Heartbreak Creek (12 page)

Memories burst into her mind—the switch rising and falling, blood flecks on the rug, her big sister’s arms holding her while she wept. A prickle ran through her. Then she thought of her husband’s warning not to raise her hand against his children, and the prickle became a shudder of disgust. “He thinks I was. But I would never use a cane on them, Pru.”

“I know that.”

“I’m not like my mother.”

“No, you aren’t.” Her sister’s arm slid around her shoulder. “And you never could be, dearest.”

As always, her sister’s reassuring words and gentle touch drove the suffocating memories back into the shadows. It frightened Edwina how much she needed that touch still, and how terrifyingly alone she would feel if—when—Pru took it away. Had she truly become that weak and dependent? Angry with that notion because she feared there was truth in it, she pulled away from her sister’s grip.

“But something has to be done, Pru. It’s not fair to us or the children to allow such behavior to go on.”

“You’re right.” Pru began scraping the plates.

“Then why are you upset?”

“I’m not upset. I’m worried.” After dumping the food scraps into the slop bucket by the back door, Pru pulled a rag from the sink and began wiping down the counter. “I fear you’ve got a battle on your hands. Mannering these children won’t be easy. Things will probably get a great deal worse before they get better.”

Edwina thought of Declan’s warning about Joe Bill being a trickster, and the boy’s hard glare before he left. She didn’t doubt that even now the battle lines were being drawn.

“Declan stood up for me, though.” And Edwina was still a bit surprised that he had. “At least there’s that.”

Pru stopped wiping and looked at her, a smile teasing her lips. “Declan? When did you start using his given name?”

“What else should I call him?” Feeling heat in her cheeks, Edwina turned away to finish clearing the table. “
Mr.
Brodie sounds so . . . subservient . . . so docile.”

Pru laughed out loud. “Docile? You?”

Edwina paused, a sudden mental image capturing her mind. Her husband, standing in the doorway with his children, his damp hair tumbling over his furrowed brow . . . lots of hair, as dark and glossy as that Indian fellow’s, except with a slight wave, rather than stick straight. She bit back a smile.
That rascal
.

Shaking the image away, she turned back to her task. “And you should quit ‘sir’-ing him all the time, Prudence. It sounds too—”

“Subservient?”

“Oh, hush. Or I’ll tell the children the pig food was all your idea.”

By suppertime, Edwina had come up with her “mannering” strategy; simple and direct, easily understood, and with only a few rules to follow. To encourage cooperation, she helped Pru prepare a sumptuous stew with items gleaned from the now fully stocked root cellar below the kitchen, and as a further inducement, they baked three loaves of bread and a rhubarb cobbler. To make sure the message reached them, Edwina set the loaves to cool in the open window above the sink so that the tantalizing aroma of freshly baked bread could drift on the warm afternoon breeze.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Pru said as Edwina set beside each plate a folded napkin with a crocheted edge, part of a stash of musty-smelling linens she had found in the back of a china cabinet built into the staircase wall. “You can’t go at them with everything at once.”

“I don’t intend to.” Edwina surveyed the table—cups, plates, tableware, napkins—everything in place. Satisfied, she positioned the slop bucket, which she had thoroughly washed just in case, in full sight on the counter by the sink. “Today we’re only concentrating on table manners.”

“Only.” Pru sighed.

“Are we ready?”

“As we’ll ever be.”

The inducements apparently worked. When Edwina stepped out onto the front stoop to ring the bell, she found her new family already converging on the house like carnivores drawn to a fresh kill. A disturbing thought. But she held fast to her position blocking the doorway, hands clasped at her waist, a smile of welcome masking her steely resolve.

Unable to get past her, they stopped before the stoop, staring at her in restless confusion.

Edwina noted two new faces in the group—the ranch workers, no doubt. “I hope everyone is hungry,” she said cheerfully. “We have a wonderful dinner prepared, as I know all of you have worked hard this afternoon.”

Faces relaxed somewhat. Except for Declan’s, whose dark eyes narrowed in suspicion. Already, the man knew her too well.

“If you don’t mind,” she went on pleasantly, “there’s just one teensy little thing I’d like to ask of you before you go in.”

