13
The morning after the storm, August leaned against a post on the porch, staring out at the lawn. Sticks and leaves cluttered the grass; it was a relief that the barn, outbuildings, and springhouse were unharmed. Though the wind had been strong, the tornado had passed over them. He needed to measure the hole in the house and estimate the cost of repairs.
The weather was a setback, interrupting the planting, and he worried the corn might not mature before the first frost set in. Such was the life of a farmer, he supposed. Disasters struck everywhere. Flooding was a prominent problem in the bootheel, where marshes expanded over farmland during heavy rains. At least his land would dry out in a few days.
Loyal pushed the screen door open and stepped up beside him. “Coffee?”
The battered tin mug she offered was one of their few remaining dishes. Earlier, they’d eaten eggs and ham straight from the cast iron skillet. He took the proffered cup and blew to cool the liquid.
“Make a list of things you need for the kitchen. After I do some measuring, we’ll ride into town. No sense in putting it off. Can’t plow today. Might as well work on the wall. Then I’ll have to take the remainder of the tree down.” He’d examined the maple and several limbs that lay around the trunk. There were still branches raised to the sky.
“I loved that tree,” Loyal lamented.
“You can plant a new one. We’ll put it farther from the house.” He drank the coffee, going over plans in his mind. “You reckon we should check on your father?”
Gideon’s church and parsonage were five miles north of Wilson. The way August figured the tornado’s winding path had tracked, the parsonage might have been along its line.
“You’d do that?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. “Knowing he’d probably spit in your eye before accepting your help?”
“Just because people believe the worst of me doesn’t mean I have to be the worst.” He dumped the coffee over the rail and carried the cup inside. The floor was swept clean, but the room looked gloomy with scrap wood across the hole, blocking the morning light.
He closed his eyes, remembering last night, and how he’d wanted to consummate his marriage with Loyal. How she was willing and encouraging. It had crossed his mind that she might not have been as in love with Jeremiah as he’d always thought. She stated she’d loved his brother, and it was probably true. Clearly she wasn’t opposed to attention from him. If the cellar had been a bit more welcoming they might’ve made love, baby or not.
Her condition only made her more beautiful. There was a glow about her he’d never seen before and she didn’t cry as easily these days. Perhaps it was too soon to expect her to love him, but he hoped that day was coming. Last night he’d been on the verge of telling her. He couldn’t imagine how she’d react if he let those words loose into the air.
* * * *
Branches, leaves and a few odds and ends lay along the roadside. August stopped twice to remove big limbs from the path before they could proceed, but it didn’t prepared them for the shape of Gideon’s house when they turned down the drive.
Loyal gasped, clutching August’s arm. He winced as her grip tightened around his muscles, though he didn’t look away from the partially collapsed house. The roof seemed to have been torn away by a giant hand. It slumped over the front door and the wall was crumpled beneath it. Trees were ripped from the earth and scattered across the yard. Gideon’s horse cart was turned upside down, one axle broken. The horse was nowhere in sight and most of the fence where it had been pastured was gone or scattered. Except for the steeple missing and sizable hole in the roof, the church appeared intact.
“Papa,” Loyal whispered. “Do you think he’s—”
“We don’t know anything yet. Stay here while I look around.” August set the brake on the wagon and passed her the reins. He stepped down, striding across the ground, dodging house furnishings and trees.
“Gideon?” he called. “It’s August O’Dell. Answer if you’re able.”
A bird cawed, but he didn’t hear any human voices. He pushed the church door open first, disappointed to find it empty. Sunshine poured through the damaged interior. Shutting it behind him, he turned for the remains of the house. There was no access at the front, so he rounded the back. The door hung on the topmost hinge, swinging slightly in the breeze. August pulled it open and it fell away from the frame. He pushed it aside, steeling himself for the worst.
Glass shards and splintered wood made crossing the floor a hazard. He shoved the table out of the way and stepped over a fallen shelf. Beams from the ceiling fell in front of the door leading to the front room. Darkness made it hard to see inside. With the ceiling caved in, he’d have to crouch while he searched for Gideon. He splashed through a puddle and nudged a photograph under shattered glass out of his path.
