Dorothy Garlock (15 page)

“Good grief!” Gus muttered and shook his gray head. “She and Esther had a awful set-to after you went to the field this mornin’.”

“What about?” Owen buckled the shaft to the harness.

“It was a piddling thin’ to fuss over. Mrs. Fairfax asked for a bucket to wash the youngun’s drawers.” Gus came to the side of the buggy as Owen climbed in and took the reins. “That house ain’t never goin’ to be big enough for Esther and another woman.”

“I swear, Uncle Gus, I don’t know what I’m going to do about Esther.”

“I don’t know either, son.” Gus stepped back from the buggy. “Go fetch the lass and your boy.”

Ana sat on the log beside the road with the baby on her lap. She dug into her travel bag for something to wipe the sweat from her face. Why hadn’t she thought to wear her hat? She’d have a face full of freckles before the day was over. But what did that matter? she chided herself. Thank heavens for the breeze. It cooled her face, but she didn’t dare let the wind blow on the baby; he would be sure to have colic. She looked at the puckered little face of the sleeping child and wiped the dribble of spit from his cheek with a corner of the blanket. They should be at Mrs. Larson’s before time for another feeding, but if not, she still had a few ounces of milk left in the bottle.

“You’re safe for now, little man,” she murmured.

The silence was full of lazy sounds: a dog barking in the far distance, a bee buzzing in the sunshine, the cheerful song of a meadowlark and the sad call of the mourning dove. Another sound reached Ana’s ears—the hoof beats of a running horse. A buggy was coming down the road at a fast clip, dust trailing behind it like a big, bushy tail.

Instinctively Ana knew who was in the buggy. She didn’t care. It made not one whit of difference if Owen found her now or later. But how did he know she had gone? Esther wouldn’t have told him—she was happy to be rid of her. Ana had not seen Gus when she came out of the house, but perhaps he had seen her and had gone to tell Owen. As Ana watched the buggy approach, she wished that Owen had been more like Soren and his father.

Owen didn’t slow the horse until he had almost reached her, then he pulled up on the reins so tightly that the animal squealed and fought the bit.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” He was angry, his face set and hard.

Ana studied him, taking her time answering. He was hatless, his shaggy brown hair windblown. He wasn’t as handsome as Soren; his features, covered with a film of dust, were rough-hewn, as if carved from a piece of oak by an unskilled artist. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up above his elbows, showing thick forearms sprinkled with dark hair. She could see angry lights in the deep blue eyes that stared at her. At least he was capable of showing some emotion. When Ana finally spoke, it was in a softly comtemptuous tone.

“It should be obvious even to you.”

Owen climbed down out of the buggy, picked up her travel bag and flung it upon the seat. “Get in.”

“Not unless you agree to take me to Mrs. Larson’s.”

“Preacher Larson’s? What for?”

“I’m going to stay there until I can find someone to take me to Lansing,” she said calmly, but there was a militant light in her eyes that told Owen she was burning inside with anger.

Owen stared down at her, not believing she had actually said that. Wide, golden eyes stared back up at him. The breeze blew a strand of her hair against her mouth that she didn’t bother to brush away. His throat worked, and he swallowed repeatedly while trying to gather his splintered thoughts. Finally the words came in a frustrated shout.

“You’re . . . not going to the Larson’s or anywhere else! You’ll not make me the talk of the whole damned county. You’re coming home with me!” He reached to take the baby from her arms. She stood and walked away from him.

“It isn’t necessary to shout to make me hear you.” Her voice was even and smooth. It grated on his already-raw nerves. “It matters not a whit to me if you’re the talk of the whole damned state of Iowa. I’m taking Harry and going home to Dubuque!”

“Go where you please, but that boy stays here!” He put his hand on her shoulder and turned her around.

“I’ll die before I leave this baby in that house for your crazy sister to murder! And . . . get your hands off me, you blind, stupid dolt!” she hissed like a spitting cat.

“Don’t talk foolish. Get in the buggy.” His hand slid down to the small of her back to push her forward.

Instead it pushed Ana to the limit of her control. Holding the baby tightly against her with one arm, she drew back the other and swung. Her balled fist connected solidly with the side of his face. A stunned look dropped over his features like a curtain.

