Maude would never forget that day. Harry didn’t come back from a Saturday trip to town, and when dark fell, his grandparents got worried. Jamie hitched up the team and went off to look for his brother with his grandparents and Maude riding shotgun. When they found Harry, in the park below the Central School in town, he lay unconscious and didn’t respond. Even after they hauled him to see a local doctor, he didn’t regain consciousness for hours. His left eye had been too bruised and black to open, his face battered, and his torso dark with bruises. Harry’s left leg had been snapped below the knee and he’d suffered a concussion. They’d sat by his bedside at Dr. Bascomb’s house until he roused after midnight. He healed slow but came home, enduring the rough wagon ride, in a week. During his recovery he said little, but Maude came over every day when she finished her work at Aunt Mary’s and stayed till dark. Jamie tended his brother with what seemed like affection but by the time Harry could hobble around with a crutch, Jamie’s warmth turned cold. As far as Maude knew, he’d died with a grudge against Harry and she couldn’t fathom why. “I remember,” she said.
His hand tightened around hers. “I know you do but you never heard the whole story, and I’m going to tell you now. Did you ever know why the Joneses whupped me?”
She didn’t. “No, but they’re bad to the bone, always have been, trouble brewing.”
Harry laughed but without mirth. “I know it and if I hadn’t been a danged fool, none of it would’ve happened.”
“What do you mean?”
He snorted. “That Saturday I went to town, rode the mule. I hung around the square, bought some penny candy, and talked to some teamsters. Some fellas were playing baseball on an empty lot way out on the west side of town, and I joined in for a while. The Joneses showed up and the game fell apart. Most everybody left but I hung around. I ended up heading back downtown with them and found out they meant to rob Ratliff’s, the big farm wholesale house, when it closed. I tried to talk them out of it but they wouldn’t listen.”
When he paused, Maude could tell how agitated remembering made him but she wanted to hear the rest of the story. “And what happened after that?”
“I shoulda parted ways but didn’t. Instead, like an idiot I tried to talk them out of the idea. Guess I thought I could make a difference. They cuffed me a little, told me I’d go along with it or else. I said I’d go to the sheriff and would’ve but they beat me instead. I didn’t know a blessed thing until I come around hours later with you and the folks all there.”
Maude still failed to understand. “So why did you leave? You weren’t afraid of them, were you?”
“Naw, not me,” Harry said. “One on one I could take ‘em, then or now. No, it’s what happened later on. See, after I got back home and started to heal, Jamie went to town. He had some cockamamie notion he’d settle the score or something. At the least he wanted to know what happened, and I wasn’t saying much by then. Felt too bad, for one. So Jamie headed out like a knight from a storybook to avenge the family honor or some such. Instead he caught up to the Jones brothers, Dick, Delbert, and Douglas, over at the mercantile. And they acted sweeter than molasses and told him a pack of lies.”
“Like what?”
Harry shrugged. “Oh, they told Jamie I’d been in on the robbery, said we’d all robbed places together before and never got caught. They may have, but not me. Said we got into an argument over who’d get the biggest share of money and claimed I wanted it. Dick told Jamie I’d started the fisticuffs and he believed it all.”
Stunned, Maude couldn’t imagine why Jamie would believe such nonsense. “That’s plumb crazy. You’d never rob anyone. I know that.”
He offered her a small smile and squeezed her hand. “Thanks, Maudie. At least you got some faith in me.”
“Didn’t Jamie?”
“At first I guess he did,” Harry said. His voice sounded as mournful as a lonesome wind sweeping under the eaves of the house. “But Miss Fannie Farnsworth changed his mind.”
She knew Fannie and loathed her. Miss Farnsworth attended the high school in town during the brief time Maude had. The prissy, selfish girl boasted a head full of blonde ringlets and an attitude larger than the open skies. Raised what passed as wealthy in a small country town, Fannie minced through life in high-button shoes and the finest clothes her lawyer daddy could buy. She adopted manners suitable to nobility and looked down through her half-crossed eyes on almost everyone, including Maude. Country girls, Fannie liked to say, weren’t worth her notice or time. Maude quit high school before her second year was out, but Fannie graduated as the valedictorian of the twenty-five member class. Just because she smelled of rose sachet powder and batted her eyelashes at every male over the age of ten, a lot of men adored Miss Fannie. Harry hadn’t but Jamie found her pretty. He’d always tipped his hat when he met her on the street and often offered a compliment while Maude seethed.
