by Heather Gray
The lines around his eyes looking deeper, he continued, "Couple days later, I found some of their hens on our property, so I gathered them up and delivered them to the pen they'd constructed. Added a few of our own good egg layers, too. Had to do something to help. Wanted to know what they were up to, so I sat up on watch one night. Turns out they're selling the eggs and milk. They sneak into town early before the sun's up and deliver eggs and milk to the boarding house. I don't think anybody knows about it. If they do, they're keepin' the kids' secret. Whatever money those young'uns make from that is pretty much all they have to buy food and clothes and get them through the winters."
"The older we get, the more we've learned about people," Gram spoke up. "That family, they're in a bad way. Spooner knows, the reverend knows, most everyone in town now knows – but no one has a legal right to do anything. He's their pa. Gramps and I have gotten sneaky over these last few years. We visit the pen where they keep the animals. We've left baskets of food, stuff like that. The reverend collects clothes from folks who want to help the poor, and he passes some of those clothes on to me now and then. I do any mending or sizing that needs doing, and I leave those out at the pen too. Can't give them nothin' new or their pa will notice."
Gram's hands fluttered about in the air as though to emphasize her point as she continued, "It's sad this is what it's come to, but we have to be stealthy if we want to be a real help to them. Somebody in the family knows it's us, but we've never said anything, and neither have they. One time, though, I thought I heard something out on the front porch, and when I went out to look, I found a basket with an empty flour bag folded up inside it. Never saw who brought it, but it had to be one of them kids. I'd left that same basket filled with canned vegetables and the flower bag filled with clothes out at the pen the week before."
Gramps stepped back into the conversation, saying, "We have no way of knowin' what the young'uns tell Mary about the baskets at the pen. Until that church picnic, it had been more'n a year since we'd seen her. Bad situations can cause people to make peculiar choices that make sense to no one but them that's in the middle of it."
Grady tipped his chair back, viewed first one grandparent and then the other, and finally said, "So what you're sayin' is I need to be wily if I want to help." When Gram and Gramps both nodded at him, he added, "And since Mr. Fitzgerald is in jail right now, this would be a good time to get stuff done around the spread for them. Once he's out, I'll need t' stay clear or risk getting shot."
"Pretty much," said Gramps. "Got t' be careful of those kids. They've learned not to trust people. Even with their pa in jail, they may not feel safe having you there."
Gram asked, "Do they have any livestock left at the house?"
"I saw a scrawny goat they probably couldn't sell if they tried and a mule whose name ought to be Bones. Didn't get inside the barn. There might be more in there." After a pause, Grady added, "Maybe I can work on the house and barn these next few days and then put in some time fixing up the hidden animal pen once Mr. Fitzgerald is out of jail." Grady wasn't sure what to think when both his grandparents shook their heads vehemently.
"Son," began Gramps, "you can't risk doing anything at the pen while their pa is out of jail. The kids depend on their secret for survival. If you do anything there, make any noise, create any commotion, hammer a nail – anything – he might hear it and come to investigate. You can't take the chance. Not only will those kids starve without the money they get from their little business, but if he finds out they've been keeping this secret from him, ain't no way that can end good."
Grady nodded in contemplation. He was determined to find a way to help the Fitzgerald family. Knowing what Mary had been like as a child, how vivacious and carefree, he couldn't let this go. He'd always had a soft spot for children, and when he looked at that whole family, his heart ached for them. After a spell, he looked at Gramps and asked, "Well then, what do you suggest I do?"
"Take it easy on them. You want to go fix up the porch or barn or whatever, go ahead, but you've got to bring all the supplies you'll need, and you got to make a way for them to pay you back. Get them involved helping you, or come up with a trade. Those boys, especially, won't take kind to it if they think what you're doin' is charity. Do what you can as quickly as you can, but don't make major changes. Don't do anything so new or fancy their pa will notice it right off when he gets back home." Grady caught a head tilt from his grandmother out of the corner of his eye. They were at it again, his grandparents, communicating with each other without uttering a single word.
After nodding at Gram, Gramps continued, "We got a pile of lumber at the backside of the barn. Old stuff, some of it's no good, but most of it's better than what they got over there now. Help yourself to whatever you can use."
"You've got another one, maybe two days. Then Mr. Fitzgerald will be getting out of jail," interjected Gram. "Get over there and get as much done as you can before then. The work around here can wait 'til after he's back home and you can't go over anymore."
"I'm not sure I'm willing to stop going over once he gets home," Grady said.
Gramps nodded sagely, "Figured as much. Let's take it a day at a time. Do what you can while he's in jail. We'll find a solution to the rest later. No use borrowing worry for today when it'll still be there tomorrow."
Grady's chair scraped across the floor as he pushed back from the table. He moved over to Gram and gave her a kiss on the cheek and then stepped around the table to Gramps and held out his hand. Gramps gave him a man's handshake, firm and solid, snug grip, penetrating gaze, the works. "Do what you got t' do, son." With a nod, Gramps let his hand go.
