Gingham Mountain

by Mary Connealy

  From her description, he began hammering, knocking together sturdy risers so quickly she could barely follow his flashing hands. He made two sets without speaking to her beyond grunting.

  Hannah stood off to the side the whole time, doing little more than giving directions, and precious few of those.

  After setting them in place, he turned to go.

  “Grant?” When she said his name she looked down to avoid making eye contact and noticed she’d twisted the frill around the middle of her new green dress into a knot. She released her death grip on the fabric and tried to smooth away the wrinkles.

  She glanced up to see Grant freeze. Then his shoulders slumped, and he turned around to face her. Hannah saw a look of pain on his face. She forgot what in the world she wanted to say to him as she closed the distance between them.

  He looked at her, long and quiet. “New dress?”

  Hannah kept swiping at the mess of wrinkles she’d made. This fabric had come from Grant. She’d thank him if she wasn’t afraid he knew nothing about it.

  “Sadie and Marilyn helped me make it.” Distracted by the knowledge that she could get the girls in trouble by telling the truth, Hannah forgot about how awkward things were with Grant. True, the dress she was wearing now had come from him, but she’d been paid since then and gotten enough cloth for a riding skirt. She and the girls were already done with it.

  “I got my first pay. I earned ten dollars for the first two weeks of school. I wasn’t supposed to get paid until I’d worked a month, but Sadie encouraged me to tell the school board I needed the money. She said they would understand, and they did. I bought fabric for. . . uh. . . for myself.” Hannah went back to twisting her skirt. “And my students turned the tables on me and became teachers. With your girls working together, I had this dress done in no time.”

  “Money,” Grant said with the first relaxed smile Hannah had seen on his face today. “I remember the first time I earned an honest dollar. It’s about the sweetest feeling on this earth.”

  Hannah smiled and set aside the story about the girls bringing her fabric. There was always time to tell him later. “I’ve never spent much on myself. Before I came here, even if I did find some work, there was. . . ”

  Hannah almost said Libby’s name, thinking of how her injured little foot had taken up every spare penny. Catching herself in time, Hannah wondered what Grant would say about all the lies. Libby was doing well from what Hannah could see. She still never spoke, but her limp was barely noticeable these days, thanks to the shoes Grant had fashioned for her. Libby smiled easily and ran around with the other children in school. Emory Harrison, Gladys’s youngest son, enjoyed quieter play than the roughhousing big boys, and he and Benny had become Libby’s champions around the playground. There was no reason to bring up her relationship with Libby to Grant. Silent Libby certainly wasn’t going to spill the beans

  “There was what?” Grant asked.

  Hannah drew a blank for a few seconds. “There was. . . uh. . . oh, just always something more pressing to spend it on.”

  “The girls forced me to get some new clothes.” Grant looked at himself. “They sewed them up for me, the whole outfit just last night.”

  Hannah had noticed how tidy he looked. “And you got a haircut?”

  “Marilyn sheared me like a sheep. My girls set on me like a pack of wolves. Told me I was shaming them with my old clothes. When they were done, I looked like this.” Grant held his arms out and looked down at himself, shaking his head. “Kids.”

  “You look really nice.” Hannah almost choked when those words slipped out.

  “So do you.” Grant closed his mouth so quick Hannah heard his teeth click together.

  They stared at each other. Hannah knew what he had on his mind—the same thing she had on hers. Hannah felt as if a team of Clydesdales had just galloped into the schoolroom between them and they were pretending not to notice.

  Forcing herself to do the right thing, she said, “We never should have. . . ”

  “Hannah, I owe you. . . ”

  Speaking on top of each other, they both fell silent.

  Into the silence, Grant said, “I want to apologize for the other morning. I took. . . uh. . . that is. . . improper familiarities passed between us. I. . . I don’t. . . it won’t. . . we can’t let that happen again.”

  Hannah thought of Prudence. He was getting ready to confess that he had betrayed his intended with that kiss. She had to stop him before he cut her heart completely out. “You’re right. We can’t. I was as wrong as you. I’m here to teach school and nothing else. And you’ve got someone else, I know. Thank you for your help with—”

  Grant kissed her again, quick as a striking rattlesnake, only way, way nicer.

