After the Storm (32 page)

A screech from the parlor silenced his answer. When he told her to remain where she was while he checked to see what was upsetting Lottie, she nodded. She watched him leave through the narrow slits of her swollen eyes.

Groping for the baking soda paste, she did not find it. She stood to check whether it was on the other side of the table. When she moved, she stepped on a paper on the floor. She bent to pick it up, although she knew what it must be even before she peered at it through her burning eyes.

She unfolded the crumpled newspaper. Looking from the words she could not read to the door through which the man she could not understand had gone, she wondered if the paper had fallen out of his pocket or been left on the floor. She folded it and put it in her apron pocket. As soon as she could, she would ask Brendan if there was anything similar written on this one and the paper she had found crumpled up before. Maybe her son could help her discover if the answer was there. If it was not, she feared she might never persuade Samuel to unburden his heart so she might find a place within it.

Eighteen

Samuel squinted through his broken glasses. Hitting his thumb when he was hammering in this nail would be stupid. When he had offered months ago to help build the judging barn at the fairgrounds just outside Haven, he could not have imagined all the turns his life would take in the meantime.

“What happened to you?” asked Lewis Parker as he brought another board cut to fit this section of the wall. The sheriff had been working on the smaller building and the seats around what would become a boxing ring. Samuel had heard some of his neighbors taking bets on how many opponents Lewis would knock out this year. Despite his slight build, the sheriff was reputed to be an excellent boxer. “You look as if you lost a fight with a cat.”

“Yellow jackets.” He smiled. “Can you run the lot of them in and lock them up?”

“No thanks!” He laughed. “Why aren't you home letting Cailin take care of you?”

“Cailin doesn't look much better than I do. Megan escaped with the least number of stings, and she's the one who stumbled into their nest.”

“That's what you get for playing the hero.”

“You can be sure I'll think twice next time.”

Lewis's smile slipped away. “That's not likely. You'd risk anything for those children.”

Samuel nodded and went back to trying to hammer in nails without striking his fingers. He had rushed into the swarm not to rescue Megan—Cailin was doing that—but to help Cailin escape the wasps.

Working on the side away from the sunlight, he was able to see well enough through the broken lens to help build the long, low building where the livestock judging would be held. He smiled. Lottie had told him that he could share her spectacles. Pretending to consider her suggestion, he had declined as seriously as she had offered. The memory warmed him. Not just Lottie's generosity but also Cailin's laughter, which had, for that moment, torn down the wall between them.

“Why don't you head home?” asked Noah, coming up behind him. “You've been here for hours.”

“The interior needs to be finished.”

“We've got plenty of volunteers.” He smiled. “And Emma is concerned that Cailin needs some help after what she's been through with the wasps.”

“Is this Emma's way of telling me I should be resting, too?”

He laughed. “Not Emma. She'd be much blunter than that. She's worried about Cailin and your little girl.”

Samuel fought not to react to his friend's words. Before Cailin had arrived, he had been pleased each time anyone had called Brendan, Megan, and Lottie
his
children. Now each mention reminded him how unsettled matters remained, more than ever since Cailin had first shared his bed.

Handing the hammer to Noah, he said, “There's no sense in getting Emma upset.”

“Take care of yourself.” Noah smiled, then winced. “I remember the first time I came upon a hornet's nest in some wood I was getting ready to work on. I won't be that stupid again.”

Samuel had to admit he was grateful for the excuse to get in out of the sun. Its heat seemed to exacerbate the burning stings. He would be glad to get back to the farm and plaster on more of that baking soda. Even so, when he reached the village, he drew the wagon to one side of the street.

He walked into the telegraph office. As soon as he opened the door, he could smell the pomade Kenny Martin put in his hair. The young man seemed to think he had to look slick as goose grease to impress his customers. Samuel doubted many folks paid any attention to Kenny's smooth hair and pristine white shirt when they came in to send a message or wait for one.

