Turner's Rainbow 2 - The Rainbow Promise (21 page)

❧

Sarah wrapped the pad around the handle of the flatiron and lifted it from the hot stove, replacing it with the cool iron in her other hand. She turned and started toward the ironing board, but stopped at the sound of a horse's hooves in the yard. Slowly she walked over to the window and looked out.

Luke was riding Jo-Jo to the corral. A small figure sat on the horse behind him, his arms around Luke's waist. Luke had brought the boy home.

How could he! Knowing how much she disliked the idea, he had brought the child home anyway. He might as well have said that what she wanted, what she felt, didn't matter. All that mattered was what he wanted. He had never before gone against her like this.

Sarah's stomach quivered. She wanted to cry. Luke no longer loved her; that was the only explanation. He was angry with her because she had lost their son, and he was determined to replace him, with no concern for Sarah's feelings.

Sarah set her jaw. Well, he would find out that it wouldn't be that easy. She didn't know what she could do, but she would do something. She refused to have that boy here. He would be a constant reminder of everything that she had lost. It was impossible. If it meant she had to take Emily and go into town to live with Jennifer, then she would.

Luke unsaddled the horse and turned it loose in the corral. He started toward the house, the boy trailing behind him. Sarah drew a breath and went out the side door to meet them. She stood at the top of the steps, waiting, her face set and cold. Luke was being cruel to her, and that knowledge slashed her like a knife. But she was a fighter, however much she loved him, however much she was hurt. She wasn't about to give in.

Luke's steps slowed. He didn't want to reach the porch. He stopped at the bottom of the steps. "Hello, Sarah."

She answered him coolly. "Luke."

Luke reached behind him and pulled Cal forward. "I've brought Cal home."

Sarah looked down at the boy. He stood with his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched. He glanced up at her, then quickly away. Sarah grasped the porch rail. She couldn't speak. He was Luke's son. It was written in every line of his body, every bone of his face. The way he stood, the way he looked up at her and away were exactly as Luke had stood and looked at her that first day he came to their farm. His mouth was set in an identically sullen expression, and there was the same hard, lonely defiance in his eyes.

He wasn't simply Luke's son. He was a replication of him. It wasn't just face and form. It was what was inside him, too. He had been hurt, as Luke had been as a child. This boy had known the same rejection, the same pain.

Sarah's heart twisted within her. She knew she couldn't send the child back. She couldn't deny him, as Luke had been denied. She couldn't condemn him to the same fate Luke had suffered. It would be a betrayal of Luke himself.

"Hello, Cal," Sarah said evenly, though tears glinted in her eyes. "Welcome home. Have you eaten lunch?"

Luke relaxed. Sarah hadn't changed. Love swelled in his chest. He smiled. "No."

Cal said nothing, pushing the dirt around with his toe.

"Go on in and clean up. I'll get lunch on the table."

Luke guided Cal up the steps in front of him. As he passed Sarah, he reached out and took her hand. He smiled down at her, his eyes warm and loving. "I knew I could count on you," he whispered. "You're too kind to turn him away."

Sarah leaned against his arm. For a moment she felt close to Luke, a part of him as she had been for three years and no longer was. He bent and kissed the top of her head.

Luke and Cal entered the house. The moment was over. Sorrow swept over Sarah, and she gripped the railing, staring out over the yard. It was as if that brief moment of intimacy had reminded her afresh of all she had lost, opening a crack in the well of her grief. She was suddenly filled with longing, sadness, and pain. She sat down on the top step and leaned against the post of the railing and cried.

❧

Cal stepped inside the kitchen and stopped, gazing around him in awe. He'd never been inside a house like this. The truth be known, he'd never been much of any place. Grandpa never took Cal with him when he went to town because he said he didn't want Cal getting any new ideas of wickedness—he was wicked enough on his own. Nor did they visit other people much. The only other house he'd seen was the Henderson place, but it was nothing like this grand house.

