Serendipity (22 page)

Tight-lipped, Magpie then went about the cabin, hanging pictures. Without asking, she hung two samplers and a mirror in Helga’s space. Samplers – a reminder that she couldn’t read or stitch anymore. That doctor showed off yesterday, but whipping out a few simple stitches with both hands didn’t compare with the tiny, precise stitches required in needlework. And the mirror? With Helga’s face now drooping, having her image reflected back mocked her. That was so cruel, she’d burst into tears. Magpie took down the mirror and hung it up elsewhere – but that didn’t lift the sadness weighing on Helga’s heart.

This wasn’t the woman for her son. Uncouth and uneducated, Magpie certainly wasn’t the mother for his children. The hillbilly wasn’t simply thoughtless – she was mean. She ordered her husband around, telling him to fetch jam or the Bible. Had she baked anything in the dish from last night’s supper and arranged for it to be returned to that nice woman? Etiquette dictated a dish never be returned empty. Heathenish girl probably didn’t know that.

If only I could write! It is hard for me to remember so many things
at once. It never was before. But these are all things I should fix, or
she will disgrace the family.
Speaking aloud to the empty cabin, she declared, “It is my fault for getting sick. So it is my responsibility to fix the problems I cause.”

Helga stared at her left hand. Useless thing.
Come, now. Move.
Open just a little. Or my fingers. If I can wiggle them . . .
Nothing happened. Why not? Why couldn’t God heal her? Hadn’t she been serving Him? With that left hand there, had she not crocheted and quilted blankets for orphans? Following the doctor’s suggestion, Maggie unearthed a canvas and yarn so Helga could do some crewel stitching. But Helga knew she’d never manage.

What good was she without her hands? She couldn’t roll out pie dough or make noodles. She couldn’t braid hair. Crocheting, knitting, tatting, sewing – those were all lost to her, as well. Such simple, everyday activities and things. How many dozens of hankies had she tatted a lacy edge around? How many hundreds of pies had she baked? How she’d loved to brush Arletta’s long hair and braid it! And to read. She’d read stories to her children. Now she would have to be like a child and have others read to her.

I no longer have anything to offer.
And even worse, Maggie wasted time needed for vital work tending her. Helga had to ring a bell and halt everything if she needed anything at all.

The door opened. “Hello, Ma. It occurred to me that – ”

Helga cut Maggie off. “It should occur to you that your whirligigs would bother me.”

“Whirligigs?”

“Was it not enough that you dragged your trash in here and started nailing it to the walls? Did you have to hang it from the outside so you’d embarrass your husband?” As the girl lathered up at the washstand, Helga couldn’t help herself. “The silly wooden birds are just as crude as this thing you want me to stitch.”

Drying her hands, the hillbilly stared at her. “Whirligigs – what a fun word to say. Back home we called them woodicocks, and I thought one directly out the window might cheer you up. But I’ve reconsidered. You see, folks I love carved those pieces, and I take exception to you calling my treasures trash.”

“Then by all means, take it down and get rid of all this garbage you tacked up today. At least the things on my side.”

“Ma’am, the outside ain’t your side. Since you’re so set on me taking down my kin’s masterpieces from the inside, I’ll just have to honor my folks from the outside. I already moved the mirror and apologized for bruising your tender heart. ’Twas my lack of thoughtfulness that caused the problem, and I owned up to it. As for the stitch work – since you don’t appreciate it, I’ll move it. But that woodicock is staying outside. I can’t help feeling you’re sitting there, stewing and brewing up things to grumble about.”

Embarrassed at the truth, Helga snapped, “You speak to an elder this way?”

“You speak to the woman of the house in the same manner. If you didn’t care for the taste of your own medicine, mayhap you oughtn’t be dispensing it.”

“Those old fools let you have your head. They – ”

“Those fine gentlemen gave you the clothes on your back.” Magpie folded her arms across her chest. “Caring for them was my joy, yet fearing they’d encumber me from having a happy future, they nudged me out of the nest.”

