by Lyn Cote
A refreshing breeze blew over them, dissipating the heat from the forge. But Brennan’s stomach felt loaded with lead. What would come next? And for some reason he couldn’t stop thinking about Miss Rachel.
Levi sat forward. “Well, hello. I’m Levi Comstock.”
Brennan appreciated Levi’s uncomplicated greeting. Both Levi and Miss Rachel could be counted on for kindness. Miss Rachel’s face, surrounded by delicate wisps of her light hair, came to mind, drawing him back. He hadn’t wanted to leave her, hadn’t wanted to take full charge of this child tonight. After fighting in the war and drifting for years, he was completely unprepared to be a father.
Jacque merely nodded to Levi.
“Boy, when a man introduces himself, you say your name and call him sir,” Brennan said sternly.
Jacque threw Brennan a scalding look. “I’m Jacque Charpentier, sir.”
Levi offered his hand and shook the boy’s. “Nice to meet you, Jacque.”
Brennan noted Levi raised a quizzical eyebrow, more than Miss Rachel had done. She’d been mighty cool about everything. That stuck in his craw.
“Jacque, I’ll show you where we bed down.” Brennan walked him inside and waved him up the ladder to the loft. “You’ll see my bedroll up there. There’s a good breeze so you’ll do okay. Be up later.”
Jacque raised a shoulder in reply and with his bedding over his other shoulder climbed the ladder. At that moment, Brennan recalled what Miss Rachel had said. This boy has lost much and he’s so young.
His conscience clipped him hard. “Jacque,” Brennan said, making his voice kinder, “everything will work out.”
The boy didn’t even pause on his way up the ladder.
Brennan didn’t blame Jacque for doubting him. What does he know of me but what’s been told him, and none of it good? Brennan’s stomach burned, as he thought about all the lies this boy had probably heard about the man who might be his father. Or had they told him nothing except that Brennan was a coward? Miss Rachel’s face kept coming to mind. The good woman she was, she’d been concerned for the boy. Her sweet voice played in his mind.
Outside again, Brennan stooped with his back propped against the rough log wall.
“Charpentier?” Levi asked.
“My wife’s maiden name.”
Levi looked at him, expecting more.
Brennan stared at the wide river. He could not speak of this now. Again, he wished he could speak frankly to Miss Rachel. She saw human nature clearly, but Jacque wasn’t her responsibility.
“You see that new gal in town?” Levi asked finally.
Brennan thought for a moment, his mind a jumble. “You mean Posey?”
“Yeah, she’s a pretty little thing.”
Brennan looked sideways at the man, relieved to discuss something else. “You lonely?”
“I have been hoping some young ladies would move here, but so far it’s only been little girls, couples or single men. If I’d stayed in Illinois, I could have found a wife easy.”
Brennan went along, a welcome distraction. “Why didn’t you stay in Illinois then?”
Levi frowned. “I wanted to have my own shop. Too many blacksmiths in Illinois.”
“And a lot of women.” Brennan eased his own mind by teasing the blacksmith.
“But most of them are too hoity-toity to move to the frontier. They want board sidewalks and hat shops.”
This forced a laugh from Brennan, a release of tension.
“It’s not funny. I want a regular cabin and a wife to snuggle up to in the long winter ahead.”
Brennan shrugged. “I wish you luck.”
“You don’t think your Miss Rachel is interested in getting married, do you?”
Brennan snorted in response; unreasonable irritation sparked within. “Told me she’s not getting married,” he said, warning the man away.
“Women say that, but do they mean that? She’s a great cook and as neat as wax. Pretty, too. She just don’t take pains to look it.”
This aggravated Brennan. He had no right but it irked him to have another man notice how quietly pretty she was. “You can try, but I doubt she’ll come around. She…she sounds like some man insulted her by offering marriage…for his convenience. Had a passel of kids he needed a ma for.”
“Ah.” The sound conveyed that Levi had no idea what Brennan was talking about and Brennan didn’t feel like telling more. Miss Rachel’s business was hers alone.
