The Hand-Me-Down Family (15 page)

T
hat evening, Jack sat on the porch again, whittling by the light of the moon.

Callie sure didn't fit into any kind of box he knew of. Hiding behind that bonnet and avoiding the limelight the way she did made her seem timid. And the woman was absolutely out of her element when it came to handling the farm chores.

But then again, she didn't seem to let much stand in her way when she wanted something, at least not for very long. In fact, when she happened on an obstacle, she easily went over or around it.

And she hadn't murmured a word of protest this evening when he'd told her it was time to get the animals in for the night. She just asked what she could do to help.

There was no denying she was good with the children. They'd hung on to her every word as she read that story. And to tell the truth, he'd been almost as taken in by it as they were.

The tale itself was part of it—nothing like a rousing adventure to keep you wanting to find out what happens next. But it was more than that. The way she'd breathed life into the words—the animation in her voice and face—had been
just plain entertaining. He could see the whole thing playing out as if it were on a stage.

And her singing in church today. She had an amazing voice, using it as a good musician used his instrument. And he was pretty sure he wasn't the only one who'd noticed. In fact he wouldn't be surprised if the choir didn't try to recruit her next time they showed up for Sunday service.

The door opened behind him and she stepped out on the porch.

“Thank you for going to church with us today.”

He ran his thumb over the edge of the wood. Did she think he'd done it just to get her approval? “I keep my promises.”

“Yes, of course. I didn't mean to imply otherwise.”

Jack changed the subject, moderating his tone as he glanced over his shoulder. “Interesting book.”

Some of the stiffness left her spine, and she sat on the bench behind him near the door. “I've always enjoyed it. I probably read that story a half dozen times before I turned twelve.”

“Seems an unusual choice for a girl.”

“Does it? I've always liked books that could carry me off to exotic destinations.”

At least that was something they had in common. He turned just enough to see her without turning his neck. “So, you like to travel.”

She laughed. “I'm afraid the only traveling I'd done before coming here
was
through books.” She tugged on her bonnet. “My family was always good about keeping me close—you know, sheltering me from strangers and large crowds.”

Hmm. Couldn't tell much from her tone, but he got that sense again that something wasn't quite right. Was that so-called sheltering something she'd appreciated or chafed at? Or had there been other motives that drove her family to keep her close?

He leaned back and studied her a moment. “You know, you don't need to wear that bonnet around the house.”

The smile she gave him was one part wistfulness and three parts resignation. “I think it's probably best I keep it on until the children get to know me a little better.”

“They're all in bed now.”

She took her bottom lip between her teeth, studying his face as if not certain of his intention.

He felt a stubborn impulse to push the point. “You insist that this is your home now, that me and the kids are your family. Did you wear that thing constantly when you were just among family?”

“Not growing up. But—”

She halted abruptly.

Now wasn't that interesting? He'd give a pretty penny to know what it was she'd been about to say.

Whatever it was, though, she apparently decided against elaborating.

“Very well.” With a small nod, she untied the ribbons under her chin. After only a slight hesitation, she removed the bonnet completely and set it in her lap.

It never ceased to amaze him how different she looked without that shield she hid behind.

Sure, she had that birthmark. But she also had rich green eyes and high cheekbones that gave her profile a classic beauty.

Why had God seen fit to mar such a face with that angry-looking stain? As far as he could tell, she was a good and dutiful member of His flock, not a rebellious scapegrace like himself. Surely she'd earned some measure of mercy.

Realizing he'd been staring, Jack went back to whittling. “So, what do you think about Texas so far?”

She smiled as she fanned herself with the bonnet. “It's cer
tainly a lot hotter than Ohio. But I can see why Julia came to love it so much.” She gazed off into the night, her smile turning dreamy. “There's a wild sort of beauty here, an untamed quality, that gets under your skin. God's majesty seems closer, more visible somehow.”

“Don't you miss your home just a little bit?” Jack asked.

Her grin had a teasing quality to it. “If you're trying to hint that I should go back, I'm afraid it's too late for that. To answer your question, though, of course I miss my family and former home. But my life has taken a new path now and I'm quite happy with it.”

He leaned back, resting his spine against a support post. “Speaking of family, you know a lot about mine, but I don't know anything about yours.”

She gave him a look he couldn't quite read. Was she remembering that he'd refused her earlier offer to have this conversation? If so, she chose not to throw it back at him.

“There's not a lot to tell. I have four sisters, two older and two younger. All four are married, two have children. My father is a tailor, one of the best in Hallenton.”

