The Unplowed Sky

by Jeanne Williams

  “Who wouldn’t?”

  “Multitudes.”

  “Go away.”

  “I enjoy your company.”

  “I don’t like yours.”

  “How can you tell? You’ve never let me be nice to you.” His voice deepened and the mockery was gone. “You’re different, Hallie. I wouldn’t treat you like the others.”

  “You won’t get the chance.”

  This time the approaching vehicle, rattling and snorting, was unmistakably the truck. Hallie shoved at Raford. “For goodness’ sake, get out of here! If Garth sees you right now—”

  “If I know him, he’ll come looking for me anyway.” Raford instinctively touched the inside of his vest and smiled at Hallie’s horrified look. “Of course I have a gun. I’ll carry it till the MacLeods have time to cool down.”

  “You’ll carry it a long time, then.”

  “Perhaps not.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I own all the rest of the land for miles on this side of the creek. It’s an irritation, this section with all that mess along the creek sucking water and harboring varmints.”

  “You mean the trees and vines and old prairie?”

  “They should be cleared and the land put to use.”

  “It is of use.” Hallie thought of the great horned owls, coyotes, and other creatures living there.

  “I want it put to my use.”

  “I hope it never is.”

  “MacLeod can’t hold out against me. If you care about his welfare, you’ll try to influence him to sell to me and go somewhere else. I’ll offer him a good price now. If I have to spend more time and money breaking him, I won’t be generous.”

  “Maybe you can’t break him.”

  Raford laughed. “How can I fail? He gave me a race this summer, but he can’t have done much better than break even. He can’t afford that kind of run next year. And in a couple of years, he’ll need new machinery. I’ll get him. It’s just a question of when.”

  The screen door opened and shut. There were swift footfalls. Rory came in. His eyes blazed at the sight of Raford. “You lousy son—” He gulped the rest of the name but closed the space between them and swung.

  “He’s got a gun!” Hallie cried.

  Raford didn’t reach for it. For such a heavy man, he sidestepped with surprising speed doubled his fists and brought them up beneath Rory’s chin, almost lifting him off the floor. He kicked his legs out from under him. Afraid that the banker would hurt Rory badly, Hallie snatched a butcher knife from the slotted block on the worktable and started for Raford, who moved for the door with no apparent haste.

  “My quarrel’s not with you, young man,” he said to the stunned Rory. “Good night, Hallie.”

  She dropped to her knees beside Rory, who moved his head cautiously as he sat up, feeling his neck and jaw. “Guess my head’s still on”—Rory moved his legs—“and he didn’t break my bones. That’ll teach me to charge in like that.”

  “I hope so!” Rising, Hallie gave him a hand. “How’s Meg?”

  He started to shake his head, winced, and looked glum. “She’s conscious, but she still can’t move her legs. The doctor wants to keep her a few more days. I came home to get some sleep so I can stay with her and give Garth a rest.” He rubbed his jaw. “That guy may be a banker, but he sure learned how to fight in an alley or saloon. What was he doing over here?”

  “He wants to buy this place.”

  Rory stared. “He picked one helluvva time to do business!”

  “He expects Garth to come after him about the bridge.”

  “He’s right about that.”

  “Then Garth should know Raford’s carrying a gun under his vest.”

  “I’ll tell him when I see him in the morning.”

  “I’d be glad to stay with Meg, but I don’t think—”

  “You’ll see plenty of her when she comes home.” Rory sounded so grim that Hallie looked at him inquiringly. “Garth’s told her you’re staying,” Rory said.

  “And she didn’t like it?” Hallie’s heart sank, though she hadn’t expected any different reaction.

  “You might say the only thing she liked less was the notion of staying in town at an invalids’ home.” Rory hesitated, then blurted, “She made Garth promise that you wouldn’t sleep in her room. So he’ll move a cot into my room and give you and Jackie his.”

  It was a slap in the face, but Garth needed her—and so, no matter how she begrudged that need, did Meg. Hallie thought of the tattered rag doll and suspected that Meg couldn’t bear for her to know about it. “All right,” Hallie said. “It’ll be easy to move Jackie, and I’ve put clean sheets on all the beds.”