“Women don’t like it if you start paying attention to one woman and then switch to another,” Levi commented. “You know what I mean?”
Brennan did, but had bigger problems of his own.
“I think I’ll start trying to get to know Miss Posey Brown. She’s younger and tries to look pretty. That’s a sign she’s not adverse to marriage.” Levi glanced at Brennan. “Wouldn’t you say?”
Brennan let out a long breath. Levi was never this talkative. “What’ve you got to lose?” Brennan asked.
He’d once been so in love and look how it had all turned out. If there hadn’t been slavery, abolition, secession, would he and Lorena have done better? The sad truth was in this fiery world, love lasted as long as tissue paper. So letting himself begin to care at all for the Quakeress was more than foolish.
*
When Brennan woke the next morning, he found a thin small body pressed against his right side. He jerked more wide awake, hurt his sprained wrist and cursed under his breath.
Jacque rolled away from him with a stifled yelp of surprise. For a moment the boy looked as if he didn’t know where he was.
The panic in his eyes stabbed Brennan; he regretted disturbing the child. “You’re in Wisconsin with me, Jacque,” he said in a voice he wished sounded more comforting.
The boy lost the panicked look but did not appear very reassured.
“Now, we get up and wash in the river and then go to Miss Rachel’s for breakfast.”
Jacque nodded. “She cooks good.”
“You don’t know the half of it yet,” he said with deep sincerity. He cradled his aching wrist to himself. After a sleepless night, he felt like a limp piece of rag, and what unexpected unpleasantness might come today?
Soon, the two of them walked through town. Brennan tried not to notice how people, sweeping the steps of their cabins, stopped to gawk. What did he care? What were they to him? He’d be gone before long.
Brennan stumbled on a rock that had rolled onto the path. The false step jiggled his sore wrist. He gritted his teeth. His wrist would heal in its own good time and this matter with the child would have to work its own way out. But how?
*
After eating a breakfast of scrambled eggs with fried salt pork and buttered toast, Brennan rose to thank Miss Rachel for another good meal.
“How is the wrist?” she replied, already turning to her stove.
He glanced down at his hand. “Still stiff.”
She came to him and slid his arm from the sling. Her touch was gentle, nonetheless it rocked him to his core.
“It’s mending,” he muttered, withdrawing abruptly from her touch. A moment of strained silence passed.
She looked to Jacque. “I’ll do the milking again, but I could use this young man to collect the eggs this morning and then scatter chicken feed. Why doesn’t thee go rest in the shade, Mr. Merriday? Rest will make the wrist heal quicker.”
And then what? he asked silently. This is what happened when a man stayed in one place too long and got comfortable. He pulled back mentally from this cozy woman.
Jacque accepted the basket she handed him and headed out for the chicken coop and yard to look for eggs. Hens could be foolish and lay eggs outside, too.
Brennan put on his hat and followed the boy into the summer day. He sat on the grass under a shade tree, watching the boy gather eggs. The sun was rising and the heat was, too. His eyelids felt heavy and sleep would keep him from thinking thoughts of Miss Rachel he had no right to think.
*
> “Mr. Merriday!” Miss Rachel’s voice cut through Brennan’s morning nap.
He jolted awake and bumped the back of his head against the rough tree trunk and rubbed it. “Miss?”
“Where is Jacque?”
Blinking at the bright sun beyond the shade, Brennan scanned the clearing. “I musta fell asleep.”
“Thee looked exhausted at breakfast. Healing takes energy, too.”
And last night I didn’t sleep worth a Confederate dollar. He got up quicker than he should have and jiggled his wrist again. He clamped his lips together to keep in an exclamation of pain and refused to look at her. “When did you see him last?”
“He brought in the egg basket full. Then I gave him the feed to scatter for the chickens. I’m about to make lunch so I came out and I’ve looked all over the clearing and haven’t been able to find him.”
Brennan stared at her. Was this just kid folly or had the boy run off? In either case, he couldn’t think what to do.
