“Maybe.”
From the front of the house a door closed, and the sound of Jake’s chair could be heard rolling on the bare wooden floor of the hallway. He pushed open the kitchen door and looked at the two women sitting amid the clutter of canning jars, cooking kettles and empty bushel baskets.
“About done for the day?” he asked, his hair ruffled, his eyes dark with anger.
“What’s wrong?” Alicia asked, crossing the room to the kitchen doorway. He sat just the other side of the threshold, and the look he shot in her direction was dour, as if he resented her very presence there.
“What should be wrong?” he asked harshly. “I’m just wondering if we’ll have supper tonight, or if this infernal canning project is going to go on for the whole evening.”
“I believe I’ll be on my way,” Rachel said brightly. “Let me help you clean up this mess and I’ll take my leave, Alicia. I fear your husband is feeling neglected.”
“Go on,” Alicia said quickly. “I’ll take care of it. You don’t need to be included in Jake’s little tantrum.”
“Ouch.” Rachel ducked her shoulders and gathered her things together. “I’m leaving before the fur starts to fly. See you in church on Sunday, Alicia. Bye, Jake.” With a wave of her hand she was gone, out the back door and across the yard, calling to Matthew as she went. The horse was beneath a shade tree in the side yard, and she slipped the bit into the mare’s mouth before she led her to the front of the house where the buggy waited.
“Tantrum?” Jake asked. “I’d think you could show a little more respect to the man you call your husband, madam.”
“Do you?” Alicia turned to face him, her anger in hand. “The day you begin to offer me that same sort of respect is the day I’ll reciprocate, sir.”
“At least I haven’t accused you of throwing a tantrum,” he said.
“That’s because I haven’t managed to commit that particular sin.”
“Sin?” He laughed harshly. “You don’t know what sin is, Alicia. Sin is resenting a nine-year-old boy who will one day be on the concert stage while I’ll still be sitting here in this house, mourning the loss of my career.”
“No, Jake,” she said, correcting him quietly. “Sin is a man hiding his talent from the community around him and the world at large because he’s suffered a tremendous loss in his life. It’s my understanding that you can still play that piano, that only your stubborn pride keeps you from the keyboard.”
“Do you think I’d get up on stage again and feel like an exhibit in a circus? Let folks cluck their tongues at the poor legless man who can’t use the pedals but must make do with an assortment of wires and levers?”
“Don’t you consider yourself fortunate that such an invention was perfected for your use? Or hasn’t that fact occurred to you?” she asked.
“What has occurred to me is that it was a mistake to take on the task of giving piano lessons to those two children. Catherine will never be more than competent. Toby will be past the need for my limited help within two years. He should go to a conservatory, and I doubt if his parents will send him. They have no concept of his talent. If the boy makes it to a concert stage, it will be because of his own ambition.”
“Don’t you think your influence might be the deciding factor at the end of two more years of lessons? Don’t you think his folks would listen to you? In fact, did you realize that his mother is scrimping and saving her pennies to pay for his lessons? Does that sound like a woman who has no concept of her son’s talent?”
Jake looked at her in silence, his face set in hard lines, his jaw thrust forward. “It’s easy for you to come up with these pat phrases, isn’t it? You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She shrugged. “Maybe not. Maybe I’m ignorant about such things, but I do know that we’re each put on this earth for a purpose. You could have just as easily died the night you were wounded. Instead you came home with a long life ahead of you.”
“You call this living?” he asked, looking down at his lap. “I call it merely existing, getting up and going to bed, providing a subject of gossip for the townspeople, and allowing you to vent your spleen on me.”
She laughed aloud, his words so patently ridiculous she could barely give them credence. “‘Vent my spleen’? What a thing to say.” She picked up the freshly washed kettles and carried them to the pantry and then reentered the kitchen to face him.
“You’ll have your supper in thirty minutes, Mr. McPherson. Now, get out of my sight while I cook. I can’t abide looking at you.”
HE’D NEVER SEEN HER so upset. In all the months they’d shared, she’d never lost her temper as she had during the past few minutes. Jake rolled backward from the kitchen door and let it close behind him. Spinning the chair in a half circle, he went back to the parlor. The late afternoon sun shone in the windows, the lacy curtains creating a pattern on the floor. The windows gleamed with the application of vinegar and water Alicia used on their surface every couple of weeks; fly specks were a thing of the past.
He’d been nasty. Downright rotten, taking out his mood on the one person who had put up with him without complaint for the whole livelong summer. She seemed, sometimes, to bring out the worst in him, and he had a sneaking suspicion that his own foul mood was due in good part to one thing.
The fear that she might not see him as a man.
True, he was not physically fit, but Rena had thought him worthy of her love. His arms and chest were muscular, his body not gone to fat. Yet Alicia looked at him as though he were a neutral being, neither male nor female.
He wanted her to see him as a man, needed to know that she felt some spark of desire in his direction. Since the night she’d asked him to kiss her, and he’d so readily obliged, she’d backed away. She seldom touched him, only when she trimmed his hair or helped him wash it in the kitchen basin. Except for the tender touch of her lips against his cheek, once. A touch he’d cherished.
