“No. I’m fine.” She turned away from him and busied herself in the kitchen. “If you’ll milk the cow, I’ll churn the butter and we can have sorghum with our biscuits tonight.”
He left and Mary began to cry. She brought the baby into the warm kitchen and began to nurse her. The words of the letter attacked her brain like knives, and tears formed in her eyes. She felt trapped, cut off from all help; and no matter how hard she tried, nothing came to her in the form of escape. Joe’s dislike had broken her spirit, and now that she was certain that Sky was already sick of his bargain, her spirit was wounded deeply.
She thought again of the way Sky had come for her at the church, and was more certain than ever that he had been with Rita. Finally, when the baby was fed, she put her in a cradle that Sky had made of smooth saplings, and began pulling the elements of a meal together.
Two hours later Joe and O’Malley came back with a doe, and the men dressed the animal expertly. O’Malley came in with a pile of steaks in his big hands and gave them to Rebekah, saying, “If you can spare a little hot water, I’d like to come out of hiding, Mrs. Winslow. I’m a sight for sure.”
“You can call me Rebekah,” she smiled. Then she studied his beard and said, “You’d better let me trim the worst of that off before you try to shave.”
“Don’t want to be a bother.”
“Oh, I’m the official barber around here, Jim.” She pulled a pair of shears from a peg on the wall. “Why don’t you sit on that high stool?”
When Joe and Sky came in, they found Jim perched on a chair, and Rebekah, having already trimmed the man’s beard, was cutting his hair. A pile of reddish locks lay on the floor, but it wasn’t an easy job cutting straight, for O’Malley was telling her a funny story about a bear hunt. “Jim!” she laughed, pulling the shears away, “you’ve got to stop that or I can’t finish the job!”
O’Malley looked at Winslow and said, “Sky, I was just telling Rebekah about the time you and me and Sam Hawkins got crossways with that bear; you remember—up in Dawes Canyon? But you probably told that tale a hundred times, I bet.”
“No, I never did,” Sky replied. “You go on and I’ll correct your lies, Jim.”
O’Malley sat on the stool, sometimes spreading his hands wide to illustrate a point, and soon Joe and Sky were as engrossed in the tale as Rebekah. The man was a natural storyteller, and though they had both been there, Sky enjoyed the tale as much as Joe.
“Hey, Joe, why don’t you throw those steaks on the skillet for your ma?” Jim said. “Soon as I get out of all this hair, I’m gonna be ready to eat hair and hoof!”
“Sure, Jim!” Joe leaped to the task with an alacrity that made Sky exchange a startled look with Rebekah. The boy had helped her only when forced to, and to see him so eager made Sky realize that he had been remiss in training his son.
Rebekah worked carefully on O’Malley’s mop of auburn hair, shaping it expertly around the ears and his well-shaped head. He sat quietly after the story was finished; and once when she was working on the front, their eyes met, and the look of admiration in his dark eyes made her feel warm inside. “That’s the best I can do, Jim,” she said when she was done. “There’s plenty of hot water if you want to shave.”
“Best haircut I’ve had in twenty years,” he smiled, admiring himself in the small mirror she handed him. “Didn’t know what a good-looking fellow I was!”
He moved over to a small table in the living area and carefully shaved while Rebekah went over to the stove. “That’s good, Joe. Thank you for your help.”
Joe muttered, “Aw, that’s okay.”
O’Malley went up the ladder to the loft, and when Rebekah called supper twenty minutes later, he came down wearing a pair of gray pants and a soft pearl-colored shirt with a sky-blue neckerchief. “Well—” Sky commented in surprise as the big man came down the ladder, “if you drop dead, we won’t have to do a thing to you, Jim!”
O’Malley shot a grin at him as Rebekah said, “You can sit down; it’s all ready.”
“It looks mighty good,” O’Malley complimented her. Joe and Sky sat down promptly, but Jim moved quickly to pull Rebekah’s chair out.
She stared at him uncertainly for a moment, then sat down with a slight flush in her cheeks and said “thank you” in a quiet voice.
The unexpected act of courtesy made both Sky and Joe feel awkward, and well aware of the fact that neither of them had done a thing like that for Rebekah. Sky looked at the table and saw that Rebekah had put on a fresh white linen tablecloth and the good plates and silverware.
