by Bush, Holly
The thought, up until now, of leaving Peg and Luke and Mark had not occurred to Olive. She looked down to the sleeping boy and wondered how in so few days, had these children wormed their way into her heart. Leaving them would hurt for a long, long while.
“I will miss them desperately,” Olive said.
Jacob nodded grimly and stood to return to the men.
“That’s more than that man’s said in six months,” Beth commented to Florence’s nods.
* * *
“So how is life with the Spinster Wilkins, Jacob?” Bill Williams asked.
His friend’s indirect insult stung. “Miss Wilkins is doing fine. She loves those children of Jimmy’s and she’s been working like a mule,” Jacob said.
“Working like a mule, huh. Anywhere’s near your bed?” Bill asked.
Jacob knew he meant no offense, not really. Just the way men talked about women. But he narrowed his eyes all the same and gave Bill a glare that instantly drew quiet.
“Miss Wilkins is a lady. And I treat her like one. Best not to imply anything else.”
“We didn’t mean nothing,” Jack said quickly.
The men turned then to look at their wives and Olive. “She sure does look different with her hair down. Kind of pretty,” Bill said.
It bothered Jacob to no end that he had felt the same. She looked beautiful today. And he wasn’t in the mind to hear the men make comments about her. She deserved respect. She had earned it. Olive deserved a home, children and the return of the love she lavishly gave. He hoped for her sake that she found it. But he wondered about whom, the stern, moral, thirty-five year old woman, could find that would appreciate her intelligence and compassion. Jacob shook his head to clear his mind of such thoughts. Worrying about another person would accomplish nothing and he had his own long row to hoe, as did Olive.
* * *
Late afternoon, found Olive, Beth and Florence with sleepy children making pillows on their laps and legs. The days were not yet long though and as the sun began to drop Olive felt a chill. The dance would be in the Cooper barn behind the church and the men came to sit with the still drowsy children while the women moved the food and drinks.
Olive stood in the barn with Mary and John by her side and watched as the fiddler began and the dancing started. John had followed Luke most of the day, but he now seemed content to lean against Olive’s leg and twist her skirt in his fingers.
“Did you enjoy yourself today, Mary?” Olive asked.
Mary lifted her shoulders slowly, to drop them and tilt her head. “Pa brung me to a picnic once,” she said.
It was on the tip of Olive’s tongue to correct the girl, but Mary’s wistful tone stopped her. She looked at her niece but the girl would not meet her eye. “I miss my mother and father every day,” Olive said.
Mary nodded. “They was wrong about lots of things, but ya know, they were still my Ma and Pa.”
Olive knew it cost the girl to admit her parents shortcomings. And Olive thought of their faults, and hers as well and how much it had affected Mary in her short ten years.
“We all make mistakes, Mary. Not one of us, who walks this earth, is perfect. I’m sure there are good things to remember,” Olive said.
“Yeah, some.”
“Good evening, Miss Wilkins,” the sheriff said.
“Oh, good evening, sheriff,” Olive replied.
“Miss Mary, John. You look mighty fetching tonight, Miss Wilkins,” Sheriff Bentley said.
Olive silently compared Jacob’s ‘nice’ to the sheriff’s ‘fetching.’ The man’s hair was slicked and parted in the middle and his vest buttons squirmed from their holes with every breath he took. But his jacket was clean and his nails trimmed and Olive thought he made a very presentable appearance. Male attention of this nature was a short list for Olive and she decided then and there to enjoy it.
“You look very nice this evening as well. The picnic was wonderful. Don’t you think?” Olive asked as she watched the dancers line up.
“I let the deputy go to the picnic, so I could be here for the dance,” the sheriff said.
Olive smiled. “Should we be expecting trouble or something unusual to happen this evening?”
“Truth be known, I was hoping you would honor me with a dance,” he said.
The casual humor fled Olive’s eyes immediately as she remembered his words the day she took John to see Doctor Hunter. “Oh Sheriff Bentley, I’m sure there are others with whom you would prefer dancing.”
