“Most peculiar.” Ida Mae went back to work.
She took a break at lunchtime and went to the lawyer’s office to have the lease agreement for Cyrus drawn up. She wondered whether she should go back on her word and contact her brothers for their advice, but she’d already told Cyrus he could rent the property. In the end, she felt she’d spoken before prayer and proper consideration were given. Perhaps one day she’d learn to think before she spoke. On the other hand, it was only for one year and she didn’t have time to seek out another tenant who would farm the land. She returned to the shop, picking up where she left off. Later that evening, Cyrus came in and she repeated the process of signing a lease with yet another tenant.
❧
Olin had been tempted not to sign the lease after seeing the man leave Ida Mae’s shop moments before. It seemed strange the doors would still be locked at ten thirty, but seeing a man leave. . . Well, he’d seen those kinds of establishments up north. What bothered him most was that Ida Mae didn’t seem to be that kind of a woman. And with her family farm, her spinster business, and now renting him the barn—how much money did she need?
Burning off steam, he worked through lunch. At two in the afternoon he finally sat down to eat, after retrieving a cool glass of water from the town water pump, twenty feet outside his business door.
“Bobby, is that you?”
Olin turned to a female voice he couldn’t quite place.
“It is you. I heard the grapevine humming all day and just came to see for myself.”
Olin smiled and opened his arms to embrace her. “It’s good to see ye, Jane.”
Jane gave him a hearty pat on the back. “I didn’t believe it, but it is you. Heard you’ve gone Yankee on us.”
A strangled chuckle escaped. “No, I just worked for them for a while. I learned a trade and thought I’d come home and put it to good use. Mother and Father wrote about how the tin men from the north were overpricing and selling less than good wares to area farmers, so I thought it would be good to have a local come work in the area.”
She placed her hands on her hips. “Well, I’ll be, you’re so grown up. You became a man, huh?”
“I’d like to think so.” Olin held back the memories of him and Jane and growing up together. Theirs had been a school-days romance. She had broken off their relationship, calling him immature. He reached for the nail barrel he’d been carrying from his wagon into the barn.
“Did you ever find your pot of gold?”
“In the Lord, yes. But no, I’ve given up on finding my fortunes in the gold mines.”
She nodded and gave him an assessing glance from head to toe. “I believe you. Now, what’s this I hear about you being a murderer? What really happened seven years ago?”
Olin set the small barrel down on the broad floorboards and offered it to Jane to sit on. He briefly went over the fight at the mine and the decisions that followed.
“I’d say you’ve got some enemies out there. Folks have been talkin’ up a blue streak about it since you rolled into town. My husband—do you remember Richard Johansen from over the hill?”
Olin shook his head no.
“Oh. Never mind. Richard says the sheriff will be wantin’ to talk with you, just because everyone is talkin’ about it.”
“I suspect he’s right. So, you’re married? Any children?”
“Four.”
Olin raised his eyebrows and whistled. She didn’t look like she’d even had one child. She’d always been a slender woman. “Four,” he repeated in awe.
Jane rattled on for ten minutes about her family and life in Charlotte. She also mentioned that his landlord had apparently married last night, which explained the man leaving her office earlier this morning.
After Jane left, Olin worked his frustration out by scrubbing and cleaning the barn. Hard physical labor had always helped to release some of his pent-up frustrations. He knew the Lord was allowing this test for many reasons, but the primary one was to test his resolve to handle his anger. He knew now that coming home meant dealing with some of the issues he’d abandoned by running off to Pennsylvania seven years ago.
Thankfully he had worked up quite a sweat by the time the local sheriff came knocking.
“John Thatcher,” the sheriff said, introducing himself and extending his hand.
The man stood like a thick chestnut tree: rugged, sturdy, and full of authority. Olin took the proffered hand and gave it a firm shake. “Heard ye might be coming around.”
