by Bonnie Leon
“You're not!” Ray bellowed. “Help us! Move those legs! Now!” He looked at his team. “Again! One, two, three—pull!” Luke's legs moved slightly. “Again!” They tugged harder.
Luke gritted his teeth and closed his eyes. Finally he groaned and yelled, “Stop! I feel like I'm going to be ripped apart.”
“You want us to quit?” Ray demanded.
Luke's face was a mix of disbelief and confusion. “No.”
“All right then. Move those feet and legs like I said!”
“I can't. I've got nothin' left.”
“Do it!”
A wave washed across the sand, hitting Luke's chest and splashing his face. “OK. I'll try,” he said, wiping salt water from his eyes.
Ray tightened his handhold, and so did Adam. “This is it. Now or never. Pull!”
This time Luke worked his legs back and forth, and suddenly, with a loud sucking noise, he came free. He was hauled into the boat and lay on the floor breathing hard.
Jean threw herself over him, crying with relief. “Thank the Lord. Thank the Lord.” She looked at Ray. “You did it. Thank you.”
“It wasn't me. It was all of us.” Looking pale, Ray made his way to the back of the dory and sat down. Resting his arms on his thighs, he stared at the floor.
Luke looked at him but offered no thanks.
Chapter 17
JEAN ROCKED AS SHE FINISHED EMBROIDERING THE FINAL STITCHES ON A pillow slip. She held it up to examine the work. She had to admit, the magenta rosebay, lavender geraniums, and white starflowers were lovely and nearly lifelike. Jessie will like it, she thought, anticipating Christmas and how much fun it would be to present her gifts. Too bad it's still so far away.
The sound of an engine and tires crunching over rock in the driveway carried inside. Jean set her sewing on the chair and crossed to the window. Ray Townsend climbed out of his pickup. He glanced at the house, and seeing Jean in the window, he waved.
Jean wished Ray hadn't come, but she waved back. For the last several weeks he'd dropped by nearly every day. She couldn't argue about needing the help, but it didn't feel right to have Ray Townsend taking on so much responsibility.
In spite of the weekend at Fire Island and how Ray had helped Luke, having Ray around still made her uncomfortable. He'd proven to be an honorable man, and they'd established a friendship of sorts, but the idea of building a close bond with him just didn't sit right. And she did not want to be part of his recovery. She had enough to deal with.
Although Jean had told Ray Townsend she didn't need his help often, he'd continued to show up nearly every day. His own place must be in disrepair, she thought. Poor Celeste must be swamped, what with working at the store and having to keep up the house.
Jean returned to her chair and her sewing. She'd worked at the store the last three days and had set aside today to catch up on chores. Rocking as she sewed, Jean thought over her work schedule. She'd been averaging five days a week at the store. Although the money was a real help, she just couldn't manage to do everything. With the household chores, the children's needs, gardening, and canning—it all seemed like too much.
The sound of splintering wood and thudding axe carried in from outside. “Well, we'll have plenty of firewood this winter,” she thought with a smile. Putting the last stitch in a starflower, she gently tied off the floss, folded the pillow slip, and laid it on her sewing basket. Returning to the window, she watched Ray. He split wood while Brian unloaded it from the truck. Susie stood watching, a basket of eggs in one hand. She swung the basket back and forth, and Jean knew it was only a matter of time before she spilled them. She hurried outside. “Susie, be careful with those eggs. You'll break them.”
Immediately the little girl stopped swinging the basket. “I'm being careful.”
“I know you mean to be,” Jean said, taking the basket.
Susie looked hurt. “I was going to bring them to you.”
“I'll hold them for now. When we go in, you can carry them.”
That seemed to satisfy the little girl, and she turned her attention to searching for bugs. Finally she skipped out to the field and picked flowers.
“Howdy,” Ray said, tipping his hat. “It's a beautiful morning, don't you think?”
“Yes, but a little chilly. Winter's not far off.”