He heard the touch of pride in her voice and remembered her saying her father had read to her as a child. Theirs was obviously a close relationship.

“And your mother?” he prodded.

“She died of a fever when I was fourteen.” Callie paused, seeming to go inside herself for a minute. “About six months ago, my father married a very sweet, lovely young woman whom he met while on a business trip to Philadelphia. Sylvia, my stepmother, has made him quite happy.”

The very neutrality of her normally expressive voice hinted that there was more to the story.

“And how do the two of you get along?”

Her expression closed off further and he wondered for a
minute if she'd tell him to mind his own business. But she leaned back against the wall, putting her face deeper in shadow.

“Sylvia is a gently raised woman with very delicate sensibilities. She's been nothing but kind to me. In fact, she went out of her way to make certain I knew I would always be welcome in my father's home, even though she was now the ‘lady of the house.'”

Was that it? Had there been tension between the women over that position of power? Or did it have more to do with her stepmother's “delicate sensibilities”?

Suddenly her earlier half-finished answer—when he'd asked about wearing her bonnet in her old home—made sense. He felt a surge of anger that anyone would make her feel she was a burden or someone to be tolerated.

But before he could press further, she turned the tables on him.

“What about you?” she asked. “I know something about the boy you were, but Julia and Lanny never heard from you after you left Sweetgum. What did you do during those years?”

Her words reminded him again of the advantage she had over him because of Julia's letters. “As you said, not much to tell. I drifted around for a bit, seeing different parts of the country. Went to work for the railroad. Joined up with a demolition team and learned the trade. Eventually formed my own team. I've been blowing things up ever since.”

“What an odd way to describe it.” She tilted her head slightly. “Don't you sometimes wish you were building something rather than destroying things?”

Her question got his back up. Was she judging him again?

“Actually, I'm proud of the work I do. And I'm d—I'm good at it. I've built up a reputation for precision and safety that few others in the business can match.”

He shaved another curl of wood from the block in one quick motion. “And I don't think of it as destroying things. What my team does is clear the way so others can come behind and build new things, important things, like the railroad lines that connect people and places.”

“I hadn't thought of it that way.” Her brow furrowed thoughtfully. “So you enjoy your work?”

“Yes, I do.” Time to change the subject. “By the way, I plan to spend some time in town this week clearing away the debris left from the fire.”

Her face lit up with approval. “That's a fine idea. It's not good for the children to face that every time they go to town.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“And I'm certain the townsfolk will appreciate it as well.” Her smile shifted to concern. “But you're not planning to tackle it alone, are you?”

He shrugged. “Normally I would. But I'd like to get most of it taken care of before we go to town for market day on Friday. I asked Virgil after church service this morning to spread the word that I was looking to hire some help. I'll spend the day around here tomorrow making sure everything's in order, then get started on Tuesday.”

“Will that be enough time to get it all done?”

“If I get a couple of hard-working youths to help out it shouldn't be any problem. But even if I have to do it all myself, I'll see that it gets done.”

Jack watched from the corner of his eye as she twisted her hands in the folds of her skirt. Something was on her mind.

“I wanted to speak to you about Emma,” she finally said.

Emma? Of the three children she seemed to be adjusting the best. Sure, she'd been crying at the cemetery this morning, but there was nothing so unusual in that. The girl had just lost her parents, after all. “What about her?”

“She's just too quiet, too closed in.”

Wasn't quiet a good thing? “Mrs. Mayweather did say she's always been on the shy side.”

“I know.” Callie tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “But this seems like something more than just shyness.”

How could she know that after so short a time? “The kid's been through a lot these past few days. Seems to me it's only natural for her to mourn for a time.”

“Maybe you're right.” Callie didn't sound entirely convinced.

“I'm sure that's all it is.” Jack rested his arm on his knee. “I would have thought you'd be more worried about the way Simon's been acting.”

She smiled sadly. “Simon is just angry at the world right now. No chance of him hiding how he's feeling. He'll get it out of his system eventually. He just needs a firm hand until he learns to trust us and feels some sense of security again. And thankfully, a firm hand seems to be your specialty.”

Before he could respond, she stood. “I guess I'll turn in.”

He nodded. “I think I'll sit out here a spell longer.”

Once Callie was inside, Jack continued absently shaving on the block of wood.

So, she thought his parenting methods were something to be thankful for, did she? That was a surprise.

