Cooper looked up and called a greeting. He glanced over toward the grave, then back at Matthew. “I hope you don’t mind.” When Matthew still didn’t respond, Cooper frowned. “If you don’t want it, I’ll—”
“No.” Matthew swallowed. “It’s not that. It’s—” He dismounted and walked to the fence. “I’ve never seen ironwork like this. Where—how?”
“I made it,” Cooper said, and drove another nail.
“You…made…this?” Matthew touched a cluster of leaves.
Cooper shrugged. He didn’t look up. “I was a blacksmith before the war. Couldn’t figure out how to do it with one hand. At least not as well as I used to, and I wasn’t willing to settle.” He drove a nail. “So now I’m a farmer. I’m a little worried about the plowing, but I believe I’ve about got it figured out.”
He looked down at the forearm that ended in a stump. “I’m grateful for the elbow joint. It does make a difference. I can wrap the reins—” He broke off. Shrugged. “Anyway, I’ve about got it figured out.” He pointed at the fence with his hammer. “I’m glad you don’t mind about that.”
“Mind? It’s astonishing. But where was it when we took your freight off the train?”
“Already in the wagon I brought with me. Frankly, the fence is why I brought the wagon. It has a false bottom built exactly for the fence.”
“But the boxes we loaded are still in the wagon.”
Cooper shrugged. “Unloaded, reloaded—” He smiled. “After I met Linney, the fence took on a kind of urgency. I think it was meant to be, Matthew. I had exactly enough. Not one foot too much or too little. It’s as if God was designing it long ago.”
Oak leaves. The whole thing gave Matthew goose bumps. He scanned the back of the house. Cooper had cleared away the pile of old barrels and assorted debris from along one side. The rake that had been up on the roof was leaning against the wagon. Katie’s overgrown garden was weeded. “It’s obvious the right man bought the place,” he said.
Cooper thanked him before pointing toward the shelves leaning against the house. “Lend a hand?”
“Happy to.” As Matthew passed by the wagon he glanced into an open crate. Browning. Longfellow. Defoe. Hawthorne. Euripides. The idea of Jeb Cooper being a scholar didn’t fit, either with blacksmithing or with plowing. Men who read books like that ended up teaching at universities. Didn’t they?
“I am hatched from a long line of deep thinkers,” Cooper said, as if he’d read Matthew’s mind. “But I always preferred working with my hands. I am, therefore, a great disappointment to what little family I have left. My great-aunt expected my injury to finally show me the error of my ways.” He shrugged. “This being polite company, I shall not repeat her last words to me as I drove away from the family home to begin a new life out here.”
Matthew shouldered his part of the first empty shelf, and together the men took it inside. “You’ve sanded the floor,” he said as they settled the shelf against a wall. “And whitewashed the walls.”
“As to the floors, I couldn’t risk a shelf toppling over. A man could get killed. Buried under books.” Cooper smiled. “Not a bad way to die, I suppose. But I’m in no hurry. As to the rest, I had to get it done before moving the books in, or it never would happen. Don’t be too impressed. The front room is still sadly in need of attention.”
He laid a hand atop the sewing machine. “Help me take this out by the wagon, will you? I promised to deliver it to Mrs. Grant in return for her making a few shirts.” He hesitated. “But maybe—” He scratched his beard. “I’m sorry, Ransom. I should have checked with you about it. Maybe you want it for Linney.”
“If Mrs. Grant can use it, that’s fine. Martha has one with all the newfangled gadgets. At least that’s what Linney says.” He paused. “I meant to bring her out here to see for herself that it’s all for the best.” He shook his head. “I’ve bungled things with Linney badly.” He looked toward the front of the house, and suddenly everything seemed to be a treasure, from the framed motto above the door to the cradle to the cracked blue-and-white teapot.
Cooper’s voice was gentle as he said, “There’s a trunk by the front door that’s full of things she should have.”
Katie’s trunk. Her wedding dress. Her clothes. The baby’s things… The lump in Matthew’s throat made it impossible to speak. He nodded.