Heading out to the barn so he could start loading wood into the wagon, Grady walked taller, stood straighter. He understood what Gramps didn't say when they shook. Grady was a man now, not a boy. Getting that acknowledgment meant everything. He loved his parents, but they still treated him as a child. Anxious to spread his wings, find his own way in the world and be treated like a man in his own right, Grady didn't always take kindly to his folks' coddling. He was looking forward to spending the summer with his grandparents and their neighbors. Grady was pretty certain this would be one of those life-changing experiences he sometimes heard cowpokes mention.
He remembered back to when he was a kid and used to come spend summers here. As far back as he could remember, whenever he made a bad choice, Gramps would sit him down and say, "The choices you make now are shaping the man you're going to be someday, and I want you to be a man you can be proud of."
Grady had decided long ago he didn't want to be ashamed of his choices or his failings in life. Doing his best at everything he tried and choosing good over evil were some of the mainstays of his character. He might not always succeed, but for his own peace of mind, he needed to know he'd done all he could. Helping Mary and the kids was the right choice. There was no doubt in his mind.
That's all this was about. He needed to do what he felt was right, make choices he could be proud of. The look in Mary's eyes as she'd protectively shuffled her brothers and sisters behind her when he'd first approached them on the roadside wasn't influencing him at all. Nor was it haunting his dreams.
Yeah, right.
Chapter Four
Grady got quite a bit of the lumber loaded into the wagon and added all the tools he thought he might need. By the time he was done, the sun had begun its descent across the snow-capped peaks of The Lost River Range. Having told his grandparents where he was off to, Grady saddled up his sorrel and headed into town.
It was late. The rest of the day would have to pass without accomplishing anything else on the Fitzgerald farm. After the way the morning had ended, he thought it might be best this way anyhow. It wouldn't do any good to spook the girls more than he had already.
Besides, there were some folks he wanted to talk to in town and some additional supplies he wanted to pick up. The plan forming in his mind would either be a huge success or blow up in his face. He wasn't
sure yet which way it would go, but his excitement for the project was growing.
****
Mary was up for the day and starting a pot of coffee when she heard a loud thump on the front porch. Resigning herself to Pa's homecoming, she went to open the door for him. No use putting off the inevitable. Holding a lantern high to cast light onto the porch, she pulled the door open expecting to see Pa. Instead, a sack of flour sat on the front porch next to a sack of sugar and a crate of foodstuffs from the mercantile. It looked like baking soda, baking powder, salt, lard, and more.
People had given them food off and on over the years. Why only yesterday evening Sarah Jenkins and a deputy had come by and brought a crate of stuff for them, including all kinds of foods like bacon, cheese and bread. In the years since Ma had died and people had tried to help them out, never once had she received an assortment as odd as what now lay on her porch. There was even a tin of raisins. Raisins, for pity's sake! Nobody wasted something so expensive on charity. Unless… Pa's words at the church picnic rang in her ears. Despite what he'd implied, she'd never stooped to trading favors for food. Did somebody think..?
Torn between gratitude Pa wasn't home yet and irritation at whoever had left the expensive gift, Mary took another step out onto the porch. What she saw caused her breath to catch in her throat. Grady Carlisle had his wagon parked fifty feet past the porch. He was unloading lumber. In the dark. The poor fool was going to catch his foot in a gopher hole and be done for. If he couldn't help his grandparents this summer because he'd gone and broken his leg… What on earth was he thinking?
Mary slowly swiveled her head, looking back and forth between Grady and the food on the porch. Her blood began to simmer. The pieces fell into place in Mary's mind, and she wasn't going to tolerate it. All rational thought fled, chased away by the emotional upheaval Grady seemed to bring with him every time he got near. Not stopping to examine why she was so angry at a man she had just yesterday characterized as kind and thoughtful, she determined to let him have it.
Careful to avoid the rotted boards, Mary stepped across the porch and down the front steps. She took three steps toward Grady before she could no longer hold her tongue. "What in tarnation are you doing? You have no right to be on our property, and I don't need your charity. Take your things and leave!" Her voice had started out sounding incredulous, but by the time she was done, her shout rang out full of blistering anger.
Mary winced as she heard boots on boards. The boys had heard her and come running. She spun in time to see Clive burst across their home's threshold, hair flying and brown eyes snapping, Pa's shotgun in hand.
"I'd be happy to answer your questions," Grady said, "but I'd be much obliged if that gun were pointed elsewhere first. Makes me a mite nervous."
Mary nodded to Clive, who lowered the gun. Instead of putting the gun down, the boy pointed it at Grady's feet instead of his heart. Grady smiled his gratitude then winced when Clive raised the gun an inch in response.
"Mr. Carlisle, it is early in the morning, and I can't have you on our property doing whatever you want whenever you decide you want to do it." Mary's voice was sharp, edged with strong emotions not even she could identify. She felt her heart pounding within her chest in a reaction she seemed to have no control over. "You need to take your belongings and leave."
"Sorry if I startled everyone. I was going to stop by last night on my way home from town and tell you about my plans, but by the time I made it this far, it was well-past the civilized hour for calling on folks, so I went on home and figured I'd catch you this morning."