The kitchen was enormous, and its walls were a pale blue. Cal had never seen inside walls painted a color, but the next room, which he could see through the open door, was even stranger A fancy slat of wood ran around the middle of the walls, and above the wood, the wall was covered with flowered paper Not only that, there was an eating table and set of chairs in that room, as well as the table and chairs in the kitchen. The table in the next room was massive and dark, and it was covered with a cloth as fragile as spiders' webs, so that the gleaming dark wood showed through.

Cal couldn't understand what you would do with two tables to eat on; he wondered if they had that many people living here. But then, that other table surely wasn't for eating, not with the fancy cloth on it. There was other furniture besides the elegant table—a long chest and a tall, glass-fronted cabinet filled with delicate, painted dishes. He didn't know what you'd do with that many dishes either. Luke led Cal to a washstand in the comer of the kitchen. At home, the wash pitcher and bowl were on a low table on the back porch. In winter he often had to break the skimming of ice to get to the water. He didn't use it much.

Luke poured water into the bowl and washed his hands with a big yellow bar of soap. He handed the bar to Cal, and Cal reluctantly soaped his hands. It didn't sting like the lumps of soap Rachel made, so washing wasn't so bad, even when Luke went back over his hands again with the soap.

Cal couldn't figure Luke out. Why did Luke want him to live here? He knew Luke was his father; his ma and grandpa had told him that often enough. But he hadn't wanted Cal since he was born. Why would he start now? There must be a reason for it. Maybe he was big enough now that Luke figured he would get some work out of him. Whatever the reason, Cal was glad to leave his grandpa. The old man had hated him, and Cal had hated his grandfather right back. He would have been glad if Grandpa had dropped down dead one day. He knew that made him wicked, but he didn't care. That's how he was.

He wasn't so sure how to feel about Luke. Grandpa said he'd hurt and shamed his ma, but Ma said he was a good man. Luke said he didn't hit children. Cal couldn't imagine that. Men punished their womenfolk and young 'uns when they were bad; everyone knew that. And Cal knew that he was bad often enough that Luke would hit him fairly often.

But there was something special about Luke, something that had made Cal want to go with him. He didn't know what it was, just a thing inside, a need that had made him hang on to Luke with both arms as they rode. It was a feeling that rose in his throat, part fear, part hunger, whenever Luke took him by the arm or laid his hand on Cal's head. It was crazy, but he thought—he thought that Luke might like him.

The woman didn't, though. He'd seen that plain enough when she met them at the top of the steps. He had figured she was going to tell him to get, and his stomach had turned sickly She hadn't said that, though, which surprised him. But he'd seen the tears in her eyes, and when he'd looked back, she was sitting on the step, crying. He didn't know what he had done to make her cry, but he was sure it was his fault. He had made his mother cry a lot, too.

Sarah came into the kitchen. Her eyes were red, but she was no longer crying, and she bustled about the kitchen putting things in bowls and setting them on the table. She plunked down utensils and dishes and more food than Cal had ever seen in his life. There was a little bowl of butter and a loaf of bread. There was a plate of meat that smelled so good it made Cal's stomach knot and the saliva flood his mouth. There were bowls of peas, greens, and little new potatoes, with butter melting golden Iy on them. The crowning glory was a cherry pie with a fancy latticed crust on top and thick cherry filling oozing out.

Cal swallowed hard and glanced at Luke. Surely they couldn't mean for him to have whatever he wanted of all this. Luke pressed his lips together and looked like he was going to start cussing, but he didn't. Instead, he took Cal's plate and put something on it from every bowl.

Cal crammed the food down as quickly and in as big amounts as he could, suspecting that all this bounty would be taken away from him. Sarah stared at him, at first in amazement, then with growing pity. Poor thing; he acted like he'd never eat again. Finally, Luke had to stop him for fear he would make himself sick.

Sarah began to clear the table, and Luke got up to help her. Cal stared. He'd never seen his grandfather lift a hand to help Rachel with the food.

