Sweetbriar

by Jude Deveraux

  “I would but I’m afraid she’d put me to work like them other fools. I outgrowed my courtin’ days long ago, and any time I can escape work, I do.” Doll gave a sideways look to Gaylon.

  Mac walked toward the door. “I think I’ll go outside myself then, get some fresh air and some peace and quiet for a change.”

  “You do that, boy. Better take some nails. I hear tell they’re needin’ nails,” Doll yelled as the door slammed.

  Devon took a length of string from his pocket, smiling at the two old men’s words. It was close to sunset and he’d need game for supper. The thought of supper alone with Linnet broadened his smile.

  Two hours later, Devon held the two rabbits as he stood before Linnet’s door and knocked. She opened it and smiled at him, a smudge of dirt across her cheek.

  “We’ve just finished,” she said as she reached for the rabbits, her hand shaking slightly.

  He pulled them back from her reach, put his hand on her shoulder and guided her to a bench before the fire. “Sit down and rest. I’ll cook these.”

  “Devon, that wasn’t our bargain.”

  “What’d they do? Work you all day, ask you hundreds of questions, then leave you to go home to their own suppers?”

  She gave him a weak smile.

  “Don’t worry. They didn’t mean anythin’. It’s just that ever’body is used to takin’ care of themselves.”

  “Except me. I’m a burden on you always, aren’t I, Devon?”

  “None at all. You’ll make it up. Wait till you try to knock letters in this thick skull.”

  “Oh!” She sat up straighter. “Your reading lesson!”

  “You think I want a teacher as tired as you?”

  “No, look on the mantel.”

  He stood and saw a piece of wood with letters charcoaled on it.

  “It says Devon. At least I think that’s the proper spelling of your name.”

  “You don’t know?” He was incredulous, as if very disappointed in her.

  “There are always several ways to spell a word, especially a name. I can only guess at yours. Do you possibly have a certificate of birth?”

  “A what?” He carefully slipped the wood into his pocket.

  “A piece of paper that the doctor wrote when you were born.”

  He tested the roasting rabbits, the juices dripping into the fire. “’Tweren’t no doctor there when I was born, just Ma and a neighbor woman, but I do have a Bible and it has some writin’ in it.”

  “That could be what we need. Could you bring it tomorrow, that is, if you want to postpone the first lesson?”

  “I’d hate to see you fall asleep right in the middle of Macalister. Now let’s eat some of this rabbit.”

  Linnet stood, yawned slightly and stretched, easing her sore shoulders. Devon looked away as she threatened to pop the buttons down the front of her dress. Sometimes he wondered if she even knew she was a grown woman. “Tell me what you think of Sweetbriar,” he said.

  “Everyone has been so good to me, I’m not sure as to how to repay them. Do you know Worth Jamieson?”

  “Sure.” He bit into a succulent piece of rabbit.

  “Tell me about him.”

  “He stays by himself, quiet, a real hard worker. He come here about two years ago, staked out a claim and works all day, all by hisself. Comes in about once a month to the store, trades for what he needs.” Devon frowned at her. “Why you so interested in him?”

  “Because he asked me to marry him.”

  Devon nearly choked on the mouthful of rabbit. “What!” he sputtered.

  “I said I was interested in Worth Jamieson because he asked me to marry him.”

  Devon clenched his teeth several times. “You just set there, calm as anythin’, lickin’ your fingers, and tell me some boy’s asked you to marry him. You so used to marriage proposals you don’t even notice ’em anymore?”

  “No,” she said seriously. “I don’t think so. There haven’t been too many.”

  “Too many! Well, just what do you call too many?”

  “Only two, really, besides Worth’s, a man in England, but he was very old, and a man on board the ship coming to America. He’s in Boston now, I believe.”

  “Damn! You are somethin’!”

  “The beatinest woman, perhaps?” Linnet asked innocently. They stared at one another and then laughed together.