The children shifted impatiently. The newcomers—a limping, wheat-thatched, freckled young man who she assumed was Chick, and a bleary-eyed middle-aged man with a look of defeat, who was probably Amos—regarded her with befuddlement.

After pausing to be sure she had everyone’s full attention, Edwina said, “Wash. Faces, necks, hands front and back. I left soap and toweling beside the trough out back.”

For a moment, there was so little reaction she wondered if she had only thought the words, rather than spoken them aloud. Then Brin—whom Edwina recognized by her short stature and the tattered slouch hat that almost covered her eyes—held up a hand and said, “Both hands? I only use this one.”

How does one wash only one hand? “Both,” Edwina answered, trying not to smile. The child was certainly a character, irregular ways and all.

“Seems a waste.”

Other mouths opened, but before arguments erupted, Declan waved his offspring toward the trough outside the barn. A moment of resistance, more milling, then the children filed past, mumbling and glaring at Edwina.

“You, too.” Declan motioned to the two newcomers. With a considering look at Edwina, he turned to follow them.

“Oh, and one more thing,” Edwina said to his broad back.

He stopped and turned, his expression showing impatience.

“No hats at the table, please. If losing hair is a problem, I will be glad to loan you a scarf to prevent it from falling into the food.”

He blinked. Then understanding dawned. Edwina wasn’t sure how she knew that, or knew that he was amused—there was little change in his usual stern expression—yet the laughter was there, hiding behind his expressive eyes. Perhaps she was getting to know him better, too.

“And the flies?” he asked, deadpan.

Masking her own amusement with an off-hand gesture, Edwina said, “Since I doubt you have fresh mint, I’ll hang cotton balls at the window.”

“Try mountain elder. I think there’s some blooming by the creek.”

“Why, thank you so much for the kind suggestion. Perhaps I’ll stroll down there later.”

“Watch for cats if you do. R.D. said he saw a big one on the ridge.” He must have seen her confusion. “Big cats,” he clarified. “I don’t know what they call them in your part of the country—cougars, pumas, mountain lions, whatever. This one is full grown. If you see it, don’t run or it’ll get you for sure.”

“Lions? You have lions?”

“Sometimes.” Looking pleased to have shaken her composure, he flashed that startling grin and continued on around the side of the house.

Stepping back inside, Edwina closed the door, giving it an extra tug to make sure the latch fell.
Round one to Declan
. Yet, despite her unease over lurking mountain lions, she couldn’t help but smile in anticipation of her next battle with her clever husband.

“Don’t start ladling the stew into the tureen,” she instructed Pru, who was adding final seasonings to the big pot on the stove. “Wait until they’re seated, so they can see what they’ll be missing if they don’t cooperate.”

“You’re mean.”

“I’m determined. Here they come.”

She had just taken her position in the chair at the foot of the table, smile in place, hands folded in her lap, when her damp-faced family trooped in the back door.

While the children scrambled into their seats, Declan introduced the women to his workers, Chick McElroy and Amos Hicks. Then pointing the stammering, red-faced gentlemen to empty chairs, he hung his and Brin’s hats on hooks by the door, and took his place at the head of the table opposite Edwina.

As soon as everyone had settled and all eyes were pinned on Prudence as she spooned stew into a chipped porcelain tureen, Edwina said, “Before we begin, children, there are a couple of things we need to address.” She said it in a friendly way but wasn’t that surprised that the young faces turning toward her didn’t return her smile.

Undaunted, she pressed on. “First of all, your father”—she paused to direct an especially bright smile at Declan, who watched her warily from the other end of the table—“has asked that I not turn you one against the other, which I assume also means I should not favor one over the other. Is that right, Mr. Brodie?”

A pause, as if sensing a trap, then a slight dip of his head, which sent that errant lock of glossy black hair sliding down over his forehead. Edwina watched him absently reach up to push it out of his eyes, and realized again the man had the loveliest hair, and the biggest hands, and a way of looking at a person that almost made her feel—

“Go on.”

Jolted out of her momentary lapse, Edwina cleared her throat, then acknowledged his reluctant nod with a gracious one of her own. “Therefore, children, be advised that when a rule is broken by one of you, the consequences will fall on all of you.”

