“Why?”
“See there?” He pointed to several spots bare of corn, but teeming with healthy weeds. “Sometimes he was so drunk when he planted, he missed entire sections of his field. I doubt he’ll harvest enough to make it through winter without help.”
Ann’s heart ached for the two raven-haired children she’d seen playing with James on Sunday. Both had gorged themselves each time as if it was their only decent meal in a week. “The family—they’ll have enough to eat, won’t they?”
James sighed. “Right now the children aren’t neglected, but just barely.”
“Do you ever visit them?”
“I tried once. Even had some food with me. Hal saw me coming and waved me off with his shotgun. He’ll only accept Margaret Ludlow’s charity. The rest of us keep our distance.”
“I hope they aren’t too hungry.”
“They’re alright. If the time comes when people in this town think Hal can’t care for them, they’ll go to Judge Vollrath.”
Ann’s heart quickened. “The judge wouldn’t send them to an orphanage?”
James must have sensed her panic. He placed a warm hand on her shoulder.
“The children will be fine. I heard they have family in Pittsburgh.”
“What about Mr. Schneider? Can’t someone talk to him?”
“You can’t make a grown man take responsibility. All we can do is pray he wakes up and realizes his wife isn’t at the bottom of a bottle.”
James’s voice was hard but matter-of-fact. Ann still knew so little about James, but matter-of-fact seemed a good way to describe how he saw most situations. Find a problem—fix it. Need work done on a farm? Get an ugly wife.
They took a break for lunch, and then returned to the fields.
Halfway down the next row, James stopped.
“What’s wrong?” Ann asked.
“Nothing’s wrong. In fact, I hate to admit it, but I think having you work behind me is slowing you down. I can tell you’re waiting on me.”
Ann shrugged and bit back a smirk. She couldn’t lie. Weeding was an easy day’s work compared to many of the tasks she’d done for years.
James shook his sandy head and chuckled.
“You’d be fifty yards ahead of me if I let you go on ahead, wouldn’t you?”
Ann couldn’t suppress her smile.
“Fifty yards at least. Perhaps one hundred.”
James snorted. “That’s what I thought. Why don’t you move on ahead at your own pace?”
Ann hesitated.
“Might I work over there?”
She pointed to the westernmost point of the field. She enjoyed working near James, which was exactly why she knew she shouldn’t any longer. Her heart wasn’t safe. Taut muscles on his back moved with every thrust of the hoe, and she pictured his strong forearms wrapped around her once more. It drove her to distraction.
James raised a brow. “Of course.”
Ann shook the dust from her skirts and strode toward the edge of the property. She didn’t stop until she reached the wooden fence separating McCann land from Hal Schneider’s, and a clump of trees in the middle of the field blocked her view of James. Better not to be tempted to look back and admire him as he moved through his field.
The Schneider house was close, but it looked no more inviting than it had from the road. All the shades were drawn and no signs of life stirred. A vision of Sadie Schneider sitting on James’s shoulders flashed before her. Ann’s stomach tightened. The fence separating the two fields was little more than a property marker. She had no trouble climbing over.
Now on Schneider land, she looked back toward James to see if he’d witnessed her trespass. A voice from behind startled her.
“What are you doing in my field?”
Ann’s heart raced, and her legs itched to run. The voice belonged to a child, but the sharp shadow cast over her included the silhouette of something long and lean in the boy’s hands.
Surely a child wouldn’t shoot me.
She’d heard stories of wildness and violence in America, but had yet to see a hint of it. Today might be the first.
“What are you doing in my field?” The voice was insistent now, and when the shadow stomped his foot it sent up a billow of dust over her skirts.
“Please put the gun down.” She tried to keep her voice steady, but it quavered.
“Gun?” The shadow moved toward her and a child’s laugh moved with it. “Ma’am, I don’t have any gun.”
Ann turned by inches. The child stood barefoot and clad only in a dirty pair of overalls with no shirt beneath. She laughed out loud in relief at the object in his hand. Nothing more than one half of a pair of stilts.
“I’m sorry.” She pointed to the crudely made stilt. “I thought you had a gun.” Ann’s heart slowed. “So silly of me. Of course you wouldn’t have a gun. You’re just a child.”
The boy cocked his head to one side. “My gun’s in the house,” he stated matter-of-factly.
“Oh,” she croaked.
“What are you doing on my Pa’s land?”
“I’m staying next door. I’m Miss—”
“Miss Cromwell. I know who you are. Mr. McCann sent away for you ’cause he doesn’t have time for nonsense.”
“I—I’m sorry. Nonsense?”
“You know. Courtin’ nonsense. Daddy says Mr. McCann’s the only sane man in the county. Instead of courtin’ he just wrote a letter and they sent him a wife.”
She giggled at the boy’s surprisingly accurate version of events. “I think I’ve seen you at church on Sunday. Are you George?”
The boy straightened his shoulders. “Yes, ma’am. George Schneider.”