  He practically jumped away from her. Shaking his head, he turned and rushed out of the building, muttering something Hannah couldn’t hear.

  It was a good thing the risers he’d made were well-built because Hannah barely managed to stumble over to them before her knees gave out. She sank onto them hard enough that if they’d been rickety, she’d have squashed them flat to the floor.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Grant did the chores the next morning so fast he was finished before the wagon rattled down the lane, taking his family to school.

  Charlie rode his own horse so he could stay in town to work. Grant planned to ride out to meet the boy when he returned.

  Jamming the pitchfork into the haystack, he headed to the immense pile of split wood, wondering if he should make each piece a little smaller. He had to find something, anything, to keep his mind off Hannah.

  Worse yet, he was facing a ride with that child-hating Shirt Lady. He shuddered every time he thought of that awkward hour he’d have to spend with the fool woman.

  He stared at his tiny, ramshackle house. He looked at the looming mountain that rose up behind it, covered with trees that clung to the sheer slope.

  Most of the woodlands surrounding the Rocking C were either scrub or older trees that wouldn’t work for a log cabin. Three small stands held trees the right size. He’d considered chopping down these trees a hundred times and rejected the idea because it was so dangerous. Even in the summer he’d avoided them. Now, in the bitter winter with its short, dreary days, it was a nightmare.

  Perfect!

  It beat his other plan—holding his head under a bucket of ice water until his thoughts cleared of confounded women making his life a living nightmare.

  He jogged to the woodpile, snatched up his axe, and headed for the stand of young trees. Sure it might kill him, but if he died, Joshua, Marilyn, and Sadie could manage. And until it did kill him, he’d be clinging to the side of a mountain for dear life, which would keep him from saddling up his horse and riding to town to see for himself if Hannah’s hair was as thick and soft as he remembered. It had come to mind around a thousand times that, as long as he kissed her anyway yesterday, he might as well have touched her hair just once, to check and see if—

  With a near howl to stop his wayward thoughts, he charged the mountain. Gripping the axe handle as if holding onto his last shred of sanity, he headed up that slope.

  He fell halfway off the mountain a dozen times that morning. He tossed the axe away and grabbed a tree as he slid past and always scrambled right back up to work. The pile of trees at the base of the mountain grew fast, and Grant thought he was getting the knack of being a mountain goat. It’s not like he was falling off a cliff or anything. He’d just slide along, sometimes get to rolling a little, and catch himself as soon as possible. He slammed into a couple of trees and that hurt. But thanks to the peril, it definitely took his mind off Hannah.

  Mostly.

  With no notion of time passing, he sidled along the treacherous bluff, chopping even while he knew he was acting like a maniac. The hillside was slippery with half-melted snow and so steep that, when he cut a tree, if it didn’t snag, it fell most of the way to the house.

  He came close to forgetting
how much he wanted to see Hannah again toward the middle of the afternoon when he was so exhausted he couldn’t see straight. Cutting down a whole forest was a stroke of genius.

  Joshua came home driving the wagon.

  The young’uns saw the load of lumber that had tumbled to within a hundred feet of the cabin.

  “What are you up to, Pa?” Josh yelled from below.

  “We’re building on. You go ahead and start chores. I’m almost done here.” It wasn’t exactly true, because Grant intended to keep chopping down trees for the rest of his life if it helped keep his unruly thoughts in order. But it was true enough, because he had nearly enough for the two extra rooms he had in mind. For now, he was almost done.

  With cries of excitement, the children ignored his wish to be left completely alone and immediately jumped in to help.

  Grant thought of Charlie riding home alone from Harold’s and the lowdown polecat who had attacked Joshua still running loose. Grant had to quit and go ride his son home, then go back to face Shirt Lady. He was out of time.

  The children were so excited, begging to help, Grant almost quit going crazy with his wayward thoughts. “You young’uns can’t go up that hill. It’s too steep. And I don’t want any of you working the axe. Josh, you could be chopping, but you’re too beat-up and you girls haven’t had enough practice.”