  Rory’s nose wrinkled. “And made something that smells good. Do I get some?”

  He had two bowls of soup and one of tapioca. “Meg loves tapioca,” he said, “but she always scorches it.” He rose and covered a yawn. “Better get your sleep, Hallie. Let me move the laddie for you.”

  “Maybe we can move him on the cot. It’s just across the hall.”

  They accomplished this without waking Shaft who, far from rousing at Jackie’s slightest rustle, had slept through the ruckus downstairs and was snoring heartily. Jackie, his cheek pressed to Lambie, didn’t wake either, though Smoky jumped down till the cot was moved and then hopped back up, eyeing them reproachfully before she composed herself.

  Through it all, Hallie kept a safe distance from Rory or made sure there was something in between them. When Jackie was settled and Rory moved toward her, Hallie backed into the hall. “Good night, Rory. Thanks.”

  He stopped farther away than his arms could reach and gave her a wry grin. “Don’t be so jittery. You’re our guest, in a way, and you’re doing us a favor. I won’t lay a hand on you.” His eyes danced. “Unless, of course, you ask me.”

  Hallie got ready for bed and snuffed the lamp. She prayed again for Rusty’s loved ones and for Meg and Garth before she started to get into Garth’s bed.

  His bed, his pillows. Her face burned as she fleetingly imagined his being there, welcoming her into his arms. Could that ever happen?

  If it did, she would be the happiest, most grateful woman in the world. She was grateful anyway to have the chance to help him, though she would have given anything to have kept it from being necessary.

  Hallie’s body rested where his had left slight hollows. The feather pillow was modeled softly by his head. The sheets were clean, but man scent mingled with bay rum lingered in mattress and pillows. She had thought she couldn’t sleep that night, but tension dissolved as she felt and breathed in his evidences. She would not even worry about Raford. Not tonight.

  XIII

  Either Garth or Rory was at the hospital till Meg came home the fifth day after the accident. She was allowed to sit up in a wheelchair and she had crutches, but Garth carried her up and down the stairs.

  “Will she be able to walk again?” Hallie asked Rory. She couldn’t bear to ask Garth in case the answer was no.

  “The doctor thinks there’s a good chance she’ll get back the use of her legs. He showed Garth how to massage her legs and feet to keep them healthy.”

  Garth must have done that in Meg’s room. Meg was grudgingly civil to Hallie but clearly intended to be as independent of her as possible. She wheeled herself to the water bucket for a drink and to the table for meals.

  Meg’s bedroom was equipped with an enameled chamber pot for use at night. The morning after Meg came home, Hallie set it behind the davenport in the living room. “If you’ll just tell me when you need to use it, I’ll help you,” she said.

  The girl’s face turned scarlet. “I’ll go to the outhouse.”

  “It’ll be hard to get down the steps on crutches.”

  “I’ll do it!”

  “Meg, please! You could fall and hurt yourself a lot worse.”

  “I don’t care! I—I’d just as soon die as have you—or anyone—help me on and off the chamber pot!”

>   “They must have at the hospital.”

  “That’s different. Everything’s different there. It’s not living.”

  Hallie had never had to stay in a hospital, but she could sympathize with Meg’s feelings. She pondered. “How about this, then? Use one crutch and lean on me a little going down the steps. I’ll go ahead and open the door. Then you can use me as a crutch climbing the steps.”

  “I’d rather do it alone.”

  “I know you would, and I wish you could. But your father’s paying me to look after you, Meg. I can’t let you do something dangerous.”

  Dark eyebrows pulled together above Meg’s resentful gray eyes. Hallie met the almost-glare steadily. How she wished the child would let her be warm and comforting! But she was sure that trying to force that would only completely alienate Meg. At least Meg had infinite tenderness from her father, her young uncle’s teasing affection, and Shaft’s heart though he was well aware of her faults.

  “All right,” Meg conceded. “But I think you’re being silly.” She spun her chair away. “Come here, Jackie. I’ll give you a ride. We’ll go in circles, just like a merry-go-round!”

