by Dorothy Love
“He’s smooth as spit on a doorknob. The clerk at the inn says he pays for everything in gold. I’d bet my last dollar he’s hiding something.”
Was it true? Was Mr. Rutledge concealing a secret? Perhaps it was only jealousy talking, as ugly as that prospect seemed. “Oh, Nate, just because he has money and isn’t from around here, that doesn’t mean he’s sinister. But you needn’t worry. I heard him tell Mr. Gilman that he isn’t planning to stay in Hickory Ridge long. You have nothing to be concerned about.”
“That isn’t the song he was singing just now.”
“What do you mean?”
“Apparently Gilman wants Rutledge to stick around and train his horse for some to-do he’s planning for this fall. Rutledge says he’s seriously considering the offer.” He turned to watch Griff Rutledge’s rig disappear down the road.
“Really? He’s going to stay awhile?”
He glanced at her. “That’s what he said. And I wish you wouldn’t look so all-fired happy about it.” Nate found his hat and jammed it onto his head.
“Nate. Don’t go away mad.”
“I’m not mad.” He jumped into his rig and flicked the reins. “I’ll see you, Carrie.”
Mary crossed the yard, the hem of her skirt trailing in the grass. “What happened? Did you and Nate have a quarrel?”
“Mama.” Mary’s oldest boy, Caleb, raced across the yard, his brother at his heels. “Joe said Carrie Daly is gonna live with us. Is it true?”
“Of course it’s true.” Mary smiled at Carrie, though there was little warmth in it. “She’s your new papa’s sister.”
Caleb frowned. “But I don’t want her to.”
Both boys had taken off their jackets. Their boiled white shirts were smeared with dirt, grass stains, and cake icing. “Me either, Mama. I don’t want her here.” Joe glared at Carrie. “Go get your own family.”
Carrie felt her blood heating up. “Henry was my brother long before you were ever born, Joseph. And he will be my brother as long as I live. He is my family, and that won’t change just because you want it to.”
“Just a minute,” Mary said. “Don’t be cross with him. He’s a child.”
“He’s old enough to know not to be rude.”
Mary’s face flushed. “This is new to the boys. Joe was so little when my husband died, he doesn’t remember Pete at all. They’re excited to have a man in their lives. They need time to adjust.”
“Mary, honey?” Henry stepped onto the porch. “All right if I send the rest of the food home with the Dawsons? Cleo and Libby have been here all day.”
“That’s a lot of food to give away,” Mary said. “Have you forgotten you have two little boys to feed now?”
“But we need to give them something. They’re hungry and dog-tired.”
“You paid them, didn’t you?”
“Of course. But—”
“You don’t want to be too generous with Negroes. They’ll come to expect it every time they do the least little bit of work. Besides, Caleb and Joseph love ham. We’ll have the rest for supper.”
Carrie sent her brother a pointed look. Stand up for yourself, Henry. This is still your house, your farm.
“You’re right,” Henry said. “I wasn’t thinking.” He grinned and his ears turned red. “I guess I’m not used to being a family man yet.”
He stepped back inside, and a few minutes later the Dawson women came out. They nodded to Carrie and Mary, climbed onto their wagon, and headed for their home in Two Creeks.
Carrie followed Mary and her boys inside. Henry had already shed his coat and tie, and now he helped the boys change their clothes. Mary changed into a simple yellow calico house dress. Settling herself into Carrie’s favorite chair beside the window, she took up her fan. “What a day. I declare, I cannot ever remember being so worn out. But it was lovely, Henry dear. Thank you for making it so special.”
“I’m glad you’re pleased, but Carrie did all the work.” Henry winked at Carrie.
Mary’s fan moved back and forth, stirring the warm afternoon air. “Carrie, would you bring me some tea? I’m worn to a frazzle.”
“Mama?” Joseph raced into the room. “Can me and Caleb go see the horse? They’s kittens in the barn too.”
“For a little while. But stay close to the house. I don’t want you wandering off.”
The boys tore out of the house, banging the door behind them.
Mary looked up, brows raised. “Well, Carrie? The tea?”