O’Malley looked the smoking food over. “Been many a day since I sat down to a table like this, Rebekah.” He cast a sly look at Sky. “You fellows have it made, blast your hides! Us poor bachelors getting dyspepsia from our own sorry cooking, and here you get served like you were in a fine restaurant in St. Louis!” With a wise gleam in his eye, Jim went on. “Well, you’re the preacher’s son, Sky, so I guess you do the thanks over the grub. Wish you’d make it a quick one, ’fore I fall out!”
It was an embarrassing moment for the three of them, and Sky admitted, “Guess I’ve gotten out of all the good habits that Pa and Ma tried to put in me when I was younger.”
There was another awkward silence before Rebekah bowed her head and prayed, “Lord, thank you for this good food—and for our guest. In Jesus’ name.”
She looked up to find O’Malley staring at her. “I hope there’s enough for everyone,” she said quickly.
She had made fresh biscuits, with sorghum, opened some canned green beans and carrots, and prepared baked potatoes with gravy to go with the sizzling steaks. For dessert there was apple pie, and everything was washed down with fresh milk and cup after cup of steaming black coffee.
An hour later, O’Malley pushed back, and with a regretful shake of his head said, “Only thing wrong with this meal is that I can’t eat another bite!”
“It was good, Rebekah,” Sky echoed; and Joe piped up, “It was the best supper I ever had.”
It was the first compliment that Rebekah had gotten from Sky and Joe, and she knew it had been forced by O’Malley, but she enjoyed it anyway. Standing up, she said, “You men can talk while I do the dishes.”
“I reckon not!” O’Malley leaped to his feet and began to pile the dishes into a stack. “Don’t you try to stop me, Rebekah, because nothing won’t do me but to give you a hand—then we can all sit and talk.”
As O’Malley began to help Rebekah, despite her protests, Sky and Joe moved to the other end of the large room, feeling awkward. Joe stared at the big hunter as he kept up a running line of talk, making Rebekah laugh from time to time. Sky knew what was bothering the boy; he had men’s work and women’s work neatly divided into two compartments, and now his piles were being mixed up. He had never seen a man he admired more than O’Malley, except his own father. If O’Malley had been a weak man, he would have despised him for doing a thing like washing dishes. But his father had told him briefly of a few of the exploits that had made Jim O’Malley a legend among mountain men—and yet there he stood, holding a delicate china plate in his large hand. Obviously he thought nothing of doing a woman’s work!
The dishes done, O’Malley stepped back to allow Rebekah to go first; then after she was seated, he said, “Well, folks, I came out of the mountains with the idea of gettin’ a wife. If I had any doubts about it, tonight took care of them!” He looked around the room and sighed, “Yep, you had the right idea, Sky. This is the way a man is supposed to live!”
Sky smiled and suggested, “You might miss the freedom a mite, Jim. You’ve never been tied down.”
“Freedom to stay cold and hungry!” O’Malley lifted his hands in disgust. “Freedom to take a Sioux arrow in the liver! That’s all right for a young buck, Sky, and I’m glad we done it—but the good trapping days are gone. Beaver’s played out, and now it’s time for Mrs. O’Malley’s boy to settle down—just like you.”
They stayed up late, and
O’Malley did ninety percent of the talking. He was filled with raw energy, and he managed to draw his captive audience out—Joe included. Sky saw that Rebekah’s eyes were happy as the big hunter skillfully included her as well.
Late that night, after Jim went up to the loft with Joe, Sky paused long enough to say to Rebekah, “He’s a charmer, isn’t he?”
Rebekah’s eyes wandered over to the place he had been sitting with a gentle smile on her face. “Is he always like this?”
“Jim’s pretty much what you see. Don’t think he’ll have any trouble finding a wife. If anybody’s got a pretty young daughter, you better tell them to lock her in the cellar till O’Malley’s gone.”
“You don’t think he’ll stay?”
“Jim?” Sky shook his head and smiled. “No, he’ll be going back to the mountains as soon as he gets bored with town living.”