“How old are you, George?” She knew this was every child’s favorite question.
“Seven. I’ll be eight before Christmas.”
“Very nice to meet you.”
“So what are you doing in our field?”
She hesitated. Anything she told this child would surely make it back to his father’s ears. “I came to meet you,” she answered finally.
George’s face broke out in a grin that framed his missing front teeth. “Really?”
“Yes. I saw you and Sadie at church and have been meaning to introduce myself.”
“Sadie’s in there.” The boy pointed to a curtained window. A slender hand poked through the fabric and mustered a timid wave. “Pa’s still asleep.”
She seized the opportunity. “Then I’d better get going. I wouldn’t want to wake him.”
George shrugged. “You can’t wake Pa. We’ve tried.”
Her stomach quivered. “You can’t wake your father?”
“Not without a big cup o’ cold water, and why would I do that? I’m not keen on a whippin’.”
An uneasy feeling gripped her middle. “Who looks after you while your father sleeps?”
George cocked his brow. “Why would I need lookin’ after?”
Ann’s thoughts turned to the dozens of children at the orphanage. All had needed help with their hair, their clothes and their washing. And all before breakfast. At the time she’d found each task to be agony. Each child’s face reminded her so much of the baby she’d had no choice but to forget. But now, with George staring up at her through a heavy shock of tangled, dirty hair, something tugged at her heart.
“Are you hungry, George?”
The boy shrugged. “I don’t know.” He rubbed his stomach.
“Would you like me to bring you something to eat?”
His eyes lit up before he frowned and looked at the ground. “Sadie might be hungry. I’m fine,” he said and kicked at the dirt.
“Wonderful. I’ll be right back with something.”
She returned to the fence
line with the last of the cherry cobbler and a bottle of fresh milk. George was waiting where she’d left him, and Sadie had joined him. She too had a stilt, and Ann laughed out loud to see how charmingly the set had been reunited. Each child perched on their own stilt, and they remained aloft by wrapping their free arms around one another. When Ann held out the food, the children jumped from the stilts and ran at her at full tilt.
Both children ate as if they were starving, shoving cobbler into their mouths and gulping great mouthfuls of milk. Soon the food was gone. Sadie wrapped her arms around Ann’s waist and squeezed tight.
“Will you bring us more?”
Ann crouched down so she was nose to nose with the girl.
“I’d be happy to.”
“Pa doesn’t like us to have visitors. Says no one should be trespassing. Doesn’t like charity neither,” George interjected.
Ann paused to consider how to address his concern. She remembered Delia’s mother.
“Doesn’t Mrs. Ludlow come to visit? And she brings you things, doesn’t she?” Surely the woman who had been so quick to offer an apple to a complete stranger would bring food along when visiting these poor, neglected children.
“Sometimes, but she’s been gone awhile. Won’t be back another week or two, I think.”
“And I’m here now, and it’s alright.”
The little boy’s shoulders stiffened.
“Probably shouldn’t be here, but Pa drank from his dark bottle this morning. He won’t be up for hours.”
Pity clawed at Ann’s heart.
“How about this? I’ll leave a pail for you every morning in the shade by this fence post with something to eat inside. I won’t step on your land, so it won’t be trespassing, and it’s not charity either. Simply a gift from one neighbor to another.” Her lack of cooking skills would limit the offerings, but judging by how quickly they’d eaten, Ann guessed the children wouldn’t turn their noses up at hard-boiled eggs and vegetables from James’s garden.
George screwed up his mouth in a thoughtful expression. “Sounds alright to me.”
“Splendid!”
Ann said her goodbyes to the children and climbed back over the fence. For the rest of the afternoon and evening, her thoughts were consumed with only one thing.
What would become of these children?
Chapter Eleven
James studied Ann over their supper of fried potatoes and salt pork. She’d spent over two weeks weeding the entirety of the fields with him without complaint and looked more beautiful every day, as if hard work itself fed her body and soul. But something was wrong tonight. Melancholy languished behind her usually bright eyes. She speared a potato and swirled it about her plate.
“You look worried,” he commented.
“I have much weighing on my mind.”
“It’ll all be sorted out in the end. Mrs. Turner will see to it.”
“It’s not that.” She added a slice of pork to her fork but still didn’t bring it to her mouth. “I was thinking of the Schneiders. Of George and Sadie.”
James exhaled. “They’re easy to worry about.”
His hand rested on the table across from hers. It itched to move forward.
“Is that all?”
She pursed her rosebud lips. “I’m anxious over finishing the wedding lace. Last week, Priscilla requested additions that will take longer than I originally anticipated. I’m also worried Mrs. Williams will never sell one of my handkerchiefs and...”
She paused and the creases on her forehead deepened. Why was she always so concerned about money? He could only guess how wealthy she’d find herself soon enough.
“Go on.”
“I worry I’m becoming more and more of a burden. You’ve boarded me for several weeks, and still no word from Mrs. Turner. I’m sure you’re growing quite tired of me.”
