Dorothy Garlock (22 page)

Mrs. Larson held the baby during the brief ceremony that united Ana and Owen as man and wife for as long as they both lived. When the minister said that Owen could kiss the bride, his lips grazed her cheek in a symbolic gesture, and it was over. All present understood that this was not a love match. It was a practical matter, one that required no gushy congratulatory remarks, so none were forthcoming. It was not unusual in this sparsely settled land for a man to take a new wife within days of burying his spouse in order to have a woman to tend his house, take care of his children, and share his bed.

After the ceremony, Violet and Mrs. Larson welcomed Ana to the community and invited her to join the Busy Bee Quilting Circle that met on the second Wednesday each month in the church basement.

“At our next meeting we’ll plan the Fourth of July celebration,” Mrs. Larson said. “It’ll be an all-day affair with dinner on the ground, races, fireworks and the like.”

“We’ll have a pie booth and a cakewalk,” Violet added enthusiastically. “In the evening there’ll be a street dance. Two of the best fiddlers in the state live right here in Allamakee county.”

“It sounds like quite a celebration.”

“Oh, it is! We put a tent up here in front of the church and sell everything from canned goods to crocheted doilies. It’s our biggest fund-raiser. People come to White Oak from miles around. Some even come a couple of days early and camp out if they don’t have folks living near by.”

“Let me know if there’s anything I can do.” Ana climbed into the buggy and held her arms out for the sleeping infant.

Violet laughed. “Everyone donates and everyone works.”

“You can plan on me to work and to donate knit stockings and caps to sell.”

Ana was eager to leave, to have a little time to herself to adjust to this drastic turn her life had taken so suddenly. Owen evidently felt the same. He shook the preacher’s hand, took his place beside Ana in the buggy, and slapped the reins against the horse’s back. The two women and the preacher stood in front of the church and waved goodbye as Owen turned the horse around, and they drove away.

“They’ll have plenty to talk about for the rest of the day,” Owen said and glanced at Ana briefly.

“They didn’t seem to be shocked.”

“Shocked? Why should they be shocked?”

“I doubt that Preacher Larson has ever married a man to his mother-in-law before,” she retorted drily.

“He knew you were Harriet’s step-mother. Even if you were her real mother, what difference would it make?” When she didn’t answer he asked, “Are you ashamed of marrying me?”

“Of course not! I can’t help it if I feel I’ve somehow been disloyal to Harriet. But I’ll not hang my head if that’s what you mean,” she added crisply. “I’ve done what I had to do to keep my promise.”

He was quiet for a moment, then asked, “Is there anything you want from the store?”

“No.”

“Anything for the boy?”

“No.”

Nothing else was said until they passed the place where Owen had caught up with Ana when she walked to town.

“It looks like rain.” He had been watching the south-western sky darken.

“I suppose you’d rather it held off till your crops were in.”

“No. A good shower will soften the ground.”

“I don’t know anything about farming, but I like growing things. I’ll miss my garden patch and my flowers in Dubuque.” A wistful tone she was unaware of entered her voice. It caused him to turn and look at her.

“You can have a garden here and all the flowers you want,” he said slowly.

When she didn’t answer or look at him, he studied the perfectly etched lines of her profile. For the first time he noticed the faintest dusting of gold freckles across the bridge of her nose. He tried to hold down the elation he felt as he gazed at her. This golden-haired, golden-eyed woman beside him was his
wife.
She was not an impetuous, flighty girl like Harriet but a woman, a mature woman. Could he live up to her expectations? The thought of having her as his own both thrilled and frightened him. He felt a masculine stirring inside him and hastily looked away.

To have and to hold until death you do part.
It was enough for now that she was his to protect and provide for. Perhaps in time she would be more than his in name only. He wanted to talk to her, keep the lines of communication open, and racked his brain to think of something to say. Finally it was Ana who broke the silence.

“Will your sister allow Lily to come over and visit with me and Harry?”

