Three
“You what?!”
“Now, Magpie – ”
“Don’t you now me!”
Looking wounded, Uncle Bo reared back. “You’ll need to sleep on a cot by Mrs. Crewel, and Mr. Valmer’s got to sleep somewhere.”
“We both know he should sleep at your house!”
“Granted, ’tis true, but Jethro and his daddy are having a set-to, so Paw-Paw sent Jerlund to spend the night at my place. He’s already upset, and Mr. Valmer’s not going to sleep a wink, worrying and not bein’ able to check on his ma.”
Thoughts tumbled through her mind. This was just what she and Uncle Bo had been hoping for – that Jerlund would come to Uncle Bo in a troubled time. Sensitive to others’ moods and any change, Jerlund wouldn’t settle in at Uncle Bo’s with Mr. Valmer there. If the first stay didn’t work well, he’d never go back again.
But it wasn’t right, having a man spend the night in her house. A big, strong, handsome man. Well, maybe it wasn’t so bad. His mama was in the house. That changed things. But appearances count. And this still gives a bad witness. “The barn. He can sleep in the barn.”
“You’d withdraw the hospitality I extended?”
“How could you possibly allow a bachelor to stay here for a full three days until the storm passes?”
“Magpie, my lass, I trust you full well.” He hooked his thumbs into his suspenders. “Aye, and I’ve taken that man’s measure. He’s one you could ride the river with.”
Inhaling so sharply she set herself into coughing, Maggie made a sound of disbelief between coughs.
“I’m giving you just what you asked for, lass. This very day, you said God could ‘send that groom on by. God or groom – them I’ll listen to.’ You made that deal, and I’m holding you to it.”
“Hold your horses!” Grabbing him by the arms, she resisted the urge to shake some sense into her uncle. “Just because Mr. Valmer’s a man doesn’t automatically turn him into my groom.”
“He’s the most promising prospect around.” Uncle Bo brushed a kiss on her cheek. “You’re the one who let the man stay when everyone wanted to pitch him out.”
“He carried an ill woman.”
Smiling as if he’d won the final point in a debate, Uncle Bo stepped back. “Can’t get a better recommendation than that. Men wind up treating their wives just like they treat their mother and sisters. Feelin’ concerned ’bout his loved one, he wants to stay close. You can’t fault a man for doing something praiseworthy.”
Making a living by bartering taught her plenty. Cocking a brow, Maggie said, “Whenever someone talks fast and fancy as you are, I know better than to trade. They’re trying to pass off a skunk as a swan.”
“I’m not trading a-tall, lassie. I’m fixin’ to go on home. Calm Jerlund. Talk to the Lord. I reckon this buck can talk for himself.” The kitchen door opened. Bo lowered his voice. “But you can’t listen to the man if he ain’t under your roof.”
The next morning Todd looked expectantly at Miss Rose as she exited the room she and Ma shared. “Your mama’s looking much the same this morning as she did last night.”
Disappointment hit him. “No improvement?”
Voice soft and steady, she said, “Making it through an entire day and night bodes well for survival. Her stability is encouraging.”
“Then I will be satisfied.” Walking toward Miss Rose, he noticed several objects were missing from the parlor, and a pair of crates sat beside the spindle chair. Another wave of disappointment hit. He would have rather she start ridding Ma’s room of some of the stuff. For Ma’s sake he’d offer to help pack after breakfast. Miss Rose already did far more than he should have hoped for.
Todd went to see Ma. She slept soundly. Looking up from her, he jolted. Instead of bursting at the seams, the room looked comparatively normal. “Where is everything?”
“My specials and sparkles? They’re in those crates in the corner.”
Frowning at the four crates, he chided, “They’re too heavy for you. You ought to have waited. I would have carried the others out for you.”
Miss Rose arched a brow. “I did wait. That’s all I needed.”
Todd’s jaw dropped. She’d rounded up all those bits and pieces, corralled them into . . . “Four crates?”
“Well, there are two in the parlor.” Miss Rose gestured to a shelf. “I kept out those angels so when Mrs. Crewel first awakens, she’ll be looking at a reminder of the Lord’s protection and mercy. She’ll have a few foggy days, resting up and gathering strength for the rough road ahead. Where are you bound for?”
