Jack nodded. “It’s good to know that.”
“You didn’t need to come back here and interrupt my wedding to get that promise out of me. What is it you want?”
“I reckon I came to put your notion of godly love to the test.” Jack drank in a breath. Say the words. Say them now. He cleared his throat. “I’m here to ask a favor of you, Hunter.”
A ripple of murmurs raced through the crowd. Seth’s eyes narrowed. “There’s only one thing I’ve got that you want,” he said. “And you can’t have him.”
“This is not about the boy. I told you I gave him up, and I did. Whether anyone here believes it or not, I’m a man of my word. I won’t lay a finger on Chipper.”
Seth’s blue eyes still were hooded in wariness. “I’m a dirt farmer, Cornwall. What could you possibly want from me?”
“Permission.”
“Permission for what?”
“Work.” Jack listened to the hubbub that followed his request. He couldn’t let the crowd’s displeasure derail him. With God’s help, he would win over his enemy and make a place for himself. He needed a place like Hope, a place where he could make time to silence the rebellion inside him and listen to the quiet voice. He needed time to learn and grow. He needed hope.
“Like you, Seth, I’ve been fighting a war,” Jack said. “While I was gone, the family home was looted and burned. The farm was stripped. We had to move out. There are folks in Missouri I’d just as soon never lay eyes on again. I need to ply my trade, and I’m asking you for a place to do that.”
“On my land?”
“That’s right.”
Some of the men began shouting at Seth, encouraging him to run off the intruder, kick him out on his backside, give him a taste of his own medicine. The blond giant stood to his feet again.
Seth stared at Jack, his face expressionless. “Let me get this straight,” Seth said. “Your papa ran me off his farm. You spent the summer doing your dead-level best to steal my son away from me. You shot at me. You stole my rifle. You disrupted every iota of peace we had around here. And now you want me to give you a chunk of my land so you can work it?”
Jack rubbed the back of his neck as the jeers grew in intensity. This wasn’t going well. Another minute or two and the whole crowd was liable to string him up. So much for making peace. So much for hope.
Jack settled his hat on his head. “I reckon your godly love doesn’t stretch that far,” he said. “I don’t blame you for it. Well, I guess I’d better head out.”
Forcing himself not to look at Caitrin, Jack turned his back on Seth. Any man worth his salt would see this as a great opportunity to run his enemy into the ground. Kick him while he was down, and then spit in his face. Vulnerability made his spine prickle as he started for his horse.
“Hold on a minute, Cornwall,” Seth called after him.
Yep, time for the payback. Help me, Father, please help me here, Jack prayed. When he turned, he saw that Rosie had raced to her husband’s side. Well, this would just about finish things off, he thought. The last time he spoke with the woman, they’d wound up yelling at each other in the O’Tooles’ barn. She was liable to spill the beans on him, hurt Caitrin in the process, and turn the hubbub into a hullabaloo.
“Mr. Cornwall,” Rosie said, her shoulders squared, “what kind of work do you do?”
The question caught Jack off-balance. “I’m a blacksmith, ma’am.”
“A blacksmith,” she repeated. She glanced over in Caitrin’s direction and seemed to draw courage. “Well, I guess we don’t have any blacksmiths in Hope.”
“Nope.” He saw a crack in the wall of opposition. “But you have a lot of wagons passing through here, ma’am. Broken axles, worn-out brake shoes, rusted undercarriages—I fix them all. I can patch a rusted kettle so good you’ll think it’s new. I can shoe eight horses a day. There’s not a kitchen tool I can’t produce. And even though my work has been mostly on weapons, I reckon I could learn to make and repair any farm tool you hand me.”
“I see. Well, that’s a useful trade.” Rosie looked at Caitrin again. Then she elbowed her husband. “Isn’t that a useful trade, Seth?”
The man’s blue eyes focused on his wife. “Rosie, what are you up to?”
“I just think—” she twisted her hands—“I think Hope could certainly use a blacksmith. There are a lot of wagons. And that hinge on the door of our oven’s firebox has been giving me no end of trouble.”
“I fix hinges,” Jack inserted.
“Your best shovel split clean in two the other day, Seth.”