“You . . . stinking polecat! I’ll fight you every step of the way if you try to give this baby to your demented sister to raise.”

“What’n hell’s the matter with you?”

“You . . . you pea-brained lunkhead! What in hell’s the matter with you?” she shouted, now that she had worked up a full head of steam. “Are you so stupid that you can’t see what’s best for this child?”

“I’ve got more rights to that boy than you have.” The sound that came out of Owen was something between a snarl and a jeering laugh.

“You blind toad . . . wart . . . fool! Your
rights
be damned!” Words spewed from Ana’s mouth like a fountain. “You’re nothing but a weak-kneed, yellow-bellied, gutless . . . b-bastard!” The last was the worst thing that came to Ana’s mind. “I don’t care if you
are
Harry’s father, he’s not going to grow up to be a spineless worm like you and crazy like that old crow of a sister of yours. In fact, he’d not get a chance to grow up at all . . . if I leave him h-here with y-you and . . . her. I w-won’t. Do you hear? I w-won’t!”

Ana swallowed to clear the lump from her throat and blinked hard to clear her eyes, but it was no use. Tears like dewdrops shone there and slowly rolled down her cheeks.

“Gawdamighty!” For a long moment Owen watched the silent tears streak her dusty cheeks. Then he moved over to the log and sat down. He rested his forearms on his thighs and stared at the ground between his knees. Her contemptuous words had hit him like stones. What hurt the most was that she was right . . . about some of it.

The silence between them went on and on. The baby began to fret. Ana walked up and down, crooning softly to him. No doubt the little thing was hot, and tired of being held for so long. She wanted to lay him on the buggy seat to rest her arms, but she couldn’t bring herself to let go of him.

She glanced at Owen sitting on the log with his head down. She felt no regret for what she had said to him even though she had never torn into anyone that way before. What was this family doing to her? They had brought out traits in her she had never known were there. Twice in one day she had struck another person in anger. It was unbelievable.

Owen raised his head and watched her swing her arms in a rocking motion in an effort to comfort the child. She was slim and straight—he was sure he could span her waist with his two hands. He studied her face, unable to pull his eyes away from her delicate features and the huge golden eyes that refused to look at him. On the outside she was as delicate as a flower, yet on the inside she was as sturdy as a rock. The cruelties of life hadn’t made her bitter; they had made her stronger.

Ana knew the minute he lifted his head to watch her and wondered what was going on in that head of his. She wished he could make up his mind if he was going to take her to the Larson’s or not. If not, she had a long walk ahead of her.

“You’re tired.” He had come up behind her. “You’ve walked a long way.”

“I’m not too tired to walk on to White Oak if you’re not going to take me.” She turned to look up at him. He was big—he was still angry—she was alone with him in this vast emptiness. Why wasn’t she afraid?

“Would you like a cool drink of water? There’s a little stream over by those willows. We could talk.”

“I’m not going to change my mind.”

“I don’t want to lose the boy, Ana.”
I don’t want to lose you, either,
he admitted to himself.
Ana.
The name slipped from his lips, but she didn’t seem to notice.

Ana realized when she looked at him that the anguish was as much in him as it was in her. His eyes were bleak. His mouth looked as if it had never smiled.

“You could come see him,” she offered gently.

“Let’s go get that drink of water and decide what to do. You look as if you’re ready to wilt.”

It was the gentlest tone he’d ever used with her. Ana let him take the baby from her arms to hold while she climbed into the buggy. He placed the infant in her lap, went around and climbed in beside her. Neither spoke as he guided the horse off the road and across a grassy field toward the willows.

It was cool and quiet in the shade. He stopped beside a small, clear stream of water that traveled southeast over a rocky bed. Owen tied the horse where he could crop the new green grass and extended his hand to help Ana down. Leaving the baby sleeping peacefully on the buggy seat, she went to kneel beside the water. She wet her handkerchief and dabbed at her face and neck. After drinking from her cupped hands, she went back to the buggy and waited for Owen to join her.

“Do you want to sit down?” His face was wet. Water rolled down his cheeks.

Ana shook her head. “I’ll stay near the baby. I saw a bee buzzing around.”

