Dorothy Garlock (21 page)

“If I’m so scary, how come I can’t scare the sass out of you, Soren Halverson? I’ll thank you to get out of this kitchen and get back to work,” she retorted spiritedly.

“She’s throwing me out, Owen. She’s mean and cruel—”

“I can be meaner. Now scat!”

Good-natured laughter burst from Soren as he headed for the door.

Ana turned and caught Owen watching them with a grave and brooding darkness to his features, and his eyes, when they met hers, looked as if they were seeking something. Abruptly he turned, reached for the half-empty water bucket, and followed Soren out.

What’s the matter with the man? Was he turning back into the
grump
he was on the way here from Lansing? Surely he knows his cousin well enough to understand his teasing. Did he think it unlady-like for her to respond to Soren’s banter?

Now was the time to get a few things straight and clear the air. Owen would ask her for her decision when he returned. Rather than wait for him to ask, she would bring up the subject herself and perhaps it would give her a small advantage when she presented her list of conditions he must agree to before she would stay.

Owen returned and set the waterbucket on the shelf beside the door.

“Mr. Jamison, I’ve decided what I will do,” Ana said before her nerve deserted her. “I’d like to discuss it with you if you can take the time.”

He stood stone-still for a moment, then nodded, stepped around her and went to the door.

“Soren,” he called, “go on out and start on the east field. I’ll be there in a while.”

Ana cleared away some of the dishes to make room at the table while Owen poured himself a cup of coffee, silently cursing the nervous trembling in his hands.

^“
I
found
the cradle in the storage room, Mr. Jamison. I managed to get it as far as the top of the stairs. If you will bring it down here to the kitchen, I’ll get Harry. I don’t like leaving him alone for such long periods of time.”

Mr. Jamison.
She could laugh and tease with Soren, but she couldn’t even
call
him by his given name. To her he was a degenerate, a seducer of young girls.

A cold knot of dread began to form in the pit of Owen’s stomach as he left the room and went up the steps.
She was going to leave!
That was what she wanted to discuss. She would insist on taking the boy, and, of course, he would let her take him. It would be selfish of him to keep the child here, board him out with a family like the Larsons or the McCalisters, and see him only occasionally while he was growing up.

Owen tried to gather his scattered thoughts. Ana had said that he could come to Dubuque to visit. It would be a way of keeping in touch with her and maybe someday—. He dropped that painful train of thought and went on to another. The one thing he could do for her was to see to it that she didn’t have to go outside her home to work. He would insist that she agree to at least that much.

“It’s a beautiful cradle,” Ana said as she followed him into the kitchen.

“Is this where you want it?” He set the cradle in the corner out of the draft and backed out of the way.

“This is fine.” Ana cuddled the infant to her shoulder, her eyes tender. “He’s such a good baby. I’ve never known one like him. Do you think I might be prejudiced?” She laughed lightly, her eyes seeking his. “It seems so funny to think of myself as a grandma, even a step-grandma.”

Because he was looking at her so intently, the smile froze on her face and the laughter died from her eyes.
Ana Fairfax, get a hold on yourself, you’re rattling on like a featherhead.
She wanted to appear composed, confident. But her heart was throbbing in her throat. Her future would be decided during the next few minutes, so why shouldn’t she be nervous? She tucked the blanket in place around the baby and looped a strand of her hair behind her ear before she turned to look up at the big man standing beside the table.

“Sit down, Mr. Jamison. I’m nervous enough without having to stand here and look up at you.”

The chair legs scraped on the floor as he pulled out the chair. Ana took two sheets of paper from the top of the pie safe and sat down across from him.

“I’ve given your . . . suggestion serious thought. Harriet was near and dear to me. She was the only family I had. And although I probably will never be able to forgive you for seducing a young and innocent girl, I have no choice but to marry you if I am going to keep my promise to raise her son. But—” she held up her hand when he opened his mouth to speak—“I will insist that you agree to certain conditions. I’m not so desperate, Mr. Jamison, that I will compromise myself. For instance, I will not become a mere servant in this house. I want that understood from the beginning. I have written some of my concerns down so that you may read them over, and then we will discuss them.” Breathless from the long speech, she moved the papers across the table.

