by Anne Mateer
I dragged Janie with me to the back porch cistern for a bucket of water while my heart pulsed an unsteady rhythm. At the kitchen door, Frank lifted the heavy bucket from my hand.
“Thank you,” I gasped as he set the bucket on the table without a word. It seemed a familiar gesture, not the exaggerated kindness one extended to a stranger.
The smell of bacon and biscuits hung thick in the small room. I handed Janie to her sister, wrapped a dishtowel around my hand, and pulled the biscuits from the oven. The clatter behind me intensified as everyone took their places at the table. Ollie doled out forks and cups as Frank’s laughter filled the room. Real laughter, birthed from joy. My skin tingled in spite of the warmth. Any man who could laugh like that couldn’t be cruel. Maybe he’d let me stay. At least until I figured things out.
“Ollie, grab the butter from the cooler.” I heaped Frank’s plate with food and soon heard the small butter plate clink onto the tabletop. Frank’s voice died away. The others quieted, too.
I whipped around. “What’s wrong?”
Frank sat perfectly still, his fist gripping his fork and holding it upright, a napkin tucked beneath his chin. Only his jaw moved, tightening and loosening. I followed his gaze to the newly churned butter. The fancy G pressed into the top remained undisturbed.
I remembered Mama telling me how Daddy had carved her a butter mold the first year they were married. Had Frank done the same? It was such a small thing, really. Why hadn’t seeing the children or the house stirred that same kind of emotion in him? They were much more of his history with his wife than a carved butter mold. Yet maybe that mold represented more than I knew.
I reached across the table and picked up the butter dish before filling a second plate. Frank blinked a few times before noticing the food in front of him. Then the moment passed. With my own plate in hand, I took the chair opposite Frank. He bowed his head. We all did the same.
“Great and gracious God—” His voice caught and silenced.
I peeked from under my lashes. The children’s heads raised, their eyes squinting open, first at their daddy, then at each other, finally at me. I laid a finger over my lips and bowed my head again, praying they’d do the same.
We waited. I wondered if Frank had fallen asleep. Too much longer and all the food would be cold. Then he took a deep breath. “Thank you, Lord, for this food, and bless the hands that have prepared it. Amen.”
It was as if he’d held his own conversation with God—privately—and then let us in on the last bit. Or had he just needed time to compose himself? If nothing else, the man intrigued me.
Through supper, the children chattered on about Ol’ Bob and the chickens, the sheriff and the Lathams, the doings in town, church, and school. Aunt Adabelle and their mother hovered over the conversation unmentioned. We didn’t speak of the influenza, either. It was as if we’d all made a pact to forget it, to act as if it hadn’t changed everything—not just for us, but for so many others, too.
I cleaned up the dishes while Frank carried the children to bed. After I dumped the dishwater on the flower beds and spread the damp cup towel across the bushes to dry, I settled myself in the parlor, wondering if Frank would join me there.
He seemed unsure as he walked into the room, hesitant as he eased into a chair. Like a guest in an unfamiliar home.
“Here’re your newspapers.” I handed him those I hadn’t yet used to make fires, hoping to put him at ease. I picked up one of my aunt’s magazines for myself. Pages rustled, turned, quieted as we avoided each other’s gaze. The mantel clock counted off minutes with loud ticks.
When Frank cleared his throat, I looked up in expectation. After a stiff smile, he lowered his eyes to the newspaper again. When the clock chimed the hour, we both stopped reading. Nine o’clock.
He rose to his feet. “Thank you, Rebekah.”
I looked at the floor and shrugged one shoulder. It wasn’t often I couldn’t find something to say, but all the words in my head seemed to tangle together like the yarn in my knitting basket.
He blew out a long breath and set his hands on his hips. “When I heard—” He cleared his throat, let the silence settle between us again before he continued. “My children appear to be happy. You can’t know what a comfort that is.”
He seemed to have more to say, but he stopped. Was he trying to tell me to leave? I didn’t even have money to purchase a train ticket—to anywhere. But how could I say that to him?