She carried hot water to his room in the evening, waited on him at the table, took care to keep his clothing in order, putting it away in his dresser drawers when the washer lady brought it back in the big basket. As far as her duties were concerned, Alicia had done all she’d bargained for, and more, too, he admitted to himself.
They sat on the porch of an evening, speaking of various topics. She kept him on his toes, gave him food for thought. First and foremost, she did her best to keep Jason in line. That the boy refused to cooperate at times was frustrating, but it would all work out eventually.
The only thing she didn’t do was look at him as Rena had, with soft smiles and warm glances. He hadn’t asked for that. To be honest, he’d told her there would be no intimacy in this relationship. So why was he critical now because she was living up to the rules he’d set in place?
He rolled to the piano. The lid was still up, neither he nor Toby thinking to close it down. He reached for it and his hand slipped, one finger brushing a key. The hammer touched the string and the single tone resounded in the room. D above middle C.
He forced down the lid with a thud and he glared at the inanimate object. To be angry at a piano was an exercise in futility indeed. The piano couldn’t even give him a good argument in return. As had Alicia. As she’d done for the past months of their marriage. His anger vanished as quickly at it had sprung into being.
Again, he owed her an apology, though his frown belied his willingness to perform the task. He rolled from the parlor and found Jason sitting on the bottom step of the long staircase.
“Are you done fightin’ with Miss Alicia?” the boy asked. “She sure was mad at you, wasn’t she?”
“She had good reason,” Jake told him. “If you want to hear me make amends, come along to the kitchen. I might need some moral support.”
Jason rose from his spot and meandered ahead of the rolling chair. “What’s moral support?” he asked, pushing open the kitchen door for his father to pass through.
“It’s you standing next to me an
d smiling a lot when I tell her what an idiot I was a few minutes ago.”
Jason looked at him and whispered words of rebuke. “Pa, you’re not ever supposed to call anybody an idiot. Miss Alicia told us in school that it was the height of ignorance to belittle another person’s shortcomings.” He spit the words out as if he had memorized them and stored them in his mind for just this moment.
“She was right, Jason,” Jake said quietly, watching Alicia across the room, her back stiff, her head held high as she stirred something in a kettle on the stove. “But in this case, I’m the idiot, and I don’t think that rule applies.
“I need to talk to you,” he said, raising his voice to get Alicia’s attention.
“Go ahead,” she said. “I can hear you from here.”
“I think I could do this more easily if you’d look at me.”
“Then you’ll have to wait until I dish up your supper.”
The woman was still fuming. Even though she’d laughed aloud at his remark about her venting her spleen, it had not been the sound of merriment, but rather bitter sarcasm.
“All right. I’ll wait.” He rolled to the table and motioned toward the sink. “Wash up, Jason, and get out the plates and silverware.”
“Yes, sir,” the boy answered, doing as he was bid. He slanted a long look at Alicia as he sorted through the forks and knives, found three napkins in the drawer, and placed them on top of the plates before he carried the stack to the table.
“Fork on the left,” Alicia said automatically.
“What’s the difference?” Jason asked with a sigh of patience gone awry. “Who cares where the fork is?”
“I care,” Alicia said from the stove. “If you’re going to do a job, do it right.”
Jason rolled his eyes, and Alicia turned to him. “You will not be disrespectful to me, young man. I will not tolerate it.”
As if inviting Jake to step in and soothe Alicia’s ruffled feathers, Jason sent him a pleading look. His father only shook his head and lifted an eyebrow in response.
Alicia dished up the food—an assortment of leftover chicken from the night before, with noodles and broth added to make a thick stew of sorts. Carrots and fresh peas from the garden were in another bowl, and small whole potatoes were buttered and sprinkled with parsley in a third. Rather a sumptuous feast for a woman to put together in thirty minutes’ time, Jake thought. No one had ever said Alicia was not efficient in the kitchen.
She put the food on the table and sat down, placing her napkin on her lap. Jake waited, as she bowed her head and gave thanks. “I’ll fix your plate, Jason,” his father said, and noted that the boy was agreeable in the extreme.
“Yes, sir,” he said politely. “May I get some bread, ma’am?” he asked Alicia, and at her nod, he went to the buffet and brought back the loaf and a knife to slice it with.
Alicia made short work of the task, and Jason carried the wrapped bread back to where it was kept.
“I have an apology to make,” Jake said quietly. He heard Jason’s indrawn breath at his words and shot the boy a silencing look.
“Really?” She was not going to make this easy, and he couldn’t blame her, he decided.
“Yes. I was rude and nasty, and I said some foul things to you. And I’m truly sorry.”
“Which things exactly are you apologizing for?”
“Well—” Jake began spooning the stew onto his plate and then serving some to Jason “—probably we should start with the ‘venting your spleen’ remark. That was pretty harsh. Then I said you didn’t know what you were talking about. I’ll have to admit, ma’am, that you generally don’t speak your mind until you’ve got things all sorted out.”
He reached for the bowl of vegetables. Jason made a face, but his father ladled a heaping spoonful onto his plate. “If there’s anything else I’m forgetting, I guess I’ll have to include it in a general blanket apology.” He looked up at Alicia and took note of the pain she didn’t bother to conceal from him.