“Gideon?”
August ducked beneath a beam, feeling blindly for objects in front of him. Remembering the matches in his pocket, he struck one and held it up. In the flickering reddish light, he searched for a lamp, but the only one he found was broken. He shook the match out before it burned his fingertips.
Stomach in knots, he dreaded returning without news of Loyal’s father. He shouldered past a sofa on its end, flinching when it tottered and almost fell on him. Using a second match, he hunkered down, scanning the floor for signs of a body. He knew Gideon didn’t have a cellar. The old man had always claimed if God wanted him to die, he’d go with arms wide open. The collapsed roof didn’t allow August to stand up straight, so he bowed over and shuffled through the ruined objects.
The gilded edges of Gideon’s bible caught the light. A hand clutched the spine, though a bookshelf concealed the rest of the body. August kicked his way through the rubble and pulled the bible away. He touched the other man’s hand, testing the skin temperature.
“For Loyal’s sake, you’d better be alive, you old bastard.”
Gideon’s hand was cool, but not cold enough to suggest the man was dead. He let out a pent up breath when he found a pulse in Gideon’s wrist.
“Guess we all witness a miracle now and then.”
He lifted the bookshelf away, groaning at the solid weight. It shifted without allowing August to see how bad Gideon’s injuries were. Propping it on his shoulder, he struck another match. Sweat broke out on his forehead, but he got a better look at the preacher. A crusted gash marred Gideon’s forehead and his breathing was shallow. August leaned closer, patting the old man’s face.
“You still alive, Redfearn?”
Gideon groaned and opened his eyes. He shifted weakly. “You. What are you doing here?”
“Pulling your sorry hide out of the rubble. Any man with sense would’ve high-tailed it to safer ground. Where are you hurt?”
“God said it was my time.” Gideon’s voice was a harsh croak.
August gritted his teeth. The bookshelf was getting heavier and Gideon’s attitude wasn’t helping. “God doesn’t get a say, because I can’t leave you here. Loyal would never forgive me. Or you.”
“Loyal doesn’t care for my opinion. Let me die in peace, O’Dell.” Gideon closed his eyes, sinking back into the debris around him.
“You can’t be hurt too bad, not if you have enough fight left to argue with me. This shelf isn’t a feather, old man. You’ll have to crawl out on your own. We can leave through the back door afterward.” Dust fell around them, causing him to cough. “Before the roof finishes caving in, if you don’t mind.”
“It’s God’s will,” Gideon argued.
“You’d leave your daughter without saying good-bye? Never meet your grandchild?” August gathered his strength and pushed the bookshelf up a little higher.
“Loyal made her choice. Twice. She doesn’t care if I die.”
August shoved the bookshelf, knocking it into a beam that trembled, causing more dirt to rain around them. He pulled on Gideon’s arm. The preacher groaned. “I think my leg is broken.”
August swallowed a curse. “Which o
ne?”
“The left one. The shelf came down on it. Just leave. I’m not important,” Gideon rasped.
August shook his head, knowing his father-in-law couldn’t see the action. “I know what it’s like to lose someone without the opportunity to say last words. How the regret lingers like a sore that won’t heal. I won’t let Loyal suffer without hearing you say good-bye. You’re coming out of this house with me. You can die after you talk to her, if that’s your heart’s desire. This is gonna hurt, but it’s got to be done.”
He pulled Gideon into sitting position. The roof groaned and a board tumbled down, landing near August’s foot. Gideon sat limply without providing any help. “Come on, Redfearn. This house won’t stand much longer.”
Gideon grunted as August helped him balance on his good leg. “Keep your head low, I’ll let you know when you need to duck again. We’ll take it slow.”
He kept his arm under Gideon’s, supporting the man’s weight. He paused when the floor shifted beneath them until it seemed safe to carry on. They moved toward the kitchen, with August holding his hand out as a guide. Light came through the missing back door hole. Beyond the doorway, the grassy hill beckoned with fresh air.