“True,” Ray said jovially. “I saw a skim of ice on the puddles over at my place.” He set the head of the axe on the chopping block and leaned on the handle. Gazing at the distant forest in its full autumn dress, his eyes warmed. “Fall's my favorite season—cold air, the smell of burning wood and brush, and golden leaves.” He inhaled deeply, then looked at Brian. “But when I was a boy, March was my favorite time of year.”
“How come?”
“The sugaring was done then. The temperatures would warm up, and the sap started flowing.”
“What's sugaring?” Brian asked.
“In Massachusetts we'd plug sugar maples, drain the sap into buckets, and make maple syrup out of it. There's nothing like real maple syrup. I've got friends who send me some every year.” He smiled. “I guess the sugaring would be one of my best memories.”
“I thought you were from Montana,” Jean interjected.
“I am, but up until I was six or seven we lived in Massachusetts.”
“Mama, how come we never make syrup?” Brian asked.
“We don't have sugar maples.”
“I wish we did. I'd like to have a tree full of syrup.”
Ray Townsend chuckled. “Well, it's not that simple. It's hard work to make syrup. You got to boil down the sap, and I'll tell you, it takes a lot to make syrup. You got to cook most of the moisture out of it.” He picked up the axe. “We better get back to work.”
Brian returned to unloading wood, and Ray went back to splitting. Jean watched quietly. She'd hoped to dissuade Mr. Townsend from doing so much. When he picked up a chunk of pine, she said, “I wanted to talk to you about something.”
Ray looked at her. “You sound awfully serious. What is it?”
“Well, as I've told you before, you don't need to come by every day. We're getting along well on our own. And I know you have your own place to see to.”
“I'm keeping up at home fine.” Ray glanced around the farm. “Seems to me, there's lots to be done, more than Adam and Luke can handle. I'm strong and able, and I have the time. I'll be busier once hunting season starts. Then I'll have guiding trips. Folks from the outside are always wanting to hunt down a moose or caribou or something.”
Susie ran up with a handful of failing flowers. With a sweet smile she held them out to her mother. “Aren't these pretty?”
“Yes, beautiful. Thank you,” Jean said, taking the gift. “I'll put them in water right away. It'll be nice to have flowers in the house. They're almost done for the year.” She gazed at a distant potato field where Luke and Adam worked. “They're digging the last of the potatoes. It's hard to believe another summer's gone.” She looked at Ray. “Well, I'd better get back to work. I've got bread to bake, and the root cellar needs straw for those potatoes.”
“I'll take care of that when I'm finished here.”
“I thought you were going to work less.”
Ray grinned. “No. You just asked me to.”
Jean shrugged. “All right then. Suit yourself.” I can't reason with the man, she thought and turned to go.
“You're baking bread, huh? There's nothing like hot bread right out of the oven.”
The thought that maybe she ought to invite Mr. Townsend to dinner flitted through Jean's mind, but she quickly dismissed it. It wouldn't be right to encourage him. Flowers in hand, egg basket swaying from her arm, she headed for the house. “Brian, Susie, come on. You have inside chores to do.”
“Can't I stay and help Mr. Townsend?” Brian asked. “I already made my bed and picked up my room.”
Jean studied the boy. She didn't want him spending too much time with Ray Townsend. He'd already formed a bond with t
he man. It wasn't good. She was certain that Ray Townsend would disappear when he felt his obligation had been met, and Brian would be hurt.
“Please,” Brian pressed.
“OK, but I'd like you to clean the stalls when you're finished here.”
“All right,” Brian said, walking to the pickup and grabbing a chunk of birch.
When Jean removed her first three loaves of bread from the oven, Ray Townsend was still cutting wood. A large pile waited to be stacked. She stood at the window and watched. Resting the head of his axe on a chopping block, he leaned on the handle and wiped his forehead with the back of his shirtsleeve. He must be thirsty, she thought, filling a pitcher and glass with water, then carrying it outside. “Would you like a drink?”
“I could use one.” He downed the cold water, then held out the glass. “A refill?”
Jean poured more water into the glass.
This time Ray sipped.
“You've been working all morning. I thank you for your help, but—”
Ray lifted a hand, palm out. “I haven't changed my mind.”
“You're stubborn, Mr. Townsend.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“You're not responsible for us.”