Owen moved his chair back, leaned forward with elbows braced on knees spread wide, and slowly read what Ana had written. Her tightly clasped hands rested on the table as she watched him. Not a muscle twitched in his face, nor did a line appear to indicate his approval or disapproval of the conditions stated. His lashes covered his brilliant blue eyes, preventing her from reading his reaction there.

He was more rugged than any of the men she had known. His face was not as handsome as Soren’s, she decided, while giving it careful scrutiny. But it had character. The brows above his thick lashes were well shaped. His cheeks were smooth, his mouth firm, his hair soft and clean, his hard-columned neck sturdy as an oak tree.

He was clean in spite of working in the fields since sunup. The collar of his shirt was frayed and needed to be turned, but it was clean. His fingers were long and tapered, his nails cut close. The ground-in dirt usually found in a working man’s hands was not there, yet she knew he worked hard.

Would he be like Mr. Fairfax and ignore his right to her bed, or would he insist on sharing it? If so, those hands, so generously sprinkled with silky dark hair, would touch her in her most intimate places. She went rigid with shock. Oh, God—the blood rushed to her face—was she ready for this?

Owen was looking at her. His head was still bent over the papers, but he had raised his lids, and his eyes, as deep and blue as the sky, were staring into hers. They made her a bit giddy.

“What you want sounds reasonable to me.”

“I don’t want blanket approval,” she said quickly and sharper than she intended. “I want to know what you think of each condition. I’m trying to be honest with you. My future is at stake here.”

“I realize that.”

“If I stay, this will be my home . . . our home. I’ll not stand for any interference from your sister.” Ana’s golden eyes looked earnestly into his. “Esther will be welcome to come here as a
guest,
but that is all. Do you agree to that?”

“I’ll speak with Esther and try to make her understand.” She heard the unsteadiness in his voice. Why, he was just as nervous as she was!

“If there’s anything inside or outside the house that is hers or that you want her to have, I want her to take it. What will be left will be mine . . . rather ours. Do you agree?”

“Sounds reasonable.”

“About the farm. Are you the sole owner, or do your brother and sister own a share?”

“It is mine. I paid Paul, my younger brother, for his share, and our Pa gave Esther her share when she married Jens.”

“You may think I’m mercenary, Mr. Jamison, but I vowed a long time ago that I would never again be put in the position where I had to scrounge for something to eat. I’m more than willing to shoulder my part of the work here, but I need assurance that in the future I won’t be put out to shift on my own.”

“I’ll have your name put on the deed.”

“No. You misunderstand me. That won’t be necessary. As your wife and the guardian of your child, I would have rights if the farm were yours.”

“It’s mine—every stick and stone.”

“Another thing. I’ll sell my house in Dubuque and use part of the money to make this a more comfortable home. You must admit it has been . . . neglected. The rest of the money, Harriet’s half, will be saved for Harry’s education.”

“I have money to fix up the house any way you wish. Keep your money to use as you want.”

“No. By sharing the expense I’ll feel as if part of this is mine.” She gestured with a wave of her arm.

“Good God, woman.” Owen showed the first sign of impatience. “It will be anyway.”

“I’ll not budge on that point,” she said firmly.

He shrugged. “If that’s the way you want it.”

“I go to church,” she continued in the same firm tone of voice. “I’ll expect my . . . husband to accompany me.”

“Every Sunday? That’s the day I . . . dally around in the shed.”

“You’ll not have to go every Sunday, but enough so that the community thinks of us as a family. Sunday is a day of rest. I don’t understand why you choose to work.”

“Some men like a ball game on Sunday afternoon. I like fooling around with my tools.”

