by Linda Ford
He jumped from her lap and went to the narrow table where she had stacked some of her own books. When he chose the one she had told him was her favorite, her throat tightened. He climbed up beside her. Both boys leaned over her knees as she read.
She felt Zach’s gaze on her and glanced up, having no need to look at the page. His expression was thoughtful. She faltered on the familiar words and mustering her well-developed self-control, turned her attention back to the book on her lap.
That night, as they lay in bed in the darkness, eight inches of strangeness between them, Zach said, “Tomorrow’s Saturday. I thought I should tell you so you can be ready for church Sunday.”
She contemplated his words for a minute, then turned on her side. “What will people think when you come in with me?”
A sound rumbled from him. “I ’spect they’ll think you’re a very lucky woman.”
She chortled at his bold self-assurance. “I suppose you’re right. Am I in any danger from thwarted young ladies or their mothers?”
“It will no doubt be a full-time job for me and the boys to protect you.”
Hearing the amusement in his serious words, she laughed. “Perhaps our target practice will come to good use.”
The sound of laughter in his voice strengthened. “I hope we don’t have to resort to throwing rocks.”
But despite the joking, Irene lay staring into the darkness, a trickle of uncertainty making her muscles tense. After a few minutes, she sighed. “I suppose the worst they could do is run me out of town.”
His deep voice, very close to her ear, rumbled with sleepiness. “Why would they do that? You’ve done nothing immoral.” He paused. “At least not in marrying me.”
“I know. But people have a way of interpreting things.”
“I wouldn’t worry if I were you. Between the war and the flu epidemic, many families have found themselves doing things they wouldn’t have thought of under normal circumstances. Death makes us all equal.”
“You’re right, of course.” Her fears calmed by his words, she squirmed around seeking a more comfortable position.
“Lie still,” his sleepy voice commanded.
She obeyed, his deep voice sifting through her. Instantly, she was asleep.
“Tomorrow is Sunday,” she said to the boys as she filled the kettle and set it to boil. “We have to get ready. Everyone needs to wash their hair.” She squinted at them. “And I think have it cut.” She fingered the scissors she’d located in the pantry.
Harry touched his hair. “You’re going to cut it?”
She laughed at his apprehension. “Didn’t I tell you I worked in a hospital where we cared for injured soldiers?”
He leaned forward, his hair forgotten. “You did? Solders? Did you see air pilots?”
“I certainly did. In fact that’s where Grace met Billy, your father’s cousin. He had been shot in the leg.”
Harry’s eyes grew round.
“He needed to rest for it to get better.” She snorted. “Not that Billy let it rest much. He was forever getting out of bed when he’d been ordered to lie still. Amazing his leg healed so well.”
“Did you see airplanes?”
“Lots of them.” For the first time it hit her how removed from the war this part of the world had been. Thankfully these little boys had been spared that horror. Losing a parent was more than enough for them to contend with. “Sometimes those soldier boys needed a haircut. I cut many a head of hair.” She set up basins and towels on the table as she talked. “Of course, they were soldiers. They weren’t afraid.”
Harry drew himself up and squared his shoulders. “I’m not afraid.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Now jump up here, and I’ll wash your hair; then you can sit outside, and I’ll cut it.”
He marched forward to obey.
A few minutes later she toweled his hair dry. “Your turn, Donald.”
Donald climbed up on a chair and obediently tipped his head over the basin for her. “Good man,” she murmured, and quickly scrubbed and toweled his head.
A clean towel in hand, she carried a chair outdoors. “Harry, you’re first.”
He sat squarely on the chair, allowing her to tuck a towel around his shoulders. “Are you going to cut it just like a soldier’s?”
“Of course.” Truth be told, she knew only one hairstyle. It had suited the soldiers; it would suit the boys. She bent over her task, nipping Harry’s hair short. A few minutes later she straightened. Standing in front of Harry, she tipped her head from side to side, surveying the results. “All buttons and bows you are.” She whipped the towel from his shoulders.
