But no matter whether at dawn or dusk, her
father had gone, and the words she’d yearned for since she was
seven years old, the absolution, never came and never would.
Forcing her mind back to the present,
Althea’s gaze fell to the bureau where there lay a razor, a shaving
mug and brush, and a comb, the objects of her mission to this place
of bad memories. She reached out with a hesitant hand and let her
fingertips rest lightly on the ivory-handled blade. Still dutiful,
she tended this room the same way she tended her parents’ graves.
Only at night, while alone with her thoughts, did Althea admit—and
then reluctantly—that she was dutiful more out of fear than
respect. It was silly, she knew, but even from the grave, her
father ruled her life with an iron fist from dawn to dark, just as
he had when he was alive, always dangling the hope before her that
he might one day forgive her.
If only she pleased him enough.
If only she worked just a little harder.
If only . . .
Ludicrous as it was, she couldn’t shake the
notion that he’d find a way to punish her if she failed to do
things now exactly as he’d demanded when he’d been alive. Before
daybreak, she had to be washed and dressed. By dawn, breakfast had
to be on the stove. That finished and served to his order at table,
she’d been allowed to eat her own meal. Then while he and Olivia
had lingered over coffee, it was time to wash the dishes. Then the
floors. So it went throughout the day, and even now, when his death
should have freed her, she was afraid to break the routine.
That made the idea of loaning her father’s
razor and shaving mug to Jeff Hicks seem almost sacrilegious. But
she had no others to give him, and these were simply sitting in
this room, going unused. Olivia wouldn’t approve, Althea was sure
of that. Fortunately, she probably wouldn’t realize they were
missing. She never came into this room, either. And maybe she
wouldn’t recognize the overalls and shirts that Althea lifted out
of the bureau drawers to clothe Jeff.
Before a demon of misgivings could change her
mind, Althea scooped up the items. She spotted the razor strop
hanging next to the door and grabbed that too. Then she fled the
room as if Amos Ford’s angry spirit had chased her out and slammed
the door behind her.
CHAPTER FIVE
Armed with a basket that held a scissors,
mirror, towel, and the other things she’d collected, Althea took a
deep breath and went down the back steps in search of Jeff Hicks.
The new day was crowned by a cloudless blue sky, and a light, clean
breeze stirred the oak and pear trees with a sound like the faint
rustle of silk petticoats. Chickadees and nuthatches were already
busy in the branches, pairing off and building nests.
Everywhere Althea looked, life was renewing
itself. A funny little flutter skittered through her as she crossed
the grass. She’d had the same feeling yesterday when she saw Jeff
on the roof staring at the horizon. It felt like anticipation,
yearning for something, but for the life of her she couldn’t
understand what it meant.
Scanning the yard, she didn’t see Jeff, and
he wasn’t on the roof. He was probably still asleep. Well, he’d
find out soon enough that days around this farm started early.
Shifting the basket to her other arm, she cut a wide path around
the barn and avoided looking at it directly.
She approached the lean-to gingerly and stood
well back, not knowing what to expect. The door was ajar, but she
risked only a quick, furtive peek. Good heavens, for all she knew
he could be sleeping nake—without clothing. The very idea brought
such heat to her cheeks and neck, she almost turned around and went
back to the house. But no—she would see this through.
“
Mr. Hicks,” she called to the door
opening, “the morning is well underway and there is a lot of work
to do. I’ve brought you some clothes and a few other personal
items.”
Althea waited for a response, but only a
noisy crow perched on a nearby fence post answered her.
She tried again, this time with more emphasis
in her voice. “Mr. Hicks, lollygagging is not a virtue. The spring
rains won’t really end until after June, so you must take advantage
of every sunny day that we have now. Please make yourself decent
and come out here so I can cut your hair. I have my own work to
do.”
Still she got no answer. She took one step
forward.
“
Mr. Hicks! If you don’t answer me
now—”
“
Ma’am?”