****
O’Malley’s visit stretched out for three days, then a week; yet he showed no signs of restlessness as Christmas drew near. He made several trips to town, once with Sky, then by himself, and he made more acquaintances in those scattered visits than Winslow had made in years. When Tom Lake commented on the redhead’s ability to make friends, Sky remarked, “He’s always been like that, Tom. I’ve ridden into an Indian village with him, and inside of a day, it seemed like he knew every papoose in the camp.”
“Hope he’ll stick around,” Lake responded. “He’s been talking to Sellers about buying a sawmill. He’s got some money saved, and I think the bank will back him.”
“Another vote for you, Tom?” Sky smiled.
“No, I reckon not. He won’t meet the residence requirement.” He looked at Sky and asked, “You think I’m a fool for getting involved in this election, don’t you?” He waved aside Sky’s protests, adding with an air of agitation, “But I’m not doing this for me, Sky. I’ve wasted a lot of my life—now I want to do something that counts.”
When Winslow thought about that remark later, it cut deep. He had been a loner for so long that when he added up the things he had done to make the world a little better, his list seemed woefully inadequate. He thought of how his father had spent years to see a few Indians come to know Christ; yet Sky had done nothing for anyone except himself.
Later that day O’Malley came out of Birdwell’s store with his arms full of bundles and nearly collided into Winslow. “I’m playin’ Santa Claus, Sky,” he announced. “Haven’t had a Christmas with a family since I left home, so I aim to use your family—if it’s all right.”
“You shouldn’t be spending your money like that, Jim.”
“Aw, you know how tight I’ve always been. Well, I’ve got a pile and I’m gonna spend it. Bought myself a sawmill this afternoon, and I still got enough to buy a bunch of stuff for the kids.”
O’Malley loaded the gifts into the wagon with some supplies, and when they reached home, he hid them in the barn while Sky unhitched. The two of them went inside, carrying the groceries that Rebekah had asked for, and found Joe at the table studying his books. He was scowling as usual, but after O’Malley sat down and went over some of the arithmetic, the boy soon brightened up. “How come you know all about figures, Jim?” he asked.
“Got snowed in with a feller who was a schoolteacher, Joe. We got so bored that I let him teach me that stuff—and it’s a good thing, because I’m going to need it now that I’m a businessman.”
“A businessman, Jim?” Rebekah asked, looking up from the potatoes she was peeling. She listened carefully as he told about buying the sawmill; then she nodded and said, “I’m glad you’re staying here.”
Studying her intently, O’Malley had an odd expression on his face. “I was hoping you’d feel that way, Rebekah.”
Uneasy, Sky sat very still, his attention fixed on the faces of the two in front of him. He had noticed that Rebekah relaxed when O’Malley was around, that she seemed much happier—more peaceful—than she was with Joe and him. O’Malley was quiet for the rest of the evening and retired early, taking Joe with him.
Sky played with Timmy, who was driving his chubby legs into a walk. Rebekah settled into a chair to feed Mary. “Christmas is day after tomorrow,” Sky remarked.
“We’ll have that turkey Jim killed. Ought to be good with some corn-bread dressing.”
The words in themselves were normal enough, but the lack of warmth in her tone reminded him of the wall that lay between them. He lifted Timmy high in the air to cover his feelings. “Saw Tom Lake today. He says he’ll win the election.”
“He shouldn’t even be in it. He’s not the man for that job.”
“Guess not—but he’s made up his mind.” He put Timmy down and watched him crawl along the floor. The silence rattled his nerves. “Rebekah, I’ve got something to say to you,” he said with a tight voice. She lifted her gaze and he said hastily, “I’ve been noticing how Jim acts around you.”
“What does that mean?”
The sharpness in her tone caught him by surprise. “Oh, just that he’s always helping you with things—like with the dishes.”
“Does that bother you, Sky?”
“In a way.” He put his hands behind his back and squeezed his arms to his sides. “I should have been doing some of those things.”
“You don’t have to.”
“No, but . . .” He paused, unable to tell her how he felt. In the letter to his folks, he’d explained further on that the marriage was going bad because he’d never learned how to treat a woman right. With a touch of embarrassment, he’d admitted:
I’ve been a bad husband—none at all really. Rebekah has tried hard, and if she’ll give me a chance, I’d like to show her another side of me.