“I’ve an idea,” Cooper said. “You help me finish with the shelves and my books. Once the wagon’s empty, we’ll reload it with the things you want Linney to have. Take it all if you want. Obviously I can build anything I need—although I’d appreciate keeping the stove.” He paused. “Tomorrow we’ll take it all into town, and you can make your peace. I heard there’s a circuit rider coming through. Thought I’d go to church. If things go well with you and Linney, I’ll buy us all lunch at the dining hall. If not—well, we’ll work that out, too.”
Matthew had no interest in attending church, but seeing Linney was another matter. He hated the idea she was mad at him. And he missed her. Just looking at the cradle brought a fresh realization that his little girl was growing and he’d missed so much of it. It was time he talked to Vernon Lux.
Hettie and Ruth sat at the kitchen table in the Immigrant House, a dozen lists with headings like “Have” and “Need” and “Buy” and “Build” spread before them. Hettie ran her finger down the “Have” list, then shook her head. “No, it says right here that Ella and Zita brought two Dutch ovens, so we won’t need to order one.” She frowned. “Although I don’t see that we have a frying pan.”
Ruth turned to the appropriate page in the Wards catalogue. “What do you think?” she asked. “Twelve-inch or sixteen?”
“I…I don’t know,” Hettie said. “We’ll be cooking for seven people three times a day. What do you think?”
“Sixteen,” Ruth said, and wrote it down on the ever-growing list of things Martha Haywood would order for them.
“How are we going to afford all of it?” Hettie said, pointing at the list.
“A little bit at a time. After we get everyone’s input, we’ll have a meeting and prioritize.”
“You’re good at organizing things,” Hettie said.
“I just thought of another list to make, though.” Ruth stood up. “You can make this one by yourself. I need to get this catalogue back to Martha so she has it tomorrow. She’s expecting a lot of business, what with the circuit rider and Helen’s wedding.”
“What kind of a list do you want me to make?”
“Medical supplies. So we have what you would need should anyone take sick or, God forbid, get injured.”
Ruth left and Hettie began to write. Carbolic—when Sally burst in the back door with a man in tow.
“Here she is,” Sally said, pointing to Hettie, “the closest thing to a doctor in town. I bet she can help.” Sally stepped aside so the man and his petite wife could come in.
Hettie stood up, hurrying to collect the lists before they blew off the table.
“This here’s Frank Darby,” Sally said. “And his wife, Nancy. Nancy’s feelin’ poorly.”
Indeed, before Sally was finished with the introductions, Mrs. Darby turned white as a sheet and plopped into a chair, her hand to her mouth.
The look of terror that came across Frank Darby’s handsome face as he murmured “Darlin’,” and put his hand on his wife’s shoulder overcame Hettie’s resistance. As she slipped into the chair nearest Mrs. Darby, she reached for the woman’s slim hand and leaned forward. “Tell me,” she said, and looked up into the young wife’s frightened eyes.
“I…I just can’t keep a thing down,” she said in a half whisper.
Hettie put her hand to the woman’s forehead. Expecting to feel indication of a fever, she was pleasantly surprised.
“And I’m so tired all the time.”
“That’s not like my Nancy,” the rancher said. “She’s always been real pert.”
Finally, as both the rancher and his wife listed the changes in her health
in recent weeks, Hettie began to have trouble suppressing a smile. Finally, she adjusted her glasses and cleared her throat. “And your…personal…calendar…Mrs. Darby. Has it…changed?”
As the meaning behind Hettie’s question dawned on the couple, Mrs. Darby’s face turned scarlet. “Well,” she said, so quietly Hettie had to lean close to hear it, “now that you mention it—”
“Mrs. Grant.” Hettie looked up at Sally. “Would you be kind enough to go next door and see if Mrs. Haywood might send us a pinch of peppermint tea leaves?”
While Sally was gone, Hettie went about preparing to serve tea. “I believe it will settle your stomach,” she said. Then she smiled up at Mr. Darby. “And if you’ll give us a moment with the almanac”—she pointed to the little book she and Ruth had been using to plan a garden—“I believe we’ll be able to predict just when Mrs. Darby will feel her old self again. Although, if I’m correct in my diagnosis, your lives are about to change in the most profound way possible.”