"You do not have any plans," Mary said slowly and forcefully, "that involve us. Take your things and go."
"Mary," Grady said imploring, "please hear me out. For old time's sake. We played in this yard often enough when we were kids. At least give me a chance to explain."
Hands fisted at her sides, insides churning with indecision, Mary gave Grady a curt nod. He continued, "There are some things need doing around here. The front porch needs some boards fixed. Your barn could use a hammer and a few nails. Nothing big, nothing fancy. I grabbed some old wood Gramps had piled up behind his barn and thought I'd come put some of it to good use before it rots clean through and goes to waste."
When Mary didn't immediately give him marching orders, Grady continued, "Gramps says he won't need me for a few days, so I figured I'd come get some stuff done around here for you until your pa gets back home. I don't want to get in his way or make him think I'm sayin' he ain't done right around here. I know how pride is. It's obvious he needs help keeping the place up, though, even if he won't admit it."
Grady watched as the gun in Clive's hand began to inch up again.
"Clive Fitzgerald, you can't shoot Mr. Grady. He's my friend!" All heads swiveled to see Gigi standing on the porch, still in her nightgown, with her favorite blanket clutched in her arm. "You put that gun down right now Clive, you hear me?" Gigi placed her fisted hands on her hips, a picture of her older sister Mary, except for the blanket still tightly clutched in her grip.
Mary had to give Clive credit. The boy didn't want to upset his little sister. He put the gun down without complaint and told Gigi everything was fine. When he turned around, though, Mary caught the look he sent Grady. Nothing was fine as far as Clive was concerned. Contempt and white-hot anger came pouring out through the boy's glare. Mary felt singed, and the look hadn't even been directed at her.
Before Mary could take command of the situation again, Gigi shouted, "Oh look Mary! Mr. Grady brought us stuff for baking. You told him you'd make him a pie, didn't you? Today's gonna be fun! We don't have to go to school, do we?"
Turmoil washed over Mary, causing her breath to catch in her throat and her skin to heat. Could Gigi be right? Did he bring these things so she'd bake him a pie? Bringing so much could have been an innocent mistake. Mary and the kids had fought hard to get by these last years. They had survived both Pa and the near starvation his type of family leadership had led them to. Mary had been forced to learn some hard lessons. When people show kindness, they often wanted something in return. The bigger the gesture, the bigger the favor they'd be asking. Maybe Grady was different. Despite her suspicion, Mary wanted to believe he wouldn't expect anything for his extravagant gift.
The kids sometimes came home with things – food, clothes, even supplies for school – always saying they didn't know who any of it was from. Mary had long suspected Grady's grandparents were behind many of those gifts. She could swallow her pride and accept them. She'd been real careful, though, not to accept gifts from anyone who might get the wrong impression or think she'd be willing to do anything improper in return.
Mary tried to sort out what to say. Grady took a step forward, hands held out in surrender, and said, "Mary, I brought goods for baking pies. Thought maybe if I did some work around here, you'd bake me one. There's too much—I get it. How am I supposed to know what you need for pie makin'? Besides, I figured I might collect more pies later this summer by coming over and helping the boys out with planting or harvest or whatever y'all need help with. I didn't mean any harm by it, and I wasn't expecting anything in return except an occasional pie."
Lizzie had now joined Gigi on the porch. The entire family stood there watching him. Both girls had solemn looks on their faces. Clive still showed nothing but anger. Bobby seemed torn between the same and hope. Mary felt lost.
Grady plowed forward, "I also thought, if I help y'all do a few things around the farm, then I might be able to call on the boys to help me out later in the summer when we get busy over on my grandparents' spread. It all sounded like a great idea in my head. Merely neighbors helping neighbors."
Mary cast her eyes around, taking in the massive pile of wood Grady had already unloaded. The sun was now peeking up over the horizon, and she could see it was indeed all old wood, weathered and well-worn. He had tools with him, too, though she couldn't name what they all were. Her penetrating gaze bore into his with a distrust born of being bur
ned too many times. Too often their father had said he was going to help with something around the house. Then later, when it hadn't been done for him, he would yell, scream, and throw things, blaming them.
Mary knew the way she was reacting to Grady wasn't normal. Her reaction to people in general was far outside the customary. It was shaped by what these last three years had taught her. Protecting her brothers and sisters fell to Mary. At all costs. Yet here stood a man offering to help them, and she couldn't get her mind to understand why.
Clutching her skirt in her fists, she nodded to Grady and offered, "The noise on the porch startled me. I'm afraid I reacted poorly. I was about to start breakfast. You can join us when you're done unloading here. "Turning to her siblings she said, "Boys, go see to your morning chores. Lizzie, Gigi, you two go get cleaned up and dressed, and then see to the animals in the barn." Grady nodded to Mary then returned to his task of unloading.
Mary went back into the house to start breakfast, banging the pots more loudly than necessary. Her anger wasn't directed at Grady this time, though. She was upset with herself.
What a fool! Why'd you have to go make such a big scene? Because you actually thought Grady might expect something in return? Or because you wanted him to believe you've got it all under control? Pa's right. You got as much sense as the mule.
