The Unplowed Sky (25 page)

“Rusty was a daddy, wasn't he?”

“Yes, honey. A good one.”

“What will his little boys and girls do?”

“Luke's their uncle. He'll love and help them. But they'll miss their daddy. Just the way we miss ours.”

“I don't have a nuncle?”

“No. But you've got me.”

“Meg says you'll get married someday and won't want me.”

Hallie froze, then battled a rush of anger. Meg really might believe that; her own mother had abandoned her. But it was a cruel thing to tell a child who had lost both parents. However that was, Hallie knew she couldn't hold the past against Meg if they were to get along.

Even though Jackie was almost too big for her to carry and usually felt himself too old for it, Hallie scooped him up and held him close. “Listen, Jackie, you're the only family I have. I love you. I'm going to take care of you till you grow up.”

“What if you get married and the man doesn't want a little boy?”

“Darling, I won't marry any man who doesn't think he's real lucky to get a boy like you.” She thought of Garth and sighed. “Anyhow, I may not ever get married. Either way, you don't need to worry about it.”

“And you've got me, Jack,” Shaft said. “I've always wanted a son or grandson, but since I never got married, you're my only chance. Look, here's Laird coming to meet us, and the lamp's lit in the kitchen. There's dust and cobwebs since we've been gone three months, but I reckon that won't bother us none tonight, fagged out as everybody must be.”

Hallie had expected a small bachelor house. Instead, they passed through a screened porch that ran the width of the house and entered a roomy kitchen dominated by a Home Comfort range. That would be wonderful for winter heat, but Hallie was glad to see a small kerosene range against another wall. The lamp shone from a big, round table surrounded by cane-bottomed chairs. There was a large cupboard against one wall and a worktable beneath a big window.

What would it look out on? Hallie hoped it would face the stretch of wild prairie along the creek. At any rate, whoever worked there would have light and be able to watch the sky. As if to let her know they were there, an owl hooted and coyotes started yipping.

A washstand with several water buckets stood by the back door. Above it was a mirror and several pegs for towels. Beneath a film of dust, the plank floor looked well scrubbed. A high, wide row of open shelves proclaimed this was indeed a womanless house, for they were filled with canned fruits, vegetables, evaporated milk, and jars of store-bought jams, jellies and peanut butter, but not a solitary jar of home-canned food.

Except for a calendar advertising farm machinery, there was nothing on the walls, no hint of ornament. As if reading her thoughts, Shaft said, “Not much for purty, but everything's solid from foundation to roof. Bedrooms are upstairs.” He smoothed his beard and caressed Smoky, who had strolled in from the dark of the next room. “Reckon Meg won't be able to climb stairs right away. She can sleep in the front room; there's a davenport there. I'll put you in her room. Rory already carried your things upstairs.”

“There isn't a spare room?”

“No. Rory and Garth each have one. Meg's is across the hall and a lot bigger. A good-sized storeroom takes up the rest of the space.”

There was no choice, though Hallie was sure Meg would hate having anyone use her room. Shaft lit one of several kerosene lamps that stood on a small table in the walkway between kitchen and what must be the front room. Stairs disappeared in a murk that lifted as Shaft led the way, but their shadows loomed on the wall, shifting as the lamp flickered, and assumed even more menacing proportions as they reached the upper hall.

“I don't want to go to bed up here all by myself!” Jackie whimpered.

Hallie was determined to wait up till Garth came home or there was more news of Meg, but that was likely to be a long time. “I'll tell you stories till you go to sleep,” she told her brother. “And we'll leave a lamp on this stand outside the door.”

Jackie still hung onto her. Shaft yawned prodigiously. “You know, I'm plumb wore out. Instead of tryin' to fight my way into my shack tonight, I'd like to bring up my cot and sleep here in the hall. Okay by you, Jack?”

The boy nodded. “Mighty okay, Shaft!”

“Good. I'll just get clean sheets out of the storeroom here. Maybe you could fix Garth's and Rory's beds while you're making yours, Hallie. I'll bring a cot from the cookshack for you, Jack, and put it next to the door so Smoky can visit back and forth. Come along with me and I'll show you where the outhouse is.”

