Beauty for Ashes (22 page)

From her perch on the wagon seat, Rosaleen frowned at the boy. “That’s no way to treat your only brother, young man.”

“Who asked you?” Caleb balled his fists.

“Caleb,” Carrie said quickly, “help me with these boxes.”

“I’ve got them.” Nate set her few belongings on the porch and went back to wrestle the walnut chest up the stairs. A few minutes later he returned, pink-faced from exertion.

“I reckon that’s everything.” He patted her shoulder. “You’re all set.”

“Thank you, Nate. I appreciate your help.”

“Thanks for the bread.”

“Yes, Carrie,” Rosaleen said. “I’m sure we’ll enjoy it. I myself am hopeless in the kitchen. Why, I can barely boil water.” She sent Nate a wicked grin. “But then, you didn’t marry me for my culinary skills, did you, sugar?”

Nate blushed. “We should go. It’s a ways back into town. You take care of yourself, Carrie. If you need anything—”

“I said stop it.” Caleb twisted Joe’s ear and shoved the younger boy to the ground.

Carrie marched over to them and grabbed each of them by the collar. “Both of you listen to me. This behavior will stop at once.”

“Or what?” Caleb’s face was red. His breath came out in little gasps. “You can’t do nothing to us. You’re not our mother.”

“Proof that God is real,” Carrie muttered.

Rosaleen laughed. “Oh my word, Carrie, you’ve got your work cut out for you here.”

Nate bent down until his face was even with the two boys. “You boys remember the day that Henry married your mama?”

Joe nodded vigorously. “The cake was really good.”

Nate smiled. “Yes, it was. But I’m remembering something the preacher said about loving everyone in your family. Being kind to them.” He waved a hand. “Miz Daly here is your aunt. She’s given up her own plans to come back here to look after you and your mama. That means you have to respect her and do what she says.”

“Even if she’s wrong?”

“She’s a smart woman. I don’t reckon she’ll be wrong too often. But I’d say yes, even when you think she’s wrong, you still have to mind her. Not because she’s bigger than you and can take a switch to your hides, but because you’re a family.”

“Fine,” Caleb said. “But I am still keeping my slingshot.”

Nate fished a coin from his pocket. “I’ll pay you to make another one for your little brother.”

Caleb reached for the coin. “Deal.”

“Not so fast.” Nate’s fingers closed over the coin. “How do I know you’ll keep your promise?”

“You’ll just have to trust me, I guess.”

“Ah.” Nate straightened. “The way you must trust your Aunt Carrie to do her best by you. See how it works?”

Caleb kicked at a dirt clod. “I reckon so.”

Joe tugged on Nate’s leg. “It’s not fair. I want a dime too.”

Carrie sent Nate a helpless look and massaged the throbbing at her temples.

“Well, sir,” Nate said thoughtfully. “I’m not in the habit of giving out free money. The way I see it, a man ought to earn his pay.”

“I can earn it,” Joe said. “What do I have to do?”

Nate looked around. “Let me see. First off, I reckon you could help your aunt tote that valise up to her room.”

“All right.”

“And after that, maybe you could fetch a bucket of water from the well. And bring in some stove wood so she can fix supper.”

The little boy frowned. “That seems like a powerful lot of work for only a dime.”

“Times are hard,” Nate told him. “Take it or leave it.”

“I’ll take it, I reckon.”

“Good lad.” Nate tossed both the boys a coin and climbed onto the wagon. “We’ll see you, Carrie.”

“’Bye, Carrie,” Rosaleen trilled. “Good luck.”

Joe ran to the porch and grabbed Carrie’s valise. “Mama said you can have your old room back, on account of me and Caleb are used to this place now, and we growed up and we ain’t afeared of robbers no more.”

Despite herself, Carrie smiled. “I’m glad you aren’t afraid anymore.” She picked up the box of books Nate had given her. “Can you hold the door open for me?”

“All right.” Joe held the door, then dragged her valise into the front hallway and peered into the box. “What’s in there?”

“Some books from Mr. Chastain’s shop.”

“Anything good?”

“I suppose that depends upon what you like to read.”

“Oh, I ain’t learnt to read yet, on account of there’s no school here anymore. But I know my letters and everything. And I’m real good at listening to stories. Mama used to read to me, but now she’s too sick.” He bumped the valise up the stairs and opened the door to Carrie’s old room. Joe shook his head. “I swear to you, Carrie Daly, I ain’t never seen so much puking in all my born days. Why, some days she—”

“That’s enough, Joe. I can well imagine.” Carrie set the books on the floor beside the bed and opened the window. Her prized morning glories had died. Wispy brown vines drooped from the trellis in the yard.

Joe joined her at the window. “I told her she shoulda watered ’em, but she was too sad when Pa first left, and then she got sick.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore.” She turned from the window. “Let’s see what we can find for supper.”

Griff led Majestic into his stall and removed the tack. The horse nickered and nuzzled his trainer, looking for the sugar cubes Griff kept in his pocket.

Griff grinned and gave Majestic his reward. “Good boy.”

He took his time brushing the horse, enjoying the cool quiet of the autumn evening and the companionship of the magnificent animal. He ran his hands over every inch of the horse’s flesh, teaching Majestic to trust his touch, feeling for anything that might cause discomfort. He checked each hoof for signs of abscesses. They could form fast if foreign matter became lodged in the horse’s shoe.