What was even more of a surprise was the warm feeling of pleasure brought on by simply glimpsing the light of approval in her eyes. He'd never had a woman look at him quite that way before.

And, in spite of himself, he found he liked it.

T
he next morning, Callie had already kicked off the covers and swung her feet to the floor when she heard Jack's rap on her door. “I'll be out in a minute.” At least he hadn't caught her still asleep this time.

“I'll meet you in the barn.”

Again, when Callie hurried through the kitchen, she saw the stove had been stoked. Just how early did that man get up, anyway?

She entered the barn to see Jack already seated beside Belle with several inches of milk in his pail.

He glanced up. “Think you remember how this works?”

Callie nodded. So much for morning pleasantries.

“Good. You'll find the grain in that sack over there.” He nodded his head toward an empty stall. “Scoop up some for Clover's trough, but keep an eye out for rats.”

Callie had her hand halfway in the sack before his warning sunk in and she drew back. “Rats?”

“That's right.”

Was that a hint of amusement she heard in his tone? Maybe he was just teasing.

“The barn cats do a fair job of keeping them run off,” he elaborated, disabusing her of the notion that rats weren't a real possibility, “but every once in a while they slip in past the cats. The feed sacks draw them like a candy store does a youngster.”

She swallowed, trying to work up the courage to stick her hand into the sack.

The rhythmic pinging of milk squirting into the pail stopped. “Just knock on the side a couple of times with the handle of the hoe or pitchfork and wait a couple of seconds. If there's one in there, he'll come scurrying out.”

Not an altogether reassuring thought. Callie did as she was told, certain he was laughing at her all the while. When nothing stirred, she gingerly scooped up a generous portion of grain and hurried over to Clover's trough.

Jack nodded approvingly. “Once she starts eating, you can get to work. Don't forget to wash her udder and to save some milk for her calf.”

Callie found the correct rhythm quicker this time, getting the milk to squirt into the pail on her second try.

Once the milking was done, she set her pail beside Jack's on the worktable and let Clover's calf out of his pen.

She and Jack worked together until they were finished in the barn, Callie filling the silence with a quiet humming. This work was different from what she was used to, but it wasn't much harder than scrubbing floors or doing piles of laundry, both of which she was intimately familiar with.

Jack finally dusted his hands on his pants and shot her a challenging look. “So, do you want to try your hand at gathering eggs this morning?”

“Of course.” That chore
had
to be easier than milking cows.

Callie let him lead the way.

First he scattered grain in the chicken yard. “Just throw this about on the ground and let them scratch for it. Most of them will come out to eat, which makes the egg gathering a lot easier. Of course, a few might stay on the nest.”

“And what do you do then?”

“You carefully reach under them and slide the egg out.” He handed her the basket. “But before you reach into a nest, whether a hen is there or not, it's a good idea to check for snakes or other critters.”

“Snakes!” First rats and now snakes?

“For the most part, any snake you find in the nest will be a chicken snake. It might give you a scare, but it won't hurt you. What it
will
do is swallow your pin money.”

“Pin money?”

“They eat the eggs. Not to mention baby chicks, if you're trying to hatch some. Eggs aren't just food for our table. Any extras you have at the end of the week can be taken to town on market day and traded for other things you need.”

“So what do you do if a snake is in there?” Poisonous or not, there was absolutely nothing that could convince her to touch a snake.

He must have seen the look on her face. “Don't worry, it doesn't happen often. We'll just cross that bridge when we come to it. So, assuming there's no snake, if the chicken is still sitting on the nest, you're gonna have to reach under her to collect the egg. Sometimes they'll let you do it without much fuss, but other times, they'll take exception.”

“How?”

“You'll have to watch out for the sharp beaks—I've gotten my hands pecked more times than I care to remember. Or they might try to fly into your face, so be ready to duck. Just don't drop the eggs.”

Callie swallowed hard. She'd accepted that farm work
would be difficult. But she hadn't realized it could also be hazardous.

She sent up a quick prayer for courage. She was determined not to embarrass herself in front of Jack

 

“Good breakfast.” Jack set his fork down and stood. “Girls, you help your Aunt Callie clean up the kitchen. Simon, you can help me take care of some chores outside.”

The boy met his glance across the table with a guarded look.

“Have you ever chopped firewood before?” Jack asked.

Simon sat up straighter. “No, sir.”

“Ever handled an ax at all?”

Simon shook his head again.

“Then I'd say your education has a few holes in it. It's high time we fixed that.”