Harry ran his hands over his head. “I’m a soldier now.” He bounced from the chair.
Irene turned to Donald. “Your turn, young man.”
He climbed up without hesitation.
She wondered how she would disengage his fingers from his mouth but when she held the towel up to wrap around his shoulders, he folded his hands together in his lap. “Good boy,” she murmured, pleased at his cooperation.
He sat still as a rock as his dark locks joined his brother’s.
“All done.” She lifted the towel, shaking the hair into the wind. “Maybe a bird will build a nest with your hair.”
“Do they do that?” Harry asked.
“That’s what I was told.” She chuckled. “I guess you’d call it a Harry nest.”
Harry looked pleased at the idea; then the double meaning of the words hit him, and he laughed out loud, a thin, musical sound that reminded Irene of cheery birds.
Irene chuckled as she went inside to wash her hair.
She took the pins out and finger combed her hair before she bent over the basin and poured water over her head. Her long hair took more water and more scrubbing than the boys’ hair had. By the time she finished, water trailed down her cheeks and dripped off her nose. She squeezed the water from her hair and blindly reached for the towel, patting the table in an effort to locate where she’d laid it.
“Here,” Zach said, his large hand pressing it to her fingers.
“Thanks,” she murmured from behind the curtain of hair, as if it were quite normal for a man to observe her at this task. She used the time it took to wrap the towel around her head to settle the sudden lurch of her emotions. When she finally turned to face him, calmness had returned. “We’re getting ready for Sunday,” she said quite unnecessarily.
“I see the boys have been shorn.” He grinned, his eyes dark with mystery.
“I hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course not. It’s an improvement.” He ran his big hand over his own hair. “I suppose I could take a pruning as well.”
She snorted. “Pruning, indeed. You make it sound quite dreadful.” She grinned to show she wasn’t offended. “Are you asking me to cut your hair?”
His eyes sparkled. “Would you mind?”
Tipping her head to study him, she admitted his hair hung long around the ears and neck. “I don’t mind but let me brush and dry my hair first.”
“No rush.” He remained in the middle of the floor, arms crossed over his chest, watching her as she poured the basin of water down the drain.
She hesitated, confused by the expression on his face. “I was planning to sit outside to dry my hair.” She edged toward the door.
“Go ahead.” He followed, dragging a chair with him, tipping it back on two legs.
She hurried to the other chair, her thoughts tripping over themselves. His presence as she toweled her hair and attacked the knots with her brush unsettled her in a way she couldn’t explain. Why should she feel so on edge with him? After all, she’d slept beside him several nights without this sudden tingling of her nerves. Aware of his dark eyes watching her, Irene gave her hair more concentration than normal.
“It’s a fine day.”
Zach’s words, so ordinary, calmed her jitters.
She lifted her face to the sun, letting the warm breeze sift through her hair. �
��It’s lovely.” She filled her nostrils with the scent of pines and musky earth. “Too bad we couldn’t bottle this smell. We could sell it around the world. We’d be rich as kings.” She smiled at him, but at the look in his eyes, her smile froze.
“I wouldn’t trade places with a king.” His voice held a husky note. His eyes, steady and warm, sent a rush of warmth to her heart.
“Are you ready to cut my hair?”
Calling to all the self-discipline she had mastered through the years, she shook her hair over her shoulders. “As soon as I pin my hair up.”
“Leave it.” His words sounded strained.
“I beg your pardon.”
“Leave it down.” He cleared his throat. “It will dry better.”
She tried to think of something to say. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Her heart thundered so loud she wondered if he could hear it. She jumped to her feet. “I’ll get the scissors.”
She paused inside the door and took a shaky breath. Steady, old girl, she warned herself. Her movements sure and firm, she grabbed the scissors and returned outdoors.
Zach sat with the towel around his shoulders, the edges barely covering the bulk of his crossed arms.
