’t I know it,” Logan agreed. He’d hardly seen Hattie all week, with her out treating people and him and Bryce invited to so many houses.

“I like to think we’re still doing some good,” Bryce mused. “Those hound dogs of Ed’s are shaping up to be a great bunch. He ought to fetch a fine price for them.”

“True. I’ve never seen a dog obey so well as those pups.” Logan raised his brows. “Ed vows it’s all ’cuz of you, you know.”

“I heard him say something like that.” Bryce shrugged. “He’s still the one who trains them. All I did was show him that rewarding the good behavior was a better track to take than punishing the bad. Dogs are like people—compliments over criticism.”