"Where's Emily?" Luke asked. Cal wondered who Emily was, but if there was one thing he'd learned, it was not to ask questions.

"Upstairs taking her nap." Sarah glanced at the clock. "She should be getting up in thirty or forty minutes. In the meantime, I think it would be a good idea if Cal took a bath."

"Sure." Luke grinned. He had figured Sarah wouldn't let the boy's present state of dirtiness pass.

Cal came to his feet. "I don't wanna take a bath."

"Well, you must," Sarah replied calmly. "Everyone bathes in this house."

Cal crossed his arms across his chest and looked sullen. "I don't have to."

"Oh yes, you do." Luke paused on his way out the back door to get the washtub. "You'll do whatever Sarah says."

"And if I don't?"

Luke met the boy's defiant gaze with a flat, cool stare. "Then you'll answer to me."

Cal felt a familiar prickle of fear. For all that Luke didn't thunder like Grandpa or look at him like he wished him dead and in hell, there was something about him that was even more powerful. Cal looked down at his feet, tacitly giving in and disliking himself for his cowardice. Next time, he thought, next time he'd let Luke see he wasn't boneless.

Luke brought in the large round metal tub in which Emily bathed while Sarah pumped out big pots of water at the sink and put them on the stove to heat. Luke filled the tub halfway up with water, and Sarah added the heated water to it. Cal unbuttoned his shirt reluctantly and took it off. He kept his eyes averted. It embarrassed him having Sarah in the room with him while he undressed. He'd never taken off his clothes around Aunt Rachel.

Sarah, seeing his embarrassment and understanding the reason, left the room, saying, "I'll run up and get some of Vance's old clothes for him."

She glanced at Cal as she left the room, and one look at his bare chest and back brought her to a halt. "Cal!"

Several purpling bruises decorated Cal's back and chest. Scars, some old and white, others new and red, stood out across his back.

Cal looked up at her. Her eyes were flashing. Cal didn't know what he'd done to make her angry, but obviously he had. He raised his chin and set his face, waiting for the storm to break.

Sarah turned to Luke, and he nodded, his mouth grim.

"Oh!" She burst out, her voice furious. "I'd like to get hold of that George Jackson for just ten minutes!"

Luke chuckled. "I'd bet on you."

Again, for a moment, there was the old closeness between them, the familiar warmth. Sarah smiled at Luke. She wanted to go to him and have him put his arms around her. But she wasn't sure that he would, anymore. She turned abruptly and left the room.

Sarah busied herself upstairs, giving Cal time to bathe in private. She had put Vance's old clothes in the attic, intending to tear them up for rags because they were so worn and patched. But they were a long sight better than what Cal had on now. She'd get started on sewing a new set of clothes for him tonight; she had enough material in the attic for that. Saturday when they went into town, she'd buy some more material.

Sarah smiled, thinking about driving into Willow Springs Saturday with Cal. That would start the tongues clacking. It had been a long time since she and Luke had provided the town with any good gossip. She imagined Julia's face when she saw Luke's son, and her smile grew broader. She knew Julia would love him immediately, simply because he looked so much like Luke.

Sarah took the clothes down to Luke, then returned to the attic for the material and pattern she and Julia had made for Vance. When she came back down the narrow stairs from the attic, she found Emily sitting in the hall outside her room, playing, and she took her downstairs. Cal and Luke were already gone from the kitchen, leaving Cal's old clothes in a heap on the floor. She picked them up and threw them in the pile of trash outside to be burned; there was no salvaging those things.

They found Luke and Cal in the barn. Cal looked even more like Luke now that his hair was clean. With the dirt and grease gone, his hair was several shades lighter than it had appeared, though still not the white blond that Luke's had been as a child.

Emily stopped dead at the sight of the other child, and a sunny smile lit up her face. "Who zat?" she asked, pointing at Cal.