When the rancher looked confused, his wife reached for his hand. “The doc thinks I’m…uh…in a family way, Bill.”
The rancher’s eyes showed amazement. “He—she—does?” He stared first at Hettie and then down at his wife. “Do you?”
“I suppose it was bound to happen sooner or later.” She put her hand to her mouth. “I just didn’t expect it to make me so sick. Mother was never sick a day. And I’m one of thirteen.”
“Well,” Hettie said as Sally returned, tea tin in hand, “every woman is different. But most find peppermint tea to be very helpful.” She brewed the tea. The color returned to Mrs. Darby’s face after only a few sips. With Hettie insisting that she didn’t expect to be paid, the couple left.
Ruth returned a few minutes later with a message. “Martha said to tell you that you have five dollars on account at the mercantile.” She smiled. “Mr. Darby was extremely grateful. Apparently he intends to tell everyone he knows that Plum Grove might not have a real doctor, but they’ve got the next best thing.”
“Well, ain’t that somethin’,” Sally said, and patted Hettie on the shoulder.
Hettie forced a smile, but inside she trembled at the idea of Frank Darby’s talking about the woman in Plum Grove who knew doctoring.
On Sunday morning while Zita, Ruth, and Ella worked on Helen Smith’s wedding cake in the Immigrant House kitchen, Caroline and Sally headed over to the dining hall early to help rearrange things for the combination wedding/church service. As they moved tables to one side, Sally joked, “I suppose it’s too much to hope for another dance tonight, it being the Sabbath and all.”
“You never know.” Caroline grinned. “The folks in Plum Grove don’t seem to always observe the rules when it comes to the Sabbath. After all, Martha’s going to open the mercantile after the service. I suppose if Bill Toady shows up with his fiddle, there’ll be more than just you hoping for a dance. Although”—she smiled—“it might depend on whether or not the preacher stays in town. It wouldn’t do for an up-and-coming town to offend a man of God.”
As the two worked together arranging chairs, Will Haywood stacked up three empty crates for a makeshift podium. Linney came in with a bunch of wildflowers she’d collected and tied with a bit of ribbon. “It’s for Mrs. Smith,” she said.
“What a sweet thing to do. Helen will be so touched.”
“I saw her a little while ago and she looked nervous. I thought maybe some flowers would make her feel more like a real bride.”
“Marriage is a big decision,” Caroline said. “It’s only natural to have second thoughts.”
“Would you do it?” Linney asked abruptly. “Marry a stranger, I mean?”
Caroline smiled. “Well, in a way I did. As it turned out, I didn’t really know my husband. But he looked so brave and so dashing in his uniform—”
“My pa was in uniform when he first saw my ma,” Linney said. “He says he wasn’t the most handsome one in the room, but I think he was.”
Caroline turned away and began to straighten the row of chairs Sally had just arranged. “I’m sure he was very handsome,” she said, in as noncommittal a tone as possible.
“You can’t really tell,” Linney said. “He’s all scraggly right now.” She sounded wistful. “But you should see him in their wedding picture. He’s…beautiful. Oh, not like Ma was. But still—”
Sally broke in to suggest Linney seek out Mrs. Smith and deliver the bouquet personally. Then, as soon as the girl was gone, she made a show of fanning Caroline to help her “cool off.”
Caroline waved her away. “All right. Enough of that. Point taken.”
She avoided Sally’s eyes. “Maybe we should see what else we can do to help Martha.” She glanced toward the kitchen.
Sally called her back. “I don’t mean no harm when I tease you,” she said. “I hope you know I just like joshin’ with ya.”
“I know,” Caroline said.
Sally rubbed her arm. “I married a stranger, too, when it comes right down to it. And I won’t make that mistake again, I can tell you that.”
“Well, don’t say that too loud,” Caroline teased. “All those men who danced with you last Friday will be crushed.”