It took Owen a minute to pull his thoughts together before he could answer.

“Esther will forbid her to come, but I think Lily will find a way. She’s no longer a child. She’s starting to think for herself.”

“Has Hettie always been the way she is?”

“I think so. I’ve never heard anyone say differently. She’s harmless though. You needn’t worry about her hurting you or the baby. I’ve seen her dig worms for a bird with a broken wing. She’s soft-hearted and will tend anything that’s sick and helpless.”

“Did she ever go to school?” Ana knew she was asking a lot of questions, but he wasn’t going to tell her anything unless she asked.

“Not that I know of. Old Mrs. Knutson doted on her. Then after Lily was born, she doted on both of them. When she died, Hettie was turned loose. By then Lily was seven or eight years old. She tried to keep track of her mother, but Hettie wandered all over the county. Jens was afraid some man would take advantage of her again.”

“He married Esther and turned the responsibility over to her. I suppose Lily is the result of someone taking advantage of Hettie.”

“That’s about the size of it.”

“Poor Lily.”

By the time they turned into the lane leading to the farm, lightning quivered in the dark clouds, and the wind, cooler now, had switched to the southwest. As they approached the white farmhouse silhouetted against the dark clouds, Ana wondered if arriving at her new home in a storm was symbolic of things to come. Regardless of what the future held, she was married to this man for better or worse. This was her home now. She would live here for the rest of her life, locked into a loveless marriage with this big, sometimes snarling grump of a man.

She wanted to cry.

A loud crack of thunder interrupted her thoughts. The horse shied, and only Owen’s strong hands on the reins held the animal in check. He maneuvered the buggy as close as possible to the back porch and stopped the horse. Above them a brisk wind turned the blades on the windmill. On the shed a loose board rattled rhythmically.

“Damn. I forgot to shut down the windmill. The tanks will be running over.” Owen helped Ana down from the buggy. “Hurry on inside. Those clouds will open up any minute.”

And they did. Ana had no more than stepped inside the kitchen when a solid sheet of rain hit the side of the house. Seconds later there was another, and then a steady downpour hammered on the roof. She put Harry in the cradle, closed the kitchen windows, and hurried to check those in the other parts of the house. By the time she returned, the baby was letting her know it was time to eat, and she spent the next half hour cuddling and feeding him in the old chair that Hettie had sat in the night she arrived.

This was her wedding day!
Her second wedding day. Ana thought of the first one. It had not been much different from today—it had rained that day too. She had met Mr. Fairfax at the tailor shop, and they had gone to Judge Henderson’s office. After the brief ceremony Ezra had gone back to his shop. Ana had hurried home to tend Harriet who was sick with a cold and to get the wash off the line before it rained. Mr. Jamison was using her in the same way Mr. Fairfax had used her. Neither man cared for her personally. Each needed her as a nursemaid for his child.

Ana allowed herself a moment of regret. She would never hear the sweet, intimate words a man whispered to the woman he loved or know the joy of being held and cherished. The deep and abiding love between a man and a woman she had read of in novels had turned her fanciful, she thought after her brief lapse of self-pity. She had to stop daydreaming. Marrying Owen Jamison had been the practical thing to do.

Deep in her thoughts, Ana was unaware that the rain had let up until she heard shouts of laughter and the sound of heavy boots on the porch.

“Get on home, little sugar teats, afore you melt!”

“Ah . . . shut up, Soren!”

“Yore ma’ll be lookin’ for her baby boys.”

“Ya ain’t nothin’ but a loose-mouthed lunkhead, Soren Halverson!”

“I’ll get a piece of your hide for that, sissy-britches! You can count on it.”

“Ya got ta catch me first, ’n’ yore the sissy-britches. Ya can’t even plow a straight row.”

“Soren’s a lunk . . . head! Lunk . . . head!” the twins chanted. “Soren’s an old lunk . . . h-head and a piss-ant!”

“Watch your mouths, sissy boys!”

