“He’ll have to go,” Seth said, wiping his face with a red kerchief. He looked at the two women on the front porch of his new house and shook his head. “I don’t care how many horses Jack can shoe in a day, Caitrin. After Sheena nearly lost her baby the other day, Jimmy’s bound and determined to run him off.”
“But he’s living and working on
your
land,” Caitrin said. “Jimmy has no right to tell Jack anything.”
Seth’s blue eyes flickered. “You better figure out where your loyalties lie, ma’am. Don’t get me wrong now; I understand the feelings that can grow between a man and a woman. But you deserve better than Jack Cornwall. A lot better.”
“How well do you know him, Seth?” Caitrin asked, her blood heating. “Only the other day Jack asked me if he must live with his past tied around his neck. Is he to be forever labeled a wicked man, with no chance to prove himself changed?”
“It’s just like those tomatoes I canned last summer, Seth,” Rosie put in. “I pasted the labels onto the jars with good strong glue—TOMATOES. But then I found those awful grubs in them, and they weren’t fit to eat. Just the thought of it makes me sick.”
“Now, Rosie,” Seth warned. “Don’t tie your stomach in knots again. We’ve had months of that.”
“Anyhow,” she went on. “I threw out the tomatoes—flat got rid of those nasty things. And with the strawberries beginning to leaf out, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about strawberry jam. I’d sure like to put strawberry jam in the jars—but I can’t get those labels off no matter how hard I scrub!”
“Aw, Rosie, these days you’re always thinking about food.”
“I am talking about Jack Cornwall,” she snapped, her brown eyes dancing. “Everybody in this town has pasted a great big label on him that says BAD MAN, when maybe he’s trying to toss out the nasty stuff and put good things inside. He needs a chance to write himself a new label.”
“Maybe so,” Seth said, tucking his kerchief into his back pocket. “But it doesn’t really matter what I think of the fellow, good or bad. Sheena’s opinion ought to be what counts the most with Caitrin. Sheena and Jimmy are her kinfolk. Jimmy holds Felicity Cornwall accountable for the troubles the other day, and I can hardly disagree with him.”
“But she helped Sheena after she’d fallen,” Caitrin said. “’Twas Felicity who brought the water that calmed my sister’s cramps. ’Twas Felicity who examined her for the health of the baby.”
“It was Felicity who went after Sheena with a poker in the first place,” Seth countered.
“Will you order them to leave then?”
“I don’t know what I’ll do.” He settled his hat on his head. “I’ve got sixty acres to plow, a trip to town to buy seed, a wife who’s about to eat me out of house and home, and a son who ought to learn to read and cipher if I don’t want him to grow up wild and ignorant. Folks are talking about the need for a schoolmarm come fall, and they’ve asked if I’d consider putting a school near the church. The church is built all the way up to the steeple, and people are turning to me to find a preacher. After what happened to Sheena, everybody wants me to try to talk a doctor into moving to town. We’ve got more people passing through Hope than we can feed and house. And I’m supposed to help Rolf and Jimmy repair one of the pontoons on the bridge.”
“All that, Seth?” Rosie asked. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I don’t want to worry you, honey. Not in your condition.” He gave his wife a crooked smile. When he turned to Caitrin, the tenderness vanished. “All I ever wanted to do when I moved to Kansas was be a farmer. But I’m spending half my time as the sheriff, mayor, innkeeper, and general fix-it man. Now you’re asking me to be the town judge, too, Caitrin? Frankly, I don’t know whether Jack Cornwall ought to be kicked out on his backside or not. And I don’t much care, either.”
“Saint Patrick’s Day is tomorrow,” Rosie called after her husband as he stalked away. “You gave the Cornwalls until then. Are you going to run them off?”
“Don’t know!” he repeated. “Don’t care!”
“What a grump.” Rosie shook her head. “Come on, Caitrin, let’s hurry this bread over to the mercantile. Ever since Seth found out I was expecting a baby, he’s been storming around like a big old rain cloud. He’s worried the grasshoppers will come back. He’s fretting about what to plant. He’s crazy to buy another cow, but he wants to keep back some savings. You’d think the whole world dangled by a thread from Seth Hunter’s fingers … instead of being cradled in the almighty hands of the Creator himself.”
“Seth only wants to be sure his family will be cared for,” Caitrin said as they walked down the path toward the mercantile. “He wasn’t able to provide for Chipper and … and his first wife… .”