“Yes, sir.” Simon stood and gathered up his dishes. Obviously the idea of wielding an ax sounded better than kitchen chores.

Jack saw the protest forming on Callie's lips and gave her a look that silenced whatever she'd been about to say. Last night she'd said she appreciated his firm hand with the kids. She'd just have to remember that and trust him to know what they could and couldn't handle. These three had to learn to take some responsibility, especially if she was to have any chance of making a go of things here once he left.

She certainly couldn't do it all on her own, and there were lots of things the kids could handle with the right kind of training.

Jack carried his empty plate to the sink. “Why, by the time your Uncle Lanny and I were your age,” he told Simon, “we were chopping firewood, milking cows and helping with the plowing.”

Callie turned to the girls. “All right, ladies. Annabeth, you finish clearing the table. Emma, you can wash the dishes. I'll dry and put them away.” She handed Emma a clean apron, then fetched hers and tied it around her waist.

“It's laundry day,” she continued, “so I'm going to the washroom to set the water to boiling while you two get started in here.”

Jack raised a brow. How about that—Callie was actually taking his cue on something. Maybe he'd been wrong about her teachability after all?

 

Jack hefted his sledgehammer as he watched Simon. The boy hit a chunk of wood dead center, splitting it into two nearly equal pieces. They'd been at it for almost thirty minutes now and both of them were sweaty and tired. But Jack finally felt that his nephew was getting the hang of it.

He clapped Simon on the shoulder. “That's probably enough for today. Good job.”

Simon added his contribution to the woodpile and wiped his brow. “You're planning to go back to work with the railroad, aren't you?” The boy leaned on the ax handle and gave Jack a dark look.

Jack's temper rose in response, then he remembered what Callie had said last night about the likely cause of Simon's orneriness. “Eventually,” he said as matter-of-factly as he could. Then he led the way to the barn.

Simon hefted the ax and marched along behind him. “And you're going to just leave us stuck out here on this hayseed farm.”

“I'll be coming back for visits every few months. And it's not such a bad place to be, Simon, if you just give it a chance.”

“If you think it's so great, why'd you leave Sweetgum as soon as you could?”

Jack put away the wedge and sledgehammer.
Remember, he's just a confused kid
. “That was different. I was a grown man and your Uncle Lanny and Aunt Julia were moving in here to help my mother after my pa died.” He held out a hand for the ax. “It was time for me to strike out on my own.”

“Momma said you wanted to get away from here ever since you were a kid.”

“True. But I don't regret growing up here or learning all the skills my daddy taught me.” At least not now when he looked back on it. “I still use a lot of what I learned back then.”

“Well, that's where we're different. My pa taught me town skills 'cause that where my home is.”

What in Tom's back forty were town skills? “I'm sorry, son, but it's time for you to accept that that place doesn't exist any more.”

Simon's expression darkened. “Don't call me that. I'm not your son.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Besides, the land the café and our house was built on is still there. And it belongs to Emma and me. We can rebuild it.”

“Maybe. But then what? You and Emma can't live there by yourselves. And your Aunt Callie and Annabeth will need your help whenever I'm away.”

Simon's hands clenched at his sides. “That's not fair.”

Jack shrugged. “Maybe not. But that's the way it is.”

Simon wasn't giving up. “Then they could live with Emma and me.”

Jack folded his arms. His patience was growing thin. “And do what? How would you live? At least here there's fresh milk and eggs. There's a vegetable garden out back and meat in the smokehouse.”

“I could get a job.” Simon met Jack's gaze head on. “I'll bet Mr. Pearson down at the hotel would hire me to run errands.”

The boy didn't know when to cut bait. “It wouldn't be enough to support all of you.” He placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, trying a different approach. “Simon, when I'm not here, you're going to be the man of the house. I need to know that I can count on you to take care of the womenfolk and always think about what's best for the family, not just for yourself.”

Simon shook off Jack's hand and stepped back. “And is that what you're doing when you think about leaving?”

“That's different.” Was he really trying to justify his actions to an eleven-year-old? “Look, I need to return to my old job. It's important work, I'm good at it, and my crew and my customers depend on me. And like I said, I'm not abandoning you. I'll come back to visit on a regular basis and I'll be sending money to help Aunt Callie with the expenses.”

“So that makes it all okay?”

“Yes, it does,” Jack snapped.

He watched as Simon spun on his heel and stalked away.

Jack raked a hand through his hair. So much for holding on to his temper. But confound it, what was it going to take to make that boy see reason?