Another groan came from the house and the floor tilted again. August clung to Gideon, who yelped in pain. The walls buckled. Boards cracked and the ceiling split. August shoved Gideon to the floor and threw himself over the preacher, ignoring the man’s moans. He covered his head with his arms. The house laid over as though it was too much effort for the walls to remain standing.
August bit his tongue when something hit his legs and low back. Glass that hadn’t fallen out of the windows before tinkled as it pelted his back. When the noise stopped and the world stilled, he opened his eyes.
“August!”
Loyal’s frightened call reminded him they needed to get out before she came in for them. He coughed, clearing dust from his mouth. “You still alive, Redfearn?”
“It’s God’s will for me to die here,” Gideon said with a gasp.
“Mine is stronger right now. We can go out through the window.” He kicked the boards away. Shaken and achy, but determined to reach Loyal, he climbed to his feet.
Gideon’s pale face shined with sweat and dried blood as he looked at the window. August offered his hand and pulled Gideon up, though the older man didn’t put weight on his injured leg. He looked as though he’d collapse any second.
“Why did you save me?”
“We could have this conversation outside where a house isn’t falling on us.” He clenched his jaw as he supported Gideon’s weight. “You grab onto the window frame and pull yourself through. Loyal’s waiting. She’ll take care of you.”
Gideon looked at August. “If you’re after something, I don’t have anything to give. My whole life was in this house.”
August sneered. “I want my wife’s happiness. Is that so hard to believe? She loves you, even if you’re too selfish to see it. I’d die for Loyal if I had to, but I won’t let her lose her father.”
Gideon blinked. “You love her.”
“It’s none of your concern. Just get the hell out, old man. Before I toss you out.” He lowered himself to one knee and laced his fingers together.
The preacher shook his head and gripped the window frame. He struggled through with help from August. Rubble shifted underfoot. A thick board caught August’s knee, knocking his legs out from under him. He landed hard on his stomach, losing his breath.
“Papa? You’re alive!” Loyal’s voice was faint. Still, it gave August strength. “Where’s August?”
“Right behind me. No, you don’t. Stay there, don’t come near this house. It’s not stable.” Gideon’s order was firm.
August pushed himself up, wincing at the ache in his knee. He reached for the windowsill. Sweaty palms made grasping the wood difficult. He clung for all he was worth, picturing Loyal’s face. With a grunt, he hauled himself through the rectangle and onto the splintered side of the house. His legs gave out before he made it across the nearly horizontal wall and he sat heavily on what used to be the back stoop.
“August!” Loyal’s face was pale and pinched. She looked at him over her father’s shoulder, about ten feet away where Gideon sat on an overturned tree.
Trust the old blighter to fake a broken leg and make trouble. “I’m fine. Make sure your daddy’s gonna live.”
He wiped the sweat off his brow and caught his breath. He’d done some hair-raising things in his youth, but never entered a tornado-damaged house before. It was one chore he hoped he’d never face again. When he was sure he could move without giving away how badly he was shaken, he examined the rip in his trouser knee and the skin beneath.
The scrape was ragged, but not as bad as the one on Gideon’s head. While it stung like the dickens, he guessed his legs had gone out from relief and anxiety more than injury. He rose, limping, thanks to the soreness in his back rather than the cut.
“You’ll be alright, Papa. We’ll take you to town and get you looked at.” Loyal’s voice was thick with worry. She looked away from him as August approached, her smile tight. “You’re hurt.”
He shook his head. “Not much, just bruises. Let’s help your daddy into the wagon.”
“I’m not going. I should’ve died in there.” Gideon’s eyes were red-rimmed, his mouth turned down. “You couldn’t leave well enough alone.”
“Papa, what a terrible thing to say. August saved you.” Loyal put her hand on Gideon’s shoulder. “I’m glad you’re alive.”
“I’ve got no house and my eyesight is failing. There’s no one to care for me.” Gideon glowered at August. “All I have left is a daughter who doesn’t care for my opinions.”