“Aw, I was just havin’ fun. I like to dance. Don’t mean I want to get hitched. Don’t mean I don’t. But it ain’t likely to happen anytime soon is all I’m sayin’.” She shook her head. “How’s a woman supposed to know what a man’s really like, anyway?”
Caroline sighed. “I’m not sure.”
“Well, I hope Helen don’t regret what she’s doin’ today. Mr. McDonald seems nice enough, but—”
“I think we can believe the best for Helen. Little Davey McDonald loves his pa. If his child loves him, that’s a very good recommendation for a man.”
Sally grinned. “Linney sure loves her pa.”
Caroline shook her finger like a schoolmarm scolding a naughty student.
“I’m just sayin’,” Sally said, and sashayed toward the kitchen.
“You go on ahead,” Matthew said, hopping down almost before Cooper’s wagon came to a halt in front of the livery. “I’ll see to the team. Then I’m going to take the small box of things on up to Martha’s. We can unload the trunk and the sewing machine later. Depending.” Depending on how Linney reacts.
“Linney might just be so happy to see you in church that she’ll forget she’s mad at you.”
“She isn’t likely to forgive quite that easily. Besides, I don’t begrudge any man’s personal religion, but God isn’t doing me much good these days. I don’t see the point in pretending I believe when I don’t.”
Cooper seemed to accept the answer, but then after only a few steps in the direction of the dining hall, he turned around and came back. “What you said about God not doing you much good. Does that mean there was a time when you thought he did—do some good in your life, I mean?”
Matthew shrugged. “You could say so. I was grateful for Katie. And for Linney. It felt like God was smiling down at times.”
“But you don’t feel that way anymore.”
Matthew shoved his hands into his pockets. Looked toward the far horizon. Shook his head.
“I’ve had some of the same feelings. And for all the reading I’ve done—I have read most of those books you helped me unpack—I’ve yet to understand what philosophers call ‘the problem of evil.’ Some of the vilest men in my company sailed through the war with nothing worse than a powder burn. Some of the best died in horrible ways. None of it made much sense to me and most of it still doesn’t.” Cooper held up his stump. “And this? I don’t understand why God would allow this at all.”
“And yet you’re still headed up the street to church.”
Cooper thought about that for a minute, and then he smiled. “I’m not smart enough to have answers to all your questions, Matthew. I’d be lying if I said I did.”
It was hard to believe a man who read Hawthorne didn’t think of himself as being smart. “But you do have so
me kind of an answer.”
Cooper sighed. “I’ll tell you what. Someday when you’ve time for it, you stop by my place, and I’ll let you read the book that helped me the most. Those questions you’re struggling with—a man has to find his own way to the answers. Mine might not suit you at all. Besides, you already told me you’ve got no need to hear a sermon today. I respect that.”
Cooper nodded toward the wagon. “Don’t forget to ask Linney about the sewing machine, just to make sure. I’d like to settle with Mrs. Grant about it one way or the other before I leave town today.” He smiled. “If things go really well and you want to bring her out to the homestead, maybe Ermisch would let us borrow a horse. We could hitch him to the wagon, drive home together, and then Linney and you could ride back to town in the morning.”
“We’ll see how things go.”
Cooper took his leave and Matthew lounged beside the wagon, watching the considerable number of folks driving or riding into town. There was a flash of red hair up the street, and he caught a glimpse of Linney walking along with that boy whose mother was part of the “Desperation Society.” Jackson. That was it. Jackson Dow. And his mother was Ruth. Katie had been married at seventeen. Linney would be seventeen in less than three years.
He looked down at the box in his hands, pained by how little remained on the earth to prove that Katie Ransom had lived. Oh, the trunk was full of clothing and quilts and such, but it was so very little to represent a life. A cracked teapot. A little quilt Katie’d been making for the new baby. A matching doll quilt she’d worked up for Linney, hoping to keep the little girl from being jealous. Her wedding veil. The set of silver spoons she’d brought from home. The elegant china cup and saucer—the only ones of the whole set that had survived the trip west. She’d cried over that. And then in the next month she’d created that framed needlework. Hope On Hope Ever.
Sixteen Brides Page 13
