The Hired Man

by Lynna Banning

  He wanted to touch her so bad he clenched his fists. “Eleanor, listen. There’s something else I need to tell you.”

  “Yes? Go on.”

  Oh, God, if he told her why he knew it would be the end of everything. She would never look at him in the same way again. She would probably ask him to leave.

  A suffocating sense of loss swept over him. But he had to tell her. He had to.

  He drew in a long, slow breath. “Eleanor, I’ve spent time in prison. Eight years.”

  “Whatever for?”

  “For killing the man I found in bed with my wife.”

  Her gray eyes looked dazed. “You were never going to tell me this, were you?” she said dully.

  “No, I wasn’t. I was going to help you out on the farm until you were back on your feet, and then I was going to move on to California. I spent eight years behind brick walls, thinking about California, thinking about green fields and trees.”

  He thought she’d be screaming at him by now, but she didn’t say a word.

  “Why did you stop here, at my farm?” she said at last.

  “I told you once before, Eleanor. When I saw your apple trees in bloom I couldn’t bring myself to ride on past. It was like I was hungry for something.”

  “Why have you stayed?”

  “To be honest, I’m not real sure. Well, that’s not exactly true.” He swallowed over a lump the size of a peach pit, cleared his throat and swallowed again. “I stayed because you were here.”

  She stared at him. He wished she would close her eyes or look at the porch floor, or the maple trees, anywhere but straight at him like she was doing at this moment.

  “I might be able to explain it better if I understood it myself,” he said quietly. “But for now I wanted you to know about Tom, and if that meant knowing about me, well, I figured I had to risk it.”

  “Cord,” she breathed.

  Damn, damn, damn. He hadn’t wanted to tell her. Right now he’d give up all the gold in California to go back an hour in time and take back his words.

  “You’re going to leave, aren’t you? Soon, I mean?”

  He’d give his right arm if she’d stop looking at him that way. “The honest truth is that I don’t think I can leave until this thing is resolved.”

  She pushed the swing into motion again. “By ‘this thing,’ you mean Tom, don’t you?”

  He nodded.

  Eleanor kept the swing gliding back and forth, trying to steady her breathing. Why was he telling her this, warning her about her husband in one breath and talking about leaving in the next? What did he mean by “this thing is resolved”? When she and Tom are “married” once more? They would never be married, but she also knew she could never divorce him. Under Oregon law, if a woman sued for divorce, any children were awarded to the husband.

  She realized her arms were clasped tight across her midriff, her fingernails biting into the palms of her hands. She shot a glance at Cord’s face and saw that the muscles in his jaw were working.

  “What else did you do in town today?” she asked at last.

  “Stayed and talked with Rooney Cloudman while Danny and Mark played... I don’t know what they played, come to think of it. Checkers, maybe.”

  “Danny hates checkers. He says he always loses.”

  Cord’s shoulders relaxed. “I’m a champion checkers player. Never been beat. Maybe I’ll give Danny some pointers.”

  “After they finish up the dishes,” she said wearily. “Sometimes I feel I can’t keep up with things the way they keep happening.”

  “Anything in particular?”

  She half laughed, half groaned. “Oh, just everything. Tom. Danny growing up so fast. Molly’s fascination with putting doll clothes on kittens.” She paused. “And you.”

  “The kittens will grow out of doll clothes and Danny will end up being Danny, just older.”

  “And Tom will...what?”

  He shifted to face her. “Wish I knew. In poker we call Tom a wild card.” He touched her arm. “Before I turn in I’m gonna walk the property, check to make sure everything’s okay. You want any flowers from your garden?”

  “Yes, maybe a few black-eyed Susans, those daisy-like things with black centers. And while you’re out there, say a prayer for Amanda Martin.”

  The swing jerked when he stood up, and then he disappeared into the darkness. She sat rocking in the soft evening air until Danny and Molly emerged from the house.

  “The supper dishes are all done, Ma. And we put ’em away, too.”

  “Thank you both. Now, upstairs to bed with you.”