  “There ain’t many women in Kentucky yet, so I imagine lots a’ men’ll propose.” He gave her an appraising look. “I can tell you’re goin’ t’ set this community upside down. You finished with that? I’ll take the bones outside. I got to be goin’ anyway.” He paused at the door. “What’d you tell Worth?”

  “Thank you.”

  He turned back to face her, his anger returning. “Thank you! That’s all?”

  “It’s an honor for a man to ask you to marry him. It means he is willing to spend his whole life with you.”

  “I don’t want to hear a speech about what marriage is. What answer besides ‘Thank you’ did you give Jamieson?”

  “Do you mean whether I said I’d marry him or not?”

  He glared at her in answer.

  Slowly, she picked a piece of lint from her hair. “I told him I didn’t know him well enough to give him an answer yet.” She smiled up at him. “May I come to your store in the morning and get some cloth? I’d like to return Caroline’s dress.”

  “Sure.” He felt sheepish after his outburst. “Good night, Linnet.”

  “Maybe tomorrow we can discuss going after the children,” she said tiredly.

  His eyes turned angry. “You discuss it. I got more important things to do.” He slammed the door behind him.

  Chapter Four

  “GOOD MORNING, DEVON.”

  He looked up from a ledger to smile at Linnet.

  “That her?” a whisper came from one of two men by the fireplace.

  “Linnet, girl, you come over here,” Gaylon called.

  “You two leave her alone?” Devon said. “She’s got more to do than waste her time with the likes of you.”

  “What’s eatin’ you, boy?” Gaylon asked. “You get up on the wrong side of the bed?”

  Doll leaned over and whispered something to Gaylon that caused both men to lean back in their chairs and bellow with laughter, slapping their thighs.

  Devon scowled at both of them and turned back to Linnet, but she was already walking toward the laughing men.

  “May I introduce myself? I am Linnet Blanche Tyler at your service.” She gave them a deep curtsy.

  They stared for a moment, speechless.

  “Don’t that beat all?” Doll said. “What’s that you jest did?”

  “It’s a curtsy, the deeper the curtsy, the higher the personage. Here,” she demonstrated, “a baron; lower, a duke; and here, a king.”

  “Well, well, that’s real purty. You from England, you say?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “They sure raise ’em purty in England,” Doll said. “No wonder you’re bringin’ all the boys out of the fields.”

  She politely ignored him and studied a carved wooden figure on the mantelpiece. It was about four inches tall, incredibly detailed, a statue of an old man, his shoulders drooped, every line emphasizing his weariness. “Did you carve this?” she asked Gaylon.

  “Naw, that’s Mac’s. He’s the whittler around here.”

  “Devon did this?” She looked across the room to where he was hidden amid several bags of flour.

  “She means Mac,” Gaylon told the man beside him. “It’s his, all right.”

  “It’s beautiful.” She missed the exchanged looks between the men. “Would you excuse me? I need some fabric.” She set the wooden man back on the mantel reluctantly.

  “You through tellin’ them all about England?” Devon said angrily.

  “Devon, I don’t know why, but I always seem to be making you angry.”

  He faced her. “I don’t know why either. Somethin’ just c
omes over me. Now,” he said hurriedly, “what is it you wanted?”

  “Just some dress goods and something for a new shirt for you.”

  “I don’t need a shirt.”

  “I think you do. Besides, I can’t just take cloth for myself because of our bargain, and I need to return Caroline’s dress; so I have to make you a shirt.”

  “I don’t know about you, Gaylon,” Doll’s voice came to them, “but I’m beginning to feel like another left foot, yes sir, another left foot.”

  Gaylon cleared his throat. “I see what you mean. How about takin’ a gander at the Tuckers’ new pigs?”

  “I feel a mighty urge to do just that.” The two men left the store.

  Devon glared at the closed door.

  “Why ever are you looking like that, Devon?”

  “Can’t you see nothin’?” he demanded. “Just because I brung you back from a bunch a’ murderin’ Indians, this whole town’s got us wedded and bedded. They probably even got names for our kids picked out.”

  “What do you think they are?”