He lifted the brim of his hat off his forehead. “Word travels fast. What do you have to say about the past?”
“ ’Tis in the past. I was found not at fault, but I still blame myself. I’m not the same man I was seven years ago. I don’t know how to explain it apart from saying having a man die by my hand isn’t something I enjoy living with.”
“What makes you think your temper won’t get the best of ya now?”
“I haven’t lifted my hands to fight in seven years.”
Sheriff Thatcher gave a slow nod. “Do ya mind if I come callin’ from time to time?”
“No, sir. I reckon that’s all part of your job.”
“Good to meet you, Mr. Orr.” He stepped back toward the doorway. “Are you any good?” He pointed to the tinsmithing equipment.
“My master taught me well and he was pleased.”
“Good. We need an honest tradesman in the area. Are you still looking for gold?”
Olin let out a nervous chuckle. “No, sir. I gave that up, too.”
The sheriff gave a final nod and slipped out.
Later, as Olin prepared for bed, he prayed. Father, thank You for the grace and the strength to deal with my past. I know I’m a lowly sinner and that You’ve forgiven me, but I don’t feel worthy. Bringing up all this past history today simply confirms how unworthy I am of Your grace. Forgive me again, Lord, for doubting Your will to have me return home.
The loud crash of glass shattering, followed by a scream, jolted him out of his prayer.
❧
Ida Mae’s heart raced. Fear sliced through her as a rock flew through the glass window in the east wall of her room. She pulled the quilt from the bed and wrapped it around herself for extra protection. Pressed against the room’s southeast corner, the window on her right and the door to her left, she hoped to remain out of the way if another rock should fly through the now broken window.
Moments ticked by, silent except for the thunder of her heartbeat. Finally, she slid down, sat on the floor, and cried. Sometimes life overwhelmed her. The lonely days since her parents’ tragic deaths flooded her mind. Grief over the loss washed over her with an intensity she hadn’t felt in months.
At some point she heard some rattling at the storefront’s door. It was locked, but the door and the rest of the shop’s west wall had windows. She huddled in closer to herself and stayed sequestered in the corner, hiding in the quilt. Shock had overtaken her senses.
“Miss McAuley, are ye all right?”
Ida Mae focused on the deer-like eyes. She closed her eye-lids and opened them again and refocused. Who? She pulled the quilt closer.
“Shh, you’re safe with me. What happened?”
Ida Mae just shook her head from side to side. Mr. Orr stood there holding a lantern over her.
“Let me help you up.” He placed the lantern on the small table by the bed and lifted her as if she were nothing more than a feather. How heavy could tin be? He didn’t appear to have huge muscles. He placed her on a chair and looked around the room.
“There’s glass everywhere. Where’s your broom?”
She pointed to the large closet that had been her parents’ bedroom when they occasionally stayed in town.
He took two strides and crossed the room with ease. Admittedly her one-room living area was small—containing her bed and night table, chest of drawers, a couple chairs, and a small kitchen table near the cooking alcove—but to see him walk the width of the room in two steps. . . She won
dered how long his legs were.
He went straight to work. Ida Mae sat there, numb, and watched. He was a handsome man, long legs and all. The heat of a flush brushed her cheeks. Ida Mae quelled her thoughts.
“What happened?” he repeated.
It finally dawned on her. “How’d you get in here?”
“I picked your lock. I heard the glass break so I was concerned that ye were injured, especially when ye didn’t answer my knocking on your door. Who would throw a rock through your window? Where is your husband?”
“My husband?”
“Aye, shouldn’t a newly married man be at his wife’s side?”
“I’m not married.” Then she remembered John Alexander and the news he’d heard. “It’s a silly rumor with no bearing in fact.”
“Oh, I assumed. . .” His words trailed off as he pushed the bits of broken glass into the dustpan.
Feeling more herself, Ida Mae jumped up from the chair. “Just what did you assume, Mr. Orr?”