“Well, sit here on the floor of the buggy. I know you’re tired.”

With his hands at her waist he lifted her the few feet off the ground as easily as if she were a child and set her down on the floor next to the seat. It happened so quickly that Ana had no time to protest, no time to feel his hands on her. When she looked up, he was standing with his back to her. He had slid his hands in his hip pockets. The thought went through her mind that he was as strong as an ox.
And as dumb,
whispered an inner voice.

“I know you despise me because of Harriet,” he said abruptly as he turned to look at her. “I can only say that at the time I thought I was doing the right thing.”

His words shocked and angered Ana. “The right thing? Is ruining a young girl’s life your idea of the
right thing
? You’re right about one thing, Mr. Jamison. I do despise—”

“It’s over!” He held up his hands. “It’s over, and there’s nothing we can do to change it.” His brows were drawn together, and his big hands looked as if they were going to grab her, but they didn’t. “It’s the boy we’ve got to think about.”

“Yes, it’s over for Harriet. It’s her son I’m thinking about. I promised her I’d give her baby love and a good home. I intend to keep my promise.”

“How?” he asked bluntly.

“I have a house that Mr. Fairfax left to me and Harriet. I work for people on the bluff, and I knit caps and stockings for the merchants in Dubuque. I’m also a dressmaker.” Ana suddenly snapped her teeth shut so hard they clicked. Why was she telling this cold man her life story? It was none of his business.

“Who will look after him while you work?”

“Most of my work is done at home. When I have to go out, I’ll find someone. A neighbor—”

“The boy stays here,” Owen said flatly. “His roots are here. Someday the farm will be his.”

“If he lives to grow up!” Ana snapped, anger washing over her again. “You’ve got to be out of your mind if you think I’ll leave him here with Hettie and that warped sister of yours.” Ana put her hands on his chest to push him away so that she could get down. He didn’t budge—he stepped closer. “Get out of my way, or I’ll hit you again,” she said rashly.

“You hit me once today. Don’t try it again.” His voice was low and firm. Their eyes did combat. “Calm down. I’m not asking you to
leave
the boy here. I’m . . . suggesting that you stay here and take care of him.”

“You’re . . . suggesting that—” she sputtered. “I wouldn’t stay in that house a day with that woman if you gave me the whole damn farm on a silver platter!”

“You wouldn’t have to go out and work,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “You and the boy would have a home, and I could watch him grow up.”

“A home? You have a house, not a home, Mr. Jamison. Your house is the coldest, most un-homelike house I’ve ever been in, and I’ve been in plenty.”

“You could make it a home. It would be different if it was . . . yours.”

“Your sister treated me like dirt and I was a guest. How do you think she’d treat a paid servant? No! Absolutely not! Do you think I want security so badly that I’d live in a place where I was afraid to leave my baby alone in a room? I’d rather work my fingers to the bone in a cold attic and eat cornbread three times a day.”

“I’ll handle Esther—”

“The way you handled her when you brought Harriet home as your wife?”

“Harriet was unable to cope with the work and—she didn’t want to. I didn’t know things between her and Esther had gotten so bad until that . . . night. I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.” Something in his voice made Ana believe him, but still she couldn’t resist a jab.

“Go out to the cemetery and tell that to Harriet, Mr. Jamison,” she said quietly.

Owen turned from her accusing eyes and stood with his back to her for long seconds. When he looked at her again, his gaze took note of the circles under her eyes and the weariness in her face. The past week had been difficult for her.

“I made Harriet a promise, too. I told her that you and I would work out an arrangement so that you can raise the boy. I want you to live with him in my house, make it a home.”

Ana answered quickly. “I can’t do that. Life is too short to live it in a constant turmoil. I’d rather have less, work harder, be less secure, and have peace of mind.”

“The house and all I have will be yours. Esther will have to come to terms with it.”

“No, Mr. Jamison. In the first place, I don’t think your sister is of sound mind. She will not come to terms with it. In the second place, I have a house in Dubuque. If I stay here, I’ll have to sell it. And where would I go if things didn’t work out here? Third, and most important, I’ll not put myself in the position of being gossiped about by your neighbors and friends because I’m living in your house, even though you are my son-in-law.”