She hesitated but a heartbeat, then stepped to his side. “Anything special?” she asked.
He considered her out of the corner of his eye. “All I ask is you do your best.”
“Fine.” She giggled. “All my haircuts are the same.”
He nodded. “Didn’t I guess that?”
Her senses assailed by the salty, warm scent of him, she leaned closer. She had never had a chance to study him so close. From this vantage point she could see a tiny scar traversing his nose. Although he shaved every day, he had a dark shadow that emphasized his squarish jaw.
Her hand was steady as a rock, surprising, she thought, when her insides quaked like rubber as she slid her fingers through his hair to lift the strands. Stop being a silly old maid, she scolded herself. Why should she react so strongly to his nearness? After all, it wasn’t like she hadn’t touched other men in her duties as a nurse.
She tightened her lips. She wasn’t a nurse here. She was a wife. Wife. The very word carried the right of intimacy. She swallowed hard and snipped a bit from the ends of his hair. Intimacy, she reminded herself, that she had given up all right to when she’d agreed with Zach’s conditions of this marriage.
Having settled the issue in her mind, she relaxed.
“Don’t move,” Zach murmured.
She froze. “What’s the matter?”
“Turn around slowly and look down the valley.”
She did as he said. Two deer tiptoed across the bottom of the valley.
“Boys,” Zach whispered hoarsely to the two playing nearby. “Look. Quiet now.”
They obeyed. Harry whispered, “Oh.” A sound round with awe.
The creatures slid into the shadows of some trees and disappeared.
“How beautiful,” Irene whispered as she turned and smiled at Zach.
“Yes,” he murmured. “I wouldn’t trade places with a king.” He held her in his gaze.
She returned to the haircut, her thoughts settled. She hadn’t given up anything, she reminded herself, set as she was to being an old maid. Look what she’d gained. “I quite agree. I’m privileged beyond imagination to be here.” Let him take that any way he wished.
But he remained silent.
6
Zach pulled the buggy beside an assortment of vehicles; two shiny black automobiles, one longer, slicker auto, several wagons, any variety of buggies, and a row of horses.
“Looks like I’ll have to face the entire community,” Irene muttered.
Zach shot her a sharp look. “It’s church. Not a public hanging.”
She remained doubtful. “I hope you’re right.”
“I’m always right.” His smug confidence made her laugh.
“Much better,” he murmured close to her ear as he lifted her down to stand beside him. “I’ve gotten used to seeing your smile.”
She cocked her head at him. “I thought you found me a bit too silly.”
“Never said anything of the sort.” He held out his arm.
Irene tucked her hand around his elbow, and he pressed it close to his side. He took Harry’s hand; she reached for Donald, pleased when he took his fingers from his mouth and readily took her hand. The sticky moisture in her palm didn’t bother her a bit.
“Let’s face your executioners,” Zach said, his tone serious.
“United we stand.” She lifted her chin and marched beside him to the door. Several heads turned. At least three women whispered behind their hands as they passed. Irene set her face forward and refused to pay attention.
“You’re here. I’m so glad to see you again.” Etta, the preacher’s wife, bounced down the steps toward them. “Welcome. Welcome.” She herded them inside with all the expertise of a cowhand.
“There,” Zach muttered for her ears only as they hurried down the aisle toward an empty pew. “Was that welcome enough for you?”
“I never doubted Etta’s welcome.” She dipped her head as she slid in beside Zach, aware of shifting around them as people turned to stare. “Do I have a dirty face?” she whispered to Zach.
He turned to study her.
She clung to his dark gaze even as he grinned. “No dirt. Hair’s in order. Clothes are proper. What more could you ask for?”
Then Reverend Williams took his place and her discomfort was soon forgotten as the familiarity of the hymns and the preacher’s gentle words of wisdom touched her soul.