By the time they returned with the cots, Hallie had made the three regular beds. Hidden beneath the quilt tossed over Meg's four-poster was a faded, grubby rag doll. One button eye was gone, and the painted smile had faded to the faintest hint. The lumpy cloth body showed through a frayed sweater that Meg must have worn as a baby.

Such a beloved relic would be a comfort in the hospital, but Hallie suspected that Meg wouldn't want anyone to know about her cherished bedmate, so she leaned the doll against the mirror of the dresser, made the bed, dug Jackie's pajamas and toothbrush out of his carpetbag, and hurried downstairs. She was stirring hot cocoa when Shaft and Jackie came in. The cots were set up quickly and padded with blankets.

Since Shaft was going up with him, Jackie didn't demand his promised story. His eyes kept closing as he sat on Shaft's knee and sipped his cocoa. He sleepily scrubbed with his toothbrush, squinched his eyes shut as Hallie washed his face, neck, and ears, and Shaft bore him upstairs while Smoky streaked ahead of them. Hallie tucked her brother in with Lambie. Shaft kissed him goodnight and warned, “Now don't go bouncing around with Smoky, son, 'cause I can hear your teeniest wiggle, and I sure don't want to be kept awake. Hear?”

“Mmmhmm.” Jackie smiled and patted Shaft's beard. “Look, I've got Smoky.”

“So you have!” Shaft pretended great surprise though he had deposited the cat on the foot of the cot and she had stalked up it in a proprietary way before curling up near Jackie's chest. “Well, maybe she'll come see me later. Sleep tight, Jack.”

“Mmhn.”

In the hall, Hallie said, “I'll stay here for a while if you're not ready to go to bed, Shaft.”

“I'm ready!” He added less vehemently, “Over the years I've found out people can handle trouble lots better if they get their sleep. So don't you stay up all night, honey. Tomorrow will be a rough day.”

“I'll get some sleep.” She hugged him and kissed his cheek. “Bless you, Shaft, you make a wonderful grandfather for Jackie! We're so lucky we met you.”

“I'm the lucky one,” he said gruffly.

Before she went downstairs, Hallie put out her nightgown and clean clothing for next day. She brushed her hair, still short and curving around her ears from a second cutting, and from the bottom of her suitcase she got out Grandmother Harriet Wilton's
Book of Common Prayer
. She needed it tonight.

The clock above the stairway table showed eleven. Hallie had swept the downstairs and wiped dust off the furnishings. Now she read the labels of the canned foods, trying to think of something to fix for the men that would be nourishing and easy to digest. Lighting a lantern she found on the porch, she raided the cookshack for potatoes, onions, bread, butter, and the other perishables.

Glad that she didn't have to fire up the big range with the kindling and coal stored in boxes located a safe distance from it, she lit a burner of the kerosene stove and sautéed sliced onions in butter in a large kettle. When they were transparently golden, she added sliced potatoes and enough water to cover. After the soup simmered for a time, she added a can of evaporated milk and a little salt and pepper. With bread, it would make a meal, and she had found some tapioca and made pudding while she tended the soup.

It was midnight. Hallie sat down near the lamp and reached out with heart and spirit to Rusty's family, especially young Luke, who must take such a burden on his graceful shoulders. She thought of Meg, determined to be a hand on her father's crew, now unable to move her legs. And Garth. He would be in agony over his daughter and Rusty. Added to that was the guilt of thinking he should not have crossed the bridge. Of course, had he known what would happen, he'd have let his machinery and the wagons rust and rot. What were things compared to a life or crippling? Yet those machines were Garth's livelihood.

Hallie's thoughts twisted through an endless maze. She opened the small book with its yellowed pages and read the gospel for St. James's Day. “In my Father's house are many mansions—” Grandmother Harriet had buried two infants and her husband. She must have read these same words, seeking comfort or at least acceptance.

The sound of a motor roused Hallie. It certainly wasn't the clattering truck, but it might be someone with a message from Garth. Hallie went out on the screened porch just as the door closed. The lamp cast a patch of light through the kitchen door but the person was beyond it and she couldn't see who it was. The visitor didn't speak, as would be usual.