If Rebekah had read that section instead of the first one, she would have felt far differently. But because she believed that he despised her, she refused to rise to his words. “We’ve got a bargain, Sky. I keep the house and you see that the children are taken care of.”
“Is that all it is?”
She looked at him steadily. “It was what you wanted.”
He didn’t answer her, feeling the hopelessness gnaw at the pit of his stomach. After he’d gone upstairs, she put the children to bed, then got out her sewing and worked on the small Christmas gifts she was making. Her hands worked busily, but once she stopped and stared up toward the loft, wondering at the conversation she had just had with Sky. Then she thought for the hundredth time of what he’d said in the letter, and her lips grew firm as she continued sewing.
Christmas morning the cabin was full of paper and ribbons. Joe stared, wide-eyed, at the fine hunting knife Rebekah had bought from Sam. “Gosh! I—I didn’t think you knew I wanted it,” he said to Rebekah.
“You mentioned it enough, Joe,” she smiled. Then she opened the package Sky had given her and found a set of fine carving knives from England. “How nice!” she exclaimed, testing the edges. “Just what I need. Thank you, Sky.” She handed him a package. “I wanted you to have this.”
He opened it, then looked up with surprise. “It’s a book!” He opened the cover and exclaimed, “Why, it’s WINSLOW’S JOURNAL!”
“What kind of book is it?” O’Malley asked.
“It’s a journal that one of my ancestors, Gilbert Winslow, kept,” Sky replied softly. “He was on the Mayflower. My pa has a copy of this, but it’s almost worn out. He used to read it to me when I was just a kid. But I haven’t seen a copy in years.” He looked up at Rebekah and asked, “How’d you come by this?”
“It was a gift from a friend of mine—before I met you.”
The nameless ghost of her past seemed to fill the room, but Winslow said quietly, “Guess if you looked the world over, you couldn’t have found anything that would please me more.”
After all the presents were opened, Jim said, “Well, now that the family’s all done, it’s my turn to play Santa Claus.”
He disappeared outside and was back in a few minutes with his arms loaded with packages. “Had lots of fun bu
ying this stuff,” he said when Rebekah rebuked him for spending too much on them. “Most of it Edith helped me pick out.”
Sky was pleased with a new fishing rod he’d often admired in the store window. It was a tiny thing, but strong as steel. “Watch out, fish!” he exclaimed, trying it out.
“You won’t catch any more fish than you do now, Sky,” Jim grinned, “but you’ll look like a sportsman. This is for you, Joe.”
Joe opened a heavy package and unwrapped a perfectly balanced .32 revolver. “You’re too young for that now, but your dad will teach you how to use it. Thought you’d like it just to look at for now, and dream about the time when you’ll wear it.”
Joe caressed the weapon with fingers that trembled, and his eyes were filled with wonder.
“Probably shoot himself in the foot,” Sky grinned. “See what this prodigal son Jim got you, Rebekah.”
Rebekah opened a box, carefully moved some tissue paper away, and then stopped. She sat, unmoving, for so long that even Joe tore his eyes away from his gun long enough to say impatiently, “Well? What is it?”
“Why, it’s—it’s a dress,” she murmured softly. Carefully she pulled a royal blue dress out of the box and held it up. She fingered the white lace collar. She looked as if she were going to cry. “How’d you find out I wanted this so bad, Jim?”
“Asked Edith, of course,” O’Malley grinned. “Go try it on, Rebekah.”
“Oh, not now.”
“Hey, now,” Jim urged. “I want to see Joe shoot that gun, and I want to see Sky catch a fish—and I want to see you in that dress!”
“All right,” Rebekah relented, and ran to the bedroom, closing the door. She was back in five minutes, wearing the dress, and her eyes were bright with pleasure. “How does it look?”
O’Malley exclaimed, “Why, Mrs. Winslow, you look beautiful!”
“Gee!” Joe said quietly, for he had never seen Rebekah in anything so pretty. “I didn’t know you looked so good!”
“Well, now,” Rebekah smiled, “that’s good to hear. I’ll have to wear it to clean house in, Joe, if you like it that much.” She turned and put her hand out, “It’s the most beautiful dress in the world, Jim! Thank you so much!”
The Reluctant Bridegroom Page 26