“I fix shovels,” Jack said.
“And you can be sure we’d sell every ladle, knife, pothook, and trivet we could put in the mercantile.” Rosie’s eyes took on a light Jack had seen that evening in the barn. Only this time her ardor worked in his favor. “If we could repair the hoop on that big barrel by the barn, Seth, we could catch rainwater in it. Just yesterday I noticed that the bucket in the well has sprung a leak. And you were wishing for a new set of tools to build our house not three days ago. Seth, there would be value in a blacksmith. I think every one of us would profit, don’t you?”
“Rosie.” Seth shook his head and hooked his thumbs in his pockets. “Rosie, it’s not any old blacksmith we’re talking about here. It’s him.”
“I’ll stand up with your wife, Seth,” Caitrin said, walking to Rosie’s side. “Mr. Cornwall has given his word he’ll not trouble you again.”
“He’s troubling me right now,” Seth said.
“Aye, but ’tis all in how you look at the matter. You cannot deny it took great courage for Mr. Cornwall to walk unarmed into our midst today and beg a boon of you. Something has driven him to it, Seth.”
“I wouldn’t doubt ’twas the devil himself!” Jimmy cried. “He’s up to no good, Seth. Send the villain packing. And, Caitrin Murphy, you’ll sit yourself down before your sister flies into a fit of apoplexy.”
“How can you be sure ’tis not God who has driven Mr. Cornwall to you, Seth?” Caitrin said. “Sure, he’s asked you for peace and forgiveness—”
“He’s asked for your land!” Sheena shouted. “Don’t give him a fleck of dust, Seth. He’s Cornish, so he is, and they’re all a pack of liars and cheaters—”
“Give him a chance, Seth,” Caitrin cut in. “Clearly the man has shown a change of heart.”
“Trickery! All trickery!” Sheena hollered.
“Seth, you could let the man work at the back of the mercantile after you’ve built the new barn,” Rosie said. “He could have my bed in the loft.”
“Run him off!” someone shouted.
“Can you fix a plow, Cornwall?” another called out.
“Send him packing!” Jimmy cried.
“I think now maybe this is goot man, Seth,” the blond giant said. He held out his arms like a pair of tree limbs, and the crowd quieted. “Man is fighting you before. But now is vit no gun coming. Is ask vorking for you. Rolf Rustemeyer say yes. Is goot man now. Seth, you give vork this man.”
“Hope does need a blacksmith,” Casimir Laski added.
“A livery would bring in lots of customers,” Rosie said. “Don’t do it, Seth.” Jimmy shook his fist at Jack. “He’ll ruin you.
He’ll destroy our town.”
“He’s asked for godly love,” Caitrin reminded Seth softly. “How can we deny this man?”
Seth folded his arms across his chest and stared into Jack’s eyes. “Can I trust you, Cornwall?”
“Yes.”
“Prove it.”
“That’ll take time. Will you give me time, Hunter?”
“You’re asking for more than time. You’re asking for a place to live, a place to work, a chunk of my land, and a lot of my goodwill. Why don’t you go on back to Missouri, Cornwall? Why work here?”
Jack’s focus flicked to Caitrin for an instant. At the sight of her flushed cheeks and sparkling emerald eyes, he felt his resolve grow. “I need a fresh start,” he told Seth. “Kansa
s is wide open and raw. Out here, a man can let go of the troubles in his past and make a new life for himself. You did that, Hunter. I’m asking for the same chance.”
“For all I know, your troubles will follow you here.” Seth studied his boots for a moment; then he shook his head ruefully. “Well, I reckon I’m a pretty big fool, but I’m going to give you permission to set up shop on my land. You can sleep in the barn loft. Rosie’s made it a nice enough place. I’m not in the business of handing out loans, but if you can scrape together the cash, you can build yourself a smithy here by the main road and take in whatever work comes your way.”
As the realization of victory coursed down his spine, Jack’s spirits soared. “Thanks, Seth. You won’t regret it.”
“Yeah, well, we don’t have any official peacekeepers around here, so we’ll have to trust you to keep your nose clean. One slip, and we’ll run you out of town so fast you won’t know which way is up. Got that?”