“Wow!” Kenny said as he stood up behind his counter. “I heard you'd had a run-in with some wasps, but I didn't know you'd look this bad.”

“I'm better than I was yesterday.” He folded his arms on the counter, then, wincing, straightened. “I thought I'd stop in and see if there's any answer to my message.”

“Nothing yet. I'll send word out to you as soon as something comes in.”

“Thanks.” As he went out and closed the door behind him, he heard Kenny's snicker. He could not fault the telegraph operator. The very sight of his wasp-stung face had brought peals of laughter as well as sympathy from everyone he had met today.

Driving his wagon along Haven's main street, he frowned. He had sent that telegram to Lloyd Sanders more than a week earlier. By this time, Lloyd should have gotten the answers he needed and sent a reply back to Haven. If he heard nothing by the time the fair was over, he would send another, more pointed telegram to his friend. He had waited too long on this already.

Brendan was bounding out of the barn as Samuel drew the wagon to a stop. Waving to the lad, he swung down and called, “I could use some help.”

“With what?” His smile wavered, and he looked at his feet.

“Go and get your sisters to help,” Samuel said, pointing to the back of the wagon. He knew he should ask Brendan what was wrong, but he held his tongue. If the boy had done something he should not have, the truth would come out soon enough. “There's too much for you and me to carry.” A motion in the barn door caught his eye, and he was glad. Even if she looked the worse for the stings, Cailin was a sight he enjoyed as often as possible. “Cailin, come and see what was put in the wagon while I was working at the fairgrounds.”

He handed Brendan a cake and a box. When he held out another pair of boxes to her, she asked, “What's all this?”

“Noah told me Emma is concerned about how you're faring. It wasn't until I hit a chuckhole on the way out of town and heard the clatter in the back that I realized she was determined you wouldn't have to cook tonight.”

She opened a box. “Do you know what this is?”

“Fried chicken,” Samuel said with a chuckle. Peeking into the other, he took a deep breath and smiled even more broadly. “And potato salad. Have you ever had either?”

“No.”

“Then you're in for a treat.”

“Emma did this?” she asked as tears filled her eyes again.

Samuel put his arm around her shoulders and steered her toward the house. He hushed the children, who were distraught to see her weeping.

“It's all right,” she said when they entered the kitchen. Stepping away from him, she put the boxes on the table. “And I'm all right. I'm just so pleased not to have to cook supper. The heat from the stove makes everything hurt more.”

Shooing the children back into the parlor with instructions for them to play quietly, Samuel placed a milk pail on the table. He opened it and chuckled. “Lemonade to go along with the food.”

“I can't believe she did all this.” She stared at the bounty on the table. “No, I can believe it. I've never seen such generous people as in Haven.”

“We do take care of one another.”

“So I've seen.” She motioned toward the door as she wiped her eyes cautiously on her apron. “Go and sit with the children while I get this on some platters. Then we can eat out on the porch.”

He nodded. As he watched her walk about the kitchen, he noticed that she was as unsteady as he was if he moved too quickly.

With Brendan's help and Lottie's attempts to help, Cailin prepared five plates and poured five glasses of lemonade to take out onto the porch. Samuel and Megan joined them outside.

Samuel laughed as the children reached for the plates that were lined up along the top step. When he saw Cailin exchange a glance with Brendan, he noticed neither looked at him.

He was about to ask what was troubling them, but Megan exclaimed, “Mama, try the chicken. It's so good!”

Cailin took a bite of the potato salad and then one of the fried chicken. “These are delicious. I'll have to persuade Emma to share her recipes.” She seemed as determined as the children to enjoy the meal.

He decided to do the same, remembering that he had not eaten much at midday. As Brendan helped his sisters divide up the final pieces of chicken before going inside for second helpings of salad, he said, “Brendan is becoming quite the diplomat. He handled that without creating a single outcry. Maybe he's feeling sorry for us.”