He shouldered his bag lying near the sofa. Heat crawled up from my toes as I watched his eyes dart toward the bedroom on the other side of the wall. I hadn’t considered sleeping arrangements. Even if he slept downstairs and I slept upstairs, it seemed scandalous.
“I’ll bunk with Ol’ Bob. Good night.” He nodded once before his boots clomped across the floor and the back door eased shut.
I wondered how long he’d be content with that arrangement.
Wriggling into my shirtwaist and skirt the next morning, I listened for any indication of the children stirring in the room next to mine. All remained quiet except for the small sounds rising from below. I knelt next to my bed and asked the Lord for wisdom. Then I made my way downstairs.
I found Frank cracking fresh eggs into a skillet. Not a sight I’d seen often—or ever. Daddy and Will only came into the kitchen to eat. I tied an apron around my waist, wishing I’d been out of bed earlier. “I can do that.”
He moved out of the way, carrying the coffeepot to the table.
“I’m sure it feels good to be home.” I’d felt terrible crawling into bed last night, knowing Frank slept on prickly hay with stinky livestock. I hadn’t even bothered to make sure he had bedding.
“That barn beat all my billets in France.” He sipped his coffee, seeming to savor it.
It made me wonder what he had experienced over there, what my brother had experienced, too. “Was it terrible? The war, I mean.”
Frank stared at the rim of his cup. “I didn’t see the worst of it. I helped build bridges, mostly. Those boys in the trenches had it hard, though.”
“My brother was in the trenches.” I slid the eggs onto a plate and laid strips of bacon in the skillet as I thought about Will. I’d heard nothing from or about him since he’d left.
“Is he back yet?” Frank sipped more coffee, then tipped the pot to fill his cup again.
I set a full plate on the table in front of him. “Yes.” I couldn’t say any more than that. I’d already begun to grieve my brother. I turned back to the stove and swiped away the moisture beneath my lashes.
I heard a blanket drag along the floor and the padding of little feet. Dan. As I turned, he stared up at Frank for a short moment before rubbing his eyes. “Daddy?”
Frank lifted his son into his lap. “Did you think you’d dreamed me?”
Dan nodded. Frank hugged his little boy against his chest.
The others arrived, as tentative as Dan. But it didn’t take them long to warm up again. Even Janie hesitated only a moment before diving from Ollie’s arms to her daddy’s.
“Y’all ready for church today?” he asked.
I whirled around, hands covering my cheeks. “Oh my stars, I forgot it was Sunday!”
The children giggled. All except James. He put his six-year-old hand in mine. “It’s okay, Bekah. We won’t leave you behind.”
“Thank you, James.” I busied myself at the stove, trying to hide my laughter. Frank didn’t try to hide his. It burst into all four corners of the room.
As the echoes died away, his words filled the silence. “George Latham wrote that he’s been stopping by for y’all most Sundays.”
“Yes.” I doled out breakfast to the children, taking in the information that George Latham had written to Frank about us. “Except when they shut down church because of influenza.” I winced, wishing my mouth wouldn’t run ahead of my thoughts.
He pushed up from his chair and pulled the tin tub from the corner. “I think I’ll get cleaned up first, if you don�
��t mind helping the children.”
“Oh no, I don’t mind.” I watched as he scooped hot water from the reservoir into the tub. By the time he reached the barn the water would be tepid. But he didn’t complain. He simply walked out the door as if living in his own barn were the most normal thing in his world.
Rain slashed at the window long before Frank pulled the buggy up outside the back gate. I met Frank on the porch. A few wrinkles creased his pants and jacket. Had they been in his bag, or had he retrieved them from his bedroom in the house?
I shoved an umbrella into his hands. “I thought you might need this.”
A smile spread across his face. I didn’t know whether to be flattered or annoyed. Did he think I lacked the common courtesy to realize an umbrella would be helpful in the rain?
He cocked his head like Ollie often did. “Can you handle a horse, Rebekah?”
“Of course.” I must have had a curious expression on my face, for his gaze slid to the floor.
“I thought maybe you were used to automobiles instead of old-fashioned contraptions like this.”