Carrie sent her brother a withering glance. She was resigned to sharing her home with his new wife and her noisy, rude children, but becoming Mary’s handmaiden? Never. Henry cocked an eyebrow at her and began fiddling with his pipe. Clearly he didn’t intend to come to her defense. “I’d like to change my dress first, if you don’t mind.”
Mary flicked her fan. “Please don’t be long. I’ve had a very tiring day.”
A tiring day? Carrie almost laughed out loud. While she had rushed about setting up tables, ironing tablecloths, gathering flowers, and baking for days on end, Mary had avoided involving herself in any of the wedding preparations, saying that Carrie was much the better cook. Which was true, but still . . .
With another glance at Henry, Carrie sighed, went upstairs, and changed. Back in the kitchen, she made and served tea while Mary chattered to Henry about the wedding guests and Mr. Patterson’s ceremony.
“When he asked for objections, I was afraid you might speak up, Carrie.” Mary’s eyes glinted with amusement and something else. A subtle challenge?
“I’d never object to anything that makes my brother happy.” Carrie drained her cup.
Henry smiled. “The reverend did a fine job, but I miss our country preacher.”
“So do I,” Carrie said. “But we can’t blame Mr. Dennis for moving on to a larger church. Even preachers have to feed their families.”
Mary’s cup rattled onto her saucer. “The Lord always provides. It was his citified wife who wanted to leave Hickory Ridge. She complained about everything when she came to town.”
Henry stretched out his long legs and looked out the window. “Maybe the town will start growing again if Mr. Gilman’s plan works out. That Rutledge fellow seems to think the idea has merit.”
Carrie was eager for the details of any scheme that would keep Griff Rutledge in town, but Henry rose and said, “I’ll go round up the boys. They can help with the chores before supper.”
Mary finally got to her feet and went reluctantly to the kitchen to help Carrie prepare supper from the wedding leftovers. Afterward, Henry brought in water to heat for washing up. Mary helped the boys get ready for bed and settled them into the room Henry had fixed for them in the attic. Feeling like a third wheel, Carrie made coffee, and they sat on the front porch watching night come down. The spring breeze stirred the yellow jasmine growing on the trellis beside the porch. Night birds called plaintively in the trees. Carrie sipped her coffee and fought a wave of melancholy. How was it possible to be sitting here with two other people and still feel utterly alone?
At last, Henry stood, knocked the ashes from his pipe, and reached for Mary’s hand. “I reckon we’ll say good night, Carrie.”
Mary blushed and nodded to Carrie. “Good night, sister. We’ll see you in the morning.”
Henry planted a kiss on Carrie’s hair. “Thank you. Everything was delicious. I appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome.” For so long, it had been her and Henry against the world, and now another woman had taken first place in his affections. Of course she was happy for him, but a hole had opened up in her life. Nothing could ever be the same.
Carrie mounted the stairs to her room and closed the door. The window was open to the cooling night air and to the sounds of the birds settling into the trees. She turned up the wick in the lantern, washed her face and hands, and changed into her nightgown. Taking her Bible from the table beside her bed, she read from Psalms until her mind and heart calmed. She closed her eyes. Help me
, Lord, to love Mary and her children. Give me the grace not to resent them. I ask you for Henry’s happiness. He deserves it, after looking after me for most of his—
A hard thump overhead followed by a bloodcurdling scream pierced the silence, destroying her serenity. Below her she heard Henry’s startled voice, and Mary’s, and then their footsteps pounding up the stairs, past her room, and upward to the attic. Carrie set aside her Bible and threw on her dressing gown. She took up her lamp, opened her door, and peered down the dark hallway.
Henry came down the narrow staircase holding a sobbing Joseph in his arms. Mary followed, holding Caleb by the hand.
“What’s the matter?” Carrie asked.
“Nightmares,” Mary said.
“No, Mama,” Caleb said. “It waren’t no bad dream. Me and Joe was both wide-awake, and then we saw ’em.”
“Saw who?”
“Robbers. Three of ’em. They came right through the winder. I shoved Joe to the floor, and he hid under the bed, but they almost got me.”