  He whirled around to face her, his eyes bright with anger. “What!”

  “I just wondered what names they had chosen for our children.”

  He realized she was laughing at him and then he, too, saw the humor. Relaxing, he shook his head at her.

  “Devon, people always react the same way. It doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t let it bother you so.”

  “Specially since you seem to be so attached to Worth Jamieson.”

  She was silent for a moment. “Do you think Worth knows anything about Indians? Perhaps he’d be willing to help me go after the children.”

  “Jamieson!” Mac sputtered. “That boy grew up on a farm in Pennsylvania. He couldn’t follow a trail of oxen, much less a bunch of renegade Indians.”

  “Then who do you know who could help me?”

  “Ain’t nobody gonna help you!” Devon fairly shouted. The way she was looking at him, as if he could easily produce six captured children, was making him furious. “You gotta get this idea out of your head. Now come over here and take whatever cloth you need.”

  With a gracious smile, she stepped behind the counter. “Thank you.”

  “Mornin’, Mac,” a woman’s voice came to Linnet. She couldn’t see who it was from her place near the floor.

  “Mornin’, Wilma. How’re you today?”

  “I’m feelin’ fine, but I hear you’re havin’ some troubles with Corinne.”

  Devon cast a sideways look at Linnet behind him but she didn’t look up. “What can I get for you?”

  “Oh, nothin’ really, I just come by to look at this here green ribbon again. I saw your little English girl yesterday and she’s just as pretty as you said, although Corinne had some other things to say about her. How do you think my Mary Lynn would like this green ribbon?”

  “I think she’d like it real fine.” Devon stepped from behind the counter and took Wilma Tucker’s arm and began pulling her toward the door. “It’d match her eyes perfect.”

  “Mary Lynn’s eyes are brown,” she said indignantly.

  “Well, you think on it. Brown and green look good together.” He practically shoved her out the door and closed it.

  “I think I’ve chosen these two.” Linnet put two rolls of cloth on the counter. “Do you like the blue for a shirt, Devon?”

  “Just fine.” He moved away from the door.

  “Now, if I may measure you.”

  “What for?”

  “Your new shirt.”

  He sighed in resignation and watched as she tore some strips from a rag stuffed under the counter.

  “Come over here.” She beckoned him to the fireplace. “Stand right there.” She climbed on a stool to tear the strips to the correct lengths for the broadness of his shoulders and the length of him.

  “Are you sure you know what you’re doin’?”

  “Certainly. That’s all I need,” she said.

  He turned to her, their faces inches apart on a level plane.

  “Mac.”

  Devon whirled at Corinne’s voice. “Mornin’, Corinne.”

  “Hello, Corinne.” Linnet stepped down from the stool. “I must be going. I’ll see you at supper, Devon.” She closed the door on Corinne’s words, “What she mean by ‘see you at supper’?”

  “Lynna! Lynna! You up yet?”

  Linnet opened the door to Jessie Tucker, grinning up at her with his pug nose and freckles, and she noticed, distastefully, that something seemed to be alive in his pocket and was trying to find its way out. “Good morning, Jessie.”

  “Mmm. You even talk funny when you first get up.”

  “So do you, and I have been out of bed quite some time.”

  He ignored her as he walked inside.

  “What do you think of my house?”

  “It’s a house,” he said in dismissal as he sat down on the bench. “You wanta have a look-see at Sweetbriar?”

  “I’d love to, but I can’t stay long. I need to sew today and make a shirt for Devon.”

  “How come you call him Devon when his name is Mac?”

  “Why do you call me Lynna when my name is Linnet?”

  He shrugged. “Sometimes I like you, but then sometimes you’re a girl.”

  “I think there’s a compliment somewhere in that. Let me eat something and then we’ll go.”

  “My ma made me bring you a whole basket of food. She said it was the least she could do since I was gonna visit you. What’d she mean by that?”

  “She meant that you are an incredibly lively young man. Jessie, when we’re outside, would you please release that monster that wiggles in your pocket?”