“How?” Maude demanded, perturbed at the thought of Fannie.
Harry sighed. “She sashayed into the mercantile store like she owned the place, overhead what the Joneses said, and stepped forward to say it was all true. Lied outright and said she’d seen the whole thing, heard me saying I’d take the loot and all. And my brother believed her.”
It made sense and fit the way the truth usually did, but Maude didn’t like it. Now she understood why Jamie turned against his brother, treated him like a hooligan, and all but disowned him. What she couldn’t grasp was why he’d believe Fannie’s fairy tales. She digested the unpleasant information and remained silent, pondering it for so long Harry frowned.
“Maudie, you don’t believe it, do you?”
She raised her head. “No, I don’t believe a smidgen of it, not one bit. And I don’t understand why Jamie did. That’s why you left?”
He nodded, his fingers twining between hers, although Maude doubted he was aware. “Yes. I couldn’t bear the way Jamie looked at me and I worried you saw me the same way. I didn’t want to wait until you glared at me the way he did or accused me of taking things around the farm.”
Jamie’d done a lot she didn’t agree with, but accusing his brother of theft went beyond anything she’d expected. “He did?”
“Yeah, he did, once or twice. Granpa chewed on him about it but he didn’t quit accusing me.”
If Harry’d just come to her and talked about it, things would’ve gone different. Maude shook her head. “I wish you’d told me, Harry.”
“I shoulda,” he said. On impulse she scooted down closer to him and sat so their shoulders touched, hands still locked together. After a few moments, Maude realized she still didn’t know why he’d moved out beyond propriety’s sake. “So why’d you move to the cabin then? I still don’t understand.”
“Aw, Maudie,” Harry said. “It’s like this, see, Douglas Jones died last spring, in France. Ever since, Dick and Delbert are loaded for bear, looking for trouble. For six months or so now, they devil me every time I go to town. Stupid little things, trying to trip me, stepping in front of me, rude comments behind my back but I’ve been ignoring it. They want to get a rise out of me so they can try to get me in trouble somehow, I know it.”
She hadn’t realized but Maude still failed to grasp his meaning. “And?”
He blew air between his lips like a horse and sighed. “Maude, they say some pretty unkind things ‘bout you and me. It’s the kind of talk can ruin a woman’s reputation. I figured if I stayed here with Granpa and Jamie dead, Granny in town, there’d be gossip, so I moved to the cabin.”
“Has it stopped them from flapping their mouths?”
Harry frowned. “No, it ain’t. They’ve been worse than ever, even yesterday with all the talk about the armistice.”
Maude resisted an urge to lay her head against Harry’s shoulder, the way she once had. Her mind ran faster than the hands on a clock as she pondered everything. It might take awhile to wrap her head around all of it, but she didn’t see why Harry’s self-imposed exile to the cabin was necessary. She
thought about the deep woods surrounding the farmhouse, the old trees stretching high above the hills and hollows, and the distance to any neighbors. The solitary nights and absolute blackness after dark, the critters who roamed the rugged hills, and the lonesome winds sweeping over the wilderness reminded her how isolated and alone she lived.
“No one knows where you sleep,” she said after a pause. “And even though you go to the cabin every night, wagging tongues can say otherwise and who would know?”
“I reckon no one, much,” Harry said. “What’re you sayin’?”
A smile teased her lips until she let it out, full and broad. “I’m sayin’ you might as well come home, Harry, here to the house. God knows, it’s lonely with just me and George. He’d like you being here and truth is so would I.”
He said nothing and from his stark profile she thought he’d refuse. To coax him, Maude added, “You’d take meals with us and with winter comin’ on, it’d make things easier for you and for me.”
Emotion cracked his voice when he answered. “I’ll stay tonight and move back, then, Maudie. I can’t help but admit it’s good for a man’s soul to have some company and some warm food to feed my belly. Thanks.”
“There’s no need to thank me,” she said. “It’s your home as much as mine.”