“Gooding, Texas. I farm there. We’re a sight over halfway home.” Ma had always been strong, healthy. That would help her bounce back quickly. “Ma enjoys riding the train, watching out the window.”
“Seeing the countryside change . . .” Miss Rose’s smile returned. “It all goes by so quickly. Like taking a picture book and flipping through the pages real fast.”
Her description amused him. “Have you traveled much?”
“Each season I take the men’s carvings off to trade or sell.” Miss Rose straightened a lacy nightcap she’d put on Ma. “There.”
Ma would be horrified by that thing on her head and would gladly trade anything to get rid of the nightcap. Then again, Todd reasoned, it stood to reason if her apoplectic fit happened someplace in her head, keeping her brain warm would help it recover.
Miss Rose’s blue eyes held his. “Once she awakens, we’ll get her on soft, runny foods. Eggs, custards, and thickened broth will help from the inside while you help her from the outside.”
He shot her a stricken look. “Doing what?”
“Stretching her muscles and having her push against you – it’ll build muscles. Trips out onto your veranda will be a nice treat.”
“Three days could be enough time for this all to pass – you said so yourself. That’s what I’m praying for.” That’s what he’d been beating down heaven’s gate about. Ma couldn’t go home like this. He couldn’t take care of her – or afford a nurse for her. As soon as the weather improved, he’d ride for the doctor.
“To the kitchen with me, now. I only cook supper for the men, but Uncle Bo and I encourage Jerlund to be our guest anytime he’d like. Dangling breakfast is a bribe, but I’m unashamed to do it.”
“Food is a good plan.” Todd followed her across the few steps of the parlor and into the kitchen. His voice dropped. “It troubled me, seeing how his father treated him. Whatever I can do to help – just tell me.”
“If I think of anything, I’ll let you know.” Direct and straightforward – that was Miss Rose. She didn’t dither or put up pretenses – just laid out the truth without a bunch of fuss.
The kitchen door burst open. “Maggie! I’m starvin’ real bad.”
Throwing his arm around Jerlund’s shoulder, Todd jostled him good-naturedly. “Strapping men earn their meals. What about you and me doing a few projects around here after breakfast?”
“Best you men come in and fill up. You’ve been working so hard, steam’s puffing off the barn roof just like a locomotive.” Maggie stood over by the barn door and scanned the place. Stacks upon stacks of shingles filled the empty horse stall. Uncle Bo’s house and the barn both needed roof work, but the notion of him being up there gave her nightmares. Could Mr. Valmer . . . ?
“I been cuttin’ joys, Maggie. Me. With a saw.” Jerlund finished cutting through the mark on a piece of wood. “Todd Valmer showed me how.”
“Jerlund’s a natural at cutting joists.” Mr. Valmer climbed down from the ladder and scribbled numbers on a scrap of paper. “He’s got a powerful arm.”
Though not academically bright, Jerlund had an uncanny ability to perceive the true feelings others tried to hide. Simply stating the fact in a bare-bones, man-to-man way, Mr. Valmer sparked a look of pride on her friend’s face she’d never before witnessed. Of all the beautiful treasures she owned and bartered, none came close to Jerlund’s squared sh
oulders and lifted chin.
Mr. Valmer shut the barn door, then caught up with her. His elbow jutted out, and his brows rose in a silent offer. Jerlund rushed to her other side and stuck out his left elbow, too. “Miss Rose is on your right, Jerlund. Offer her your other elbow. When you walk beside a lady and the ground is slippery, it’s good manners to allow her to borrow your strength.”
Looping her hand into Jerlund’s arm was sweet. Sliding her hand around and onto Mr. Valmer’s forearm was something entirely different. Even through his coat, the power of youth and vigor radiated to her. All the men in the holler were well past their prime. It was surprising to discover the tensile strength and bulk of a hardworking man at the zenith of his health. Up close like this, he smelled . . . good. If she were to take out her precious oils and try to match his scent, she’d start with musk and add sandalwood . . . then a touch of something complex. . . .
“Is anything wrong?”