  He grinned impishly. “Sure. You gonna scream when I show it to you?”

  “I should hope not. I am sure the anticipation is much worse than the reality.”

  “Huh?”

  “Let’s go see what your mother sent. I’m starved.”

  Jessie showed her what he considered the important parts of Sweetbriar, a hidden spring, deer tracks, two birds’ nests he had hidden, and an abandoned lair of a wildcat. Toward noon she left him to return to her own cabin and work on her sewing. She smiled as she entered the one-room house because someone had been there while she was out, and she knew it was Devon. There were bags of cornmeal, dried apples, a bucket of lard, bacon, dried fish and a little barrel of pickles. Four rabbits hung inside the wall of the fireplace, and a huge pile of chopped wood stood near the fire that had been renewed. She touched each item before setting to work on Devon’s shirt.

  There was a knock on the door and she called, “Come in,” from her place by the fire.

  Devon walked inside the cabin. “How come you told me to come in when you didn’t even know who I was? You should keep this door locked and don’t let anybody in until you find out who it is. There are people who might take advantage of a pretty girl alone in a cabin.”

  “Thank you.”

  “What you thankin’ me for?”

  “For saying I’m pretty.”

  He shook his head at her. “I brung the Bible like you said. What smells so good?”

  “Your supper. Do you want to study or eat first?”

  “Both.” He smiled. “If it tastes as good as it smells, I want to eat before and after.”

  “All right, you shall.” She ladled a bowlful of thick, rich stew from the iron pot over the fire. A door in the side of the fireplace revealed a golden, crusty loaf of new-baked bread. She sliced a thick hunk of the bread and laved it in sweet, creamy, fresh butter. A mug of cool milk was added to the food.

  “Where’d you get all this? I didn’t send no butter or milk or these onions or potatoes.” He poked at the stew.

  “It’s the strangest thing, Devon, but all afternoon I’ve been hearing knocks at the door and when I open it, no one’s there, but some food has been left. It was such a mystery.”

  “Was?” he said through mouthfuls.

  “Finally two o
f the donors stopped to talk, the Stark twins.”

  “Which ones?” he interrupted.

  “How many are there?”

  “Two sets, and Esther’s about to have another young’un, and everybody says it’ll be more twins. Twins seems to be the only thing Doll Stark can make. Go on about the food.”

  “Eubrown and Lissie told me it was all for you, that they knew I was cooking for you, and you’d done so much for them that they’d like to repay you in some way.”

  Devon looked down in embarrassment for a moment, then grinned at her. “If they owed me so much, why’d they let me eat so much of Gaylon’s cookin’?”

  “I’m sure generosity has its limits and, as I understand, it has something to do with the wrath of Corinne.” She watched him intently, but he was silent as he concentrated on his eating. “I am going to have to become better acquainted with this young woman. Is she so formidable?”

  He grinned as he broke off a large piece of the bread. “If you’re plannin’ to have a fight with her over me, let me know. I’d sure love to watch.”

  She looked at him coolly. “I very much doubt that we shall. Now, if you are finished gorging yourself, may we proceed with your reading lesson?”

  He lifted one eyebrow at her, containing his laughter. “I reckon I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

  She took the Bible and opened it to the middle, engrossed for a moment in the family tree so meticulously recorded there. “Why, Devon, your whole family is listed here. Here’s your father—Slade Rawlins Macalister; your mother, Georgina Symington Macalister.”

  “Georgina?”

  “I think she has a pretty name.”

  “Had, she’s dead,” he said flatly.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Yes, the date’s here. Only three years ago, the same year as your father.” She looked at him, his profile to her, elbows on knees, hands clasped tightly. “Here you are—Devon Slade Macalister.”

  “Slade? That was my pa’s name.”

  “And yours, too, it seems. Who’s this? Kevin George Macalister.”

  “My brother.”

  “I didn’t know you had a brother.”

  “Didn’t hear you ask. Can we get on with this and stop goin’ over my whole family?”