The sheriff eyed her seriously and the children’s heads followed the conversation. “No. I can’t think of a one.”
Olive looked from his outstretched hand to the other dancers. To be asked in such a fashion was new for Olive. Those occasional partners in the past had felt obligations. A friend’s brother or father, shoved in her direction. No regrets, Olive thought, I am done watching life go by.
“I would be honored, sir,” she replied.
* * *
Jacob carried Mark with Peg and Luke trailing him to John and Mary as they watched Olive and the sheriff dance. Olive held herself primly but when the sheriff spoke she laughed and smiled at the man.
“What’s she dancing with that fool for?” Jacob said as much to himself as to anyone near by.
Mary looked up to him and the slightest of smiles graced her lips. “I think the sheriff’s sweet on her.”
“Well, she looks silly out there, dancing and laughing like that,” Jacob said.
“But Aunt Olive looks so pretty today,” Peg said. “Mary and I fixed her hair.”
“Yes she does look nice today, Peg. But a woman her age shouldn’t be acting like that,” Jacob said. His reaction to Olive earlier in the day had scared him sorely. He had been plain old flabbergasted. Jacob would admit he liked and respected Olive but to be attracted to her was a whole different thing. And as if to confound his thoughts further for some reason it was bothering him beyond belief that she was dancing with Bentley.
“The sheriff said she looked fetching,” Mary added.
“She’s not too old to dance, Daddy. See, they swing around the corners just fine,” Luke said.
Jacob grimaced and knew he would not win this argument. Nor did he understand what had prompted him to comment at all. He handed Mark to Mary and led Peg onto the dance floor. He swung his daughter around as he held her and she giggled and kissed his face softly. And for one breath-taking moment she looked as her mother did when Jacob first met Margaret. Jacob had been twelve and she eleven, the first time he spotted the dark haired beauty. He had fallen in love that day and never looked back. Margaret had been his destiny and now his future was raising a bewitching miniature of her, a solemn son and the child that, through his birth, had taken Jacob’s mate and his heart. He squeezed Peg roughly as if to either cling to this future or condemn the past.
Jacob led Peg back to Mary, Luke, John and Olive who had just come off the dance floor. “Mary, would you like to take a turn?” he asked.
* * *
Olive watched Mary’s indecision and desire and she nearly hugged Jacob for the gift he was giving Mary. To be included and wanted was so evident on the girl’s face that Olive wanted to shout, ‘yes’ in her stead. Jacob held out his hand and Mary looked up to Olive as if searching for approval. Olive smiled her response and Mary laid her hand in Jacob’s. He led the girl slowly through the steps and when they were finally turning corners with ease and speed, Olive saw what she thought she might never see. Mary was smiling and glancing right to left as if to be assured that all saw her. Dancing. Olive clapped and the children called to Mary as she spun by in Jacob’s arms.
And Olive knew, as if time had stopped, that this man would be the only man in her lifetime to reach this far into her heart. She would be able to say, when going to face her God that she had loved. Maybe not love in the romantic sense, the intimate sense, but that still clearly, she had loved. The thought gave her pause and brought calmness to her soul that was unequaled. The
fact that Jacob would not return that love did not in the least diminish the light in Olive’s heart. And Olive understood with new clarity that to love was a far greater gift than to be loved.
Jacob guided Mary through the crowd of dancers. Olive smiled her gratitude and a smile grew on Jacob’s face as he looked at her over the tops of the children’s heads. “Mary, you looked as though you had been dancing all your life,” Olive said as she turned to the girl.
Mary’s cheeks were flushed and she held her head tall when she responded. “Its not as hard as it looks.”
“Jack Steele said a storm’s blowing our way. Best be getting home,” Jacob said.
Olive looked around the barn, one last time, recalling what a wonderful day it had been. They said their goodbyes and loaded the children into the wagon. The wind began to whip up and Olive squinted her eyes into the dust.
“Could be a bad one,” Jacob said. “Climb in the back and cover yourself and the children with the canvas. The rain will be following.”