“You won’t have to worry about me for a while, anyway. I’m going back to Missouri to check on my family and take care of some unfinished business.”
Seth nodded. “See you later, then.”
“Later.” Jack tipped his hat at Rosie and gave her the warmest smile he could muster. The young woman had risen to his defense … and her words had made all the difference. He felt sure he knew why she’d had a change of heart.
Caitrin Murphy was standing to one side as Jack mounted his horse. It was all he could do not to take her in his arms and thank her, tell her how deeply her words and actions had affected him, kiss her sweet lips in promise of the day he would return. But he could feel the hostility still emanating from the crowd, and he knew any sign he made toward Caitrin would cause her trouble in the town. “I’ll be back,” he said. He gave her a last glance before he tugged Scratch’s reins and headed for Topeka.
“I told you he wouldn’t come back.” Sheena leaned over a wooden chest in the mercantile and set the stack of paper valentines back into their box. “You stood up for him at the Hunter wedding. Rosie stood up for him. Rolf stood up for him. Even dear Seth stepped out and offered the scoundrel a place to work and a clean bed to sleep in. But he rode away without a backward look.
“Now what’s it been? Three months? More? Not a soul has glimpsed a single sight of Cornwall’s hairy hide. You thought he would return at Christmas, Caitrin. You mentioned he might appear for the New Year’s Eve fancy dress ball. Then you speculated he’d show up for the Valentine dinner. Now you speak of Easter. As far as I’m concerned, Jack Cornwall is long gone and good riddance. I don’t know why you even think of the rascal.”
Caitrin wound lengths of red satin ribbon back onto their spools. She didn’t know why she thought of him either. Jack Cornwall had stepped into her life for a few brief days. He had spoken sweet words and touched her heart with his bold request of Seth. And then he had vanished.
In the passing weeks Caitrin had invented all sorts of reasons why the man hadn’t returned as he had promised. Something had gone wrong with his plans for his dear sister. Perhaps Jack hadn’t been able to manage poor Lucy after all. Maybe she had fallen physically ill. On the other hand, the weather might have prevented Jack’s return. It certainly had been a frigid winter, with so much snow that everyone had stayed cooped up for days at a time. Huge drifts had covered the roads, making travel difficult and communication all but impossible. Perhaps Jack had run into trouble with Bill Hermann, the man in Missouri who was trying to hunt him down and involve him in some sort of trouble. Or maybe his wound had taken a turn for the worse. Or he couldn’t find the money to buy his equipment for the smithy. Or …
“He’s no different from the rest of his kind,” Sheena said as she packed a stack of lace-edged tablecloths into the chest. “Our father warned us never to trust a Cornishman, Caitie. Sure, you and I saw the devils time and again in the fish markets. We knew firsthand the havoc they caused with their sneaking boats and their low prices. Our own papa denounced them, and if you can’t trust Papa’s word, who can you trust? The Cornish are liars, cheaters, and tricksters. Troublemakers. Jack Cornwall proved it with his wicked behavior toward Seth and Chipper. And the way he was casting sheep’s eyes at you during the wedding feast! He’s a scoundrel—can you deny it?”
Caitrin handed her sister the spools of ribbon. “He seemed sincere enough to me.”
“Aye, and you’d believe a turnip was a gold nugget if someone looked into your green eyes and told you it was. That’s the trouble with you, Caitie, my love. You see things for what they could be … and not for what they are.”
“Is that so wrong? Rosie believed this barn could become a profitable mercantile. She worked hard to bring the vision to life. And when she became a married woman and busy in her new house, she passed that dream along to me. Now look at the place.”
Sheena lowered the lid of the chest, sat down on it, and studied the room. Caitrin couldn’t deny the pleasure she felt as she stood on the brand-new plank floor and surveyed glass cases filled with merchandise, walls lined to the ceiling with shelves, and long plate windows gleaming in the afternoon sunlight. She had long nourished the idea of adding a small restaurant area to the mercantile, and she hoped she could talk one of the men into building a room or two at the back to rent out to passing travelers. Though her dreams of a husband and family had come to nothing, Caitrin felt sure God had given her a new goal, and she took satisfaction in her achievements.