“He is.” Her voice was so hushed, he almost asked if she was hurting worse. As she stabbed her fork into a chunk of potato, she took a bite and looked across the lawn.

“He has a good reason.” He flexed his right hand. “I haven't done that much hammering in a long time. I missed the nail as many times as I hit it.” Adjusting his glasses, he said, “I'm glad I didn't break both lenses. You'd be leading me around to do my chores.”

Cailin gave him no answer before the children hurried back out onto the porch.

His brows lowered when he saw Brendan glance at her several times, an uneasy expression marring his face. When she spoke of nothing more important than how good the cake was, he wanted to believe he was reading more into her silence than he should.

He was grateful when it was time for the children to go to bed. As they scurried into the house, he said, “Cailin, you rest here while I take the last of the dishes into the kitchen.”

“Leave them. I'll take them in later.”

He dropped to sit on the railing beside her. “Are you as tired as I am?” he asked with a chuckle. “Even with all the help we had, building that judging barn took a lot longer than I'd anticipated.”

“I
am
tired.” She hesitated so long, he thought she had something vital to say. When she did speak, she said, “I love evenings like this. Sometimes Athair and I would sit out on summer nights and play the fiddle and sing to the stars.”

“Sing to the stars?”

“I guess I should have said sing under the stars. It was a nice way to pass an evening.”

“Then why don't you sing? You've got a lovely voice, and it'd be a nice way to spend the evening.”

“I'd rather talk.”

He leaned forward and rested his elbow on her chair's arm. “About what? About how lovely you are when the setting sun glistens on your hair?”

Cailin reached into her apron pocket and drew out the two newspaper pages. Without a word, she handed them to him.

Even in the dimming light, Samuel could see a name circled on each page. Beverly's name! He stood. His voice hardened as he asked, “Who helped you read these? I hope you didn't ask someone in Haven.”

“I wouldn't do that.” She gripped the arms of the chair. “I asked Brendan to read them to me. He helped me find something in common in these two pages that you crumpled up and threw on the floor.”

“So I see.” He folded the pages and put them in his pocket.

“Who is she, Samuel?”

“Beverly Newsome.”

“Very funny!” She folded her arms in front of her but stayed sitting in the rocking chair. “You crumpled these pages with her name on them. In anger?”

“I don't want to talk about it.”

“Why not? Ever since I arrived here, you've been trying to dig up every detail of my past and help me banish my heartache. Why won't you let me help you do the same?”

“Because I don't need help.”

“Do you want to spend the rest of your life destroying pages of the newspaper with Mrs. Newsome's name on them?” She clearly did not intend to let him avoid her questions tonight.

“Just because you wandered, penniless, into my house doesn't mean you can tell me what I should do with the rest of my life.” He cussed under his breath when he saw her eyes widen as far as they could at his cold words. He could tell her that he had not meant them, but it was too late. They were spoken now.

“It isn't just your life!” she fired back. “It's the children's and mine, too, while we're here.”

“While you're here? Are you still planning on leaving?”

She waved aside his words. “Don't change the subject. Please be honest with me.”

“I'll be honest and say I don't want to talk about it.”

“With me?”

Samuel could not ignore the thrust of something like a well-aimed fist in his stomach. Her question was so soft and so heartfelt that he knew he owed her an answer. More importantly, he owed her an honest answer.

“If I were going to talk to someone about it, you'd be the one I'd talk to.”

“Tell me, Samuel. Trust me at least this much.” She put her hands over his on the arm of her chair as he sat on the top porch step. “It's nothing more than you've asked of me.”

He wanted to tell her that, of course he trusted her, but she had to trust him about this being the one thing he needed to keep to himself. When he gazed up into her eyes that remained swollen, showing she had been unafraid to protect her child … and him, he knew he could not be less courageous.

Taking the pages out of his pocket again, he looked at the circled names. “As you guessed with Brendan's help, I do know Beverly Newsome. I know her well.”