Althea jumped and whirled to face Jeff Hicks
as he rounded the back corner of the barn. He carried his wrung-out
shirt in one hand and his towel in the other. His long, wet hair
streamed down his bare chest. Although his thinness threw his ribs
into moderate relief, they were crisscrossed with lean, hard muscle
that extended into the waistband of his jeans. His shaggy beard
also sparkled with water droplets and made him look not simply
disreputable now, but downright dangerous.
And, to Althea’s horror, utterly
fascinating.
“
I-I’m sorry, I thought you were
still—” She gestured at the lean-to. “I thought you were in
there.”
“
No, ma’am. I was washing at the
trough.”
Her eyes followed the trail of another
rivulet that snaked over his collarbone and into the hair that
spanned his chest. “Yes, I see—well, I came out to cut your hair
and bring you some clothes and things.” She indicated the
basket.
He nodded. “I’ll get that stool.”
Following, Althea watched him stride across
the yard to get the stool from the back porch. His legs were long
and slim, and his shoulders were broader than she’d realized. He
set the stool next to the tree stump that had served as his dinner
table the evening before. When he sat down with his back to her,
she stepped closer and considered the bare breadth of his
shoulders.
“
I brought a shirt that might fit you,”
she said, thinking her voice sounded high and very young. “You
should probably put it on now.”
He turned his head and said over his
shoulder, “I’ll wait until you’re done. If I put it on before you
cut my hair, it’ll just itch all day.”
“
Oh, yes, of course,” she stumbled,
feeling timid. Taking up the comb, her hand remained suspended just
above his head. He smelled clean, like the soap she’d given him,
but like a man, too. She knew she should work the tangles out of
his hair soon; the morning sun was warm and it was already
beginning to dry, turning a rich sandy color.
Do it—just do it and get this over with. She
sank the comb’s teeth into the damp strands at the back of his
head.
“
Were you comfortable in the lean-to
last night?” she asked, desperate to fill the awkward
silence.
“
Yes, ma’am,” Jeff lied. He’d barely
slept at all, and this morning his muscles ached in places that
he’d forgotten existed. But he’d gladly give up another night’s
sleep if it meant he could sit here again tomorrow and feel her
fiddling with his hair. She worked out the tangles carefully, not
pulling or ripping at them as he was inclined to do. The delicious
sensation of the comb scraping lightly over his scalp raised
goosebumps all over him. He glanced down at the hair on his arms
standing on end. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had
touched him.
“
Fine. As soon as you finish the roof
and shore up the trellis, I’ll need you to start plowing the
garden. I’m very late getting it planted this year. I hope you know
something about plowing and planting.” She talked on about what
needed fixing, patching, painting.
“
Hmm, yes, ma’am.” With her fingers
playing in his hair, it was the only response he could make. His
eyes crossed slightly as he relaxed, and he heard the blades of the
scissors snipping here and there. It was followed by more combing.
Hair scraps tumbled down his upper arms to be carried away on the
wind. This wasn’t like having the barber cut his hair. That felt
completely different. Barbers were heavier-handed. They cinched a
striped bib around a man’s neck and pushed his head this way and
that, making quick, decisive moves. This was a woman’s touch,
lighter and infinitely more gentle. Now and then he felt her
clothing brush against his bare back and wondered idly if perhaps
it was her breast beneath the fabric. And she smelled good, like
starch and clothes hung out to dry in the sun.
“
Will anyone in town be missing you
while you’re here?”
“
No, ma’am.”
“
Your wife knows where you are,
then?”
Jeff’s eyes snapped back into focus. “I don’t
have a wife,” he answered stiffly, his muscles tensing again. Was
it clever sarcasm that she aimed at him? Nobody in town could have
missed Sally’s desertion.
“
Oh, that’s good—” The teeth of the
comb paused on his scalp. “I mean, it’s good that you haven’t left
anyone alone.” Jeff couldn’t see her face, but her voice sounded
unsure and as innocent as a girl’s. He relaxed again.
“
Who looks after your stock?” He
thought it wise to change the subject just in case she got curious
and wanted to ask more questions.