Majestic quivered and jerked and Griff found the culprit—a small stone that had worked its way beneath the curve of the shoe. Griff dug it out with a hoof pick and made a mental note to check the hoof again before tomorrow’s ride. With only three weeks to go until Race Day, he didn’t want to risk even the slightest injury that might hamper the colt’s chances.

He bent to retrieve his brush, and the telegram he’d received earlier in the day fell from his pocket. There was still room aboard the
California Queen
, the ship’s agent in San Francisco had wired, leaving for Australia on the first of November. A ticket would be held for him until mid-October.

He stuffed the wire back into his pocket and filled Majestic’s feedbag with oats. Amazing how quickly a man’s priorities could change. He’d come here intending to collect a debt and move on, but now he felt strangely connected to Hickory Ridge. He wanted to win the race not for the thousand dollars in prize money, but because the people here needed something to cheer about. Something to hope for.

And Lord help him, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the widow Daly. The news that she had decamped from her hotel and returned to the Bell farm left him feeling lonesome. Until she left, he hadn’t realized how much he’d come to count on seeing her leave the Verandah each morning with her basket of fresh bread for the church charity, her reddish curls shining in the morning light. She was a sight for sore eyes, all right, lovely in a quiet, refined kind of way. The polar opposite of the brash and beautiful Rosaleen.

He frowned. What on earth had the new Mrs. Chastain come here to find?

She was up to something. He could feel it in the same way he could feel when an opponent was holding a winning poker hand. But Rosaleen never did have an ounce of patience. She’d tire of life in Hickory Ridge before too long, and then she’d be gone.

The bookseller wouldn’t know what hit him. Poor devil.

NINETEEN

Carrie rifled through her box of books and handed Joe the book of fairy tales.

“I must see to your mother for a while. Pick out your favorite picture, and after supper I’ll read you the story.”

The child’s eyes lit up, and he favored her with an impish grin. “How about two stories?”

“Just one, Joe. I’m very tired.”

He took the book and settled himself on the stairs outside Carrie’s room. Relieved that he hadn’t made a fuss, she watched him thumbing through the pages. Perhaps he would turn out all right after all. Caleb, however, so angry and defiant, seemed destined for Eli McCracken’s jail.

Carrie went downstairs and knocked on Mary’s door.

“Come in.”

She entered the room and was nearly overcome by the stench sour smells of urine and vomit. Piles of dirty laundry lay in the corners and beneath the grimy, cobwebbed window. Mary was in bed, a pale blue coverlet pulled up to her chin.

“I heard you arrive,” Mary said, “but I didn’t feel like getting up.”

Carrie scooped a pile of dirty laundry off the chair and sat down. “There’s no sense in asking how you feel. It’s obvious.”

“I don’t understand it. I was never this sick with either of the boys.”

“Does Henry know?”

“I wrote to him a couple of weeks ago, but I haven’t had a reply. Your brother is not much of a correspondent.”

“But he is all right? He’s found work?”

“At the rail yard. He says the pay is pretty good, but the work is worse than farming.” Mary managed a wan smile. “And that’s saying something. Farming must surely be the most difficult job on earth.”

“At least you have the hired man to do the heavy chores.”

Mary looked away.

“Mary?” A wave of uneasiness moved through Carrie. “Henry did find someone? Before he left, he told me he intended to.”

“Oh yes, he found someone, all right. But the man was utterly useless, and bad tempered as well. He got angry with me because I asked him to do a few simple things here in the house.”

“Like what?”

Mary waved one hand. “Well, once I asked him to sweep the floors, and once to do the washing. But he said that wasn’t what Henry hired him for, and he refused to do it. I put up with his nonsense as long as I could, but last week I fired him.”

“You what?”

“I let him go.”

Hot tears built behind Carrie’s eyes. “You let him go. With winter coming on.”

“I knew you’d come back, and the ten dollars a month Henry was paying him can be used for better things.”

“What if I had said no?”

“I knew you wouldn’t.” Mary’s pale gaze held Carrie’s. “You may hate me, but you love your brother.”

“I don’t hate you. And I do love him. But I can’t run this place alone. Even when Henry was here, we hired help from time to time.”

“Oh. Well, how was I to know that? If you had stayed to help me instead of running off with that Charleston gambler—”

Carrie ground her teeth. “I did not run off with him. I decided to leave this house, and he helped me move.”

“I heard you were seen at the Gilmans’ place riding horseback with him, and not sidesaddle either. And that every time he sees you on the street he makes a beeline for you.”

“We enjoy each other’s company, what little there has been of it.” A fly buzzed about Carrie’s head. She waved it away and fought a bout of nausea. “How can you live in this filth?”

“It isn’t my fault that I’m sick.”

Carrie stood. “Tomorrow I’ll start cleaning up around here. For now, the boys need to wash up and have supper.”

Mary nodded. “All of a sudden, I’m hungry too.”

“At least we won’t starve. Henry said the garden did well this year. What all did you put up?”

“Put up?”

Carrie rolled her eyes. Lord, but the woman was dense. “The vegetables. Corn, peas, tomatoes, beans. You preserved them, right?”

“Well, I didn’t know I was supposed to. Besides, I thought Henry would be back for me by now. I thought that we’d move to Chicago and live in a decent house and the boys could go to school. I didn’t plan on getting a baby so soon and being sick.” Her bottom lip trembled. “Everything has gone wrong, and you’re blaming me.”

She covered her face and sobbed.

Carrie felt the last of her patience waning. “For goodness’ sake, Mary, stop bawling. It won’t solve anything.”