Dorothy Garlock (4 page)

Ana turned her face away, opened her mouth to speak, then closed it and swallowed before the words would come.

“How far to the Jamison farm?”

Turning his face toward the horses, he grunted, “It’ll be dark when we get there.”

“Thank you very much,” Ana said stiffly.

Farther down the road a huge hip-roofed barn came into view. As they neared, Ana could see that the big, solidly built barn dwarfed the house sitting just south of it in a sheltering grove of tall oak, walnut and evergreen trees. A farmer was plowing with a team of oxen. The rich black furrows lay like a ribbon across the land.

Coming across a field was a young girl driving two milch cows. Two children played hopscotch in the yard, and another child swung on a sack swing tied to the limb of a walnut tree. A woman in a dark dress and an old straw hat was taking clothes from a line stretched between two trees. With her arms full, she waited beside the line and watched the wagon pass. Ana lifted her arm and waved. The woman hesitantly raised her hand.

The
grump
on the seat beside Ana didn’t so much as turn his head.

Evening came and a few stars twinkled in the still-light sky. Ana’s back ached from sitting so straight on the low-backed wagon seat and jarring over the rutted road. When the air cooled after the sun went down, she wished for the warm shawl she had packed in her trunk, but she decided not to give the silent man beside her an opportunity to grumble by asking him to stop so that she could get it.

He seemed immune to the cold or the discomfort.

Just when Ana was sure she would be frozen in place, a long arm arced over her head. His hand dipped down behind the seat and came up with a heavy wool coat. He dumped it into her lap without so much as looking at her.

“Thank you,” Ana said to his profile and swung the coat around her shivering shoulders. It took minutes for the warmth to penetrate. She burrowed her face in the collar, doing her best to control her shivering limbs. The masculine odor of tobacco came from the garment. It was a pleasant smell.

Ana wanted desperately to ask the man about Harriet, but she reasoned that if the girl’s condition were serious, he would have told her. Still, uneasiness plagued her mind.

A faint light still glowed in the sky when they reached a small village. The white church on a rise above the village was enclosed within a white picket fence, and the tall spire seemed to reach to the sky. They passed houses that sat back from the road. A dog ran out from one of them and barked, setting off a chorus of barking dogs. A man came out onto the porch and shouted at the dog who slunk away with his tail between his legs. He waved a hand in greeting. The
grump
lifted a hand from the reins in acknowledgment.

“Is this a town?” It had been so long since Ana had spoken that her lips were stiff.

“Sort of.”

She peeked at him. He sat hunched over, his forearms resting on his thighs, his booted foot on the front board of the wagonbox. The silence thickened and grated on her nerves. What made the man so rude? So crotchety? What had fueled his dislike of her? Was he angry because he had to make the trip to Lansing to get her? From the looks of the lumber in the back of the wagon he had probably had to make the trip anyway. She was here by Harriet’s invitation. Perhaps the
grouch
didn’t understand good manners. Assuming that was the case, she decided to try another approach to get his attention.

“You ration your words as if they were little gold nuggets to be doled out on special occasions,” she remarked in a curt, haughty tone. “What exactly do you mean by . . . sort of? It is either a town, or it is not.”

At her sharp words, his head swiveled slowly toward her. Ana was appalled at herself for speaking so sharply, but it was too late to back down now.

“Does it look like a town?”

They had passed four widely spaced buildings that appeared to be the business section. One was definitely a blacksmith shop and one a general store. She had no idea what purpose the other two served. Not one person was in sight. If not for the very few lights that shone from the windows of the houses lining the road as they approached, she would think it was a deserted place.

“It does not look like a
town.
It does not look like anything but a wide spot in the road. But even such a dreary place as this must have a name. Or is that some deep dark secret you’re keeping to yourself?”

“White Oak.”

“White Oak,” Ana repeated. “Well, thank you very much for that very valuable piece of information. Harriet had not mentioned White Oak in her letter.” When Ana received only a grunt for a reply, her jaw grew stubborn. “I sincerely hope that all the Jamison’s are not as cantankerous as you are. If that’s the case, I certainly pity poor Harriet having to live among them.”

He studied her from beneath the brim of his hat. Even in the near dark she could see the disapproval in every line of his face. There was something hard and frightening about his size, his silence, and his gaze. The hard planes of his face were taut as if he were under some sort of strain. When he spoke, his words were tinged with bitterness.

“She wouldn’t be here if you’d done what you should, instead of letting her loose to prowl like a common street woman.”

The quiet words stunned Ana for a moment. Shards of pain pierced her heart; then anger flared.

“What in the world are you talking about?” When he didn’t answer, she demanded in a louder, strident voice, “I resent you calling Harriet a common st—” She couldn’t say the word. “I demand to know what you meant by that remark.”

“Just what I said.” He glowered at her for a moment before he turned away.

“I heard what you said. But I want to know the reasoning behind your insulting comment. You know nothing about me or Harriet. If you can’t be decent, I’ll thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head.”

After a tense, heavy, waiting period, Ana knew from the set of his face that he was not going to say another word. So much for a civil conversation! Once they reached the farm, she hoped never to see the uncouth bore again. But realistically she knew that was an impossible wish.

A half-hour of silence passed while Ana pondered his words. She had done her best with Harriet, or had she? During the long, lonely winter months she had relived the trying days of last September and wondered if she should have done something differently. But what? Lock the girl up? Harriet had been determined to meet her laughing, dancing man. For a few short weeks she had been so supremely happy. The scoundrel had used the young, innocent girl! He had made her pregnant, left her to face the consequences alone, and had returned home.