Joseph whimpered and wound his chubby arms around Henry’s neck.
“There now, Joe,” Henry said. “You’re all right, boy. There are no robbers way out here.”
“They are so,” Caleb said. “Mama, please don’t make us go back up there. It’s too dark, and I’m scared.”
“Come on,” Mary said. “You can stay with Mama and Papa tonight. We’ll figure out something else in the morning.”
Carrie returned to her room and tried to recapture the sense of peace prayer always brought her. But she couldn’t forget the way Mary had looked at her just now. She had the feeling that whatever the “something else” was, it wouldn’t be good news for her. She climbed into bed and extinguished the light.
THREE
“Could you finish these for me, Carrie?” Mary set the rolling pin aside and brushed flour from her fingers. “I haven’t felt well all morning.”
In the week since the wedding Mary had come up with a thousand excuses rather than help with chores. So far, making biscuits was her only contribution. Now apparently the poor dear wasn’t even up to rolling out dough for their midday meal.
Carrie bit back a refusal. Last Sunday’s sermon had been about serving others, being the hands and feet of Christ. How could she refuse to follow his perfect example?
“In a minute.” She shifted the heavy bucket of water she’d just drawn from the pump and headed for the stove.
“Mama, look what we found.” Caleb yanked the door open and rushed inside. “Ain’t he a beauty?”
Carrie dropped the bucket and let out a loud scream. Water poured over her shoes and soaked the hem of her skirt. “Get that snake out of my house this instant.”
“For mercy’s sake, calm down, Carrie,” Mary said. “It’s only a common garden snake. It’s harmless. I figured a farm girl like you would know that.”
“I don’t care. I want it out. Now.”
Caleb stood there, letting the lime-green snake wind through his fingers. He turned his freckled nose up at Carrie. “You can’t tell me what to do.”
Henry came in with a load of wood for the cook stove, Joseph at his heels. “Mary, honey? What’s all the commotion? What’s going on here?”
“Your sister had a screaming fit because Caleb brought in a little-bitty snake.” Mary set the half-empty pan of biscuits in the oven and slammed the door. “I realize she hasn’t spent much time around little boys, but honestly, she simply must adjust. She’s making my children fearful. I won’t have it.”
Henry sighed and dumped the wood into the box. “Just give her some time. This is a big change for all of us.”
“Excuse me, Henry,” Carrie said. “I’d appreciate it if you’d stop talking about me as if I’m feebleminded or not even in the room.”
“Now, Carrie, don’t get your dander up.” He motioned for Caleb to take the snake outside. “I’m simply trying to make peace in the family.”
“We’re not a family.”
Henry picked up her overturned water bucket and set it on the table. “You know that isn’t so.”
“A family takes care of each other. Accommodates each other. But the only one who has been doing any accommodating around here is me.” Carrie turned away and busied herself with setting out their glasses.
Mary spun around, her calico skirt swirling, and took a stack of plates from the shelf beside the sink. She plopped them onto the table, fetched a pot of coffee from the stove, and tossed a bowl of diced potatoes into the skillet. “Don’t bother yourself about these potatoes, Carrie. I’ll accommodate you and fix them myself.”
Henry cleared his throat. “You’ll never guess who showed up at the mill yesterday.” He sat down at the table, poured himself a cup of coffee, and opened the Knoxville newspaper that had arrived at the post office on Thursday. “Wyatt Caldwell stopped by. I think he misses the mill, despite loving his ranch down in Texas.”
“Really.” Mary salted the potatoes and flipped them with her spatula. Steam wafted through the room. “Was his fancy stuck-up wife with him?”
Carrie bristled. Mary Stanhope found some reason to dislike everyone. “If you think Ada is stuck-up, then you don’t know her at all.”
Through the kitchen window, she watched bright-blue morning glories trailing along the backyard trellis Henry had made for her birthday last year. Caleb and Joseph, bareheaded and shoeless, were chasing the chickens around the yard. “Ada Caldwell is one of the kindest, most tenderhearted women I’ve ever known.”