“Rosie had a good idea,” Sheena said. “And you helped her transform this smelly barn into an honest-to-goodness mercantile. But, Caitie, you can’t change everything you set your mind on. You certainly can’t change people. Take Rosie herself for a perfect example. Each time the community gathers for a party, you dress Rosie up in your Irish finery, pin shingerleens into her hair, and push her feet into pointed-toe slippers. And halfway through every celebration, she races back to her house and changes into one of her ginghams so she can dance better with Seth. She pulls all the glitter out of her hair, puts on her worn boots, and turns back into our dear Rosie.”
“I don’t mind.”
“Of course not, because that’s who she is. She’s Rosie. She’ll never be a fine lady in silks and taffetas. She doesn’t want to. And Rolf Rustemeyer will never be a gentleman speaking the King’s English. He’s a German farmer, so he is. He works all summer long in the dirt and heat. He’s built half the church by himself this winter. He’d rather climb a ladder and nail shingles all day than try to learn the proper way of holding a fork and knife. Caitie, people are what they are. You can transform a barn into a mercantile, but you’ll never turn a lying Cornishman into an upstanding citizen. You must permit Rosie to dress herself for the next party, and you must allow Rolf to eat everything on his plate with a spoon if he wants. And you must stop believing that Jack Cornwall will be true to his word and turn up in Hope again. He won’t. He’s not coming back.”
Caitrin traced Sheena’s flaming red hair and bright green eyes. How could two sisters brought up in the very same country, the same house, the same family arrive at such different beliefs? But they had, and they loved each other deeply in spite of it.
“Oh, Caitie,” Sheena said, standing and taking her sister’s hand. “It’s not that I want you to feel bad about all you’ve done. Sure, I wish only for your happiness. I rarely see you truly happy these days, and I think it stems from all your wishing and dreaming. Look at Jimmy and me. He’s as skinny as a fence post, so he is … and I’m so wide around the middle these days I can hardly tie on my apron.”
“Are you going to have another baby, Sheena?” Caitrin asked with alarm.
“Oh, who can tell, and what of it? If I’m not nursing one child, I’m bearing another. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I’m me, that’s all. And I’m happy. ’Tis because I accept my skinny Jimmy, and my vast brood, and my widening girth that I can find joy in each day that the Lord brings. I’m not always trying to change everything.” She let out a deep breath.
“Maybe if you’d stop looking on Rolf as a project in need of fixing, you might see he’s a very good man in search of a wife.”
Caitrin swallowed. “I don’t want to marry Rolf.”
“Why not? You expect him to be perfect like Sean O’Casey? Ooh, he was a fine one, prancing down the street with his black curls and his tailcoat. But he went off and married the mine owner’s daughter, Caitie, and that makes him a poor match for someone as good-hearted as you. But Rolf—now Rolf would make a loyal husband, hardworking and true. If only you could accept him. If only you could change your attitude—”
“Now you’re wanting me to change, Sheena!” Laughing, Caitrin flapped her apron at her sister. “Shoo with you! Back to your skinny husband and your brood of brablins. If I must stop having visions for what people can make of themselves, then I must stop being me. I must change, and I’m no more inclined to do that than any of these others.”
“Aye, and you’ll live a single, lonely life all your days.” Sheena grabbed her basket of leftover heart-shaped cookies from the counter. “Stop waving that apron at me! I’m going, I’m going.”
“Come and visit me tomorrow in the soddy,” Caitrin called. “I think I’ve thought of a way to hang wallpaper.”
“Wallpaper in a soddy!”
Her hearty laughter broke off as Rosie rushed into the mercantile. Face as pale as the snow that crusted the windowsills outside the store, she clutched her stomach and leaned against the wall, breathing hard. A long tendril of brown hair had come down from its pins. She brushed it aside and stared hollow-eyed at the two women.
“Something terrible has happened,” she whispered.
“Rosie?” Caitrin hurried to the younger woman. “What’s the matter? Is it Jack Cornwall?”
“Oh, Caitie!” Sheena squawked. “Must you bring up that scoundrel again?”
“This is worse than Cornwall,” Rosie murmured. “Much worse.”
Prairie Fire Page 9
