by Linda Ford
He shook his head.
“Then I guess we’ll have to learn together.”
Again, his eyes gleamed.
She began to pull the pajama top over his head and discovered she had to lift each arm and ease it from the sleeve while he stood as motionless and uncooperative as a little wooden toy.
She put on almost clean pants and fixed his shoes and socks. All the time he stared straight ahead, his eyes never blinking, his expression never changing.
“There.” She patted his knee. “All buttons and bows.”
His gaze never shifted.
A lump formed in her throat. She knelt in front of him, intercepting his gaze. His pupils narrowed as he focused on her.
“I’m just a funny-looking stranger who talks in a funny way, aren’t I?”
She was almost certain he nodded.
“That’s it. I knew there was some reason you didn’t want to talk to me. It’s my funny accent.” She drew her mouth flat and said in her best cockney accent, “How much rain falls on the plain in Spain in the summertime?”
He tightened his lips, and she couldn’t be certain if it was from acknowledgment of her silliness or something else. He seemed so full of fear and uncertainty. Her heart shed a tear, and then she smiled at the child.
“Well, there you go. I’ve always been good at talking, and it seems you’re very good at listening. I expect we’ll do just fine.”
The outer door squeaked, and Donald marched out of the room, Irene on his heels.
Zach carried a pail of foaming milk, and Harry cradled four eggs in his hands.
Harry immediately looked for Donald, as if to see whether his younger brother had survived their brief separation.
Behind his eldest son, Zach watched the boys. “Harry, get the jars for the milk,” he said. “Where’s the straining cloth?”
Harry deposited the eggs on top of the cupboard and lifted a two-gallon jar from underneath. “The cloth is hanging outside.” He slipped past his dad to get it.
Zach met Irene’s gaze. He tipped his head toward Donald and lifted his eyebrows in question marks. Understanding his unspoken question, she nodded. “Donald helped me make breakfast,” she said.
Zach smiled. “Good boy.”
Donald pressed against his father’s leg.
Harry returned and, with an air of experience, held the cloth over the jars while Zach poured the milk through.
“I can’t get over the abundance you Canadians have. So much of everything and everything so big.”
“Everything?” Harry whispered.
She nodded, pleased she had captured his attention. “Look at all that milk. I can’t remember the last time I had fresh milk back in England. And eggs. We were rationed one egg a week for each person.”
“One egg a week?” Harry looked as if she had suggested he could only eat once a week.
“That’s all.”
“You want to have some really fresh milk?” Zach asked, pouring some strained milk into a glass and handing it to her.
She drank it, exploring the taste. “I’ve never had milk warm from the cow before.” She licked her lips. “It’s different, but it’s good.”
“What other things?” Harry asked.
Irene returned the glass to the counter and smiled her thanks at Zach. “Why, things like your gardens. They’re miles big. Your fields go on and on.” She waved toward the window. “The mountains fill the sky. Everything is so big.” Her gaze lighted on Zach’s hands as he covered the bottles of milk. “Why, even people are bigger. Look at your father’s hands. I’ve never before seen such fine, big hands.”
His big hands stopped. Sudden silence rang with surprise.
She felt Zach’s gaze upon her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so personal.”
For a moment he didn’t speak. Then he nodded, a slight gleam in his eyes. “Is this one of those times you warned me about?”
It was her turn to look surprised.
“Last night. Didn’t you warn me—”
She grimaced. “That I might trod on toes. There’s no need to tell me I’ve stepped out-of-bounds.”
He held her gaze. “You haven’t trod on my toes. I know I have ham hock hands. They’re good for work, but not much to look at. I’m flattered you think them fine.” He turned back to his task, and she hugged to her heart the wonderful feeling of having touched him. Not physically, but emotionally.
Over breakfast, she said, “You best be telling me what you favor for mealtimes. Donald helped me with breakfast, but he’s a bit reticent.”
“What’s ‘retsent’ mean?” Harry asked.
“It means he’s a man of few words.”
Harry nodded, then a flicker of a smile crossed his lips. “No words, you mean.”
“I told him I didn’t blame him for not wanting to confide in a total stranger. And they don’t come much stranger than me, do they?” She laughed. “Strange accent, strange habits. Why, I’d guess you’re right now thinking, ‘she’s about the strangest bird I ever saw.’ Aren’t you?”
Zach looked startled by her nonsense, but Harry smiled. “You’re not a bird. You’re too big.”
Irene watched Donald’s gaze shift back and forth from his brother to Irene. This boy didn’t miss anything.
She grinned at Harry. “And I don’t lay eggs. At least I never have yet.”
Harry giggled, and for a heartbeat, Donald let his fingers drop from his mouth.
Irene smiled at the three of them. “But not to worry. I’m sure you’ll get used to me soon enough, and things will be all buttons and bows.”
Harry’s eyebrows knit together. “Buttons and bows?”
“One of my funny expressions. I suppose it means everything is all fixed up with all the proper buttons and bows. It means everything will be all right.”
Harry nodded.
Zach handed Donald his spoon. “Finish your breakfast, Son.”
They finished up, and Irene gathered the dirty dishes. Zach leaned back in his chair, watching her.