“The wind robbed me of my breath for a moment.” Maggie took a step, and they all headed toward her house. “It’s extremely unusual for us to have such harsh weather.”
“Here. Use my scarf.” Mr. Valmer had it off and around her in a flash.
She’d already noticed how its blue matched his eyes. Now a deep breath gave her an overwhelming urge to gag. She wanted the wind back. That scarf hadn’t been laundered in . . . Had it ever been washed?
Looking pleased with himself, Mr. Valmer smiled. “The blue. It matches your eyes.”
It’s going to match the color of my face if I don’t get into the house and rip it off before I take my next breath!
Whisking off the scarf once they reached the kitchen, Maggie shoved it into Mr. Valmer’s hands and croaked, “Lunch is ready!” Not that it mattered to her; she’d completely lost her appetite. “I’ll go see to Mrs. Crewel whilst you men eat.”
Maybe because she was built like Mama and Aunt Maude, Mrs. Crewel drew forth a special warmth in Maggie’s heart. Funny, how all three of them had dimples in their elbows and at their knuckles. Arms and hands like those gave engulfing hugs and the softest of caresses. The women Maggie loved had gone to the Lord, and she wanted to do everything humanly possible to help Mr. Valmer continue to enjoy his mother.
As a result of lying on her weak side, she’d drooled. Maggie reached over, replaced the soft cloth beneath her cheek, and used the edge of the damp one to tidy up the corner of her patient’s mouth.
Mr. Valmer walked into the room and took a deep, noisy breath. “When she sits up, will this problem end?”
“It may still be an issue, but not as much. It’s one of the reasons why helping her learn to swallow again is important.”
“So.” He said the single word with the same finality a few of Paw-Paw’s generation used to say, “So be it.” With that one word, he showed he’d begun to accept things were different.
They soon left Mrs. Crewel’s room, and Mr. Valmer stopped. “I’m obliged for all you’ve done for Ma. You need only ask for the exchange you feel is fair.” The tips of his ears went red. “Tilling soil fills the heart but not the pocket.”
He’s embarrassed, and for no reason at all. I can take care of that right quick. She shrugged. “Southern hospitality. You, on the other hand, have been working your fingers to the bone.”
He held up big, square, callused hands. “It would be impossible for me to dwindle to skin-and-bones eating at your table.” He cracked his knuckles. “Sitting idle, I get antsy.”
They’d both downplayed what they brought to the exchange – striking a deal without a big to-do. She flashed a smile. “I’d best get some laundry done while your mama is sleeping. I want to have plenty of time in the kitchen for supper so the only skin-and-bones thing around here is the ugly-as-sin warthog’s head at the Flinn twins’ house.”
“How did they get such a thing?”
“They traded a whole fresh deer. Which accounts for why I do the bartering around here. Trading comes naturally to me as breathing.” Breathing brought to mind his scarf, which reminded her, “I’d best hie on over to Uncle Bo’s to do the wash.”
“Work’s calling me, too.” He turned to go, then pivoted back around. “Miss Rose? I wish to leave my scarf with you in case you need to go out in the storm today.”
“I can’t think of anything that would bring me more comfort.” She silently tacked on, than washing it.
While Mr. Valmer went back out to work, Maggie slipped over to Uncle Bo’s. Weather being so bad, she used his cabin as a laundry.
Even if she hadn’t planned on washing today, laundering bedding was necessary. Mr. Valmer had offered to sit up with his ma last night, but Maggie wouldn’t hear of it. Had he understood her when she said his ma needed care that a son oughtn’t render? Bright-minded as he was, the truth should have registered; but in her experience, family members could be blind to obvious facts until she specifically pointed them out. Like the drooling. Upset as that minor inconvenience made him, she’d have to nudge facts in one at a time.
How could he smell so wonderful, yet his scarf reek? Out of sheer self-preservation, she dunked it first.
Uncle Bo came in. “Looked in on Mrs. Crewel. Sleeping sound and snug as a babe.”
“Well, then, I’m calling you at your word. I want to hear the story about Aunt Maude and the bagpipes.”
“Knew you’d nab me.” He straddled a chair. “It all goes back to the Arrangement.”