He leveled serious eyes on Jean. “I wish that were true, but the more I think on it, the more certain I am that what happened was my fault. I should have made sure Will was teamed up with another man, and I should have forced him to leave me when that bear came at us.” He glanced at Luke and Adam working in the distant field. “I am responsible, and I'll see to it that this family's taken care of.”
Jean knew she couldn't dissuade him. She'd have to get used to having him around. “If that's how you feel, I guess I can't stop you. But you give God too little credit. He promises not to forsake us, and I believe he'll see us through this difficult time.”
A smile touched Ray's lips. “And what if I'm his instrument of help?”
Jean was taken aback. She fumbled for something to say and finally mumbled, “I …I guess I hadn't thought of that.” She glanced at Susie, who was jumping back and forth over the threshold of the back door.
His voice serious, Ray said, “I'm learning to listen to God. I'm not real good at it yet, but I know I'm supposed to help you. In the past I've pretty much done things my own way and didn't listen much to God, but I'm changing.”
Jean didn't know how to respond, so she said nothing.
“If I keep on reading my Bible and doing what God says, I figure maybe one day I'll be less bullheaded and more like Will.”
Jean had to smile. “I'll admit I have seen you throw your weight around a time or two.” More seriously, she added, “I used to pray for you—before Will. I guess God was listening.” She glanced at her hands. “I've been remiss in my prayers lately; I'll get back to it. But you need to be just who you are. You can't be someone else and still be who God wants.”
“I know, but I figure I can be a better me.” He looked at the ground. “I was better when I had Ellie.”
The heartache and loneliness in his voice pulled at Jean, and before she could stop herself, she asked, “Would you like to have supper with us? We have plenty of food. I'm roasting a salmon, the one you brought by a few days ago. There'll be fresh string beans and, of course, bread.”
Ray's eyes lit up. “I'd like that. Celeste isn't going to be home tonight, so I won't be missed.”
“All right then. Well, I better get back to work.” Jean started for the house, then stopped and asked, “Would you like lunch? I'm going to make some for me and the children—just sandwiches.”
“Thanks. I am hungry.”
With the baking finished and dinner cooking, Jean went to work on an apple pie. She hummed as she rolled out the crust. It felt good to be cooking for a man, even if it was Ray Townsend.
She pressed the crust into a pie plate, dumped in sweetened spiced apples, dotted them with butter, and laid the second crust on top, sealing the edges. After piercing the crust with a fork, she sprinkled sugar on top and placed it on the stove. Removing the salmon and setting it in the warmer, she slid the pie into the oven.
A knock sounded at the back door, and Laurel stepped in. “Hi.” She gave her mother a hug and kiss. “Mmm. Smells good.” She looked at the table set with five places. “Who's coming for supper?”
“Mr. Townsend.”
“Ray Townsend? Is the pie for him?”
“Course not,” Jean said, removing the lid from the string beans and stirring them. “I just felt like making one, and he happens to be here.”
“He's always here.”
Jean glanced out the window toward the barn. She sighed. “I just couldn't let him keep working and working and not feed him. I asked him not to do so much, but he insists. He's stubborn.”
“Do you think he feels guilty?”
“Yes, and more.” She focused on her daughter. “So, you here to pick up Adam?”
“Yes, but I brought you something.” Laurel proudly held out a jar. “Rhubarb sauce. It's my first try at canning it on my own. I thought you ought to have some. Jessie gave me the rhubarb.”
Jean took the jar of sweetened red and green vegetables. “It looks wonderful! Beautiful color. Thank you.” She set the jar on the counter. “So, how's the work coming on Jessie's book?”
“Fine. We're nearly through all her husband's notes. We had boxes and boxes to go through. When we're finished with those, we can actually start on the book. I just wish we had more time to work. And once the baby comes… well, you know how it is. I won't have time for anything else.”
Laurel headed for the door. “I better get Adam home. I've still got supper to cook. Looks like yours is almost done.”
“Don't run off. We have plenty. Join us.”
“Normally I'd say yes, but to tell you the truth, I don't want to be at the same table with Luke and Ray Townsend.” She gave her mother a wry smile and left.