“Forgive me. I assumed the man who left your establishment this morning was your husband.”
“Man? What man?” Ida Mae replayed the day and realized what improper thoughts Mr. Orr had of her.
“Mr. Orr, you don’t know me, so I’ll forgive your rude insinuation. I am a woman of integrity. What you’ve entertained in your mind is simply unspeakable. The gentleman in question came in for business only.” Ida Mae stammered. “Linen business. I am spinning for him.”
“Forgive me.” Olin Orr bowed. “It’s been a rough day.”
“Yes, it has, for both of us, I presume. Can I get you a cup of tea?”
“That would be wonderful, thank ye. I’ll go to my shop and cut out a piece of wood to cover the broken window.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. And please forgive my rude assumptions. If anyone should know better, it should be me.”
Ida Mae stood there while he slipped out of the room and through the front door. The rumor that Olin Orr had killed a man was no longer rumor. The sheriff had come into the shop at closing and informed her it was the truth but that Olin had been found innocent, that it had been a death caused in defense of his own life. The sheriff’s words had reassured her, but at the same time made her question Mr. Orr and his reasons for returning to a town where half of the people believed he’d killed a man in cold blood.
Ida Mae placed the half-full teapot on the stove. She covered her bed with the quilt, washed her hands and face, and placed a heavy housecoat over her nightclothes. Married? How was it that everyone thought she’d married Cyrus yesterday? She had a good mind to go back out to the farm and tell him in no uncertain terms to tell everyone that he’d married Rosey. On the other hand, he’d been telling folks for a long time that he asked Ida Mae to marry him, so it was human nature to assume that she’d been the one. But how could anyone know Cyrus had married? It didn’t make any sense at all.
Ida Mae sighed. It had been a very long day and looked like it would be an even longer night.
She heard the banging of a hammer on the window frame and saw a large board over the broken window. It didn’t take Mr. Orr long to fix the damage.
Olin knocked and Ida Mae opened the door to let him in, then quickly relocked it.
“All fixed. If ye purchase the glass I’ll put it in for you,” he said as he followed her to the table.
“Thank you.” She poured the hot water into the china teapot to let the tea steep.
“Who do ye think would throw a rock through the window?” he asked as he sat down at the small table. The kitchen alcove contained a small stove that doubled for heating in the winter, a sink, and a few cabinets. It was large enough for the small table and a couple of chairs. Not that she entertained often.
“I don’t know. Just some wild children, I imagine. There was no noise, no shouting. Just a rock crashing through.”
She placed a teacup and saucer in front of him and another at her seat.
“I reckon you’ve heard the rumors about me.”
Ida Mae nodded.
“If you’re not comfortable with my renting from ye. . .”
She raised her hand. “No, I’m fine with you renting the shop. Sheriff Thatcher explained it all.”
“I see.”
She sat down. He looked down at his lap. “Mr. Orr, you should know that my parents died last year. Many of my parents’ friends have taken it upon themselves to oversee my life. The sheriff is one such friend.”
“I understand. I don’t mean to pry into your business, but why are folks saying ye married yesterday?”
“The man who asked me to marry him, several times over the last year, got married yesterday and folks are just assuming it was to me. I promised him I wouldn’t tell anyone who he married, but it’s been a difficult day. I’ve had people coming and going all day, wanting to congratulate me, wondering why I was still working today and not enjoying my new married life.”
Olin chuckled. “I’d forgotten how small this town really is. Living in the city of Philadelphia took awhile to adjust to, but there are some advantages to living in a place so large ye only know a handful of people. Down here, just about everyone is related.”
Ida Mae had to agree.
Olin downed his tea. “I shall call it a night, Miss McAuley, and thank ye for the tea.”
“Thank you for boarding up the window.”
He stood up. “Ye probably need to sweep the floors again. I didn’t find the rock.”
Ida Mae nodded and Mr. Olin Orr retreated.