“Oh. I see,” she said, but it was evident that she didn’t. Ana was busy looking at his lips that twitched in the corners as if they wanted to smile but were afraid to.

“I enjoy building furniture out of native wood. To me it isn’t work.”

“I see,” she said again, her eyes locked with his. “Working with wood? You made the cradle,” she blurted accusingly. “And that beautiful furniture upstairs.”

“Why does that surprise you?” His face had turned serious again.

“I don’t know. Did Harriet know you were making the cradle?”

“She saw it while I was working on it.”

“You made the furniture upstairs and what’s in your room, didn’t you?”

“It’s something I like to do,” he said defensively.

“You must be proud of it. It’s as fine a quality as any I’ve seen in the big houses on the bluff in Dubuque. You’re a gifted craftsman.”

He shrugged. His eyes were lighter now, his face not so serious. Ana was sure he was pleased by her praise.

“Does that cover everything?”

“No. What about . . . children?” she asked.

“I’d like some.”

“You have one,” she said sharply and turned her eyes away from him to look out the door. Her breath came in and out of her parted lips rapidly.

“I’ll not pounce on you and demand my rights, if that’s what you’re concerned about. But if in the course of time we . . . become better acquainted—if we agree mutually—” He let the suggestion hang.

Her eyes, brilliant in her crimson face, came back to his. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“Is there anything else?”

“I guess not. But . . . I feel so guilty because of . . . Harriet. She loved you!” she said accusingly. “I hope she knows that I’m not trying to take her place in your . . . in your affections.”

“Mrs. Fairfax . . . Ana—”

“—I’m not ready to talk about that now,” she said and thought that she would strangle on the words. “I want to assure you that this will not be a one-sided bargain. I’ll give Harriet’s and your son loving care, I’ll tend your house, and I will never shame you in the community.”

“I’ll ask for nothing more.”

“Do you want to talk this over with your sister?”

Owen’s eyes were drawn to her. She looked steadily into them. Did she think him so spineless that he had to consult his sister? Self-consciously he shifted his attention toward the door, fumbled in the pocket of his shirt, withdrew a watch, checked the time, and moved his eyes back to her.

“I’ll not talk it over with Esther, but I will tell her.”

“Then the only thing to settle is . . . when.”

“When I talk to Esther?”

“No. When will we . . . ah . . . make a legal commitment?”

“Get married? Well, anytime is all right with me. We can go see the preacher this afternoon.”

“I thought you were in a hurry to finish the planting?”

“We’ll be at that for a week or more. We should be wed before the tongues start to wag. I can spare a couple of hours.” He stood looking down at the top of her head. “Do you want me to sign the papers agreeing to what we’ve discussed?”

“No. Your word is good enough.” Ana gathered up plates and carried them to the counter. “Give me some time to put these to soak, and I’ll change my dress.”

“Uncle Gus will stay with Harry.”

“I’d rather take him.” The picture of Esther bending over the cradle floated though her mind. “He’ll not be any trouble. I’ll take along a bottle and dry napkins.”

Owen shrugged. “I’ll hitch up the buggy before I change out of my overalls.”

*   *   *

In a white shirtwaist and blue skirt, and with her hand held firmly in his, Ana stood beside Owen and spoke her vows. It seemed unreal to her that for the second time she was marrying for security and respectability. Owen stood coatless before the preacher in his dark pants and white shirt. It was not a fancy wedding by any means, but it was just as binding.

On the way to town it had occurred to Ana that Preacher Larson and his wife might be uncomfortable about marrying her son-in-law. But her fears were groundless. Not a word was said. Mrs. Larson greeted her warmly. They discussed the baby, then Owen explained that Ana was going to stay in his home and take care of his son, and that rather than create gossip about their relationship, they wished to be united in marriage. Preacher Larson nodded his approval and sent one of the children scurrying down to the store to fetch Violet McCalister to act as one of the witnesses.