  She helped him clamber up. They went round and round as fast as she could turn the wheels. Jackie squealed with delight and Meg laughed for the first time since coming home. Then Meg sent Jackie upstairs for one of her books, Dinah Maria Mulock Craig’s The Little Lame Prince.

  Meg bore Jackie off to the front room and read to him in her high, clear voice. It had been one of Hallie’s favorite stories. As she went about her work, she smiled ruefully to think that Meg, surely putting herself more than ever in the role of Prince Dolor, was as certainly making Hallie into the convict nurse who cared for the helpless boy only because that was her only alternative to prison. Hallie’s smile faded as she thought of how wonderful the traveling cloak must now seem to Meg. Let her walk again—please let her walk—and I don’t care how hateful she is to me.

  In an hour or so, Meg wheeled into the kitchen. “I need you for a crutch,” she said as she rolled to the door.

  If turning Hallie into a piece of wood made it easier for Meg, that was fine with Hallie. Crutches don’t smile, but Hallie ventured one. “Here’s your crutch,” she said, and took one of them while bending down to proffer her shoulder.

  While Hallie waited, she surveyed the yard. Since there was no livestock to water, there was no windmill or tank, but a pump close to the back door. The cellar, at the other side of the door, used for coal storage and as a place of refuge during tornadoes, was solidly built with cement walls and floor. Its wood ceiling was mounded with earth, and the door was constructed of heavy boards nailed together and reinforced top, bottom, and crosswise.

  The long storage building for the engine and separator had an extended metal roof which formed a shed, walled on three sides, to shelter the coal and water wagons and the truck. Garth had repaired the water wagon. Two wire clotheslines ran from the shed to two iron posts planted in cement. The house, never painted, had weathered to gray. Everything was built to last, but the ground was barren except for tufts of little bluestem and grama grass, a thicket of sandhill plums beyond the clotheslines, a black locust with leathery brown seed pods near the privy, and thistles and sunflowers, now gone to seed to the gratification of this morning of sparrows, goldfinches, and a pair of cardinals.

  What a difference some hollyhocks and tiger lilies would make! Planted where they’d catch the runoff from the roof, they wouldn’t take much water. A bush of fragrant lilacs might be coaxed to shield the privy. Why hadn’t Garth planted a few fruit trees that would give both food and shade? The answer to that was the same as why he didn’t keep milk cows. Anything needing regular care would die while he was off threshing. But some hardy perennials—Meg came out and Hallie closed the door.

  After that, Meg wheeled to the door and called, “Crutch!” when she wanted assistance. Maybe she pretended it was like Prince Dolor’s magic word that ordered the cloak to carry him out of the tower window to soar among the clouds and birds.

  “What kind of manners is that?” Rory growled the first time he heard it.

  Hallie said quickly, “We’ve made up a game.” Garth, who had raised his head and looked ready to rebuke his daughter, relaxed visibly.

  As Hallie supported Meg down the steps and handed her the crutch, Meg paused for a moment. “I’m glad you didn’t whine to Uncle Rory and Daddy.”

  “I don’t want to do that any more than you want me to.”

  “I guess you don’t want Daddy to think that you can’t handle me.”

  “I don’t want to worry him.” At the jeering look on Meg’s face, Hallie demanded, “Do you?”

  “No, but—” Meg stumped the crutches around. Her head lowered and her shoulders heaved. “I want to walk!”

  “I hope you will.”

  Meg sent a baleful glance over her shoulder. “Do you?”

  “Of course!”

  “Then what excuse would you have to stay here and make over Daddy?”

  Before Hallie could summon an answer, Meg swung off for the privy. Too hurt and angry to speak with calm, Hallie hurried to open the door. No good response came to her while she waited. She blinked at the sting in her eyes.

  Spiteful little cat! Meg was set on thinking the worst of her and didn’t appreciate one bit Hallie’s efforts to be patient and spare her pride though she knew perfectly well that she had to either get along with Hallie or stay at a home in town.

