The Unplowed Sky (14 page)

“That was quick thinking, Miss Hallie, to hit Cotton with the mop. You probably kept him from cutting up either Rory or Henry.” He hesitated. “I'm obliged.”

Why was it so hard for him to say anything nice to her? Blinking back frustrated tears, Hallie flashed, “I didn't do it for you. For goodness' sake, don't thank me if it breaks your teeth!”

She picked up the mop and began to rinse and wring it. Garth stared at her. Meg tugged at him. After a moment, they set off for the house, Laird at their heels.

Shaft set the broken apple crate under the cookshack. “There's some good kindlin' for the engine. Park yourself on the step, Henry, and I'll save you two bits.” The cook grinned at Jackie whose face was still tear-splotched. “How about a trim for you, son?”

Jackie nodded eagerly and settled down to watch. Hallie finished mopping the linoleum, glad to work out her fright and anger. Was it always this way with a threshing outfit, men quitting or getting into fights? It couldn't be easy for Garth, but why did he act as if she were some dangerous explosive he might set off if he so much as smiled or gave her a pleasant word?

Wiping her forehead on her apron, Hallie determined to thrust him out of her mind and thought longingly of the tub and buckets of water waiting behind the cookshack. These would warm naturally from the day's heat. How good it would feel to wash her hair, bathe, and put on fresh clothes!

She wrung out the mop and hung it over the porch rail to dry. Henry, yellow hair trimmed short, asked whether the floor was dry enough for him to sit at the table and write Anna a letter.

“Of course you can.” Hallie smiled at him, confident because he was so shy. “Anna's a lucky girl.”

“No, I am the lucky one.” Henry's broad face spread in a smile. “Anna is sweet and kind and modest and pretty. She also makes good crusty bread and better apple dumplings than even my mother.”

“For you to admit that, Anna is lucky,” Hallie laughed. Collecting her bath articles and clean clothes, she went around the shack, on her way pausing to compliment Jackie's haircut.

She was sure that neither Henry nor Shaft would peek, but it was strange—almost frightening—to think of undressing outside and being completely naked, with no shielding walls. She worked up to that state gradually by leaving on her slip, brassiere, and bloomers while she washed her hair.

It took two latherings of coconut-oil shampoo to get rid of the sweat, smoke, chaff, and dust of the past days. She saved the last rinse water and put her clothes to soak with plenty of shaved-up Ivory.

By now she was enjoying the unaccustomed feel of the breeze and sun on her bare flesh. Hair wrapped out of the way in a towel, she luxuriated in sudsing herself with Cashmere Bouquet, scrubbing her skin till it glowed, then toweling dry briskly. She put on her green gingham and called Jackie for his bath.

He didn't grumble much while she washed his hair and scrubbed his neck and ears. She left him to splash, play, and perhaps scrub his knees and elbows while she did their laundry. When she hung it over the fence, she smiled at herself for arranging her underthings beneath her dress and aprons, but she did it anyway. She glanced up to find Meg watching her with narrowed eyes.

How long had she been standing there? Hallie didn't speak till she thought she could do so without sounding annoyed. “If you want to have a bath, Meg, Jackie's almost through.”

“I'm going swimming in the creek. Want to come along, Jack?”

“Yes!” His delight changed to anxiousness. “Can I, Hallie?”

“
May
you,” Hallie corrected automatically. “It's nice of you to ask, Meg, but are you sure you won't mind keeping an eye on him? I don't think Jackie can swim.”

“I can dog-paddle some!” he cried.

“Except for the hole where I'll be filling up the tank, the water's not deep,” Meg said.

“Please, Hallie!” Jackie begged.

She was glad that Meg had decided to be nice to the little boy but she was still nervous about placing so much responsibility on a twelve-year-old. As if reading her mind, Meg curled her lip.

“If Daddy can count on me to hustle water to the engine, looks like you could trust me with your kid brother for an hour or two.”

It wouldn't be healthy for either of them to tie Jackie to her skirts and he had been good about playing near the cookshack and resisting the lure of the big machines. “All right,” she consented. “But don't get in the deep water, Jackie. Watch out for snakes. Mind Meg and—”

“Holy smoke!” Meg interrupted. “We're not going on an African lion hunt!”