  “You gonna read us a story, Mama?”

  She sighed. “Not tonight, Molly. I seem to be extra-tired.”

  When she heard them climb the stairs she closed her eyes and told herself she wasn’t frightened, that everything would turn out all right. She didn’t believe that, not really, but she couldn’t let herself contemplate anything else.

  Ten minutes later Cord came up the porch steps to find Eleanor sound asleep. He laid the yellow flowers on her lap and she didn’t even twitch, so he settled himself on the top porch step and waited, unable to stop looking at her.

  Her mouth had relaxed into an almost-smile. Her lashes were sooty against her too-pale cheeks, and her deep, even breathing told him she was not about to wake up anytime soon.

  He waited half an hour, then an hour, and still she didn’t move a muscle. Finally he decided she shouldn’t be found dozing in the porch swing when Tom returned, and he stood up and bent over her.

  “Eleanor.” He touched her shoulder. “Eleanor, wake up. You need to go to bed.”

  Her eyelids fluttered open and immediately drifted shut.

  “Eleanor.”

  “Don’t wanna move,” she murmured.

  He chuckled. “Come on.” He grasped the bunch of flowers in one hand, and slid it beneath her shoulder, then slipped his free arm under her legs and lifted her into his arms. Then he manhandled the screen door open and stepped into the dark house.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Cord climbed the stairs slowly to avoid jarring the drowsy woman in his arms. She weighed next to nothing, probably because she didn’t eat any more than Molly and she was still working from sunup until dark doing everything but lifting heavy bushels of apples into the wagon.

  He bent at the knees to open the door to her bedroom, maneuvered her through it and laid her on the bed with the bouquet of flowers next to her. Her bedroom smelled like her, roses and lemons and soap. The room was soft, somehow. Feminine. Only a woman would put ruffled blue muslin curtains on a second-floor window nobody could see. Or sleep with a bouquet of flowers scenting the warm air.

  It was too warm to cover her with the blue-and-yellow flowered quilt, so he pulled off her shoes and straightened her wrinkled blue denim work skirt. He thought about loosening the top two buttons of her shirtwaist, then decided that would be dancing too close to the devil. He’d have a hard time stopping at just two buttons.

  But the air in her bedroom was stifling. Why did women insist on wearing high-necked garments on a steaming hot day like today? He went ahead and unbuttoned her shirtwaist until he glimpsed the lacy top of her camisole. At least she wasn’t wearing a corset. Then he moved to the window and shoved the sash up.

  Fresh air wafted in. He turned back to the bed to find her eyes open, studying him.

  “Are the children asleep?” she asked in a sleep-fuzzy voice.

  “Guess so. Their bedroom door’s closed.”

  “Check on them, would you? Danny is good at faking it.”

  “Faking it to do what?”

  “Reading something he knows I would not approve of.”

  “Eleanor, he’s a growing boy. He’s gonna find out about the
world outside your farm no matter what you do, so maybe you should let him do some exploring instead of squashing his natural curiosity.”

  She giggled sleepily. “I can certainly see how you were raised.”

  “No, you can’t.” She stretched her arms over her head and he tried not to stare at the creamy skin he’d exposed.

  “Cord, tell me how you were raised.”

  “Like he—Heck I will. Some things are private.”

  She propped herself up on one elbow, then noticed that the top of her shirtwaist was gaping open. He expected her to screech, but she calmly undid one additional button and flapped the fabric against her chest. “It’s too hot,” she muttered.

  Cord stuffed his hands in his back pockets to keep from touching her. “I’ll go check on the kids.”

  “Do it later,” she said. “If you won’t tell me about your childhood, tell me about your wife.”

  He jerked up as if he’d been shot. “No.” He hadn’t thought about his wife for eight long years, and he wasn’t about to start now. He made a move for the doorway but she caught his hand.

  “I’m sorry, Cord. Really sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “For everything. I’m sorry about Tom and for being so weak after the pneumonia, and I’m sorry about your wife. I’m sorry you saw my apple trees in bloom on your way to California. I’m sorry you stopped.”