At her side, Zach locked his hands together in his lap. From outward appearances he seemed at ease, but she sensed an unfamiliar tightness in him. He must have sat here many times with Esther at his side. She lay her hand over his forearm and squeezed. Quickly, she pulled back, her cheeks burning. But her reward was in seeing him relax.
The service over, they rose to leave. Addie rushed to her side, dragging a friend with her.
“Irene, this is Minnie Stanwell. She’s a good friend of mine.” Addie took Irene’s arm and drew her toward another clutch of women.
Irene shot a pleading look to Zach, but he only grinned like it was a huge joke.
Addie put her through a whirlwind of introductions. Irene’s thoughts swam in a sea of strange names and faces and invitations to “come visit anytime.”
She almost threw her arms around Zach’s neck when he ambled over, two little boys beside him, and said, “We best be heading home.”
She waited until they headed out of town to turn to him. “I think you enjoyed seeing me swallowed up by Addie’s friends.”
He chuckled. “There was quite a swarm of them, all right.” He grew thoughtful. “But I doubt you were in much danger of being swallowed. Seems to me you’re a young woman who can hold her own.”
“Hmm.” It sounded like a compliment. She settled back, easier in mind.
Over breakfast the next day, Zach announced, “I’ll start plowing today.” He turned from one boy to the other. “I’ll be close enough you can see me, but I don’t want you boys coming out. Matt is feeling his oats.”
Irene knew Matt was the big-footed horse she had seen in the field.
Zach turned to her. “I hate to ask it, but could you bring me something cold to drink midmorning?”
“I’d love to.” She noticed the flicker in his eyes and wondered if she’d been too enthusiastic. “Wouldn’t we, boys?”
Two heads nodded vigorously.
“Good-bye then.” He nodded at Irene and ruffled the boys’ hair.
Harry and Donald stared after him like he had announced he would be gone until Christmas.
“No time to sit and mope.” She scooped up dishes and plunged them into the dishwater. “If we’re going to get cookies made in time to take them to your dad we’re going to need to hurry.”
“Oh boy! Can we help?” Harry asked for them both.
“I
couldn’t manage without you. Harry, you get the big mixing bowl. Donald, you bring me the baking sheets.”
She let them help mix the dough, then showed them how to shape the cookies into balls, smiling as they labored over the task. Some cookies would be bigger, some smaller, but what difference did it make? They’d taste all the better for the love going into them.
By midmorning, the cookies lay golden and warm on a wire rack.
“Wash up now. It’s time to go see Dad.”
When they had done as she instructed, she handed Harry the sack of cookies and gave Donald a sack with four cups in it. She carried the jar of water.
The smell of freshly turned earth met them as they approached the field. Zach plowed down the side toward them. He waved, acknowledging them. Irene set the water on the grass and plunked down beside it as Zach continued his work.
The boys left their sacks with her so they could play in the cool furrow.
Zach had removed his shirt, giving her a chance to see his arm muscles ripple as he steadied the plow. She dipped her gaze, ashamed at the way she stared at him. But seconds later, she again watched him.
He drew close enough for her to see his eyes, and she knew he had seen her staring. Suddenly, it hit her. She had the right to stare. He was her husband. Even if in name only. She met his gaze steadily, refusing to lower her gaze.
He turned away, hung the reins over the handle, grabbed up his shirt, and shrugged into it.
The boys waited until he stepped across the furrows before they launched themselves at him.
“Dad, Dad! We made cookies!” Harry shouted.
Donald, wrapped around Zach’s leg, feet planted on one boot, rode high with his father’s every step.
“Cookies? Great. I’m hungry.” As Irene tried to get to her feet, he bent, caught her hand, and pulled her up, only inches away from him. His expression thoughtful, he smiled.
Determined to calm her wayward thoughts, she smiled. “Hope you like oatmeal cookies.”
“I like any kind.”
“Me, too.” Harry handed her the sacks. She pulled out the cups and filled them with water, handing around the sack of cookies.