Harry smiled a sweet grin. The expression removed at least five years from his age. “Can’t argue that,” he said. “I’ve lived here since I was five years old, except for the time up in Kansas City. And Maude?”
“Yes?”
“I’ll do right by you,” he said, his voice earnest with feeling. “I won’t take advantage.”
She might like it if he did but Maude understood. He respected her. “I know,” she replied softly. “I’m glad you’re home, Harry.”
Unseen, unspoken, a powerful emotion surged between them and resonated, almost strong enough to touch. All the affection Maude held for Harry welled up and she struggled to contain it. They’d lived in one household for a long time and managed. Whatever happened now, she wouldn’t force. He released her hand but his fingers paused to stroke her cheek in a brief caress. “Looks like the fire needs feeding,” he said. He rose and stirred the embers, then added another log. The flames danced and their light illuminated Harry as he knelt before the hearth.
I love him, in every way a woman loves a man. She’d never stopped, and all she felt surpassed anything she’d felt for Jamie. Maude mourned his passing but she knew now how much more she’d grieve if it’d been Harry, not his brother who died in France. Some of the strain of recent weeks lifted and a little bubble of happiness expanded within. Harry’s presence tempered the bone-numbing loneliness and offered comfort.
Anything else would be welcome, and if it came she’d know joy, deep and abiding.
Chapter Three
Maude settled into the new routine, an echo of the old, with ease. She missed Granny and Granpa but Harry’s presence restored some sense of family. George thrived in his uncle’s presence, and within days the little boy toddled after Harry as he did chores. Harry let the child ride in front of him on the old mare and took him along everywhere except town. She found some old breeches from Jamie or Harry’s childhood and cut them down to size for George, some shirts too.
Maude’s uncle stopped by late one afternoon and said the influenza still spread. “It’s bad,” he told Maude over a cup of coffee. “Worst I’ve seen it in years. I’ve seen typhoid epidemics and smallpox too, but never a sickness takin’ so many, so fast. You’d do well to keep home till it passes.”
“That’s what Harry said,” Maude replied. Uncle Tommy met Harry outside and they’d talked. If he thought she did wrong by sharing a house with her brother-in-law, he hadn’t said so. As if he’d read her mind, Tommy said, “It’s good to have Harry here. You need a man around the house. Mary and I worried ‘bout you being here alone with just the baby.”
“It’s a comfort,” she said. “Did you want a piece of cornbread? I’ve got fresh butter made and honey.”
The older man waved his hand. “No, girl, but thank you. I need to head back to the house ‘fore the old woman starts lookin’ for me. Y’all have a fine Thanksgiving. I’ll stop by when I’m over this way.”
She hugged him before he left, then fried the sausage he’d brought over. The rich aroma of frying pork filled the kitchen. When Harry came in with George in tow, he sniffed the air. “Something smells mighty fine.”
“Uncle Tommy killed a hog and brought me some of his sausage,” Maude said. “I fried up some ‘taters with it for supper tonight.”
“We’re hungry,” Harry said as he lifted the boy up to the sink. He perched George on the edge while he pumped water, and both scrubbed their hands with lye soap. Maude made a mental note she needed to make more soon. “Its hard work fixing fence but we got her done.”
“Done!” George chimed. Maude laughed and dried his hands on a clean bit of towel. She placed him at the table and turned back to the stove. As she turned to put the platter of sausage on the table, she glimpsed Harry wince and rub his temple after he sat down. Her mind filled with her uncle’s talk of sickness spread alarm through her body. Without thinking, she put one hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Don’t you feel well?”
When he raised his head to answer, Maude noticed he seemed pale and on instinct she folded her fingers against his forehead. He recognized the gesture and offered a half-smile. “I ain’t got any fever,” he said. “It’s just one of the headaches I’ve got once in a while, ever since I had my head thumped. I’m fine, honey, and it’s not the influenza.”
Although his skin remained cool to her touch, she couldn’t help but worry. His casual endearment, though, infused her with a quiet pleasure. “Are you sure?” she asked, her hand still resting on his shoulder.
“Yeah,” he said. “I get headaches like this when I’m tired or the sunlight’s strong. It’s cold out but bright. C’mon, you’re getting George worried. Let’s say grace and eat.”