Jackie laughed and gave the water a gleeful splash. “No lions in the creek, silly!”

Shaft came around the shack, Smoky cradled in one arm. He puffed out a cloud of fragrant smoke and eyed Jackie from beneath bushy gray eyebrows. “Boys don't call their big sisters silly, Jack.”

The child wilted. His lip quivered as his brown eyes came anxiously to Hallie. “Hallie not mad?” Behind the question she heard another:
You won't leave me like Mama did
?

Hallie swooped down to hug him in spite of his wetness. “Of course I'm not mad, honey! Maybe I was a little silly, but that's because I don't want you to get hurt. You'd better wear your clothes to the creek, but you can keep just your drawers on to play in the water.”

They left him to dry off and dress. Garth was over doing things to the separator. It must be the most fussed-over machine in Kansas. “Lefty Halstead's going to work with us,” Shaft said. “He'll make a good hand. His dad's had all those boys out in the fields soon as they could walk.” The cook's gaze followed Hallie's as she watched Jackie trot to keep up with Meg. “Don't fret about Jack, honey. Meg'll watch after him.” He stroked Smoky meditatively. The kitten swatted the side of his face lightly. “I'm kind of surprised she took up with Jack but since she has—”

“I think she wants to get him to like her more than he does me,” Hallie said and hoped Shaft would contradict that.

“Could be. You've put Miss Meg's nose out of joint a couple of ways. Rory won't let her drive the engine, but he's teaching you. But the main rub, I reckon, is she's scared Garth may get sweet on you.”

“He's barely civil!” Hallie unwound the towel, sat on the steps, and began to comb the tangles out of her hair.

Shaft grinned and put down the little cat. “Maybe he's scared, too. Say, would you like some music while you're drying your hair?”

“I'd love it!”

He went in the shack where Henry still labored intently over his letter, and returned with his grandfather's beautiful old fiddle. Cradling the mellowed wooden instrument as lovingly as if it had been alive, Shaft tuned the strings to his satisfaction and played. Smoky jumped up on the porch rail to listen.

Hallie had expected backwoods songs, barn-dance music. Instead, Shaft played tunes she had never heard before except for Johann Strauss's waltz,
The Blue Danube
. Swaying dreamily to the melody as she combed and fluffed her hair, Hallie said, “What are you playing, Shaft? It's lovely.”

“What does it put you in mind of?”

“A river. A great, long, broad one with a current that sparkles and ripples and runs through fields and towns.”

Shaft nodded. “A Czech named Bedřich Smetana wrote the piece about Bohemia's largest river, the Vltava or Moldau. Now let me play you my favorite, Antonín Dvořák. He used lots of folk music in his work.”

Indeed, with her eyes closed, Hallie could almost see brightly clad young men and women laughing and singing as they clapped and danced. She leaned back and let the wind tug her hair, happier in a quiet way than she could remember being for a very long time, perhaps even since her mother had died.

Oh, she'd had some good times with the MacReynoldses and enjoyed parties and outings with her classmates, but she'd always been aware that she had no real home, no real family after Felicity claimed her father. Oddly enough, this traveling cookshack, so unstable that it had to be tied down with ropes, gave her a sense of home, of belonging. Jackie was an awesome responsibility but he truly was her family, and she his, with Shaft a kindly uncle. She was beginning to know the crew and relax with them. With luck, now that Cotton was gone, there would be no more trouble.

She was proud she was standing up to the work and surprised and proud that she knew a little about the engine. If Meg weren't so difficult—if Garth weren't so suspicious—

Something came between her and the sun. She sat up straight and opened her eyes. As if her thoughts had summoned him, Garth looked down at her.

VII

For a charged moment, his eyes seemed warm and sunlit before they changed to thundercloud gray. “Hadn't you better braid your hair before it's all snarls and tangles?” His tone accused her of serious dereliction. She must have imagined that fleeting tenderness in his gaze.

“Since it's my scalp and my tangles, I don't see why you should care.”

“Don't fuss, kids.” Shaft wagged a finger so drolly that they both had to laugh. “Have a step, boss, and let some good Bohemian music soothe your savage breast.”

