Dorothy Garlock (11 page)

“Everyone in the country has heard about his . . . his admission that he fathered a child out of wedlock. That’s not an example to be setting for the young people.”

“Come on, Mrs. Fairfax. The slogan, ‘Ma, Ma, where’s my Pa?’ got the old boy elected.”

“For shame!”

Soren laughed, delighted with her wit and quick comeback. She was not only beautiful, but charming and intelligent.

In spite of herself, Ana’s lips tilted in a smile. She was well aware that he had been leading her on, trying to get a rise out of her. She had enjoyed the discussion too. She glanced at Owen. His face was as somber as it was when they rode in the wagon from Lansing. His electrifying eyes went from his cousin’s face to hers, caught her eyes and held them.

Ana wondered if he disapproved of the banter between her and his cousin. She didn’t care if he did. The talk with Soren was stimulating. For one nice long moment she had not thought of the long, lonely years ahead without Harriet.

^“
I
t
was a pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Fairfax. But I’m sorry that the reason for your being here is a sad one.”

“Thank you, Soren. And call me Ana.”

“All right, Ana. We’ll see you in the morning. Owen will be kicking me out of bed at dawn and putting me behind a plow to earn my keep.”

Soren glanced at Owen and saw him looking at Ana as if he were looking at a blank wall. What the hell was the matter with the man? Something was going on between Owen and his wife’s stepmother that Soren didn’t understand. Ana seemed to avoid looking at him, and at times Owen was barely cordial to her.

“You’re so mule-headed, I should hitch you to the plow.” Owen scowled and picked up the lamp.

“I’ll go on out to Pa’s.” Soren gave a snorting laugh. “Will you be out later?”

“In a bit. I’ll see Mrs. Fairfax and the boy upstairs.”

Ana couldn’t help wondering about the differences between the cousins as Owen went ahead with the lamp to light the way. As soon as she left the warmth of the kitchen, she noticed the cooler air and knew that it would be colder yet upstairs. She paused.

“Mr. Jamison . . . wait. I just now realized that it may be too cold for the baby in the unheated room upstairs. It wasn’t this cold last night.”

Owen turned and looked down at her. The lamp between them threw a wavering light on his face.

“This is only the first week in May. The nights will be cool for another month.”

“Harry and I will not be here a month from now.”

“The bedroom across from the parlor has a stove.”

“Would you mind if we used it?”

“Of course not. You said the room upstairs was fine.”

“It was if it was just me. But I’m afraid it’ll be too cold for Harry.”

Owen moved the lamp to the side and bent his head to look down at the child. The scent of Ana’s hair came at him in a fragrant rush. His eyes moved from where she cradled the sleeping infant against her breast up and over her face. He lost himself in the golden depths of her eyes for one moment. Then resentment rushed through him—resentment of the tender feeling that came over him. He tightened his jaw ominously, and for an instant Ana thought that he was going to refuse to allow them to use the downstairs room; but he nodded as if in agreement.

“You can wait in the kitchen while I build a fire in the stove. It’ll take a while for the room to warm up.”

“I can do it. You were going out to visit with Soren and his father.”

“They can wait.”

“I’ll leave Harry here and bring down what he’ll need for the night,” Ana said placing the baby carefully in the middle of the kitchen table.

“As soon as I get the fire going, I’ll bring down the cradle.” Owen filled his arms with wood and kindling from the woodbox.

“It’s a beautiful cradle. Did you send to Dubuque for it?” Ana tucked the blanket about the baby. When he didn’t answer, she looked up. He was leaving the room, and if he did answer, she didn’t hear it.

A half-hour later, Ana carried the baby to the bedroom, where Owen had built a fire in a round iron stove sitting on an embossed tin platform. She placed Harry in the cradle and covered him with a warm quilt. The air in the room was stale as if the room had been closed up for a long time. The furniture, dating back fifty years or more, had been well cared for. A metal drawer-pull had been replaced by a wooden one. The lace-edged dresser scarf covering the top of the bureau had yellowed, as had the crocheted doily on the square pedestal lamp table beside the bed. A faded rag-carpet covered the floor, and a beautifully pieced sunflower-patterned quilt was spread over the bed. White fishnet curtains hung at the windows.