  He sucked in a breath and held it, eyeing the daisy things he’d laid on the quilt beside her. Then he exhaled in one long, slow stream. “Eleanor, I’m sorry about Tom, and about you being sick. But I’m not sorry about your apple trees, and I’m sure as hell not sorry I stopped at your farm.”

  Her eyes went wide. “Really? Why aren’t you sorry?”

  “You can’t ask me that.”

  “I can, too, ask that. Tell me.”

  He picked up the bunch of daisies. “I need to put these in water,” he muttered.

  When the door closed behind him, Eleanor lay staring at it for a long time, thinking of Cord’s mouth on hers, his lips asking questions she couldn’t answer.

  She stood up, stripped her clothes off down to her drawers and camisole, and poured a pitcher of tepid water into the basin on the bureau. She was bone-tired, but it was too hot to sleep, so she bathed her sticky skin and stood in front of the open window to cool off. She grimaced at the thought of sitting up for another night, rocking back and forth in the wicker rocker.

  Two weeks ago she would have sat out in the porch swing, enjoying the fresh night air. Two weeks ago she would have rolled herself up in the quilt and slept out in the backyard under the stars. Now she felt like a prisoner in her own house.

  She stretched out on the bed, then sat bolt upright. This was her farm. Hers! She was in charge here. Something had to be done about Tom. And, she thought with an inward sob, something had to be done about Cord.

  * * *

  Danny and Cord sat hunched over the checkerboard in the shade of the maple trees. Eleanor was working nearby in her flower garden, deadheading yellow daisies with her garden shears, while Molly crooned to one of the captive kittens.

  Tom was blessedly absent. There had been a scene at breakfast when Cord had asked for his help loading up the bushel baskets of ripe apples to take to Gillette Springs.

  Got things to do in town, Tom had blustered.

  Eleanor had confronted him, pancake spatula in hand. What things?

  It’s Sunday, right? I’m...going to church.

  She had laughed out loud at that. You haven’t seen the inside of the church since the day we were married!

  But he’d stormed out to the barn anyway, saddled up that black gelding of his and clattered off down the road. She and Danny had helped Cord load up the baskets of apples, and now she was cutting flowers for bouquets, grateful the peace and quiet of a morning broken only by a meadowlark somewhere in the pasture. And Cord’s voice.

  “Next,” Cord said to Danny, “you force my piece into the corner, like this. And then you...” Eleanor heard four crisp clicks as Cord apparently did something clever and Danny laughed.

  “Gee, that’s real swift, Cord. I bet Mark Rose doesn’t know that trick!”

  “Don’t be too sure, Dan. Mark has Rooney for a grandpa, and you can be sure that foxy old man is giving him some pointers.”

  “When did you learn to play checkers, Cord?”

  “When I was a kid, about your age.”

  “Whereabouts was you?”

  A pause. “Oh, here and there.”

  “Yeah? Where’s ‘here and there’?”

  Eleanor stopped her flower-snipping to listen more closely.

  “Where was you borned, Cord?” Molly’s voice.

  “Uh, Virginia.”

  “Where’s Ginia?” Molly asked.

  “Does your school map show the Southern states, Dan?”

  “Sure. Virginia’s right next to Kentucky. What’dja do then?”

  Cord cleared his throat. “When my ma died, my father took me to live with an aunt in Charleston. I didn’t like it much, and neither did Pa, so when he died I struck out for the West and ended up in Kansas.”

  “How old were you?” Molly asked.

  “Twelve. Almost.”

  Eleanor dropped her shears. Twelve! Why, that was hardly older than Danny! Against her better judgment she moved closer and found herself shamelessly eavesdropping.

  “Didja have a girlfriend?” Molly questioned.

  “Yeah, Cord,” Danny echoed. “Didja?”

  Cord laughed. “Hey, you want to learn to play killer checkers or not?”

  “I wanna learn about you,” Molly sang.