With a twinge of fright, Hallie stepped out of the light herself. Then she could make out the heavy shape and Raford's eyes flickering yellow in the dimness. “So you're back, Hallie Meredith. I see you've cut off that wonderful hair. What else about you did the summer ruin?”

“Do you know a man was killed and Garth MacLeod's daughter badly hurt on that bridge he told you needed fixing back when the run began?”

“Repairs had been made. It's not the county's fault—or mine—if threshers don't lay planks.”

“They did. But the bridge caved in.”

“That's nothing to do with me.”

“Garth thinks so.”

Close as he was, Raford's physical presence was overwhelming. Not wanting to call Shaft unless she had to, Hallie retreated into the kitchen. Raford appreciatively drew in the smell of the soup.

“You cooked only one breakfast for me, Hallie. I've regretted that.”

“I haven't. If you came to see Mr. MacLeod—”

“I didn't. He's at the hospital, very properly. I was in town and heard the news, so I guessed you were probably here.”

“You're the last person in the world I want to see.”

His strong teeth flashed and he chuckled. “Ah, but
I
want to see
you
. Now that the run's over, you'll need work and a place for you and your—brother.”

“I've got a place.”

The pupils of his eyes swelled, almost obscuring the glowing yellow. “Here?”

Her mouth was dry. She nodded.

He gave a jeering laugh. “I'm astonished that a woman with your puritanical standards would stay with single men. Two of them.”

“Shaft will be here—and he's here right now, upstairs.”

“How does that help? Three men instead of two. Your reputation won't be worth a cent.”

“I'll be taking care of Mr. MacLeod's daughter. If people can't understand that, I don't care what they think.”

He raised heavy eyebrows the same charcoal color as his thick, crisp hair. “Does that mean you expect one of the brothers MacLeod to make you an honest woman?”

“I
am
honest, and I don't expect a thing except my wages.” Infuriated by his smooth hypocrisy, Hallie thrust, “You have a nerve to try to scare me with what people will think! How long would it have taken you to sneak in my bedroom if I had stayed at your house?”

That only amused him. “I'd have drawn it out when I learned how skittery you were. That's better fun. Your rapid decampment forced me into proposing that other arrangement at the hotel.”

“Is Sophie still there?”

He raised a thick shoulder. “She's passable as recreation till I find something better.”

Hallie repressed a shudder at his cold-blooded tone. Had she given in to him, he might be saying the same about her. It was a sickening thought. His gaze fell on the open prayer book. He started to pick it up. Hallie snatched it away, closing it, but he had glimpsed a page.

“‘From all deceits of the world, the flesh and the devil …'” he quoted. His voice mocked her, yet there was something different in his eyes. “I didn't know you were an Episcopalian.”

“Don't you seduce Episcopalians?”

His laughter pealed. “Sometimes it takes a little longer.”

“Well, I'm not one. My grandmother was.”

“So were all the women of my family.” He glanced around the room, his brow puckering, before he turned back to her. “So here you are, my dear. Having cleaned away the season's dust and cobwebs and prepared mouth-watering soup, here you sit mulling over prayers and, from your swollen eyes, you've been crying.”

“Who wouldn't?”

“Multitudes.”

“Go away.”

“I enjoy your company.”

“I don't like yours.”

“How can you tell? You've never let me be nice to you.” His voice deepened and the mockery was gone. “You're different, Hallie. I wouldn't treat you like the others.”

“You won't get the chance.”

This time the approaching vehicle, rattling and snorting, was unmistakably the truck. Hallie shoved at Raford. “For goodness' sake, get out of here! If Garth sees you right now—”

“If I know him, he'll come looking for me anyway.” Raford instinctively touched the inside of his vest and smiled at Hallie's horrified look. “Of course I have a gun. I'll carry it till the MacLeods have time to cool down.”

“You'll carry it a long time, then.”

“Perhaps not.”

“What do you mean?”

“I own all the rest of the land for miles on this side of the creek. It's an irritation, this section with all that mess along the creek sucking water and harboring varmints.”