Jean contemplated dinner with Ray and Luke. I shouldn't have asked him.
With the sun's last rays slanting through the window, Jean, Brian, Susie, Luke, and Ray sat down to dinner. As expected, Luke was sullen. He didn't even try to mask his hostility.
“Shall we say grace,” Jean said, folding her hands.
“Hey, can Mr. Townsend say it?” Brian asked.
Jean shrugged. “Mr. Townsend?”
“Sure,” he said, then looking slightly flustered, Ray bowed his head. “Dear Lord, I thank you for this food and fine company. I ask that you guide our steps in the days to come. Amen.” He looked up, his face flushed.
Food was passed around the table. Ray lifted two chunks of salmon off a platter. “Sure looks good. Thanks for inviting me.”
“After all the work you do around here, it's the least I can do.” Jean spooned out a serving of beans for herself and Susie. “You said Celeste was going out tonight?”
“Yeah. She and Robert are going to the movies.”
“A Laurel and Hardy movie is playing,” Brian said. “They're funny. I wish I could go. Can I?”
“Not tonight,” Jean said.
Brian's mouth turned down in a momentary pout, then he said, “I saw Robert and Celeste holding hands.”
“What Robert and Celeste do is none of our business,” Jean said. “Now, eat.”
Ray took a bite of buttered bread. “They're seeing a lot of each other. I've been wondering what's going to come of it.” He glanced at his bread. “This is good. Celeste should get your recipe.” He took another bite, then leaning his forearms on the table, he looked at Luke. “I'll be taking a trip up into the mountains soon to hunt sheep. Would you like to come along?”
Luke glared at him. “Hunting with you? No thanks. I'm not ready to become bear fodder.” A pained expression flickered across Ray's face.
Jean couldn't believe Luke's cruel words. If he'd been sitting closer, she might have slapped him. “Luke!”
Pushing back his chair in such a hurry it tipped over, he stormed out of the
room.
“Luke!” Jean repeated. He didn't respond. “Luke.” She could hear him tramp up the stairs and slam his door.
“I'm so sorry,” Jean said. “He's not usually like this.”
“Don't apologize,” Ray said, righting the chair. “I understand why he hates me. I suppose he's entitled to.”
“No, he isn't,” Brian said. “He makes me so mad. You're nice, Mr. Townsend. What's wrong with him anyway?” Pouting, Brian propped his chin in his hands.
Ray set his fork on his plate. “Don't be mad at your brother. All this is real hard on him. He's mad at me—rightfully so. I did some bad things.”
“Yeah, but you said you were sorry. And I know you didn't mean for Daddy to die.” Brian was crying now.
Susie looked up through blonde curls, her blue eyes wide. “I like you, Mr. Townsend. I'm glad you're here.”
Ray smiled at the little girl. “Thank you. I'm glad to be here.”
After that the meal turned quiet, and Ray quickly excused himself after he finished eating. “Better get on home. The cow will be hollering at me to milk her. Thanks again for the supper. It was delicious.” He hurried out.
As soon as his truck lights headed down the driveway, Jean went upstairs to Luke's room. She was angry. She rapped on the door and stepped in before Luke could answer
Luke, who'd been lying on his bed, sat up.
“What do you think you're doing?” Jean started in. “How dare you act that way! You've no right to treat a guest in our house like that!”
“No right? He killed my father, and he's smooth talking my mother! I can't believe you invited him.” He grabbed a baseball off his bed stand and tossed it into the air several times. Catching the ball and holding it, he continued, “And that pie—it was for him, wasn't it?”
“For him? No. It was for us.”
Ignoring his mother, Luke continued, “He's traipsing in here, trying to take over our lives and our farm.”
“He's doing no such thing!” Jean folded her arms over her chest. “He's simply a neighbor helping us in our time of need. And we are in need.” Jean fought to quiet her temper. “I know he was cruel to us and others, but that's all in the past now. He wants to make amends. And whether you like it or not, we need his help. There's too much for you and Adam to do. Adam has his own place to tend to; he can't spend all his time here. We should be grateful for Mr. Townsend's help.”