  Eleanor nodded in agreement. Girls were always more curious than boys.

  “Didja have a girlfriend, Cord?” Danny asked again. “I won’t tell anybody, honest.”

  “Well, not until I was older. Now, Dan, back to checkers. When you get a king—”

  “How old was ‘older’?”

  There was an awkward pause. “About fifteen, I guess. Almost.”

  Eleanor almost laughed out loud. He’d been only fourteen years old! She would bet Cord had left a string of broken hearts all the way to Kansas. Ask him when he fell in love, she silently urged. When he got married.

  “Cord, didja ever read a book called David Copperfield?”

  “That what you’re reading in school?”

  “Aw, heck, no. Miz Panovsky would prob’ly have a fit if she knew.”

  “Why’s that?” Cord lowered his voice. “Strong language?”

  “N-no, not really.”

  “Naked ladies?” Cord’s voice sounded as if he would laugh if given half a chance.

  “Huh? Shoot, no.”

  “Then how come Miss What’s-her-name doesn’t like it?”

  “Ma doesn’t like it, either,” Danny said.

  “Why not? What’s this book about?”

  “It’s about this boy who gets adopted by a rich lady.”

  “And?”

  “He gots a girlfriend,” Molly crowed. “A real pretty one.”

  “Aw, how would you know?” Danny shouted.

  “Cuz,” the girl announced, “I can read, too!”

  Eleanor jerked upright.

  Molly is reading? She’s reading David Copperfield? Molly is only seven years old!

  Cord redirected the conversation. “Molly, can you play checkers, too?”

  “No. I like playing with my dollies better.”

  “Cord,” Danny interjected. “Maybe later you can tell me about some naked ladies, huh?”

  Cord chuckled. “Years later, maybe. That’s for grown-up boys. Fourteen at least, okay?”

  “Sixteen!” Eleanor blurted out aloud.
<
br />   There was a long, quiet pause. “Okay, sixteen,” he called.

  Eleanor pressed her lips together. “That’s still awfully young for naked—”

  Cord gave a hoot of laughter. Eleanor’s face went hot and she dropped her shears into a patch of nicotiana.

  “Why don’t you come on out, Eleanor?” Cord called. “You could hear even better over here.”

  She bit her lip.

  Cord listened for a moment but heard nothing but the snip-snick of her garden shears. He figured Danny was ready to give Rooney’s grandson a run for his checker money, so he drew the lesson to a close. But Molly wasn’t finished with him yet.

  “Cord, d’you like boy dollies or girl dollies better?”

  He hoped Eleanor was still listening. “I like girl dollies, honey.”

  “How come?”

  “Well...” He listened for the sound of snipping shears and when he heard nothing he couldn’t help smiling. He knew she was all ears.

  “Girls are special,” he said loudly. “They look pretty and they smell good and they’re soft and warm. And they can do all kinds of things boys can’t.”

  “What things?” Danny and his sister said in unison.

  “Well, for one thing, girls can make cookies.”

  “Boys can make cookies, too!” Danny said. “I can make oatmeal cookies bigger’n saucers.”

  “Okay, let’s see. Another thing girls can do is dance.”

  “Boys can dance, too!” Molly shouted.

  Cord frowned and stroked his chin dramatically.

  “Well...” Eleanor, are you listening to this? “Girls can make you feel better when you’re hurt.”

  “Oh, yeah, I guess so,” Danny murmured.

  “And girls can...uh...rock you to sleep at night,” he added.

  Molly nodded her head so vigorously her curls bobbed.

  “And girls can—” Cord closed his eyes briefly “—leave you all hot and bothered so you can’t sleep at night.”

  “Huh?” Danny tugged his forearm. “What does ‘hot and bothered’ mean?”

  Cord listened again for the sound of shears in the flower garden behind the trees, took a deep breath and answered the boy’s question. “Hot and bothered is something special that happens to grown-up boys. It means you can’t breathe right and you feel a funny kind of ache below your belly.”