Loyal removed her hand, looking crestfallen.
“Enough,” August snapped. “She loves you. There’s no sense in sitting here, wallowing in pity. Get up, let’s go.”
“August,” Loyal said softly.
“I’m not coddling him, and I’m not leaving him here. We have repairs to do on our own house and he needs the doctor.”
He knew he sounded harsh, but Gideon wasn’t going to be moved with soft words and coaxing.
Loyal averted her eyes. “Come on, Papa. August is right, you know.”
Gideon stood, swaying a little. When August reached out to help, the old man moved away. He didn’t resist Loyal’s help, though, leaning on her as they approached the wagon. “Heathen. Brother was a heathen and father was the worst heathen of them all.”
August looked back at the broken house. Before he’d left Wilson township, he wouldn’t have gone inside looking for a man who hated him. Not even for Loyal’s love. If that didn’t show Gideon how much he’d changed, nothing would.
* * * *
For all his bluff and bluster, Loyal felt certain her father wasn’t hurt as badly as he let on. He was a lonely old man, although he had no one but himself to blame for that condition. She held August’s hand while Dr. Roy examined her father. The doctor’s parlor was crowded with patients who’d suffered injuries during the storm. Everyone was too busy suffering their own misery to pay much attention to her and August.
August stood beside the chair she occupied despite his aches and pains. He’d refused to let her look at his leg, though he was limping and declined a chair, saying others needed it more. From his posture, she knew he was uncomfortable standing, and it only added to her worries.
“Thank you,” she murmured, looking up at him. “I know he’s difficult.”
“I couldn’t leave him.” Although August’s voice was gruff, his eyes were soft. “If I’d had to carry him, I’d have done it. Too bad about the parsonage.”
She tightened her fingers around his. “I don’t know where he’ll go. I’m sure his congregation will help rebuild the parsonage.” She sighed. “Which could take months.”
August looked like he’d swallowed a lemon. His brow wrinkled and he frowned. “He can take the spare room.”
L
oyal gaped. “You’d allow my father to live with us?”
He nodded. “Since he’s got nowhere else. You know what it would mean.”
They’d share the master bedroom. Her heart skipped a beat. There wasn’t room for another bed, not with one already filling most of the space. They’d sleep together like a real married couple. For a moment she imagined curling against him at night. His arm draped over her stomach, tucked beneath her breasts. It wasn’t an unpleasant thought.
“I know,” she said. “That doesn’t seem so bad.”
He gave her a half smile. “Could be a lot better than that.”
Her face heated. “It depends on how Papa’s doing. Keep that in mind.”
“I truly hope he’s not hurt badly, Loyal. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”
The sincerity in his voice warmed her heart. “I was worried when you went in the house. You might have been killed. Both of you. I don’t know what I would’ve done.”
“You don’t have to find out.” He pulled his hand away from hers and stroked her hair. “No sense worrying about it. We’ll wait for Doc Roy’s assessment, then make a decision.”
Loyal rose, pressing her hands to her back. August watched her with concern.
“I’m fine. Just need to stretch my legs.”
His eyes never left her as she walked around the doctor’s parlor. The wounded had thinned a bit as the doctor took in more patients. Almost two hours had passed since they’d brought her father. As time passed without word, she worried his injuries were worse than they’d guessed.
She was on her second turn around the room when Dr. Roy appeared.
“Mrs. O’Dell, your father will be fine. The bump on his head didn’t require stitches, but he’s got a pretty good sprain in his left ankle. He’ll need a few weeks of rest before it returns to normal. He said the parsonage is gone.” Dr. Roy was ten years older than Loyal, a serious-faced man she’d known most of her life.
“It’s a complete loss. Do you think he should come with us to the farm?” she asked.
Dr. Roy glanced at August. “Might not hurt for you to keep an eye on him over the next couple of days. Head injuries are nothing to take lightly. You can take him home when you’re ready.”
The Wrong Brother's Bride Page 13