“I just came for a cup of coffee, Shaft. There's been enough sand in the water to chew up the piston cup on the tank wagon pump. I've got to fix that and there's the boiler to clean—”

“That's Rory's job, ain't it?”

“He's in town.”

“I noticed.” Shaft's tone was dry. “None of my beeswax, Garth, but if your kid brother gets the fun of running that engine, and the good wages, then it looks like he ought to do the messy chores, too.”

“Oh, he'd clean the boiler when he got home.”

“But would he go around to both sides to flush all the settlings out of the bottom?”

Garth reddened, as if Rory had skimped this chore in the past. “He's young, Shaft.”

“Not as young as you were when you were ducking bullets in France.”

“I promised our mother to look after him.”

“Till he's ninety?”

Garth was startled into laughing. Strange how much younger that made him look. Shaft pressed on. “Your mother would want you to look after yourself, too, lad. Have a little fun. Take it easy now and then, at least on Sunday.” Shaft chuckled and swept the bow across the strings in a joyous ripple. “Drink your coffee sittin' down. Listen to some music. Watch a pretty girl's hair blow free, shinin' in the sun.”

Garth looked at Hallie. For a moment, she thought he was going to smile, sit down with them, and share the morning.

Then his eyes veiled and his face hardened. “I've got work to do.” He got his coffee and strode back to the machines, followed by Laird, who enjoyed this day when the engine didn't run and he could tag along behind his master.

Feeling as rejected as if Garth had slapped her, Hallie started to braid her hair, pulling the strands a good deal tighter than necessary.

Shaft's bow crowed another exultant trill. “Hallie, he sure does like you!”

She gasped in disbelief.

“Sure he does,” the cook insisted. “You've got him on the run!”

“I'm not about to chase him.”

“Don't have to. When he's plumb wore out, he'll fall over his feet. While he's layin' there in a heap, give him a smile, a hand up, and he'll be yours.”

“I'm not sure I can stand that much good luck!”

Shaft eyed her severely. “The woman that Garth can finally give in to and love will be durned doggoned lucky. Don't you doubt that for a minute.” Shaft sighed and nestled his fiddle and bow into their velvet-lined case. “Well, drat! Guess I can't put it off any longer.”

“What, Shaft?” Concerned at the note of dread in his voice, Hallie thrust the last pin in her braided coronet and jumped up. “Can I help?”

His gloom disappeared in a broad grin. “Thanks, but I reckon you'd better not. I've got to take a bath and scrub my beard out so it won't give Smoky fleas.”

“Why didn't you take a steam bath?”

“That's okay for them as is young and skinny, but when you got more flab than muscle, you're not so keen on friskin' around in front of everybody naked as a jaybird.”

“Before you take over the bathroom, let me get my things off the fence. They should be ready to iron. You
do
have an iron?”

“Sure. My last helper, the one who quit to get married, made us buy her two of the iron do-funnies that you heat over a burner—sadirons I think they call 'em. Reckon ironin' all them ruffles on her aprons and skirts did some good 'cause she married the son of the second farmer we threshed. The irons and handle must be at the bottom of one of the benches.”

Mrs. MacReynolds had an electric iron, of course, but once Hallie exhumed the heavy sadirons from the nethermost reaches of the bench from which she had to temporarily oust Henry, it was easy enough to figure out how to use them. The wooden handle was already locked into the top of the four-pound iron. She lit a kerosene burners beneath the irons, grateful anew that she didn't have to contend with a coal stove that took a while to get going and then radiated heat long after the cooking was done.

Folded sheets laid over one end of the table made a fairly good ironing board. Not that anyone could tell she'd ironed a dress or apron an hour after she put it on, but
she'd
know. One of the things she remembered about her mother was how perfectly Daddy's shirts and her own small dresses were starched and ironed right up to the time Mama hadn't been able to rise from her bed. It was too difficult to make starch here and go through all that extra bother, but Hallie found it was somehow a point of honor to iron her clothes and Jackie's as smoothly as she could.

“Am I in your way, Miss Hallie?” Henry asked, scooting his Big Chief tablet to the table's far end.