Miss Rachel looked skyward. “He might have gone looking for someone to play with.”
“I’ll go into town and look for him,” Brennan said.
She frowned at him and didn’t move, just tapped her cheek with one finger.
For some reason this irritated him. “Do ya’ll want the boy back or not?”
She looked at him, chin down, almost frowning, that finger still tapping.
He read her look as her repeating his question back at him—did he want the boy? He had a strong urge to yell in frustration.
“Perhaps I’ll go into town—” she began.
“I’ll go. He’s my…responsibility.” With that Brennan turned and headed down the trail to town. His insides bubbled like a pot of grits. Whether Jacque was his blood or not, he couldn’t just let the boy run into trouble.
*
Rachel watched him go, holding herself back from giving advice or tagging along. Mr. Merriday would have to come to terms with this child himself. Still, as she walked inside to start her next chore, she fretted and couldn’t think of anything else but Mr. Merriday and Jacque.
In a few minutes a voice came through the open door. “Miss Rachel?”
Rachel moved to peer outside. The storekeeper’s teenage daughter stood there. “Come in,” Rachel said, trying to sound sincerely welcoming.
“I’m Amanda Ashford, Miss Rachel,” the girl reminded her.
“Yes, hello, Amanda,” Rachel said, hoping the girl would come to the point of her visit. She’d decided to work on her sewing. No use making lunch till Brennan came back with the boy.
“My pa sent me to tell you a boat has come in and people are asking for the sweets lady.”
“I didn’t hear a whistle.”
The girl shrugged. “The boat is stopping long enough for you to come. They are delivering a shipment to my father’s store.”
Rachel didn’t answer with words. She dropped her sewing and turned to the kitchen and began wrapping the fresh-cut caramel squares in wax paper.
“I’ll help.”
“Wash thy hands first,” Rachel said out of habit.
Soon Amanda stood beside her and without asking for instructions, she began to mimic Rachel, rolling the caramel into small squares of wax paper and then twisting the ends.
Soon they filled a basket and headed out the door, striding briskly to town. “I overslept so I don’t have any rolls ready,” Rachel admitted.
Amanda fiddled with her apron pocket, looking as if she had something to say.
Rachel asked finally, “Is there something I can help thee with, Amanda?”
“I heard about how good your baked goods and candies are.”
“Yes,” Rachel prompted.
Amanda glanced up. “Would you teach me how to make some?”
Rachel hesitated. Mrs. Ashford might take her daughter coming to Rachel as an insult. “Does thy mother know thee has come to ask me this?”
“No.” Amanda looked down at her feet.
So Amanda had the same worry about her mother’s reaction. Fortunately, they had reached town and she was able to sidestep the issue. Ahead boatmen unloaded sacks and boxes at the side door of the General Store. Mr. Ashford stood over them with a ledger where he was making notes. And milling in front of the store was what appeared to be a group of passengers.
“This is Miss Rachel!” Amanda called out. “She has fresh caramels for sale!”
The passengers met them in the street in front of the store. “Is your stuff as good as we’ve heard?” one sour-looking woman asked.
Rachel smiled. “Thee will have to find out. A penny a piece.”
A man held out a coin. “A nickel’s worth please, miss.”
Rachel slipped the coin into her pocket and then handed the man the caramels.
He unwrapped one immediately and popped it into his mouth. He moaned a sound of pleasure. “It’s still warm in the center.”
At this, everyone was pressing coins on her. Without being asked, Amanda began collecting the money and Rachel doled out the candy. The basket emptied completely within minutes.
The people moved away and she glanced at Amanda. “I thank thee. It is obvious thee is the daughter of a storekeeper.”
Amanda blushed with pleasure. In a low voice, she asked, “Will you think about teaching me to bake? I want to be a really good baker.”
Rachel thought of how the girl’s know-it-all mother would respond to clandestine lessons. But of course, she couldn’t say that. “I will give it thought.” She smiled her thanks again and then looked around.
Now that the rush was over, her concern over Jacque returned. “I’m looking for Mr. Merriday and Jacque.”