Owen appeared in the doorway with Ana’s trunk. She had brought down a nightdress, wrapper, her towels, and brushes.

“You needn’t have brought that down now.”

“You might as well settle in here. Where do you want it?”

“Next to the washstand.”

“You liked the furniture up there?” he asked while still bending over the trunk.

The words caught Ana by surprise. “Yes, I do. It’s lovely. Why are you hiding it away in a room that’s not used?”

He shrugged his massive shoulders and placed a box of sulfur matches beside the lamp. “This room hasn’t been used for years either. The bed’s clean. I saw Esther putting fresh sheets on it this morning.”

Owen turned at the doorway, lifted his hand in a gesture of farewell and went out. Ana stood looking at the closed door for a long while. He was a strange man. For the life of her, she couldn’t reconcile him with the picture of the man Harriet had said she had fallen in love with. Soren was the type of man Harriet had described. Ana could easily picture him as the laughing, dancing man who had captured Harriet’s heart, but not Owen Jamison. As far as she could see, the only thing the cousins had in common was their size, yet there was a strong bond of affection between them.

The soft featherbed was made up with fresh-smelling sheets. Ana fell asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow, but not before she had time to wonder if Esther had not prepared the bed for herself. If so, why hadn’t she stayed?

Ana was awakened twice in the night by the baby. Each time, he went back to sleep after she fed him and changed his diaper. The third time she was awakened, the roosters were crowing in the barnyard. It was not yet light. She put on her wrapper, belted it tightly at the waist, and made her way to the kitchen in her bare feet. Light shone from the kitchen door.

Owen was standing at the cookstove in a faded, blue flannel shirt, unbuttoned and hanging down over his britches. The instant he was aware of her, he dropped the cloth he was using to lift the coffeepot from the hot stove and began buttoning his shirt, covering the generous growth of dark hair on his chest. His hair was rumpled, his cheeks and chin coated with a night’s growth of beard.

“Morning.”

“The cloth is burning.”

“Gawdamighty!” He grabbed the lid lifter from one of the round iron stove plates and raked the burning cloth into the hold. “Phew! It stinks!”

“Not for long. Is the water hot? I need to wash the bottle.”

“It’s hot. How’d the boy do?”

“I fed him twice in the night. Will there be anyone going into White Oak today? I need cloth to make diapers and a couple of bottles so we can return this one to Mrs. Larson.”

“Make out a list of what you need and Uncle Gus will get it. They’ve got yarn too.”

“No need for that. I have plenty to make what he’ll need until we get home. Is this what you’re having for breakfast?” Ana asked when he uncovered the left-over pie.

“It’s enough.”

“If you’ll get Harry and hold his bottle, I’ll fix a plate of ham and eggs. You have plenty of eggs and I’ll slice off the ham left over from yesterday.” Ana was not sure why she offered to cook his breakfast. He seemed to be perfectly capable of cooking for himself, but she was hungry too. This would give her a chance to eat without Esther’s tryannical presence hovering over her.

“It’s a trade-off I can’t refuse.” Ana thought he was going to smile, but he didn’t.

When he returned a few minutes later, his shirt was tucked into his britches and the wide suspenders were in place. The infant was tucked into the crook of his arm. He dropped Ana’s slippers on the floor at her feet.

“Better put those on.”

“Thank you.” Ana sat down and pulled on the soft slippers. The man was full of surprises! Kind and thoughtful one minute, gruff and completely unlikeable the next. She watched him fold the blanket back from the baby’s face.

“His eyes are open,” he said with something like awe in his voice. His big forefinger gently nudged the tiny chin and the baby opened his mouth. Owen chuckled. His cobalt-blue eyes glinted, and smile lines bracketed his wide mouth. “He isn’t so red today.”