  “We could hitch up the horse and drag the logs into place. Just tell us where you want them.” Marilyn’s eyes flashed with excitement.

  Sadie looked like she wanted to jump up and down just from thinking of the new rooms.

  Grant didn’t want them to do a thing. This was his project. Meant to keep him busy working himself near to death for the rest of his life. “Leave it. There’s plenty to do with chores.”

  “But you’ll be back with him in just a few minutes, Pa.” Benny started climbing around on the teetering mound of tree trunks, risking his life.

  Grant’s stomach clenched when he realized his children might be in danger and he shouldn’t leave them. Then his heart lifted. He’d tell Shirt Lady the ride was off and blame it on his children.

  She’d hate it.

  She’d hate him.

  She’d never come near him again.

  Grant smiled for the first time all day.

  But he had to ride in and do it. That’d still take awhile because she’d no doubt nag him near to death. He’d better make sure the young’uns didn’t worry.

  “Uh. . . after I get back with Charlie, I have to ride back to town for. . . for. . . ”

  “For what, Pa?” Sadie asked.

  “I’m supposed to go out riding with. . . with. . . ”

  Sadie and Marilyn whirled to face him, their eyes blazing with excitement.

  His throat dried up and ached as if he’d swallowed a cactus thorn.

  “With. . . who?” Marilyn clutched her hands under her neck.

  Sadie took a step closer. Grant noticed Josh grinning and wondered what the boy had in his head.

  “With that. . . ” The thorn grew into a whole prickly pear, and Grant cleared his throat and wished for a drink of water. “That. . . seamstress woman. . . Prudence.” Confound it, he’d gone and learned her name. He’d have his hands full forgetting it now that he’d actually said it out loud.

  Marilyn’s hands dropped to her side in fists. Sadie gasped. Josh’s grin shrank away. Benny straightened from his wild scramble and rolled off the pile of lumber.

  Grant snagged him in midair, glad for the distraction. “Now, you quit your climbing. While I’m gone, I want you to—”

  “Prudence?” Sadie screeched like to break a man’s eardrums. “You’re going out riding with that nasty woman? Why, she won’t so much as look at any of us. Last week at church. . . ”

  “How did you get mixed up with her?” Marilyn talked over the top of Sadie. Both of them tore into him in a way no child should ever speak to a father. As a matter of fact, the way no person should ever speak to another.

  “I can’t stand her, Pa.” Benny squirmed to get loose of Grant’s hold. “I ran into her once in the store. I mean ran hard into her. But it weren’t on purpose. It was an accident. And she got so mad I thought she was going to take a swing at me. She doesn’t like. . . ”

  Josh started in, too. “One time we just passed on the street and she made a face like I smelled bad. She held her skirt off to the side like she was afraid my skin would stain her. . . .”

  Grant took a moment to thank God for Libby’s muteness and Charlie’s absence. Sure Grant hated being alone. But when his children were here, it didn’t mean it was okay for them to yell at him.

  The noise went on until Grant was afraid Charlie would be home on his own. “Okay! Enough!” Grant took a long route around the mob his children had become. “I told the woman I’d take her for a ride and a promise is a promise.” One he intended to weasel out of, but he’d do it face to face, like a man. A weaselly man, but still. . .

  “I’m going!” Grant was madder at himself than his children were, so their yelling barely vexed him. They tagged him to the barn, yapping and nagging to beat all, which at least got Benny away from that log pile.

  Grant’s ears were ringing by the time he hitched up the wagon and rode out of the yard. Spending time with that nasty, child-hating Shirt Lady wasn’t going to be that much different than home. He planned to talk fast while he told her there’d be no ride then run for home.