“Oh, that’s right. I forgot she made you a hat for free when you finally decided to throw away your widow’s weeds. No wonder you think she’s something.” Mary slid the sizzling potatoes onto a platter and brought them to the table. “Lady Bountiful, spreading her gifts around Hickory Ridge. I imagine she got a boatload of free advertising for her hat business out of that little gesture.”
“Maybe. But that isn’t why she did it.” Carrie stared at Henry, feeling heartsick and bewildered. How had her sweet brother, the very soul of kindness, wound up with such a hateful, bitter bride?
Mary took the biscuits from the oven, piled them on a plate, and placed it on the table in front of Henry. “Sit down, Carrie.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Sit down anyway. There’s something Henry and I want to talk to you about.”
“I’ll stand.” Carrie folded her arms and leaned against the sink.
“Suit yourself. Henry? Sweetheart?”
Henry set down his paper and looked up at her, questioning.
“This might be a good time to talk to Carrie. While the boys are outside.”
“Oh. Right.” Henry buttered a biscuit and took a bite. “Well, you see, Carrie girl, Mary . . . that is, the both of us, were wondering if you would mind swapping rooms with Caleb and Joseph.”
“What? You mean move into the attic?”
“Maybe not forever, but until they get used to living here.”
“But that room is so small.”
“Exactly.” Mary stirred cream into her coffee. “It isn’t large enough for two active boys, and they need to be closer to me at night, so they won’t be scared. Whereas you—”
“I won’t do it.” Carrie plopped into her chair and faced her brother across the table. “Henry, you can’t expect me to give up my room. All my things are there. My books, my journals, the few things I have that belonged to Frank.”
The door flew open. Caleb and Joseph raced through the kitchen, laughing and shoving each other. “Go on, Joe,” Caleb yelled in a voice that shattered Carrie’s last nerve. “I dare ya.”
Joseph reached into his pocket, drew out the snake, and tossed it at Carrie. “Gotcha.”
The snake slithered across the pine floor. Carrie grabbed the boy and held him fast. “How old you are you anyway, you little heathen?”
“Five and three quarters.” He stared up at her, his pale blue eyes bright and defiant.
“You pull a stupid stunt like that ag
ain and you won’t see six.” She shook him, hard. “Do you understand me?”
“You can’t tell me what to do. You’re not my ma. You’re just a dried-up, mean ol’ widder woman, and—”
Carrie slapped him, hard. A red handprint rose on his cheek, and he buried his face in his mother’s skirts, his shoulder heaving. She stared, horrified and dismayed at her loss of control. How could one small boy cause so much trouble? “I’m sorry, Joe. I didn’t mean it.”
Mary shoved away from the table and scooped up her son, her eyes blazing. “If you ever hit my boy again, Carrie Daly, so help me, I’ll—”
“Now, Mary.” Henry got to his feet. “Let’s all settle down here.”
“You can settle down, Henry Bell. I will not have anyone hitting my children.”
“I apologize,” Carrie said. “It was wrong of me to strike him. I lost my temper.”
“You should know better.” Mary sent Carrie a murderous glance and handed Joe her handkerchief.
“Joe should have known better than to toss a snake at her,” Henry said. “And he shouldn’t have talked to Carrie like that. Boys should be brought up to respect their elders. Especially womenfolk.”
“He’s just a little boy.”
“That’s no excuse. Where did he get a notion like that anyway?”
Mary blushed to the roots of her hair, but she stood her ground. “Whose side are you on anyway, Henry?”
“There’s no call to be taking sides, sweetheart.”
“Don’t call me sweetheart. Not if you’re going to let that sourpuss sister of yours force my children to sleep in a dark attic where they’re scared out of their wits and then beat them for playing a harmless joke.” She began to cry. “I thought you loved me. I thought we’d be happy, but now I feel like this was all a big mistake.”
She set Joe on his feet and led him from the room. Caleb balled his fist and socked Carrie squarely in the stomach. “That’s fer hittin’ my little brother and makin’ Ma cry.”
“Go upstairs, Caleb,” Henry said. “And do not come out until I tell you to.”
“I ain’t going up to that old attic. No, sir. You can beat me till I’m dead and I won’t go.”