She found his concentrated study unsettling but carried on as if she wasn’t aware of it, wondering if his thoughts included doubts about his decision. No doubt she’d already managed to challenge his idea of a proper wife. But she couldn’t help who she was and although she worked hard on curbing her tongue and speaking her mind in love, sometimes she said and did things that would have been better left unsaid and undone.
“Would you like a tour of the farm?”
His offer was so far removed from her own thoughts that she almost dropped the dish she held. “I certainly would.”
Harry took Donald’s hand and led him outside. Zach waited for Irene.
“It’s only a small farm,” he said, almost apologetically. Yet she caught a note of strong pride as he added, “but it’s productive. We’ll never go hungry living here.”
As she stepped from the house, she stopped, her eyes seeking the mountain peaks.
He waited as if he understood her need to look at the view.
“I’ll show you the barn first,” he said when she sighed and turned her attention back to him.
The boys marched ahead with all the confidence of knowing their boundaries.
At the barn, Zach threw open a wide door and stood aside for Irene to enter. She stepped into the dusty shadows. The pungent odor of animal manure stung her nose. Shafts of light sliced through the floating dust motes. Overall prevailed the spicy, mushroom smell of hay.
Harry and Donald entered a small stall, empty except for harnesses and buckets.
Zach hung back, his practiced gaze running along the stalls on either side of the alleyway. Finally, his gaze rested on Irene. “I’ve had to take Donald with me when we do chores. Harry’s big enough to help and quick enough to get out of the way if something goes wrong. Donald is too little, but I’ve had no choice.”
Irene nodded. “What else could you do?”
Zach continued. “I know he won’t like it, but I do
n’t want him to have to come with us all the time.”
She heard the mixture of emotions in his voice, concern both for the child’s safety and his tender feelings when he understood Donald might feel left out.
“He’ll miss being with you, but once he learns you’ll be back as soon as you’re done, he’ll accept it. I’ll do my best to keep him happily amused.”
Zach smiled. “I’m glad you understand.” His look of gratitude made her want to speak a world of assurances.
“It will be all buttons and bows. You’ll see.”
He chuckled, a deep-throated sound that did strange things to her insides. “Buttons and bows, eh? Sounds prissy to me.”
It was her turn to laugh. “Look at the four of us. Do any of us look like we stand a chance at being prissy?” She nodded toward the boys, who were sitting in a manger, hay clinging to their clothes. “Prissy would hardly be romping in a hay manger. Me…” She pretended to dust her clothes. “Practical. Functional. But prissy? No.” She tipped her head as if seeing him for the first time. “As for you.” She searched for the right word. “I’d say powerful, even stubborn, but definitely not prissy. Never.”
His unblinking gaze made her think of Donald. Something dark and mysterious crossed his eyes. Had she touched a sore spot? Or had she been too bold for his liking? Before she could retract her words or offer an explanation, he turned toward the empty stalls.
“The horses and cows are out grazing right now. They’re glad to see spring and green grass.”
She gratefully accepted the shift in conversation. What explanation could she offer? She had no idea why she kept saying such personal things to him. Despite being married, they were strangers. Yet there was something about him that left her slightly unraveled around the edges.
She ran her finger along the smooth plank of the gate. What did she expect? Strangers, yet married. What rules of conduct governed such a situation? “I’m awfully glad for spring, too. I thought the war would never end,” she added, surprising herself by her sudden change of topic.
He leaned against the gate to study her. “Was it really awful for you?”
She shrugged. “The injured kept coming and coming. Some of them mere boys. Feet rotted off from the wet they stood in day after day. Infected wounds. And worse.” She clamped her lips together. She didn’t dare start recalling the dreadful things she’d seen, or she’d never quit. She was quite certain the last thing this man needed was a recital of the horrors of war.
He touched her hand where it lay on the top plank. “I’m sorry.”
His touch drove back the ghosts. Her smile shaky, she nodded. “Weren’t you in the war?”
He grimaced. “I only got as far as Newfoundland where I was training as a mechanic.” A dark shadow crossed his face. “They sent me home when my wife died.” His face was a mask.
She touched his arm, surprised at its solidness and bulk. His muscle twitched beneath her palm. “I’m sorry.” Her heart overflowed with pain at what this family had been through; words seemed so hollow. “I’m so sorry.”
He lifted his head, looking behind Irene. “Come on, boys.”
Harry’s muffled voice answered, “We want her to see the baby kittens.”
“I’d love to.” She raised her eyebrows, waiting for Zach to give his permission.
“You might as well.”
She hurried back to the stall where the boys sat in the hay, a shaggy cat purring loudly as they petted her babies. Irene had never seen such tiny creatures. “They’re sweet. Can I pick one up?”
Harry chose a black one and handed it to her.
She lifted the tiny thing to her face. “Its eyes are closed.”
“You’ve never seen newborn kittens, have you?” Zach’s expression showed amusement.
“They’re born with their eyes shut,” Harry explained patiently.
Irene laughed. “I suppose I knew that. How old are they?”
Harry looked toward his father. “How old?”
“About a week.”
“Donald found them.” Harry pointed to his brother.