  When the girl emerged, Hallie had still not thought of anything to say that might not turn into a flood of bitterness. A crutch, she thought. Fine. I’ll be a crutch!

  She closed the privy door. At the steps to the house, without a word, she took the crutch and offered her shoulder. Meg’s grip on it was urgent.

  “Are you going to tell Daddy?”

  “I don’t want to worry him. He has enough troubles.” Just as she had feared, once she spoke Hallie couldn’t restrain herself. “I won’t put up with that kind of slur from you, though, Meg. I’ll just quit and not say why.”

  They had reached the top of the steps. Hallie handed back the crutch. Meg caught her arm. “I don’t want to stay at that awful place in town!”

  In spite of her anger, Hallie pitied the girl, but she had no intention of listening to such accusations. “Where you stay is up to you,” she said in a level voice.

  Meg’s face crumpled. She stared at Hallie from frightened eyes. Slowly, she opened her lips. Hallie relented. “You don’t have to say you’re sorry, Meg. Just don’t do it again.”

  She held the door open to let the girl pass through. Far from being pleased at facing Meg down, she felt discouraged and defeated. She could all too well imagine the girl’s venom sealed up and boiling within her. She’ll never like me now, Hallie thought with a pang. I was a fool to hope she might. But at least I can stay while Garth needs me. I’m just not old enough or wise enough or good enough to let her say whatever she wants to and go on as if it doesn’t matter.

  Garth went to see Meg’s teacher at the country school three miles away and came home with seventh-grade schoolbooks and assignments. “Miss Howell said to send the written lessons in when someone’s going that way,” he said. “She’ll send tests you can take under adult supervision. When you go back, you should be able to fit right in.”

  Meg regarded the stack of books, the new notebook, tablet, pen, and pencils without enthusiasm. Hallie didn’t think it was the right moment to suggest that she’d be glad to help. Aimlessly, Meg reached for the top book, a geography. She flipped it open with a grimace.

  “Look!” Jackie cried. “There’s a camel! Wouldn’t it be fun to ride one? Can you read about him, Meg?”

  “Climb up and I will,” she said. “And then we’ll see how much you remember.” She laughed up at her father who was looking relieved. “Wouldn’t it be funny if Jackie knows seventh-grade subjects before he starts first grade?”

  “Miss Howell may be a mighty surpri
sed lady,” Garth said. His eyes met Hallie’s in mutual relief.

  Meg had to do her arithmetic and diagram sentences on her own, but Jackie loved her history, geography, science, and reader. By pretending to teach him every morning for a few hours, she seemed, from what Hallie observed, to be quite satisfactorily teaching herself.

  By the end of September, the MacLeod brothers had plowed the fields and planted all the land to wheat except for what Hallie thought of as the Old Prairie.

  “Garth’s keeping away from Raford because he’s afraid he couldn’t keep from getting into a fight,” Shaft told Hallie. “It’d make him feel better to punch Raford around, but Raford’s the sort to file assault charges, and Garth doesn’t need time in jail or a big fine. What he did do was raise so much Cain with the county officials that they didn’t dare buy another of Raford’s tin bridges. They’re putting in a concrete bridge that’ll hold up to heavy machinery.”

  Garth paid a price for his victory. He went to the courthouse, expecting to sign the usual contract for maintaining county roads that winter and was greeted with the news that Raford had been awarded the contract.

  “I asked the county commissioners if it wasn’t shady to give the contract to the Road Commissioner,” Garth said at the supper table. “Seems Raford has resigned to devote himself to campaigning for the state legislature.”

  “Who’s the new commissioner?” Rory asked.

  “Pete Jenkins.”

  Shaft let out a disgusted sigh. “He’ll do whatever Raford wants, just like he let him thresh his wheat.”

  “Can’t blame him much,” Garth shrugged. “Raford’s bank holds Jenkins’s mortgage.”

  “So what’ll we do without the road work?” Rory demanded.

  “We bought the corn sheller last year to take care of those German farmers on the Arkansas River who grow so much. I drove on over and talked to them. They’d like us to come again. They’ll supply a crew and board us. I’ll take the truck so we can come home weekends.”