“
We don’t have animals anymore. After
my father took sick, and with my sister Olivia to see to, tending
the stock was more than I could handle alone. And I wouldn’t go
into the b-barn anyway.”
“
Why not?”
Her hands fell still. “I-I haven’t been in
there in years. I’ll never go in there— I can’t—” She broke off so
abruptly that he turned to look at her. She suddenly looked very
young and very frightened.
“
Ma’am?”
She took a deep breath and made a circular
motion with her hand to turn him back to his original position. The
snipping started again. “I sold the livestock a few years ago.”
“
What do you do for meat and butter and
such?” he asked.
“
I made an arrangement with Wickwire’s
to have fresh provisions sent out a couple of times a week. I used
to buy from the Smithfields’ farm but, well, that was a while back.
At any rate, Mr. Wickwire has my standing order in his store. I
imagine I’ll have to send him a note to increase our order while
you’re here. Of course, I put up my own vegetables and fruit. The
pear tree always gives me a good crop.” She went on cutting his
hair without another word. Finally she ran the comb over his whole
head with light strokes, then walked a slow circle around him to
survey her handiwork. “That’s much better. You can finish up with
the razor I brought you. Then you can get on with patching the
roof.”
Disappointed that the barbering session was
over, Jeff stood up. “I don’t think I’m ready to shave—”
Althea Ford drew herself to her full
height—all of five feet and maybe three or four inches at most,
Jeff figured—all businessy and bossy again. “I’ll be having none of
that, Mr. Hicks. Believe me, you are more than ready. We agreed
yesterday that you would clean up, and so you will. In the
meantime, I’ll fix your breakfast. It will be ready by the time
your finished.”
She walked back to the house, her auburn head
held high, and her skirts swaying as she went. Goddamn it, but she
was a fussy, demanding woman. And she had a way of saying “Mr.
Hicks” that sounded as if she’d been sucking a lemon. Jeff glanced
at the contents of the basket she’d left for him. An old
ivory-handled razor lay in the bottom and he stretched out a
shaking hand to pick it up.
He could buck her and refuse to do her
bidding. It was a tantalizing idea. Or he could do as she asked and
show her the result.
He swung open the razor. The shiny blade
caught the morning sun and gleamed like a cavalry saber. He looked
up at the house again, just in time to see the screen door slam
behind Althea.
Breakfast actually sounded good—his stomach
wasn’t as jumpy as it had been yesterday. He supposed if his shaky
hand didn’t cut his throat with the razor, he’d survive to eat.
~~*~*~*~~
“
Althea, I thought you’d never finish
with that man.” Olivia met her in the kitchen. Her baby-fine,
uncurled hair hung loosely around her waist, and she wore only her
shift and an old shawl. Her feet were bare.
Startled, Althea demanded, “What on earth are
you doing up at this hour? It isn’t even eight o’clock yet.”
“
I couldn’t sleep so I came downstairs
looking for you, and I saw you outside with him, that—that
handyman. You were there for an hour. You touched him.” Olivia’s
eyes had a distraught look to them that made Althea wary. She’d
seen that look in her sister’s eyes many times before—it signaled
an upsurge of emotions that nearly always led to one of her spells.
It might not happen right away; sometimes days might
pass.
Anxious to soothe Olivia, Althea immediately
changed her tone. “Remember, dear? Last night I mentioned that I
was going to cut Mr. Hicks’ hair this morning.”
“
Yes, I remember. But Althea, I saw
your face. You looked as if you were enjoying it.”
Althea dropped her gaze to the scissors she
still held. Enjoyed cutting Jeff’s hair, the feel of the clean, wet
strands in her fingers? And the warmth that radiated from his big
frame while she stood behind him?
“
Nonsense, Olivia. It was just another
job to do, like the laundry or the cooking.” Was that why she’d
asked him about a wife, double-checking what she already
knew?
“
But you weren’t here. And I wanted to
help with the picnic food.”
It didn’t sound rational to Althea, but when
Olivia got this way she didn’t sound rational. Althea’s stomach
sank to her knees. Oh, please, she thought, please don’t let her go
into the declines again.