Ten Thousand Charms (29 page)

“That must have hurt you,” he said.

Gloria concentrated on the feeling of her face against the glass.

“But my wife had just died. I didn't want to be—”

“Stuck with me?”

“What's that?" She felt a tug on her arm and allowed John William to gently turn her around. “1 can't hear if I can't see your face.”

“I said you didn't want to be stuck with me.”

John William tossed his head back and laughed. “No avoidin’ that, now was there?” He brought his hands up to cradle her face and bent her head forward to place a tiny, almost imperceptible kiss on the blond curls at the top of her head. “But if you're not my wife,” he spoke into her hair, “I got no claim to you.”

Gloria stepped out of his embrace and raised her eyes to meet his. “You can't
claim
me, John. I'm not a piece of land you can improve and own.”

“That's not what I meant.”

“Every place I've lived, all those houses were full of girls just waiting for some man to come along and make them a bride. Take them straight out of the whorehouse and down the aisle. But I never wanted that. It was never my dream.”

“What was your dream?”

His voice, so soft it skittered on the edge of hearing, asked a question no one had ever asked before. When she was young, she dreamt of a father who would show up at her mother's door and take Gloria to his home—a beautiful, three-story mansion with terraces and garrets sitting in the middle of a lush green meadow where a beautiful woman, his lovely wife, would throw her arms wide and welcome this battered little girl who would become her own child. Later the dream changed to an older gentleman in a
quiet brick house full of lush carpets, pipe smoke and books, who relied on his long-lost daughter to provide him comfort and conversation in his old age. But never in the idle hours between men did she waste her time fantasizing about a husband. She'd spent her life in and out of beds giving men what was expected from a wife. What was her dream? To live a life free from the life she'd lived. To protect her son from the sins of his mother. To never again be a part of a man's desire; to never again be on the other end of a man's touch.

That is, until she felt lips in her hair asking about her dreams, and absolute terror at not having the right answer.

“Why did you marry Katherine?”

“What?”

“Did you want to claim her? Rescue her? Or was it mad, passionate romance?” She clasped her hands to her breast and fluttered her eyelashes, mocking the emotion. John William responded with a smile and a slight shake of his head.

“She was a good woman,” he said. “She taught me about Christ, gave me a Bible. I guess some part of me thought that mar-ryin’ a good woman would make me a better man.”

“So you think marrying me would make me a better woman?” A sly, taunting smile tugged the corner of her lip.

“Well,” John William said, shrugging, “I don’ think it could hurt the cause.”

Gloria emitted an exaggerated gasp of horror and punched his arm playfully—nothing like the blow she landed earlier. John William grasped his arm and staggered to a half-sitting, half-lying position on the sofa. Barefoot and in her nightgown, Gloria attempted to flounce past him and into her room, but his hand caught hers before she could get away, and there was something in his grip that kept her from taking another step.

“Gloria, look at me.”

She did, and as she did, their fingers intertwined.

“I've got strong feelin's for you,” he said, looking at their hands rather than her eyes. “Feelin's that just aren't right without
you bein’ my wife.” He looked up at her, briefly, then looked away again.

“1 can't make you a better man,” Gloria said. “Making me a wife isn't going to erase my past. It isn't going to change me. Think about what I am, John, and tell me that it's something you want to claim.” She felt his grip loosen and let her fingers go slack, but the connection remained.

“I'm leaving, John. Just after the harvest.”

He smiled. “Now, darlin', we've been through this before.”

“That was different. I didn't know then what kind of future Danny would have. But now.

“What's changed?”

“Look around. I'll always be able to picture him in this home, growing up, going out into the fields. With you.”

“And Kate?”

“That little girl owes her life to me, but I don't owe mine to her. Or to you. Good night, John.”

She turned her back on him and padded away. She thought she heard him say her name one more time, but the rushing in her ears made her unsure if he had said “Gloria,” or “Good night.” She wouldn't acknowledge either.

She crawled into bed with Maureen, who appeared to be asleep. She lay awake, waiting for the sounds of John William's settling into the bed in the room next door, but heard nothing.

When the sky outside beckoned her to leave her bed—after an unnecessary rousing from Maureen—she half-expected to find John William still splayed out on the couch, and in her mind she reclaimed the dangling hand, brought it to her lips, and spoke to him the promises he'd asked for last night.

But he was gone. The next time she saw him he was up— dressed and scrubbed—swigging coffee and slapping backs, ready to get the harvest under way.

hile there had never been any discernible affection between John William and Gloria, they now took incredible pains to avoid each other. John William roused early, grabbed whatever cold food he could find in the pie shelf, hitched a team, and was well into the wheat before the rest of the hands had their first cup of coffee. Gloria begged off taking a noon meal out to the men, claiming the afternoon sun was too much for the babies and that she would be of much better use staying back at the house washing and slicing the vegetables from Maureen's garden in preparation for preserving and pickling. When the men came back at dusk, John William tended to the livestock while Maureen and Gloria served the crew a hearty supper. At his request, Maureen fixed a plate and took it to him in the barn.