“All around, I’ve been a first-class grouch today. You were handy, so I took it out on you.” His words were softly spoken and he watched her closely for a reaction of some sort. She only nodded and bent her head to the food on her plate.
Jake ate silently, making quick work of the meal Alicia had prepared, then he looked at Jason and pointed at the back door. “Out with you, son. You’re excused from the table.”
“I didn’t finish my peas, Pa,” Jason said.
“You can eat twice as many next time,” Jake said briskly. “You’re excused.”
“Yes, sir.” With an agile movement, Jason slid from his chair and placed his napkin beside his plate. Shooting a glance at Alicia, he ducked and headed for the back door.
“Now, let’s talk.” Jake leaned his elbows on the table, aware that he was breaking one of Alicia’s cardinal rules of table manners. In response to her disapproving look, he leaned his chin on his folded hands and frowned.
“I’m not sure what you want from me, Alicia. What-ever it is, I’m apparently not capable of giving it. I have a nasty temper. I warned you before you married me that I was hard to live with, but you assured me you could handle it. Some days I feel like a man on a tread-mill, the only difference being that I couldn’t walk on a treadmill if I wanted to. My days begin and end with a struggle to get in and out of bed, and in between times I work to keep my body clean and presentable.
“I know I’m not easy to live with, but I’m trying. You have to believe that.”
“I’d be happy to help you get in and out of bed, if you’d just ask me,” she said, biting at her lower lip after the offer had left her lips. “I can help you wash every morning if you like. I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make your life easier, Jake.”
“You’re too damn good to me, and I feel guilty and then I act like a bas—”
She held up a hand and halted him midway through the word. “Don’t say it,” she said. “You’re not a child born out of wedlock. It’s my understanding that your parents were married before your birth. As to my being ‘too damn good’ to you, I hardly think that’s reason enough for you to be ornery with me. If you like, I can start behaving like a shrew and see if that will help things.”
He laughed aloud. Alicia knew exactly how to put him in his place, and moreover knew how to keep him there.
“If you won’t accept my apology, I’ll just have to repeat it in the morning, I suppose,” he said, his humor greatly restored. “As to helping me in and out of bed, I won’t ask that of you, Alicia. I won’t subject you to the sight of my body.”
She shrugged. “That’s fine with me. I won’t have to let you laugh at mine, then.”
I wouldn’t laugh, he wanted to say aloud. The words stuck in his throat, and he swallowed them whole. Right now, he’d give just about anything to have Alicia in his bed.
Just when he had become so fixed on the woman was beyond him.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THERE WAS DELAY in school starting. The harvest was late and the children from the surrounding farms and ranches were needed to help in the fields. Older boys from town were in demand and most of them were willing to pitch in, especially when it would pay them so well.
But September was school time and she chafed at having to put all her plans in abeyance. Still, there was certainly enough to do around the big house to keep her busy. She arose on a Monday, looked out the window and noted the last of her crop of red tomatoes still hanging on the vines. Enough to make chili sauce, she decided. She had onions aplenty and green peppers in abundance.
The thought of the aroma of spices and vinegar turning the tomatoes into a savory mix made her hurry into her clothing, preparing for the day. Coffee was the first order of business and she put it on the stove. By the time she had the oatmeal cooked and the sausage fried, she knew Jake would be enticed and heading toward the kitchen.
My days begin and end with a struggle to get in and out of bed. He had sounded so bitter when he’d made the
statement. Now she stood at the stove and wondered if he were grasping at the trapeze that hung over his bed, aiming for the rolling chair, or if he were already sitting at his dry sink, washing in fits and starts in the basin. He was making do with cold water this morning. But she was comforted by the fact that she’d provided him with a hot pitcherful last evening.
She’d empty his slop pail later on, when he was elsewhere in the house. It bothered him that she waited on him in that way, but his waste water and the rest of the contents of the covered bucket were simple enough to carry out back to the outhouse and dispose of.
She poured a cup of coffee for herself after ten minutes, keeping an ear out for his chair. In another ten minutes the food was on the back of the stove, keeping warm, and she began to worry. He’d never been this late rising. The door to his room was closed and she rapped on it twice.
“Jake? Are you up yet?”
There was no answer and she frowned, rapping again; surely he could hear her.
“Jake? Can you hear me? Are you awake?” She waited another few seconds and turned the handle. It opened readily and she looked into the room. The curtains were drawn, a new practice, Jason had told her, since Jake had lived day and night in the gloom before Alicia’s arrival.
Now the sunlight shone across the floor and she scanned the room quickly. His chair sat beside the bed, empty. Jake was still beneath the sheet and she called his name again, then walked toward the bed. As she approached, he stirred, mumbled under his breath and rolled to face her. His face was flushed, his hair matted and the sheet was tangled around him as if he’d fought with it all night. Her palm on his forehead proved her to be on target, for his skin radiated heat.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, aware even as she spoke that he did not hear her. Jake was sick, feverish it seemed, and she was hard put to know what to do about it. He would resent it if she took charge the way she was prone to do in every circumstance.
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