“You’re the sissy! Sis . . . sy, sis . . . sy, sis—” The young voices faded as the Wilson boys headed their mule across the pasture toward home.

“Just you wait ’til this rain lets up,” Soren shouted. “I’m going to stuff your butts down the hole in the outhouse.”

Ana had put the baby in the cradle and moved it back away from the draft by the time the men removed their boots and came into the kitchen.

“Shame on you for teasing those boys,” Ana said while smiling into Soren’s laughing face.

“Who says I’m teasing?” he retorted, wiping his wet head with the towel she handed to him.

“I do,” she replied handing another towel to Owen who crowded in the door behind his cousin. “Is Mr. Halverson coming in?” she asked Owen, but Soren answered.

“Later. He’s fixing a place in the barn for the goat Nils Brandt brought over while you were in town tying the knot with this big, ugly cousin of mine.”

“A goat? Oh, that’s grand. Harry can have goat’s milk. Mrs. Larson said that goat’s milk is better for a baby than cow’s milk.”

“Did she say that?” he exclaimed, dramatically. “I always wondered about why Noah let them cantankerous creatures on the boat.”

“Oh, Soren. Can’t you be serious?”

“I’m trying to, darlin’. But you’ve gone and busted my heart right in two.”

Ana’s eyes flicked to Owen. His face was covered with the towel, and his fingers were burrowed in his ears. She looked back at Soren.

“Oh, poor you! I can see that you’re cut to the quick.”

“How come you picked this big, old ugly cousin of mine over me? I’m much better looking than he is.”

“Because I didn’t want to be responsible for all the desperate women who would have thrown themselves in the river when they learned you were lost to them,” she said lightly and glanced at Owen again. His back was to them.

“That was mighty considerate, darlin’.”

“But then again, when they gave it serious thought, I’m sure that they’d appreciate my sacrifice.”

Soren laughed, then playfully pinched her chin.

“Dammed if you didn’t get a prize, cousin Owen.”

“Stop horsing around, Soren, and let me get to work,” Ana scolded.

“Not till I kiss my new cousin.” Soren grabbed Ana by the shoulders. His kiss landed somewhere between her eye and her ear. “Welcome to the Halverson side of the family, cousin Ana. Owen’s ma was a Halverson. So there’s a little bit of good in him if you can find it.”

“I’m terribly relieved to know that. You men sit down out of my way and I’ll heat up the coffee. I’ve got the noon dishes to do.”

T
he
rain turned into a steady drizzle and continued for the remainder of the afternoon. Owen, Soren and Gus sat at the table after the night meal and talked while Ana washed the dishes and put the kitchen in order.

“I’m thinking about putting in an acre-and-a-half of sorghum,” Owen said. “What do you think, Uncle Gus?”

“Good idey. Tops make good feed; so do the stalks after the juice is pressed out.” Gus packed tobacco in the bowl of his pipe and lit it with a sulfur match.

“You can ship all the syrup you can’t use down river,” Soren added.

The conversation went on to broom corn, the harvesting of the winter wheat, the new litter of piglets, and the foal they expected most any time. Nothing more was said about the wedding that had taken place that afternoon. Soren had stopped teasing Owen after a quelling glare from his father.

Ana dreaded the time when she would be alone in the house with her new husband. She glanced at him as she hung the dishpan on the nail at the end of the counter. His big muscular forearms rested on the table; his powerful hands wrapped around his coffee cup. The lamplight shone on the rich brown hair that lay in curls low on his neck. Suddenly he looked up. Their gazes met and locked while she slowly folded the dish towel, and he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. Ana’s eyes moved down to the indentation in his chin below his wide, firm lips, then back up to his eyes. Only seconds went by as they stared at each other, but to Ana it seemed more like an hour. Owen Jamison was a goodlooking man in his rough-hewn, masculine way that any love-hungry woman would adore. It was no wonder that Harriet had fallen so deeply in love with him.