If anybody picked up on their avoidance of each other, nobody remarked on it. Maureen attempted a few worried questions, but neither would offer conversation. Big Phil made one joke about sensing an early winter on an occasion when Gloria and John William passed in the yard, but a withering look from John William stopped the comment from escalating into banter. The sheer rhythm of a farm in autumn, the harvest of the field and the bounty of the garden, provided a work-filled haven from idle conversation.

Then came Sunday.

During harvest, the idea of Sunday as a day of rest seemed unreasonable. Despite the perfect stretches of clear crisp days, there was always the threat of frost or storm—any agent of the God they worshipped that could take away a year's worth of work
and profit in a day. So when Sunday morning came along, the men had to make do with warmed gravy over cold biscuits and no guarantee of a second cup of coffee, as Gloria and Maureen confiscated one team and a wagon to take themselves and the babies to church.

“No argument this time?” Maureen asked as they bumped along the road.

“Hm?” Gloria was mesmerized by the passing landscape.

“I'm just remembering the last Sunday you went to church.” The cheerful chortle that lurked just behind all of Maureen's words grated on Gloria's nerves, just as it had all week. “You kicked up quite a fuss. Thought that man was going to have to hog-tie you to a pew.” She bubbled into full laughter that died out after a few self-conscious moments.

“Just feels good to get away,” Gloria said after a while.

“That it does. Those men might feel the need to work on the Lord's day, but not me. He gave me a day of rest, and 1 intend to take it.”

Gloria glanced over her shoulder to the babies in the back of the wagon. Nearly six months old, neither Kate nor Danny would settle for being packed away in a blanket-lined basket as they had been for their journey from Silver Peak. Now the entire wagon bed served as a traveling crate, the bottom made soft and smooth by no less than three quilts. Although Danny showed no interest in ever bringing mobility to his little body Kate had taken to grabbing anything she could get a grip of and pulling herself to stand on her stubby, sturdy legs. Gloria checked frequently lest Kate stand up and get bounced right out of the wagon.

“They all right back there?” Maureen asked

“Fine.”

“Think they're warm enough?” There was a slight chill in the autumn morning. Both babies wore woolen pants and sweaters, gifts handed down from Josephine Logan.

“I'm sure they're fine.”

After a while, Maureen transferred the reins to one hand and reached the other over to cover Gloria's own.

“Child," she said, and only that, while the occasional squeezing of Gloria's hand communicated with more warmth than her most cheerful voice ever could.

Gloria broke the silence. “How long do you think it will take?”

“To get to town? About an hour.”

“To bring in the crop.”

“Ah," Maureen said, withdrawing her hand to gain better control of the team before they veered off the narrow path. “When it was just me and Ed and a sickle, it could take nearly a month. And that was with only ten acres planted. But that was before there was anyone to help. Just every farmer for himself. Now that the country's growin', why there's all kinds of men here just to hire out as hands. Pocket full of cash, no responsibilities. Course, Big Phil's just being neighborly. He's got a place of his own, but he's takin’ to start an apple orchard, so he don't have a crop this year, except hay, and there'll be plenty of time for that after the wheat gets in.”

“How long for
this
crop?”

“I talked with John last night,” Maureen said. “He thinks they're about half through.”

“Half?” Already?

“Well, they got eight men working, two reapers, a team going behind each machine tying up the sheaves.”

“That's just another week.”

“Until it's all cut. Then of course the stalks have to dry—”

“How long?”

“A few days. Then it all gets loaded and driven to Centerville. They've got a mill there—”

“Is that far?”

“About three days. Maybe five with the wagon loaded down. But that's a blessing. Time was we had to thresh it all by hand.”

“And then what will he— What's after Centerville?”

Maureen turned and gave Gloria a full smile. “Why, it's time to put up the seed wheat for the spring and start bringing in the hay.”

Gloria turned around to check on the babies again. Kate lay on her back, madly gnawing at the sleeve of her sweater. Danny was on his stomach, valiantly holding his head high until the next gentle jolt of the wagon made his elbows give out and his little head bomped down on the quilt. He was frustrated—not hurt— and Gloria sent him a sound of sympathy in the midst of her calculations.

One month

“A lot can happen in a month,” Maureen said, a sly song in her voice.

“What do you mean?”

“Just that a month is a long time.” Maureen's voice oozed innocence. “Seems to me that this time next month, little Kate might be able to walk herself to church.”

Gloria laughed at the exaggeration, then said, “When
do
babies start walking, anyway?”

“Whenever they decide to. One day they're just crawling around, hands and knees filthy from the floor, and God just hands down the strength to get up, find a balance, and take a step. After that, walking just comes natural.”

Gloria took a sidelong look at the woman who had grown to be so dear to her. “How do you know all this? You've never had—” She stopped herself too late, but the older woman's chuckle set Gloria's mind at ease.

“Good heavens, girl,” she said, “you don't have to have children to know they get up and walk.” She turned then, and seemed determined to stare until Gloria rewarded her with a smile. “As for the
when
we walk, why there's nothin’ to knowing that either. It's in God's timing—just like everything else. Nothing on this earth ever happens until God gives His hand to it. Crops don't grow, babies don't walk. We can make all the plans we want to, can try to make people fit and fill our lives, but there's not a thing we can do outside of His power. Funny how sometimes it's the people who love God the most that are the worst about lettin’ Him do His work, and the ones that don't care the least are happy driftin’
along, not even knowing they're under His hand.