She used
encumbered
on purpose.
Stung, Helga snapped, “We will be happy to send you right back.”

Maggie drummed the fingers on her right hand against her left arm – a definite sign of impatience and ire. A long minute passed. “I reckon by ‘we’ you mean you and the woodicock.” She pulled her skirts close and weaseled past. Taking down the first sampler with the pansies and daisies, a funny sound caught in the girl’s throat. She took the one with a trio of roses worked with a shamrock, too.

Trying to determine what those samplers said had nearly driven Helga crazy. Without them taunting her, her space felt . . . safer. But then she saw how that backward girl cradled those pieces. The way Magpie’s cheeks went pale and her nose got red tattled that she’d start crying any minute. Arletta hadn’t hung a single thing Helga stitched for her – a painful rejection because Helga often took the county fair’s blue ribbon for her needlework. But this girl cherished the things others made for her. She had a sentimental heart and appreciated what others did for her.
And I do appreciate what she does.
But I can’t let myself go soft over this.
In the end, she was doing the girl a favor. Things weren’t just rough on the Texas plains; they were raw. They’d be hard-pressed to eke out a living. She needed to learn to be satisfied with what she had instead of imposing on others.

Maggie tacked up the samplers on either side of the washstand, then turned to go.

“He did not marry you out of love.” Helga raised her voice. “He did it to get those horses. Years ago he had a pair of Belgians that got taken away, and he’d do anything to get another set. Anything – even marry you.”

A brittle smile creased the girl’s face. “I’ll add a matched pair of Belgians to the list. Todd also married me to get a gardener and a cook so he’d have thrifty, wholesome food grown, served, and preserved. Aye, and he covets my jellies and jams, so by wedding me he’ll enjoy those aplenty, whilst he’ll not have to trouble himself with laundry or ironing or cleaning. But you’re discounting your worth, ma’am, for sure as I stand here, your son married me most of all because of love. Because he loves his mama and needed someone to tend her. I’m supposing I can go right back out there now and hold my head high, knowing just how useful I am to your son – even if you say he had to be bribed to take me.”

Left alone, Helga wept. Shame scalded her. She’d blurted out vicious things – some true and others not – but she didn’t feel any better for it. She didn’t even know why she did it. No wonder her hand wouldn’t move. No work of the hand would be worthy when done with an impure heart.

“It
is
a stroke of God’s hand that has made me half dead.” She turned and caught a glimpse of herself in the washstand mirror. That momentary sight was all it took to assess the reality of what had become of her. “A useless leg and arm, one side of my face sagging, and a mouth that grows uglier each time I open it. How can I ask God to heal me when it is He who has done this to me?”

“Lord, you’re going to have to do something quick, because we both know your Word says I’m to be slow to anger, but that woman in there has me hair-triggered. Do you know what I almost said to her? Of course you know. But I’m a-gonna quote Shakespeare right now anyway because he and you feel like my only friends. If I don’t shed some of this wrath, it’s bound to spill out on that crotchety old woman and hurt her feelings.” Maggie inhaled and struck the pose she’d seen her father use when he depicted Othello. “ ‘You, mistress, that have the office opposite to Saint Peter. And keep the gate of hell!’ ”

A chilly breeze blew and birds twittered. Nothing had changed. Maggie let out a deep breath and shook her head. “Jesus, that didn’t help one iota. I acted just as self-indulgent as she is. Well, not quite. At least I didn’t do it to her face, intending to make her miserable for the rest of her days. But ’twas poorly done of me.

“You and me and Uncle Bo – we made it through dreadful rough times together, but now it’s just you and me. I’m supposed to lean on my man, but I can’t. Not just yet. Specially when he still favors his ma over me. I can’t say anything. And if I’m wrong – I’m sure I’m not – but if perchance I were, and he didn’t favor his ma, I’m merely a convenience. I never knew a heart could be so empty and cold. Back home, each day left me brimming o’er with happiness. Weeks and months flew by. Now each hour plods by in weighty boots . . . and I have a leaden heart to match.”

