The Hand-Me-Down Family (19 page)

That seemed a strange choice of words. But before he could question her further, she stood. “I think it's time for me to retire. You enjoy the evening.”

Jack continued shaving strips off his block of wood. At least it seemed his impulsive kiss hadn't done any permanent damage to the friendship that had begun to take root between them.

Why, he wondered, didn't that give him a sense of satisfaction?

C
allie set a pie on the window sill to cool and glanced out toward the work shed, wondering what Jack was up to.

He'd come back from town at lunchtime today and spent most of the afternoon working on some project out there. He'd been evasive about whatever he was up to, but he'd worn a self-satisfied smile when he came in an hour ago looking for baking soda, wood polish and silver polish.

She shook her head and moved back to the oven to fetch the second pie. As if her thoughts had conjured him up, Jack stepped through the back door.

“Where are the kids?”

She placed the pie atop the stove. “I believe the girls are in the parlor and Simon is on the front porch. Why?”

“I have something to show them. Would you call them in here?”

So, they were finally going to learn what he'd been up to. Intrigued, Callie did as he asked. When the four of them entered the kitchen, Jack stood beside the table. He'd thrown a cloth over it and there were several interesting looking lumps beneath it.

“Here we are,” she said unnecessarily.

Jack nodded and waved them forward. “Simon and Emma, while we were working in town last week, my crew and I found a few things I thought you might want.” With a flourish, he pulled away the cloth to reveal an odd assortment of items.

A penknife lay next to a silver-plated hand mirror and a delicate teacup.

A tin box held three polished rocks and an assortment of marbles. Next to the box was a gold locket, without a chain.

Displayed on a flour sack were a collection of knobs, handles, drawer pulls and other assorted hardware.

And behind all of these items were three wooden boxes of different sizes and designs.

Simon touched the penknife as if it were a valuable relic. “This was Dad's. He used it to trim the wicks on the lamps.”

Jack put a hand on the boy's shoulder. “It's yours now.”

He turned to Emma who was running a fingertip over the mirror, as if afraid it would break if she applied even the slightest pressure.

“I know that was your mother's,” he said softly. “She got it for her thirteenth birthday.”

Emma nodded, her eyes glistening.

Callie watched the children's reactions to these rescued treasures and swallowed back the lump in her throat. Every one of these items had been scrupulously cleaned so there was not a smudge or hint of char on them. The silver gleamed. The locket glowed with the warmth of well-worn gold.

The man was a fraud. Anyone who would go to so much trouble to salvage these treasures for the children was no cold-hearted loner. But then again, she'd stopped believing that about him quite some time ago.

She cleared her throat and touched the rim of the teacup.
The delicate rose-patterned piece had a soft, pearly luster inside and out. “This is beautiful.”

“It's Momma's good china.” Emma's voice was hoarse with emotion. “We only used it when company came.”

Callie nodded, moving her hand from the cup to Emma's shoulder. “Then it deserves a place of honor. What do you say we clear a spot in the china cabinet for it?”

Emma nodded.

Callie picked up the delicate cup and solemnly carried it over to the china cabinet that stood in the dining room. With great care she shifted a few items around and then set the tea cup where it could be admired with ease.

When they returned to the kitchen, Simon was eagerly examining his rocks and marbles.

Jack pointed to the boxes. “I thought you might like to have something to store your treasures in. These are made from the wooden walls and floors of your house. The hinges and knobs are from the doors and windows.”

He looked at Annabeth. “Little Bit, I made one for you, too. I thought you might like to have a memento to remember your Aunt Nell and Uncle Jed by.”

Callie met his eyes over the heads of the children and hoped he could read her approval.

Lord, thank You for bringing this man into the children's lives. And mine, as well.

 

The next few days settled into a routine. Callie rose with the sun to help Jack with the morning chores. Then she woke the children and started breakfast. By the time she had the meal on the table, the children were dressed and in their seats, and Jack was cleaned up and ready to join them. After breakfast, everyone scattered to his or her assigned chores for that day, and Jack headed into town to work on the construction.

As the days passed, though, she and the children saw less and less of Jack. He didn't even bother to come home for the noonday meal. Instead he stuffed a chunk of cheese, a thick slice of bread and an apple or pear in a basket to take along with him.

It was usually late when he returned from town. Once he checked that everything was in order with the animals he washed up and came in for supper.

Even their nightly chats grew shorter. Callie tried to look on the bright side of things. It was probably for the best. After all, this was how things would be when he went back to his old life. She should get used to it now.

But she found very little consolation in that thought.

By the end of the week, however, she was worried about the toll the workload seemed to be taking on Jack himself.

He'd been pushing hard—too hard. Rising before sunup, doing his share of the morning chores, then gulping down breakfast before heading to town. The days had been brutally hot, yet that hadn't slowed him down. By the time he came home in the evenings he looked withered and bone tired.

Callie stood in the kitchen Saturday evening, and glanced at the watch pinned to her bodice for the tenth time. It was nearly dark out and there was still no sign of Jack. She'd long since fed the children and cleaned up their dishes.

What was keeping him? Had he run into problems?

Her head came up at the sound of a wagon.

“Your Uncle Jack is home,” she announced. “Emma, would you set him a place at the table, please? Simon, run out and see if you can help him with anything.”