“I saw Jacque and Johann go toward the schoolyard.”
“Johann?”
“Johann Lang. He’s Gunther Lang’s nephew.”
“Oh.” Rachel recognized the family mentioned. “I wonder if Mr. Merriday found Jacque there.”
“Did the boy run away?” Amanda asked, sounding shocked and a little interested, reminding Rachel of her mother.
Trying to protect Brennan and Jacque from gossip, Rachel chuckled. “Most likely Jacque did his chores and then decided he deserved some fun.” She waved to Amanda and then set off toward the schoolyard. She should have headed home, but couldn’t bring herself to turn around. She wanted to see if this simple solution was correct.
Before she reached the edge of town, she heard Jacque’s voice. “Let me go!”
“You’re going home to apologize to Miss Rachel for runnin’ off like that. You finish a chore and then you ask if the lady needs anything more before you run off to find fun.” Appearing on the trail south of town, Brennan gripped the boy by the upper arm and was tugging him away from the direction of the schoolyard.
“I don’t have to do what you tell me! You’re not my pa!”
Rachel froze in place. This was not something she wanted aired on the main street of town.
She hurried forward to the two. “Jacque, we were looking for you! It’s time we go home for some lunch.” She formed a completely false smile with her lips.
Both males glared at her. Brennan’s face was beet-red. Jacque’s face defined the term stormy.
“Well, come along,” she prompted and waved them forward.
The two didn’t budge.
She tried to come up with a way to get them moving toward home. People were staring. She glanced down and saw that one caramel had been overlooked even by her. She held it up. “I have a caramel for a boy to eat after lunch,” she coaxed.
Jacque’s sweet tooth won the day. He hurried forward and Brennan followed. She sighed with relief as she led the two through town feeling a bit like the Pied Piper.
Jacque’s words—I don’t have to do what you tell me! You’re not my pa!—echoed in her mind.
*
I don’t have to do what you tell me! You’re not my pa! rang in Brennan’s mind. Was it the truth or just a retort? He doubted the child even knew the truth.<
br />
The three of them sat at Miss Rachel’s table, eating a generous lunch of canned beef sandwiches on thick, delicious bread. At first, he didn’t even taste what he was eating, but then he realized the sandwich had been made with the best spicy mustard he’d ever tried. Finally this came to the surface of his mind. “Did you make this mustard?”
“Yes, I brought one jar with me. We need to find if there’s any wild mustard growing nearby so I can make more. In fact, you and Jacque might go looking for some today. There is a meadow north of town, I’ve heard.”
Was there anything good to eat this woman couldn’t make? He realized again that he respected Miss Rachel Woolsey, not just for her considerable cooking talent but for herself. She was a fine woman.
As she explained to Jacque what a wild mustard plant looked like, he found himself studying her face. Her gray eyes opened wide to the world. He found a small mole by her right ear he hadn’t noticed before and a few tiny golden freckles that had popped up on her nose.
“Mr. Merriday, I think we’ll all rest a bit till the sun lowers. The heat today is too high for much work. It’s not healthy.”
“What do I have to do then?” the boy asked, still sounding disgruntled.
“Rest in the shade. That is my plan.”
Jacque looked as if he might protest but then he just shrugged. He rose.
“Jacque, you should ask to be excused before you leave the table,” Brennan ordered.
Jacque glared at the reminder. “Miss Rachel, will you excuse me?”
“Thee may leave the table and find a tree to rest under.” She rose and stacked the few dishes and carried them outside to wash.
Brennan felt bad he wasn’t able to carry them for her. He lingered beside her, unable to leave. Somehow being near Miss Rachel made life feel easier. While he felt torn up inside, she possessed a deep peace. It drew him.
She glanced up from the washbasin. “Thee is troubled?” Her voice was a whisper.
He nodded, his tongue like a board.
“I do not think there is any way we can know for certain that this child is thy blood. Thee must make the decision to accept him or not.” She said the words plainly, gently, but uncompromisingly.