  He sat up straighter. He’d ask Charlie to wait at work rather than ride the boy home and go back. With that as an excuse, Grant wouldn’t even be much delayed. He remembered that determined look she’d had while cornering him into the ride. If he couldn’t head her off, he’d pick up Charlie and take the boy along for the ride. Make sure Charlie sat between them on the buckboard. Better yet, maybe he and Charlie could sit on the seat and they’d stick Shirt Lady in the back by herself. Bringing a surly child along on their date ought to put the perfect finishing touch on any ideas Shirt Lady might be hatching in her brain.

  For the first time, Grant worried that Charlie might be settling in and cheering up. A good-natured child wouldn’t get under Shirt Lady’s skin nearly as much as a sullen, sly child. Sorely hoping Charlie hadn’t turned happy on him, Grant hurried the horse toward Sour Springs.

  “Tonight’s the night.” Prudence looked at Horace. This was it. Tonight they’d get it done.

  She’d be married to Grant by sundown and his property would be hers within days. The man would then take an unfortunate fall off his horse. She’d inherit, sell to someone who recognized the value of that seeping oil, then head for California with Horace. A man who was too dumb to know he had an oil field in his backyard deserved to have it taken away.

  “I know what to do.” Horace slurped the last of his coffee and slapped the tin cup on the table. “Get this table cleaned up. He’ll be here soon enough. You don’t want him seeing there’s two people living here.”

  “I’ll get him inside somehow. The sprained ankle worked last time, except he left me at the door. This time I’ll force him to bring me in. Collapse if I have to.”

  “All we need is to get him one step inside. I’ll be behind the door and knock him cold. By the time he comes around, the whole town will know he’s been in here too long. Won’t matter what he says, they’ll believe you.” Horace rubbed his hands together. Prudence could see he was already counting the money.

  Prudence tried her best not to let the greed shine in her own eyes. “Stop talking about it. I’m afraid he’ll see it in my face how much I’m looking forward to our marriage.” Prudence laughed.

  Horace put his hands on her. Money always brought out the animal in him. He pulled her hard against him.

  “Stop it. It’s almost time for him to get here. Don’t mess me up.”

  Their eyes locked. “This is the big score, Prudy. The one we’ve been waiting for.”

  The light in Horace’s eyes made Prudence’s heart bound with excitement. He lowered his head to mess
her up good just as they heard the clatter of wagon wheels pull to a stop by the shop door.

  “He’s early. Maybe he’s lookin’ forward to his big date.” Horace let her go with a crude laugh.

  Prudence’s living quarters were in the back of her shop. She hurried ahead of Horace to let Grant in. Horace followed, and as Prudence brushed the wrinkles out of her prettiest gingham dress and straightened her hair, Horace slipped behind the door, his eyes hot and excited.

  Prudence knew he wanted to finish this now. So did she. If she could just get Grant to take a single step inside. . . She inhaled slowly, concentrating on replacing the hungry look of greed with one of adoration for the stupid fool now knocking on her door.

  She reached for the knob.

  Grant pulled his hat off his head as Shirt Lady swung the door open. “I don’t have much—”

  “Grant, you’re here at last.” Prudence threw her arms around his neck and came at his lips again.

  Grant ducked and he accidentally kinda butted her in the lips with his head.

  “Oww.” She pressed one hand to her mouth and clung to him with the other.

  He pulled loose quick while she was distracted. “Uh, sorry about that. I’m a clumsy one, for a fact. Listen Shirt. . . uh. . . I mean. . . uh. . . ” Grant had to think for a second, but he remembered—much to his dismay. “Prudence. I’ve got a. . . uh. . . the thing is. . . ”

  Her eyes met his, something sharp and knowing in them. She glanced down at his feet as he backed away. She could tell he was canceling their ride most likely.

  “I left this dangerous pile of logs. . . .”

  “My fault entirely, Grant, honey. Don’t worry a speck about that little bump.” She slipped past him and practically ran to the wagon.

  “Now, Prudence, the thing is. . . ”

  She climbed up that wagon quick as a squirrel scaling a tree trunk. Grant sighed. Now he was going to have to get her down. He’d told Harold he had to run an errand and to keep Charlie working for another few minutes. But Harold wanted to close up shop, so there just wasn’t going to be time for a ride. He slumped as he followed after.