Cal stared back at her. He'd never seen anyone as beautiful as the little girl in front of him. Pale blond hair curled riotously around her head. Her eyes were huge and blue. Her face was all roses and cream in color, like a porcelain doll. She looked like the cherubic angels he'd seen in the pictures in Grandpa's big Bible, only prettier

"This is Cal, honey," Luke said, putting his hand on the boy's shoulder. "He's your brother."

Emily giggled delightedly. "Bwuzzer?" Sarah doubted that she had any idea what that meant, but still she liked the idea. She liked Cal—and with an immediacy and intensity that was far greater than what she had shown for Vance and Bonnie. Sarah wondered if somehow the little girl sensed that he was closer to her.

Emily ran to Cal and held up her arms to him. He froze with astonishment, but after a moment he bent awkwardly toward her. Emily threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly. She was soft and sweet. He'd never smelled anything so good. A funny feeling twisted through him, part sweet, part sad, and painfully intense. His arms tightened around her.

Emily bussed him soundly on the cheek, then stepped back. "See horsies." She tugged at his hand. "See horsies "

Luke chuckled. "Okay. We'll show Cal the horses. I think he's as interested in them as you are."

Sarah returned to the house to finish her work while Emily and Luke showed Cal around the farm. Late in the afternoon a huge black man came into the barn. Luke greeted him easily, and Emily ran over to him, talking a mile a minute in her baby chatter, but Cal retreated a step, fear written all over his face.

"What is it? What's the matter, Cal?"

Cal looked at Luke, then back at Micah. "I—he—"

"The boy's scared of me."

"No, I ain't," Cal retorted quickly, but Luke could see the truth in his eyes.

"Why?" he asked. "Micah won't hurt you. He works for me."

"He around all the time?"

"Yes. What's wrong, Cal?"

"He's a Devil's child."

"A what?"

"That's what Grandpa says. There's a family of 'em that lives on the way to church. Grandpa says they're black all over 'cause the Devil spawned 'em."

"Your Grandpa is a godda—well, he's a fool. Look, Cal, Micah's a man. That's all. He's not going to hurt you, I promise."

Cal glanced at Micah, unconvinced.

"Your grandpa thinks he's holy, but what he is is cruel and sanctimonious."

"Sane—what?"

Luke grinned. "Sanctimonious. What I'm saying is, he thinks he's better than anyone else, but he's not. And he doesn't know everything; hell, he doesn't know much of anything at all. He said I hurt your mother, didn't he, and that wasn't true. He's told you things about yourself that weren't true, either. He's a pious man, but he's not a good one. And he's wrong in what he told you."

He paused. "After you've been here awhile, you'll see that I'm telling you the truth. Things aren't like he told you."

Cal looked at Luke. He was afraid to believe him. It was too good, too easy. Things were never like that. He shrugged and turned away from Luke. "I ain't scared."

Luke glanced at Micah. The other man's face was impassive. "I—uh . .. I'm sorry. His grandfather's a crazy, mean man. Cal'll come around."

Like Cal, Micah shrugged. "It don't matter"

They did the evening chores and went back to the house for supper As they walked, Emily put her hand trustingly in Cal's. Cal said nothing, but his hand closed tightly around hers.

Inside the house they sat down at the big table in the room adjoining the kitchen. The room intimidated Cal, but Emily hopped up into her chair and patted the seat of the one next to her, beaming at Cal. He eased his narrow body into the seat she had indicated. He glanced at Sarah and Luke beneath his lashes, half expecting to be told to get off the chair, but they said nothing. He looked at the table in front of him. It was heaped with even more food than had been on the kitchen table at lunch. The aromas made his mouth water.

Everyone bowed their heads, and Cal followed suit, resigning himself to a long, fearsome prayer of the sort his grandpa gave at mealtimes. It had always been torture to sit through them with his stomach empty and the food right there within reach. But Luke's prayer was blissfully short. Afterward they passed the food around, and nobody seemed to care how much he took.