“Mary. You can say her name; I don’t mind.” Rosie adjusted her skirt over the small bulge of her belly. “I know Seth was married before, and I feel sure his worries stem from that. While Mary was pregnant, he was away at the war. Then she died, and he had done nothing for her or for Chipper either. But, for pete’s sake, Seth is not the same man he was back then. And
I’m
sure not a thing like Mary Cornwall. Our family can live on wormy potatoes if we have to. I’m the best around at making do on nothing.” She paused a moment. “Did that sound like bragging?”
Caitrin laughed. “Of course not, silly. But I think Seth’s mood has more to do with his fears than with his worries about what you’ll all eat.”
“What fears?”
“Mary
died
. Seth lost his first wife, Rosie. He can’t rest easy at the memory of that, and he doesn’t want it to happen again. The birth of your baby will be a dangerous time for you, and after that, too. Seth’s mood is a measure of his great love for you. Sure, I think the loss of you would do him in. Truly I do.”
Rosie stopped outside the mercantile. “Worrying won’t keep me alive, Caitie. But you know something? This town
does
need a good doctor. And a preacher, too. I might just have to pester Seth about that … if I can get rid of that rain cloud he’s under.”
Caitrin studied the three wagons rolling slowly over the bridge and mentally tallied the tolls they would bring in. Jack Cornwall emerged from the smithy across the street and cocked a hand over his eyes to watch the travelers approach.
“More customers, and this itching is just about to drive me crazy!” Rosie exclaimed, scratching her belly. “We sure could use a doctor with some good medicines and lotions on hand. You know what might put Seth into a better mood? Another party.”
Caitrin groaned inwardly. “He’s not that much on parties, is he? And we’re just past that disastrous welcoming festival.”
“I’m thinking about spring. We could have a party in April when everything’s budding out. The family who lived just beyond the limestone wall of the orphanage used to have an egg hunt every spring. I always wished I could join in. Wouldn’t that be fun, Caitie? We could color eggs, and the children could search for them. Maybe if the Cornwalls are still around, Lucy would be feeling well enough to help out.”
Caitrin frowned as the three wagons drew nearer. It would be wonderful to include Lucy in the preparations for a party. She could just imagine the poor girl’s eyes lighting up and a smile softening her pretty lips. But after the incident between Felicity and Sheena, the Cornwall camp had become as closed off as a fort. Felicity was rarely about, and Lucy hadn’t been seen at all.
“We could cut cookies into the shape of bunnies,” Rosie said. “And we could sprinkle them with sugar.”
“Bunnies and eggs?” Caitrin regarded her friend for a moment. “Spring is for celebrating Easter and the risen Christ.”
“Well, sure it is. But I’ve always wanted to have an egg hunt.”
Caitrin slipped her arm over her friend’s shoulders. “I think a good Easter sermon and a round of hymn singing would lift your husband’s gloomy spirits more than colored eggs and bunny rabbits.”
Coming out of her springtime daydreams, Rosie stiffened suddenly. “Look, Caitrin, it’s Jack Cornwall. He’s coming this way.”
“Go on inside the mercantile and open up for the day,” Caitrin said. “Leave him to me.”
“I don’t think I should. What if people see the two of you talking alone? You never know what Jimmy might do.”
“Aye, but I’ll not alter my ways for a man with a closed mind,” she said, giving Rosie her bread basket and walking toward Jack. “What can I do for you this fine morning, Mr. Cornwall?”
He jerked a thumb at the wagons. “Looks like you’ve got customers, Miss Murphy. Morning, Mrs. Hunter.”
“Hello, Mr. Cornwall,” Rosie said, her voice wary. “We’ve not yet actually opened for business today. Is there something I might bring you from the mercantile before you head back to the smithy?”
“Well now, that’s a kind offer, Mrs. Hunter.” Jack paused before the women and took off his hat. “As a matter of fact, I do have a request. I was wondering if you had planned to attend the prayer meeting Rolf Rustemeyer has called for Sunday night.”
“Me?” Rosie gaped for a moment. “Yes, of course, I am. Why wouldn’t I? Rolf thinks we all ought to take time out to ask God for some rain. It’s been so dry, and Seth sure is worried about the spring planting. I wouldn’t think of missing that service.”
“Good.” He cleared his throat. “I know I’m asking a lot here, Mrs. Hunter, but would you be willing to accompany me to the service? I’d be much obliged to you.”