Although the snow from Sunday didn’t last long, the frigid weather lingered and the sun’s brilliance burst through the bare branches. Maude hesitated and then sat down across from Harry. The three linked hands and she spoke a simple blessing. The fresh sausage melted on her tongue with a burst of sage, pepper, and other seasonings. She wasn’t sure what all Uncle Tommy put in his mixture but the results were delicious. The fried potatoes turned out crisp, and Maude grew less anxious as she ate. Harry ate two helpings of both. He finished his meal with a hunk of cornbread in a bowl with milk, and George did too.
Maude dosed Harry with some aspirin she kept hidden on the top shelf out of George’s reach, and when she came into the front room after she’d put things back in order, he sat in an easy chair he’d dragged up to the fireplace. His feet rested on the worn-out old hassock and Harry’s eyes were half-closed. George curled up sound asleep on the sofa. A day out on the farm, helping with the work in the crisp air wore him out, Maude thought. I reckon he was a handful for Harry to mind. At almost a year old, her son reminded her of a dust devil, whirling and spinning in any and every direction. His curiosity often put him in places he didn’t need to be, and brighter than a shiny new penny, he spoke single words often. She draped George’s baby quilt over him and tucked it tight around his shoulders. Then she knelt at Harry’s feet and untied the broken strings of his brogans. Maude removed them and put them aside. Harry’s big toe poked through a large hole in one sock and the heel of the other needed darning. He stirred without waking and settled back into a sound sleep, his breath even and slow. She brushed her knuckles against his cheek and on impulse she kissed his forehead, not like a lover but the way she did George each night.
With the fire providing the sole light in the room, shadows loomed black and large. Maude lit the oil lamp on the mantle and carried it over to the table beside the other armchair. She picked up the novel she’d been reading, Kilmeny of the Orchard, written by LM Montgomery, and began where she’d left off. With no soun
d save the soft whisper of the flames, the easy breathing from the two males, and a few snores from Harry, Maude unwound. She lost herself in the story and in time dozed off too. And somewhere she shifted from Kilmeny’s world into dreams. Although she couldn’t remember, she woke with a start and a sense of something pleasant.
“Wake up, sleepyhead,” Harry’s voice said. Maude blinked her eyes open. He stood in front of her. “It’s late. You should go up to bed.”
He stretched out his hands and she put a ribbon into the book to mark her place. Then Maude let him pull her to her feet. Her oil lamp no longer burned and the fire had been banked for the night. A damp cold seeped into the room and she shuddered with a momentary chill. Her maternal instinct kicked in and she started toward the chair where George had been, but it was empty. “I already took the boy up to bed,” Harry said.
“I need to change him out of his clothes,” she protested.
Harry shook his head. “I stripped him down to his union suit and tucked him in. He’s fast asleep.”
As she roused, she recalled his headache. “How do you feel?” she asked, although he looked well.
“I’m just fine,” he said. “Told you I would be, Maudie, all I needed was a bit of rest. You must’ve been tired too.”
“No more than usual,” she said. Maude couldn’t recall the last time she’d fallen asleep downstairs. It hadn’t happened during the time she’d spent alone here with George. She’d never relaxed enough until now.
Although dark, she caught the flash of his smile as he grinned. “I near about carried you up to bed,” he said. “But I thought you might wake up screaming or wonder how you got there so I didn’t.”
Another shiver, this one sensual, passed through her body. Although both she and Harry still wore their day clothing, Maude imagined the warmth of his flesh so close to hers. When courting, they’d spooned many times and she remembered well the feel of his arms around her. But as Jamie’s wife, she’d learned what men did beneath the covers and although she’d found some pleasure in the marital bed, Maude sometimes had shut her eyes and dreamed of Harry. Their hands were still linked from when he helped her up, and heat leapt between them as if kindled by her thoughts. Mark her wanton but she wanted him to kiss her, needed his lips to touch hers with passion, ached for his arms to hold her tight. Maude yearned for his work-worn hands to caress her body, to reveal to him all of herself. This isn’t why I wanted him to move back, it isn’t. I just wanted company. And I missed him. Even as she thought it, Maude recognized the lie. She desired Harry—in every way.
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