“Oh, no. Mama won’t let Daddy get an automobile. She says horses and buggies have been just fine for her family, and she isn’t about to be the one to get uppity.”
Frank’s lips twitched as he turned away, and I found myself wishing we could laugh at Mama together.
“We goin’?” Dan swaggered out to the porch, his shirt buttoned askew.
“Mind if I help?” I knelt down, refastened his shirt, straightened his knickers.
“Ready?” Frank held the umbrella over my head.
“What about the—”
James and Dan dashed past me, scrambling into the buggy. Ollie wasn’t far behind, Janie filling her arms. I sighed contentedly as we stepped into the blustery day.
It had felt funny to have a man sitting in my kitchen this morning. Well, not my kitchen. Maybe it felt funny for me to be in a man’s kitchen. Whatever it was, I decided that having somewhere to go would be a good thing for us all.
By the time we reached the church, the yard held several buggies and a few automobiles. We hurried inside. Frank led us up the aisle, the children following their father, me bringing up the rear of our little parade. Every few steps Frank stopped to exchange greetings with someone. At the third pew from the pulpit, he stopped again, this time pointing us into the empty row.
Ollie scooted down the long bench. The boys followed. Frank stood aside, obviously waiting for me to sit first. I felt the stares around us. Did he feel them, too? We looked like a family, all together like this. Especially with Frank treating me like a lady and not as another child. As he sat down, I nestled Janie on the seat between us. No sense causing tongues to wag.
I glanced at Frank. He looked strained, his muscles taut-to-bursting. I bit my lip. Everything would remind him of her. Every place. Every song. Every person. How did he bear it? With great effort, I forced my attention to the service. At least I tried to. But Brother Latham’s words couldn’t hold my attention that day. Frank’s face kept drawing my gaze instead.
The little lines around his eyes weren’t as tan as the rest of his face, as if he’d squinted into the sun for hours and kept the little folds hidden and white. In spite of delicate features, strength showed in his face. No gray streaked hair the color of the scorched stump near the creek. His eyes sparkled blue when he laughed and rested gray when he didn’t.
He was still a young man. And quite handsome, I thought. I wondered if any widows had already pinned their hopes on him. I scanned the congregation. But if any women were smitten with Frank, I couldn’t discern it. My gaze stopped at Sheriff Jeffries. He stared back at me. I returned a timid smile.
Then I noticed Frank frowning in my direction. Heat burst into my cheeks as his concentration returned to Brother Latham. I studied my hands, feeling reproved. But why should I? The sheriff and I had a friendship that deserved acknowledgment. Maybe I’d misjudged Frank from his letters. Maybe he was more rigid in his views of acceptable behavior. More like Mama.
The service ended before I could unravel Frank’s nature. He stood but didn’t move. Janie fussed, so I picked her up as Frank stared out the windows opposite, the ones that overlooked the small cemetery.
The sun had dried its tears, so the older children ran out into the churchyard with the others. Frank remained transfixed. My hand felt as heavy as a full kettle as I placed it on his arm.
“Go on,” I whispered.
The tortured look in his eyes wrenched my heart.
“Please go,” I said again.
With an almost palpable grief, he stepped into the aisle, toward the door near the organ that led directly to the graveyard. A hand touched my arm. I turned. Sheriff Jeffries’s grin sparked one of my own.
This man had plans to be somebody. To live the life of a Ranger, far beyond the homes and fields of this tiny town. I could learn to love him, couldn’t I?
He took Janie from my arms and escorted us out the door.
At the very least, I would try.
When Frank returned to the crowd of lingerers, his face reminded me of James’s the day I’d found him at his mother’s grave. That same look of somber acceptance, of grief smoothed just below the surface. That same wild joy at seeing other loved ones living and breathing.
He lifted Janie, his gaze drinking her in as if he had but this one moment to memorize her for all time. Ollie, Dan, and James huddled around their father’s legs, afraid, I guessed, that he’d leave them again.
“Frank looks good.” Irene’s voice at my ear. “When did he get home?”
“Yesterday.”
“And?”