She trudged on, wondering what she had done. Loving Todd and wanting to be loved in return had brought her to this lonely place.
That dreadful awful debt casts a pall over Todd, and it will for
years and years to come. He’s using up all his feelings, worrying about
money and Ma. Will the leftover scraps of his attention be enough to
make him fall in love with me?

Todd met her at the edge of the field to accept some water. He drank four dippers full and gave her a sip from the next before he polished it off. Threading his fingers through his hat-flattened hair, he cleared his throat. “I have planned the house again and again. No matter the arrangement, it doesn’t work.”

“It works if the beds are each against a wall. But you’ll need to reverse them so Ma can still get in and out on her right side.”

“But then she cannot sit by the window.”

“She’ll be a few feet away from it.” Maggie shrugged. “The view’s still the same.”

He drank again. “I promised her the window, and she will freeze if her bed is against that wall. With us working, I knew you would not mind.”

I do mind. You should have asked me rather than giving her the
choice spot.
“Her bed can be narrowed, can’t it?”

“Nein. The frame – it is iron. The cabin is too narrow for the beds to go end-against-end.” Wiping his brow with his bandana, he stared past her toward the house. “The harvest – perhaps the yield will be sufficient to let me add a room. For now, I plan to push our bed against the wall.”

Months of only fifteen inches between them and Ma – and if the harvest wasn’t great, mayhap years. Now that she saw the state of affairs and discovered they were deep in debt, expanding the house was only a dream. Todd kept track of every last cent to pay the mortgage.

Maggie tamped down a sick feeling. Complaining wouldn’t solve the problem; hard work in the fields would. She’d get up earlier, go to bed later, work herself silly. What with the concessions he’d asked of her, he ought to grant her one tiny request as a sign of goodwill. “We’ll make do, but I have to have a door on the outhouse!”

Todd shook his head and swung his arm to encompass the farm. “Around you, there are countless needs. Essentials, Wife. Not fanciful things.”

“A proper door is not fanciful!”

“It is not done – a wife raising her voice. Ma, the house and meals, gardening, laundry – those are your concerns. The animals and fields – I see to those vital matters. With only two of us, the work is already too much.”

Never once had she mentioned a repair without a man accomplishing it at once. It was the very reason she hadn’t spoken a word about the roof back home, fearing Uncle Bo would run out, climb up, and kill himself. Even if Todd didn’t see the most basic item as important, he could grant her this boon. Instead, he chided her for not being a good wife.

Raising her chin, she locked eyes with him. “I’ll take care of it somehow.”

“Better you rid my barn of the mess you brought.” He dropped the dipper into the pail. “I need to help Toomel. We’ll return for supper.”

He left, and Maggie went to the barn. Todd wanted her things out of the barn? Then the only place to put them was the house. Aye, and he’d told her the house was her domain, so he’d accept whatever she chose to do.

Arms full, she headed back to the house. A small dust cloud in the distance grew larger. Soon, a dandified man rode up and doffed his hat. “Mrs. Valmer, I presume?” Simple hospitality combined with making sure her mother-in-law wouldn’t misconstrue anything led Maggie to invite Mr. Walker in for a cup of coffee. “I understand you brought a very interesting chair from the Ozarks.”

“My son will not take kindly to you trading.” Ma glowered at Maggie.

“If, perchance, I were to represent my husband’s interests and barter on his behalf,” Maggie ignored Ma’s gasp, “what would you be offering for such a rare piece?”

“I’d have to examine it for myself.”

While he went out to the barn, Maggie took hold of Ma’s hand. “Ma, you’d burn that chair if you could. If I can get us a door for the outhouse – ” Ma’s jaw dropped. “That’s right. Just a blanket is hanging there.”

Ma inhaled sharply. “If you take down that whirligig out my window, you may trade away my chair.”