Callie nibbled at her bottom lip. This was ridiculous.

It was time she had a talk with him. Tonight. Before the fool man worked himself down to a nub.

 

Jack inhaled deeply as Callie set a plate in front of him. Coming home to a meal like this in the evening had become the high point of his day. He was sure going to miss it when he returned to life on the road.

Among other things.

Funny how that kind of thinking occupied his mind of late. Must be because he was so tired. The Texas summer heat certainly took its toll on a man.

But the work was coming along well. If his luck held and he kept up his current pace, he could finish in under a month.

Callie took a seat across from him. “Shall I say grace for you?”

He paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. The kids weren't anywhere in sight. But apparently that wasn't the point.

With a nod, he set his fork down and bowed his head.

“Heavenly Father, thank You for the bounty You have provided. Bless the meal and the one who partakes of it. May it nourish him and provide him strength and sustenance. Amen.”

“Amen.” Jack picked up his fork again and shoveled the first bite into his mouth. Cooking was definitely one of Callie's gifts.

“You need to slow down.”

He gave her a wary look as he swallowed the morsel. “Sorry if my table manners offend you. I'm still not used to eating in mixed company.”

She waved a hand. “That's not what I meant. You can't keep up the pace you've set for yourself. Are you in such a hurry to get back to your old life that you're willing to run yourself into the ground to finish faster?”

He shrugged. “I'm used to working long hours to get a project done.”

“But no one's set you a deadline for this. Why are you pushing yourself so hard?”

Jack took another bite of food, watching her closely while he chewed and swallowed. “I want to make sure it gets done by the first of August.”

Her brow furrowed. “Why that particular date?”

“It's the timeframe I set for heading back to California.”

That seemed to set her back a bit and Jack took advantage of her silence to continue eating. With any luck she'd let the subject drop.

“Still, you can't—

He held up a hand. Seems his luck wasn't going to hold after all. “Look, I'm tired and I'm hungry. Can this conversation wait until tomorrow? It'll be Sunday and we'll have all the time in the world for one of these little chats.”

“Very well.” She stood. “But don't think I'll let this drop.”

The thought had never crossed his mind.

 

The next morning, when Jack came downstairs, he was surprised to find the stove already stoked, a pot of coffee brewing and Callie seated at the table.

“Well, well, you're up mighty early. What's the occasion?”

“You're fired.”

Jack blinked. “What?”

Her chin lifted in that familiar stubborn tilt. “I decided I've had enough practice. I'm taking over the morning chores.”

He couldn't suppress his grunt of disbelief.

She smiled. “Not by myself. The children have already learned to help with the evening chores. It won't be such a big jump for them to learn to help in the morning as well.”

“They might feel differently.”

“As you've said before, they'll adjust.” She leaned forward. “Starting tomorrow, you can sleep a little later in the morning.”

“Look, I know you mean well, but I think I'm the best judge of how much I can and can't handle. If I—”

“I'm certain you're just stubborn enough to continue this pace, even if it wears you plumb out.”

Hah! She was one to talk about stubborn.

“But,” she continued, “I'd prefer not to have to nurse you back to health when you work yourself to the point of collapse.”

He poured a cup of coffee, as much to give himself a moment to think as anything else. When he turned around, she still wore that determined expression.

“All right. I agree it would be good for the children to take on a bit more responsibility for keeping this place running. So if you think you can manage getting them to toe the mark—”

“And there's something else.”

Of course there was. “And that would be?”

“You need to spend more time here at the farm.”

He set his cup down with enough force to splash a few drops onto the table. “You just said you wanted to take on more responsibility for the place.”

She waved a hand impatiently. “I don't mean to help with the chores. You need to spend more time with the children.” Her expression softened. “They've hardly seen you these past few days. I want them to be able to spend time with you, to develop a real relationship with you—and you with them—before you go running back off to wherever it is you're heading when you leave here.”

Whoa. She hadn't really thought this through. “Actually, I thought it would be better all the way around if they don't get too used—”

She lifted her chin again. “You said you owed it to Leland and Nell to see that their children were well-cared for. And also that it was important for blood kin to be close. That's why we ended up in this marriage, remember?”

“Of course I remember. But—”

“Well, you can't see to any of that if you're never here.”

Blast the woman, there she went, trying to twist his words back on him. “And I suppose you have something in mind to make everyone happy.”

“I do.”

That I've-got-it-all-figured-out tone set his teeth on edge.

“Go to town in the mornings,” she elaborated. “It's the coolest part of the day, and the children will be busy with their own chores. But come home for lunch, and stay. There are things you can do here, and I don't mean chores.”

“Such as?”

“Such as take Simon fishing. Such as teach Annabeth about the wildlife around here. Such as walk in the woods with Emma to find things she can sketch.”

Her passion for the children lit a fire in her eyes that was something to see.

She threw up her hands as if exasperated. “Tell them stories about when you and their parents were children growing up here. Let them know you really care about
them,
not just that you feel responsible for them.”

She was pushing this just a little too far. “Look, I'm more of the loner type than the jovial fatherly sort.”

Her expression rivaled Mrs. Mayweather's for sternness. “Then just pretend.” She planted both elbows on the table and laced her fingers. “Those children need you, maybe more than they need me. And you know as well as I do that it's what Leland and Nell would have wanted.”