Olive stood in the back of the wagon and swayed with the wind. The air grew cold and Olive fought to spread the heavy fabric out and not lose it to the storm. The rain fell in sheets and the children were soon soaked and frightened. Olive was growing afraid as well with the constant streaks of lightning etching the skies and the roar of thunder following closely. Mary held John and Peg and Luke huddled on either side of Olive while she held Mark tightly against her. When the wagon stopped, Olive peered out from the thin shelter the canvas gave. Jacob had climbed down from the wagon and was leading the terrified, neighing horse forward. The wagon started again with a lurch and Olive said a silent prayer that they would get home.
After what seemed like an eternity, the wagon stopped again and Jacob lifted the canvas. “We’re home,” he shouted.
The rain was still falling hard but the wind had died down and Olive heard the rumble of thunder at a distance. The children dashed to the house, soaked and Jacob led the horse to the barn. Olive lit lamps, while Mary started a fire and the children began to peel out of wet things. Jacob stepped into the house, boots squishing, water pouring off of his hat.
“The boys will have to stay in here tonight. The wind tore some of the barn roof off and our beddings soaked,” he said.
“That’s fine, Jacob. I confess, I left the shutters above the bed open this morning. It was so beautiful out when we left. Our bed is soaked as well. I just told the children we’ll sleep in front of the fireplace,” Olive said.
Jacob kissed the heads of the children and turned from the puddle he stood in.
“Where are you going?” Olive asked. Her teeth chattered as she looked up at him. “You said your bed is soaked. We’ll make room.”
“Wouldn’t be proper, Olive.”
Olive looked up as she helped Peg into her nightgown. “Oh, fiddlee dee dee, who’s to know. And anyway,” Olive said and stared into Jacob’s eyes, “we wouldn’t have made it home if you hadn’t guided that horse for the last hour. You’ve got to be tired and I know you’re wet to the bone.”
Luke and John were frightened and clinging to Olive. Mark had fallen asleep as soon as Olive changed him and laid him in his crib. Mary looked nervously out the window and John held her hand.
“Please stay, Daddy,” Peg cried. “It was scary in the wagon.”
“What if the storm comes back?” Luke asked.
“Go get some dry clothes, while Mary and I change. Bring the milk when you come. I bought cocoa at the general store and we’ll have a treat before bedtime,” Olive said addressing Jacob and the children.
* * *
Jacob fought the rain on his way to the barn and thought about the day. When he led Mary from the dance floor, he’d seen Olive watching him. Her eyes, soft and warm, peered into his with intensity and gratitude. He had made Mary happy, and Jacob knew that this woman ached for any triumph with her niece and nephew. She was barking out orders now and seemed determined that he stay in the house.
Jacob conceded he didn’t really want to sleep in a stall with the horse and the children did earnestly look afraid. Why am I, he thought? Sounds to close to a family, gathered together at bed, that’s why.
When Jacob returned to the house, Olive was propped up against some firewood with a blanket thrown over it and another over her legs, reading from a book, aloud. Jacob had changed into dry clothes on the porch and carried the pitcher of milk. Olive rose, heated the milk and instructed Mary to continue the reading. Mary stumbled but worked her way through the words while Olive handed each child a mug. Their eyes widened as they sipped the sweet, hot concoction and soon eyelids began to droop.
Jacob sat on the chair and watched as Peg curled under Olive’s arm and lay her head on the woman’s breast. The boys were snuggled together and Mary sat holding her knees, listening to the story. Olive’s hair was loose; Jacob figured, to dry in the warmth of the fire and her glasses sat at the end of her nose. Her white nightgown was buttoned to her neck and tiny pleats were sewn in the fabric to her waist. Jacob supposed Olive had sewn it and he wondered if anyone had seen if before. He was sure not and he wondered why she would stitch so many details and make it so becoming if she was to be the only one to see it.
* * *
Olive stood as the last eyes closed and she helped Mary lay down. She kissed the foreheads and wiped sticky cocoa from chins and mouths before finally turning to Jacob.
“I’m tired as well, if you don’t mind. I think I’ll lower the lamps.”