Poor Harriet. She must have been desperate to follow him. Ana knew why the girl had been unable to confide in her: she had known how disappointed Ana would be. How lonely and frightened the child must have been. Harriet had been scared each time she had a cold, thinking it would turn into the lung sickness. If she cut her hand she would be sure her arm would have to be taken off. Now she was afraid that she would die in childbirth. It was a natural fear, but she was young and strong.

When the wagon turned into a lane, the tired horses picked up speed knowing they were close to home. Ahead, Ana could see a house. It was two-storied with lights shining from the long, narrow windows on both floors. The shadow of a huge barn with a dome-shaped roof was behind the house, but she could see nothing more.

“Is this the Jamison place?”

“It is,” he replied curtly.

“Well, thank goodness!” Ana said in the same curt tone. She glanced at his dim profile with a look of utter disgust on her face and shook her head in dismay. At last the journey was over. The rest of the Jamison’s couldn’t possibly be as unfriendly as this one.

As they passed close to the front of the house, Ana could see a porch with fancy wooden grillwork spreading across the front of it. On the side, light from an open door made a bright path across another porch. They turned into an area between the barn and the house. Ana heard the squeak of a windmill and the lowing of cows as they gathered around a watering tank. She sniffed the air; there must be a hogpen nearby. A dog came bounding out of the darkness and raced around the team, yipping a happy welcome.

The big, silent man ignored the barking dog, wrapped the reins around the brake handle and got down from the wagon without a word to Ana—not that she expected one.

She threw off the coat and eased herself off the high seat. With her feet on solid ground, Ana stood for a moment holding on to the wheel. Her legs were trembly. It had been at least five hours since she had stood on them. She’d had nothing to eat since morning, and her bladder was not the size of a bucket, she thought irritably. It was painfully full. Anxious to see Harriet, Ana held onto the side of the wagon and made her way to the back of it even though her feet and legs still tingled. The tailgate had been let down and her trunk pulled to the end of the wagon.

The man said nothing to her. No words of welcome. He didn’t so much as acknowledge her presence. A door slammed and a man came ambling out toward the wagon. A gruff male voice called out. The words caused Ana’s hands to freeze momentarily on the rough boards and her mind to doubt her hearing.

“Ya made good time, Owen.”

Owen?
Harriet’s husband’s name was Owen Jamison! Ana’s disbelieving eyes went to the dark shape of the man lifting her trunk.

“But I wore the horses out doing it.” The reply was gruff, surly.

“
You’re
. . . Harriet’s h-husband?” The words just barely came from Ana’s dry mouth. This gruff, hostile, infuriating man was Harriet’s
beloved
?

“Who did you expect?”

“Certainly not someone like—”

A scream pierced the air cutting off Ana’s words. It was high and shrill and filled with torment.

“Oh! Oh! What’s that?” Ana gasped.

“It’s the lass, Owen. She’s been a yellin’ like that off ’n’ on for a spell. Esther’s plumb put out with her.” The man who had come from the house leaned against the side of the wagon with his hands in the bib of his overalls.

“Is he talking about Harriet?” Ana asked, fear making her voice loud. “Is she having the baby?”

“Sounds like it,” Owen said and lifted the trunk.

Ana didn’t wait for an escort. She hurried toward the light shining from the back door of the house. As she stepped up on the back porch, another scream rent the silent night. This one was cut off abruptly. Terrified, Ana threw open the door and vaulted into the kitchen. A woman with dark, curly hair floating around a plump, pleasant face sat in a rocking chair, resting her head against the back. She was rocking and humming. When she saw Ana, she stopped rocking, sat up straight, and stared at her with large dark eyes.

“Who in thunder are you?”

“Where is Harriet?”

“Upstairs.” The woman leaned back and started rocking again.

Ana’s glance swept the kitchen while she hurriedly removed her gloves and hat and placed them on the table. The room contained the necessities, but nothing to make it cozy or homelike, not even a curtain on the window. Stark was the only way she could describe it.

“Take me to her, please.”

The woman in the chair looked at her and slowly shook her head. Ana gave her a second startled look and realized that although she was not a young girl, she seemed childlike.

“Esther said stay down here.”

“Take her upstairs, Hettie.” The words came from Owen as he angled himself and Ana’s trunk in through the doorway.

“I don’t want to.” The woman began to rock furiously.

“Do as I tell you,” Owen said impatiently.

“No! That city girl’s makin’ a awful racket ’bout havin’ a youngun. Esther said it ain’t decent.”

“This is Harriet’s mother. Take her upstairs.”

“’T’aint so. She ain’t old enough to be Harriet’s ma. She ain’t got no gray hair.”

“I’m Harriet’s stepmother.”

Ana was tired, hungry and her patience was wearing thin. She turned to face Harriet’s husband. He seemed even bigger and taller than he did when she met him on the street in Lansing. He was looking her up and down in such a way that she fought the urge to cross her arms protectively over her chest. Her hair had come loose from the pins again. She lifted her arms to poke the errant strands in place, not realizing how the movement outlined her firm, high breasts, and not seeing the man’s eyes flick down to them.

Owen Jamison also noticed Ana’s trim waist, the soft skin of her face and neck, and the resentment in the eyes that stared back at him.

“Did you bring me a pretty, Owen?” The whining voice of the woman in the chair broke the silence. “What’s she got in the trunk?”

“Mind me, Hettie. Take her upstairs.”

The man in the overalls came in and the door slammed behind him. He stood leaning against the doorjamb, his hands still in the bib. His hair was iron gray, his face lined. His faded eyes, once as blue as Owen’s, watched the scene with interest.

“Esther won’t like it,” Hettie said stubbornly.

“Gowdamighty! Don’t you ever do anything you’re told to do without arguing about it?”

The trunk hit the floor with a loud thump.

Hettie burst into tears.