“Good for you.”
The boy’s fingers returned to his mouth, and she restrained a shudder at all the dirt that went with them.
Zach extracted Donald from his nest. “Come along, now.” He brushed the hay from the child.
Irene helped Harry to his feet and dusted him off. “You’ve got hay all over you.” She picked bits from his hair. “What you’re needing is a good shaking off.” She roughed her hands over him until he laughed. Pleased, she straightened. “That’s better.”
Zach closed the door behind them and set Donald on his feet. Harry immediately took his hand, and they ran along the pole fence.
“I have eight horses and twenty cows.” Zach’s voice deepened with pride as he pointed out the animals grazing along the tree line. “Do you ride?”
“No, I’ve never had the chance.”
“You’ll learn.”
“Is that a promise or an order?” She kept her eyes on the animals but knew he drew back, probably surprised at her directness.
“I didn’t mean for it to sound like an order. Guess I’m too used to telling the boys what to do. I’m sorry.”
She faced him. “No, it’s I who should be sorry. I shouldn’t be so prepared to feel I have to defend myself.”
They considered each other for several seconds, the morning light drawing hard planes across his features until he smiled and softened the landscape. “Seems we have a great deal to learn of each other.”
“Wasn’t it you who said we have lots of time?”
They fell into step, walking the length of the pole fence. “All the time we need.”
His words flowed through her, comforting, strengthening…
“You can see the fields from here.” He stopped at the end of the fence.
She saw a yellowed field and another ridged with raw earth.
“It’s time I was plowing, but I haven’t known what to do with the boys. I’m glad you’re here in time for spring work.”
He truly sounded glad, no doubt because it freed him to get on with the farming. Nevertheless, she let herself enjoy the sound of his pleasure. “I’m glad to be here in time to help you.”
Again they faced each other, searching for clues as to hidden meanings, true feelings, and what the future held. He plucked a bit of hay from her hair. “Not very prissy,” he murmured.
His touch did unfamiliar things to her nerve endings, making them dance in an alarming fashion. She took a deep breath, forcing her emotions into submission—something she had much experience in doing—and reminded herself their marriage was a matter of convenience only.
He turned back, past the barn, to the chicken coop with a high wire fence. “The hens are laying good again.”
“Whatever that means.”
He chuckled. “I keep forgetting you aren’t a farm girl. Hens don’t lay much during winter. So you see,” he said, fixing his dark gaze on her, “we didn’t have a lot of eggs for awhile but never rationed like you.”
She nodded. “Everything was rationed. We had to feed the army, you know.”
“Thankfully, it’s over. The war to end all wars.”
“Amen.”
Again, Irene felt she had touched a receptive nerve in the man, and it warmed her to know they shared common ideals.
Their steps brought them full circle to the house.
“I didn’t see a garden.” Irene knew a garden was essential.
“I’ll show you the spot.” He led her behind the house to a fenced-in enclosure overgrown with the stalks of dead weeds almost as high as the gate. The ground looked damp and stubborn.
“Oh,” was all she said.
“There was no garden last year.”
“Of course.”
He heaved a loud sigh. “I’ll try to get at it soon.”
Saying nothing, she turned to follow when wide, green leaves caught her attention in one corner
of the garden. “Something is growing.”
He turned back. “Rhubarb.”
“It’s pie plant, isn’t it?”
“I’ve heard it called that.”
She opened the gate and picked her way through the weeds and mud to the plant—in fact, three plants with long, reddish stems. “It looks healthy enough.”
“Hard to kill rhubarb.”
She nodded, her mind busy with possibilities. “Do you have a knife?”
“What for?”
She yanked stems from the ground. “I’m going to use this.”
He hesitated then crossed to her side. “Boys, come and help.” He chopped off the leaves and piled stems in Harry’s arms. “You could help, too, Donald, but it will take two hands.”
Donald studied his brother then gave his father a considering look. For a moment, Irene thought he would refuse; then he popped his fingers out and, imitating Harry, held his arms out to receive the stems. “There you go. Harry will put them on the counter for you.”
The boys headed for the house.
“That’s enough for today,” Irene said, wiping her hands on a hanky.
Zach waited at the gate as she picked her way back across the garden.
“I’ll leave the boys with you while I ride out and check the pasture fences.”
“We’ll be fine.”
“All buttons and bows?”
She laughed. “Perhaps. Will you tell the boys?”
“I will.”
They paused at the door. She could tell he had something on his mind.
She met his gaze frankly. “What is it? Are you worried about the boys?”
He nodded, a troubled look racing across his face. “I don’t want anything to happen to them.”
She knew what he meant. Life had been far too hard already. Even the least unkindness to them would be unfair. She touched his arm. “Zach, I may be brusque and outspoken. I may even be guilty of putting my foot in my mouth on occasion, but I have never been accused of unkindness.” She took a deep breath. “Your boys are safe with me.” She gave a crooked grin. “Who knows? They might even enjoy themselves.”
“I don’t mean to accuse you of incompetence. Or worse. It’s only that they’ve been through so much.”
She squeezed his arm. “No need to explain. Of course you’re concerned. I admire that.”