Two pink spots suddenly popped out on Rosie’s cheeks. “Thank you for your kind offer, Mr. Cornwall, but I’ll be attending with my husband. I’m a married woman, you know.”
Now it was Jack’s turn to flush. “I … ah … I didn’t mean it that way, ma’am. The fact that you’re married is the very reason I’m asking you. I was needing a chaperone for the evening.”
“A chaperone?” Rosie looked at Caitrin and understanding dawned. “Oh, a
chaperone
.”
“I’d like to take Miss Murphy to the service,” Jack said, “but I’ll need someone to accompany us for the evening.”
“All evening?”
“As long as need be, Mrs. Hunter. If you wouldn’t mind.”
Rosie pursed her lips. “This is dangerous business, Jack Cornwall. And I don’t like the notion that my dearest friend could get dragged into any more trouble than she’s already in. From the night I first saw the two of you together in the O’Tooles’ barn, I knew Caitrin was playing with fire.”
“Blazin’ Jack Cornwall, that’s me. But in case you hadn’t noticed, your best friend is mighty fiery herself. She stood up to everyone on my behalf, and that ought to tell you something.”
“It tells me you’ve got her bamboozled.”
“I hope she’s as bamboozled as you are with Seth Hunter.” His smile was warm. “You’re right to be concerned, Mrs. Hunter. At one time, I was rough on you and threatening to the man you loved. I was hard and mean and bullheaded. But there’s something you ought to know. The good Lord put Caitrin Murphy and me together in the barn that night, and out of that meeting I became a changed man. I turned my back on my old ways, and ever since, I’ve been living just to love Jesus Christ. That’s all I know to do, Mrs. Hunter. Just love him.”
Rosie glanced at her friend. “I didn’t realize.”
“I may be a new man, but I’m still stubborn,” Jack continued, “too stubborn to let go of the light Caitrin has been in my life. I won’t walk away from Hope just because other people can’t see me for what I am. I won’t run from trouble. And I won’t hide my head in a hole out of shame over my family. I love my sister and my mother both. I want to make a home for them here.”
“Yes, Mr. Cornwall,” Rosie said softly. “I understand you. I know what it means to need a home.”
“Then will you help me?”
“How can I possibly do anything that would help your reputation in this town?”
“Folks admire you. They respect your husband. If you’ll stand up beside me, maybe I can walk Caitrin into that prayer meeting and not get myself shot.”
“Caitie?” Rosie asked. “Do you want this man to court you in public?”
“Aye. That I do, and very much.”
“Well, then—” Rosie squared her shoulders—“I’ll be pleased to serve as your chaperone for the prayer meeting Sunday night.”
Jack broke into a grin that rivaled the sunrise. “Thank you, Mrs.
Hunter,” he said, grabbing her hand and pumping it up and down. “Thank you very much. I’ll pick you up Sunday evening, then, Caitrin.”
“Sunday,” Caitrin said.
As the three wagons came to a stop before the mercantile, Jack turned and strode back toward his smithy. Rosie let out a little groan. “Seth Hunter is going to have a fit over this one.”
A
CHAPERONE?” Sheena lay in bed, her hands folded over her middle, and stared at her younger sister. “Did Rosie really agree to that?”
“Aye,” Caitrin said. “Jack Cornwall asked her, and she said she would.”
“What do you suppose he wanted a chaperone for?”
Caitrin swallowed. Now was the moment she’d been praying about, yet she didn’t feel a bit of peace. If her sister exploded in rage at the news, there was no telling what might result.
“Jack wants a chaperone,” she said, “because he intends to start courting. He’s planning to go to the prayer meeting with a woman.”
“And I suppose that woman would be my own dear sister.”
Sheena took another sip of the rich broth Caitrin had brought her. “I’m not wrong, am I?”
“No,” Caitrin said. “Jack has asked to court me.”
“I don’t know why he bothered asking permission. The man seems to do whatever he wants without noticing how others might feel about it. He certainly hasn’t kept his distance from you.”
“And why should he? I care for Jack, Sheena. He’s built a fine smithy, and his work is valued in the community. He’s hoping to put up a soddy soon. Jack wants to see to the welfare of his sister.”
Sheena grunted. “Lunatic. The children are frightened of her, so they are. Lucy Cornwall ought to be locked up.”
Caitrin folded her hands in her lap and sat in silence. How could she possibly respond to this irrational hatred? Could God be pleased that his people—the creation of his own hands—despised each other because of race or language or outlook? There were so many things that made people different from each other.