Brin leaned toward Lucas. “What’s consequences?”

“Punishments,” Lucas whispered back.

“That’s not fair,” Joe Bill muttered.

“What rules?” R.D. asked.

“They’re quite simple, really.” Edwina counted off on her fingers: “Chew with your mouth closed. Don’t speak when your mouth is full. Don’t gobble your food or slurp your soup. No shouting, kicking, arguing, cursing, hitting, belching, shoving, or hats at the table. Keep your napkin—that’s that folded piece of cloth beside your plate—in your lap when it’s not in use, and whenever possible, use your utensils rather than your fingers.”

Brin leaned toward Lucas again. “What’s utensils?”

“Eating things. Knives, forks, spoons, and suchlike.”

Brin sat back. “I’m not allowed to use knives,” she told Edwina. “Pa consequenced me after I cut Joe Bill.”

Edwina choked, then clumsily covered it with a cough. “Then we will see that your food is cut into bite-sized portions until your punishment is lifted.”

“What if you’re eating peas?” Joe Bill looked to his brothers for support. “The only way to get them in your spoon is to push them with your finger, right? What do we do then?”

“Push with the flat side of your knife, instead of your finger.”

“I’m not allowed to use knives,” Brin said again.

“What about corn on the cob?” This time it was R.D. “Can we eat that with our hands?”

“And chicken legs!” Brin shouted, joining happily in the game.

Declan sat back in his chair, one arm hooked over the backrest, apparently unconcerned by the torment his children were dishing to their new stepmother.

Edwina’s facial muscles started to quiver with the effort of maintaining her smile. “We will address each question as the circumstance arises. But for now, let’s just concentrate on the rules I have mentioned.”

“What rules?”

She refrained from shouting them out as she laboriously counted them off again. “And because this is new to you,” she added, “you will be given two chances.”

“Would that be two chances each?” R.D. asked. “Or two total?”

“Total.”

“So if Joe Bill burps, it’s okay the first time? But the second time we all got to eat slops?”

Edwina pressed fingertips to a sudden tic that had developed in her right eyebrow. “Exactly.”

“What if he can’t help it?” R.D. frowned at his younger brother. “He’s a mouth breather, you know.”

What a surprise
. “We will take that into consideration.” Then before they could dream up further challenges, she added with an edge of desperation, “Now, who would like to say grace?”

“Grace!” Brin shouted. “I said it first! I win!”

Ignoring the muffled laughter coming from the direction of the stove, Edwina narrowed her eyes at the man watching from the other end of the table—was that a smirk? “Mr. Brodie, perhaps you will lead us in a blessing?”

The smirk faded. “Amos, you do it. You’re the preacher here.”

Amos Hicks pressed back in his chair, a look of panic on his face. “N-N-No—I-I—”

“I’ll do it,” Chick McElroy offered with a grin that revealed chipped front teeth. “My grandpa was a Baptist.”

“Excellent. Thank you so much, Mr. McElroy. Children, if you will bow your heads, please.”

After an extended period of squirming and throat clearing, Chick began in a voice worthy of any pulpit, “O Lord, before you send us wretched sinners and Godless heathens into the fiery pit of hell to burn forever in the crackling flames of eternal damnation, we ask that—”

“Pa,” Brin cried, eyes round with terror, “I don’t wanna go!”

“Me, neither!”

“What’s a heathen?”

Pandemonium erupted.

Edwina slumped back in defeat. While Declan struggled to calm his sons and reassure his frantic daughter, she pressed a hand to her brow and wondered why she ever thought she could bring the grace of good manners to this household. This wasn’t her family. These weren’t her children, and Declan wasn’t her husband. Not really. And if they chose to live like wild beasts, it was certainly no reflection on her. She didn’t even have to stay if she didn’t want to. She could always go back to Heartbreak Creek with Pru and teach Negroes to read. A fine idea. Yes, that’s exactly what she should do. She would start packing tonight.

“Mr. McElroy.” Her sister’s calm voice cut through Edwina’s dismal thoughts and the children’s raised voices. “If you wouldn’t mind finishing up, sir? Dinner is getting cold.”