She picked up the broom and swept the floor. She reached first under the small chest of drawers, then the bed, using the broom handle. She knocked the rock out from under the bed. Wrapped around it was a piece of paper tied on by a piece of twine. Untying the note, she read, “Get rid of your tenant or else.”
Earlier fear returned and slid down her spine like the shuttle on the loom.
Four
Four days later, Olin still couldn’t figure out why his landlord was avoiding him. Did it bother her that he’d come to her rescue? No doubt opening her locked door would give her an insecure feeling, but he had had little choice once he’d seen the broken window and heard the delicate cries. At least he felt that way at the time. Now he wasn’t too sure. Mayhap he should have simply fixed the window and let her be.
Olin shook his head no. He knew better than that. He made his way down the road to his parents’ house. He’d been invited to dinner, and his sister Janet and her family were going to be there, as well. Today had been different from the rest since his arrival. No one came to see if it really was him at the shop. Word must have gotten around enough so that people’s curiosity had been settled.
He glanced at the peach trees laden with blossoms. After they ripened, the harvest would begin. He remembered the days he’d spent canning and preparing peaches with his mother. The entire family would get into the act. Among the gifts he’d brought for his mother had been two cases of canning jars and a new canning pot. He hoped a few of those filled jars would end up in his cabinet.
“Evenin’, son.” His father waved as Olin approached the main house. “How are ye doing?”
“Fine. The shop is all set up and I’ve even begun working on some pieces.”
“Aye, ’tis good to keep a man busy.”
“Aye. That it is, Pop. Looks like a good crop of peaches this year.”
“Ye can thank your brother John for that. He’s been pruning and keepin’ those trees healthy for the past couple years.”
John was a natural farmer and the oldest son. The farm would be his one day, as it should be. Kyle also had the ability and interest in farming, unlike Olin.
“Sheriff came by.”
“My place, too.”
“Seems like a good man.”
“Aye. He actually talked with the owners of the mine before talking with me.” Olin dismounted and tied the horse to the hitching post out front.
“Good. Percy hasn’t bee
n around.”
“Good.”
His father’s bushy gray eyebrows rose on his forehead. “I imagine so. But the Good Book says to keep an eye on your enemies.”
“Has Percy been in trouble since I left?” Olin hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that Percy may have been responsible for the rock going through Ida Mae’s window. After all, he did ask Kyle if he wanted to help run him out of town. But why would he attack Ida Mae?
“He’s not a hard worker and hopes to get enough from his father’s property so he doesn’t have to work hard the rest of his life.”
“If he doesn’t work the land he won’t get much from the property.”
Kyle rounded the front porch, taking off a pair of work gloves. “Welcome home, little brother. How’s the shop coming?”
“All set up, just waiting on orders to come in.”
“Ye might be waiting for a spell. Percy’s been telling folks you’re just like those Yankee tin men.”
“I suspected as much.” He and Percy had always been like oil and water.
“Mother, on the other hand, has been bragging up a storm.” Kyle rested his right foot on the second step.
Olin chuckled. “Mother would.”
“It helps that you’ve sent her some of those tin cups and pans over the years. She can claim just how good your work is.
“Pop, there’s a problem with the grain chute in the barn for feeding the hogs. I tried working on it but I think the pin is shot. I’ll need to run to town and order a piece.” Kyle turned toward Olin. “Ye know, it would be nice if ye knew how to work Mr. McAuley’s blacksmithing tools. We really need a new blacksmith.”
“I’m not that skilled in blacksmithing, but I know how to do some small things. What do you need?”
Kyle pulled the worn pin from his hip pocket. “This here pin should be this thick the entire shaft. See how thin it is here and how it’s bent?”
“Yup.”
“Well. . .” Kyle went on to explain how the pin worked.
“Can I see where it fits the chute?”
“Sure.” Kyle, Olin, and their father went off to the barn.
Corduroy Road To Love Page 3