Olive sat down near the children, spread out like a spindle in the heat of the fire. Jacob picked up the blanket on the table and laid it out on the floor. The slowing rain on the roof pattered and in the dim light Olive began brushing through her hair.
“Do you always brush your hair this much before bed?” Jacob asked.
“One hundred strokes.”
“Why?” he asked.
Olive shrugged. “I suppose because my mother always did. Seems silly now. I wear it back mostly, but I guess its just habit.”
“It looked beautiful today,” Jacob said.
Olive’s head snapped around in the shadows and she was glad she could not see Jacob’s face. If he was jesting with her, then the darkness didn’t reveal it and she could imagine the sentiment as true. “Thank you.”
The room was quiet, except for the soft rhythmic breathing of the children until Olive folded her glasses and sat them with a clink on the stone mantle. She stretched out and sighed and the blankets snapped as she pulled them over herself.
“Jacob? Are you asleep?” she said softly.
“No, Olive.”
“I want to thank you for this day. I had a wonderful time and so did the children and especially for dancing with Mary. She glowed in the attention and I have had little success with her. It meant a great deal to Mary and to me.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. And dancing with Mary was no big thing. She and all the children looked nice today and I was proud of them. The clothes and all I mean,” Jacob whispered.
“It was a big thing. Mary was nearly bursting and I know you did it to make her happy. It was a kind gesture.” Olive chuckled. “And even the Spinster Wilkins had a dance partner today. My, oh my.”
“Don’t call yourself that,” Jacob said.
“Well, I am a spinster. I don’t even mind. It allows me to be eccentric and throw caution to the wind. My father’s sister was a spinster and my mother said that was why she talked to herself. I’m named after her you know.” Olive laughed softly into the still air. “Mary and John will soon giggle at me like James and I did at our Aunt Olive.”
“Why did you dance with the sheriff?” Jacob asked. The room was still except for the soft pattering of rain on the roof.
“Because he asked,” she finally replied.
Olive lay awake for a while until the regular breathing of the children lulled her in its monotony to sleep. The last conscious thought in her head was the actual distance between her and Jacob Butler
. Was it three feet or four? It may be a mile, Olive thought, to Jacob, but it was pleasantly reassuring and somehow sensual to be sleeping so close to a living, breathing, handsome, kind man. She closed her eyes and curled the blanket near her chin, smiling.
* * *
Olive awoke from a strange dream with no idea where she was. As consciousness slowly overtook sleep she focused as well as she could without her glasses on the coals glowing softly in the hearth. She was toasty warm, front to back and her cheek cradled by flannel. Front to back, she repeated in her head as she became aware of her surroundings. There was a huge male arm draped over her waist and her eyes opened so fully they crossed. Olive was now wide-awake and painfully aware of her position. Jacob had somehow ended up behind her. She turned her head ever so slowly as if the slightest movement would send her off a sheer cliff. Jacob’s mouth was open and her hair was a tangle over the stubble of his beard. He breathed softly into her ear and then shifted and buried his nose in her hair. Good God, she thought, what am I to do now?
Hoping to extricate herself subtly, she shifted and began to sit up. The arm around her tightened and a deep, male hum of contentment reverberated through her head. She lay stiffly in his grip without a notion as to what to do next. His hips pushed softly into her backside and if possible, Olive’s eyes opened wider. Jacob nudged repeatedly, escalating in speed and tempo. Bizarrely, all she could coax from her sleep-muddled mind was the word ‘itchy.’ Jacob mumbled and groaned and to Olive’s opinion, if he grew any louder, he would surely wake the children.
“Mr. Butler!” she whispered as loudly as she dared.
He chewed on her ear in response.
“Mr. Butler, please,” she said again.
“Hmm, what?” he responded, dreamily.
“Mr. Butler, somehow you have managed to roll my way,” Olive said.
* * *
Jacob had closed his eyes with a vision of Olive dancing with the sheriff. Only to be replaced by a picture of Peg asleep on her breast. The wistful resignation in Olive’s voice when he asked her why she had danced whirled through his head before he dropped off to sleep.