The Arrangement. She loved hearing Carver Holler’s own happily-ever-after fairy tale of arranged marriages. “ ’Twas well past time for the youngsters to marry up,” Maggie began.
“Aye. And so the lassies were invited to list a few bucks they respected. The lads put in for three possibilities they’d gladly take to wife. Then the fathers prayed and got to work. Nine matches came out of it, and every last one was a marriage made in heaven. I’m the luckiest man in the world, because I got Maude.”
“Seven were from heaven,” Maggie said for the first time. She wobbled her brows. “Daddy admitted he’d already claimed Mama. You can tell me the truth, too. It’s every bit as romantic as having the elders match you.”
Combing his fingers through his beard, Uncle Bo let out a rueful chuckle. “I was bullheaded enough to think the elders took leave of their senses when they concocted the Arrangement, but Paw-Paw pointed out the Bible is full of marriage agreements that worked out right fine. Lo and behold, God’s Word instructs a man to love his wife. It’s his duty. Turned out cherishing Maude was the easiest thing I ever did.”
“But the bagpipes?”
A plethora of memories flickered across her uncle’s face as he stood and reached for an old book. “A handful of years later your granddaddy done went and spilled the beans. He told Maude about me not writing her name on my paper, and Maude ran home shrieking like a banshee. Before I could explain, she grabbed my axe and made kindling of my bagpipes.”
Insatiably curious, Maggie took the slip of paper he handed to her.
I’ll take any woman as long as she’s godly.
I’ll learn to love her.
Bible tells me to, and I will – heart and soul.
Bocephus Carver
“I was livid that day. Not because of what Maude did, but at myself because she wasn’t convinced of my devotion. I never replaced those bagpipes to prove something to her: They were just bags of wind – but she was my very breath and heartbeat.”
“Oh, Uncle Bo! You more than proved yourself. You adored each other.”
His eyes shimmered, and his voice trembled. “You said you’d listen. Harken to the voice of God and of that Valmer man. If marriage comes up, I approve. You’d be going to the same kind of arranged marriage your aunt and I had, and a finer, richer marriage there never was.”
“Has he said anything?”
“Not a word. Not yet.” Embracing her, he urged, “But I’m sure he will.”
As she finished rinsing the sheets, her uncle left her to her thoughts. Did she want Mr. Valmer
to say anything? Or to stay silent? It was so confusing. Year on end, she’d been content. And as soon as he left, life would go back to normal. Or would it? This is silly. Uncle Bo’s wild notion and nagging have addled my wits. I’m not going to fret. Well, that wasn’t quite true. She said she’d listen to God or groom. I have no reason to think Mr. Valmer is my groom. And God hasn’t said anything. . . .
Not yet.
Tonight was the night he and Ma should have arrived in Texas. Instead, Ma’s furniture would be unloaded at the Gooding train station with them nowhere in sight. Folks would reckon he’d been delayed.
Delayed? Todd shoved the saw with such force, the teeth cut through four inches of the board. The train wouldn’t come through again until next Monday. He was stranded for a whole week while his farm withered. With telegraph strung across the entire nation for thirty years, it was reasonable to assume every place had one. But nothing about this situation was reasonable: Carver’s Holler didn’t have a telegraph. For him to remain silent for an entire week . . . folks back home would know something bad happened. Maybe even deadly.
His neighbors would probably parcel out his beloved horses – the ones he hoped to someday use for his breeding stock. He’d get the horses back, but the chickens and hogs were a different story. With so many mouths to feed, some neighbors might slaughter a hog even though it wasn’t fat enough for butchering. They could fry up his chickens, too. He had to provide for Ma now, and they’d need eggs, chicken, pork, and lard. . . .
The next train won’t get us home until eleven fifteen Thursday night. I’ll be gone a full eleven days. He couldn’t help imagining the disaster awaiting him – scorched wheat, withering alfalfa, and missing tools. By now he should have planted sorghum, but that field remained an unplowed patch of dirt. Whoever said “time is money” must have been a farmer. Lack of time on the farm equated with a huge loss of money. A hired hand’s help would probably turn the tide, but Todd couldn’t promise to pay someone when every last cent went toward the mortgage. The stack of boards grew higher as he sawed out his frustration.
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