I glanced at the sheriff, who still hovered beside me. I forced a smile to my face. “Everything’s fine. We’ll get things figured out soon. He was exhausted last night. We all went to bed early.”
Blood rushed into my face. “Of course he slept in the barn, and . . .”
Irene’s head tipped back as she laughed. Sheriff Jeffries’s mouth twisted into a scowl. From across the yard, Frank’s gaze locked on mine. He raised his eyebrows and nodded toward the buggy.
“Good-bye, Irene.” I gave her a quick hug, wondering if I would see her again before Frank sent me home. Then I turned to the sheriff. Instead of a good-bye, he held his elbow crooked in my direction.
“I’d be happy to escort you to the house.” Sheriff Jeffries’s eyes begged me to say yes.
And I knew I ought to oblige. But I found myself wanting to be with my kids again. I didn’t know how much longer I’d have with them. I didn’t want to miss a moment.
My mind whirled like the sheriff’s hat. “Thank you, I . . .” Frank had the older kids in the buggy now. He turned toward me with a look of expectancy. “I think I’d better help with the children.”
His smile faded a bit, although he seemed to work to make it stay. He walked me to the buggy as if my words hadn’t disappointed him and helped me up to the seat. “Good to have you back, Frank.”
Frank nodded. The sheriff touched the brim of his hat and backed away, his gaze undistracted from my face. But Frank’s hard-set jaw and narrowed eyes broke into my line of vision as he plopped Janie in my lap.
“If you’re done socializing, we can get on home.” He stalked to the other side of the buggy and hopped up on the seat.
I stared at his profile, that rugged face on which I’d seen such vulnerable emotions. But I’d also seen his look of disapproval in church. Now he appeared haughty, almost condescending. My eyes narrowed. What cause did he have to chastise me?
My arms tightened around Janie. She leaned her head on my chest. One corner of my mouth lifted. Janie loved me. And I didn’t think Sheriff Jeffries’s feelings lagged far behind.
Maybe, like Aunt Adabelle had said, the Lord had brought me to this place for a reason, but it was one slightly different than I’d imagined. A better one, I felt sure. For Henry Jeffries would never break a girl’s heart.
I cleaned the dinn
er dishes, wondering if I should pack my things that afternoon. Although our first interactions had been favorable, Frank obviously didn’t approve of me.
James ran into the yard as I tossed out the dishwater. “C’mon, Bekah. We’re going to help with the horse.”
“I don’t think so, honey.” Frank wouldn’t appreciate my presence. I feared his gratitude didn’t extend as far as friendship.
“Please?” James grabbed my hand and pulled. “Please?”
How could I disappoint that pleading face? So I gave in. He dragged me after him to the barn, the sudden shade causing my skin to prickle with goose pimples. My eyes adjusted to the dim light. The boys and Ollie chased each other through the shadows. Apparently “helping with the horse” simply meant being somewhere nearby.
Frank brushed Dandy’s raven-colored coat. I leaned my arms on the half-wall of the stall and watched. His face didn’t have that hard look now. His love for his horse showed in his eyes, in every tender yet firm stroke down Dandy’s side.
I wondered what Frank’s face would have revealed if I could have seen him look at his wife. They’d married young, according to Ollie and Irene, but given that he’d hired Aunt Adabelle to take care of things, I suspected he recognized his wife’s frailty early on. But had he expected to lose her this soon?
“I bought Dandy just before the war started.” His voice startled me. “Before that, Clara and I had an old nag for the buggy, the first horse I’d ever saved enough money to buy. I never dreamed I’d own a horse like Dandy.”
“He is handsome.” I reached out and slid my hand down the horse’s flank. Frank stood on my side of the horse now, so close I could hear him breathe. He smelled of earth and hard work, reminding me of Daddy.
I couldn’t see his face now, but he kept talking anyway. “I think Clara loved this horse about as much as I do. She said he reminded her of me, each of us with our night-sky hair and our determination to be the one in charge of every moment.” The brush stopped midstroke, but only for a moment. He moved to the front of the horse, caressing Dandy’s nose and talking softly to him.