His heart leaped, and his hand slid over the worn wooden surface of the oak table to grasp her fingers.
“You aren’t a burden. In fact, I’ve been feeling guilty, working you so hard. When you leave, I’ll likely owe you wages for labor.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re winding me up.”
Did she mean he was teasing her? For once, he wasn’t. “I’m being serious.”
“So am I.”
His grip tightened. “I’m not sorry I met you. Only that all of this ever happened—to you, I mean. I wish you’d been matched to the right person from the beginning so you could already be living the fine life you deserve.”
She forced a smile. “And I wish the same for you. I imagine you’d like to move on with your life. Move on with building your family.”
His chest tightened. His plain match—how could he forget her so easily? He never forgot the world held a better match for Ann.
“Mrs. Turner’s reply will come, and soon after you’ll be in some opulent house, making needle lace as a hobby.”
Ann laughed. It sounded forced. “And my servants will prepare the meals.”
He laughed and released her hand. He had to remember she wasn’t meant for him. Emptiness welled in his chest.
“The eggs. Don’t forget about the eggs,” he added.
“Yes, of course. No one will ever be forced to eat any of my cooking again.”
“Now, now. It isn’t all bad. I told you I’m growing fond of your coffee.”
A door upstairs creaked open, and Uncle Mac appeared a few moments later.
“Coffee... Porch.” His tone was resolute.
James winked at Ann.
“See? I’m not the only one. Uncle Mac used to drink coffee on the porch after dinner almost every night.”
He turned to his uncle. “Why don’t you persuade Ann to get the coffee started, and I’ll get the old rocking chairs?”
Ten minutes later, Ann and Uncle Mac joined him on the front porch with a tray and coffeepot.
“Got these out of the shed. We used to keep them here all the time.” He gestured to the high-back wooden rockers that had seen better days. “Once Uncle Mac decided he liked the company of books more than me, I put them away. I never felt like sitting on the porch alone.” He’d kept the porch swing well oiled in case Uncle Mac changed his mind, but the bench seat felt too intimate for Ann and James to share.
As if on cue, Uncle Mac took his cup of coffee and stepped off the porch and shuffled toward the barnyard.
“Figures.” He snorted. “At least he made it outside today.”
James took a seat, and Ann fixed him a cup of coffee before sitting beside him.
“If I may ask, when exactly did your parents pass away?” she asked.
James took a long draft of the strong liquid. His chest still tightened to think of them.
“Five years ago this December.”
“Were they ill?”
He nodded. “It was very sudden. A fever swept through this whole area.”
“Did you become ill?”
James bent his head and looked into his coffee cup. “No, I wasn’t here.”
“You weren’t?” Her eyes widened in surprise.
“I was away at medical school in Columbus.”
She stared at him, her mouth agape. He knew she’d never have thought him capable of such a thing.
“You don’t believe me?”
Ann closed her mouth and cocked her head to one side. “No, I do believe you. You would have made a fine doctor.”
He raked a hand through his hair. “Why do you say that?”
She dipped her head down and gazed into her cup. “The way you were with me that first day when I burned my hand. I’ve not known many doctors in my life, but they were all rather brusque. All business with no regard for the patient. You were so...gentle.”
James�
��s cheeks flamed at the memory, and her recollection of it.
“Did you ever finish?”
Regret doused James’s embarrassment. “I made it halfway through.”
“Did you return because your parents died?”
“Not right away. Uncle Mac came at first. He owned a small farm a few miles from here. He sold it and took over things so I could stay at school.”
“What happened?”
James waved his hand toward the barnyard. “Uncle Mac’s problems happened. At first it was letters from neighbors, commenting about how he never came to visit them anymore. Then Doc Henderson said Uncle Mac had a hard time finding the right words in a conversation. Still, I ignored the signs for as long as I could.” His voice cracked and he coughed to disguise it.
“It must have been hard to come back.”
“Medical school was something I’d looked forward to all my life. Leaving was almost as hard as losing my parents.”
James surveyed Ann’s exquisite face. So like Emily’s. Only Ann’s face creased with worry and concern, not disappointment and disgust.
“If I hadn’t returned, the farm would have been sold. My father worked so hard to clear this land. I knew I could never let that happen,” he added.
“I’m sorry you’ve been working alone so long.”
James shook his head from side to side and laughed. “Funny thing is, when I left school I didn’t think I was coming back here to do this all by myself.”
Ann cocked her head at him. “You didn’t?”
James shrugged. Why was he telling her this?
“I thought I’d be bringing my wife home with me from Columbus.”
“Your wife?” The coffee cup danced from Ann’s hands. She fumbled for it and caught it an inch from the ground. “You were married?”
James’s heart skipped a beat and he waved his hands back and forth. Why was he always saying the wrong thing in her presence? “No, no. That’s not what I meant. I courted a girl who I thought would return with me to the farm as my wife.”
A Mistaken Match Page 12