“He will be if he doesn’t get his bottle. Didn’t you hear him cry last night? His face was red as a beet before I could get the bottle to his mouth.”

“Yeah?” He looked up at her and smiled again. Ana couldn’t look away. The smile transformed his face completely, making him almost as handsome as Soren. “He’s got a temper,” he said proudly.

“He’s got a big appetite,” she said dryly, and handed him the bottle. “Let him have about a third of it, then he’ll have to be burped.

“Burped? What’s that?”

“He has to get rid of the air in his stomach. Hold him up against you and pat his back.”

“Oh, no. I can’t do that. I might hurt him.”

“Then you’ll have to cook the eggs.”

“Ah . . . shoot! I guess I’d better learn how to burp him.”

“I guess you had.”

Ana took the big iron spider from the nail behind the stove and set it over the flame. While slabs of ham were sizzling in the hot grease, she cut slices of bread, buttered them and slid them into the oven. After she had set the table, she brought out a jar of applebutter from the pie safe.

Owen had lifted the infant to his shoulder and was barely tapping the child on the back.

“Pat him a little harder than that or the air bubble will never come up.”

“I’m afraid I’ll hurt his back.”

“No, you won’t.” Ana moved over to stand beside him and thumped the baby on the back. Immediately the puff of air came from the tiny lips. “Now he can have more milk.”

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Owen said to his son in a soft, whispering tone as he carefully shifted him back into the crook of his arm. When he put the nipple to the baby’s mouth Harry grasped it eagerly.

Ana stood beside Owen for several seconds looking down on thick, dark hair that curled at the nape of his neck, and on top sprang rebelliously toward his forehead. A sprinkling of silver threads gleamed in the lamp light. He was big and solid as an oak, hard and stubborn and proud. Yet she had caught glimpses of a softer man inside. There were so many things about this man that were puzzling. He seemed to be genuinely fond of his son, and yet she was sure he had not loved Harriet as Harriet had loved him.

“How do you like your eggs?” She spoke so impatiently that his head jerked up and he stared at her for a moment.

“I can eat them any way.”

“Raw?”

“Except raw. I prefer them scrambled.”

Ana went back to the stove. The long braid of hair that hung down her back to her waist swished back and forth across her shoulders. She could feel Owen’s eyes on her and was stirred by feelings she couldn’t control. The warm kitchen had wrapped them in privacy, giving Ana a glimpse of how it would be to have the companionship of a man and a child for them to share. She worked nervously under his watchful eyes, searching about in her mind for something to say to end the gripping awareness that had suddenly sprang up between them.

“Are we invited for breakfast?”

Soren came into the kitchen followed by his father. The men hung their hats on the peg beside the door.

“Morning,” Ana said cheerfully.

“Morning.” Both men answered in unison.

“Sit down,” Ana invited, forgetting that it wasn’t her place to issue the invitation. “I’m about to scramble eggs.”

“Hear that, Pa? Scrambled eggs! We were thinking we’d have to eat cold potato salad and cabbage slaw. How’s the son and heir, Owen?”

“Sleeping if you don’t wake him up,” he growled. “Shall I take the boy back to the cradle?”

Ana turned to look at him. “It may not be warm enough in there.”

“It is by now. I added a stick or two to the stove when I went to fetch him.”

“Cover him well, but keep the cover away from his face.”

Ana broke a dozen eggs in the bowl, feeling terribly extravagant. She whipped them into a froth, added milk and poured them into the skillet where she had cooked the ham. Moving swiftly, she took the buttered bread from the oven and put in another batch. When the eggs were ready she scraped them into a bowl and set them on the table alongside the platter of ham. Soren had poured coffee for himself and his father. Now he poured some for Ana and Owen.

Owen returned and stood beside the table waiting for Ana to sit down. It suddenly occurred to her that she was still in her wrapper, her hair hanging down her back. She looked down at herself and shrugged. She was as fully covered as she would be in a washdress. She sat down and passed the eggs to Owen.