Читать книгу A Home Of Her Own - Keli Gwyn - Страница 13

Chapter Five

“Shh! If anyone catches us, I could get in trouble.”

The copper-colored dog nuzzled Becky’s side. She knelt and petted him. “I’ve spent way too much time out here, Spitz, but I’ll be back this afternoon. I’m fixing steaks for dinner, so I’ll have some nice bones for you.” Since Mutti had only picked at her food the past week, there were sure to be some mashed potatoes and a biscuit or two, as well.

The unmistakable squeal of the barn door rollers brought the visit to an abrupt close. She’d have to send the dog away and get back to the garden plot quickly.

Footfalls coming around the corner of the empty cabin startled her. She froze. Her gaze came to rest on the toes of two dusty leather boots. Small boots. She looked up and heaved a sigh of relief. “Oh, Quon. It’s you. I was afraid it was James.”

She shot a glance at Spitz and back at Quon. “I know this handsome fellow’s not supposed to be here, but I’ll be going into town tomorrow. While I’m there, I’ll ask around to see if I can find him a home. He’s a nice dog and would make a fine pet.”

“Yes. He nice dog. Look good.” Quon dropped to one knee and ran his hand over the dog’s silky fur. “I put food in dish. He like to eat.”

“You knew about him and have been feeding him, too? But what about James? If he finds out I’ve encouraged the dog to stick around...”

Quon scanned the area, looking everywhere but at Spitz. “I not see anything.”

She was so grateful to the older man that she fought the urge to give him a daughterly hug. “Oh, Quon, I can’t thank you enough, but I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

He smiled. “It no trouble, Miss Becky. You wait. Boss will let dog stay.”

“I want to believe that, but when James makes up his mind about something, it’s hard to change it.” If she’d learned one thing the past week, it was that he had his way of doing things and didn’t take kindly to anyone questioning him.

Quon rose. “You go to garden. I send dog off and come soon. Tomato plant here. We finish work.”

Becky stood, too. “The plants are here? That’s wonderful.” She smiled. “You’ve taught me so much. I feel like a real gardener now.”

“You good student.” He tapped his head. “Smart. Learn fast.”

“My brother always said I was slow.”

“Brother not nice.” Quon frowned. “He hurt you?”

Becky’s hands went to her cheeks before she could stop them. The bruises were gone, but the pain in her ribs lingered. “He said hurtful things sometimes, but I’m sure all brothers do that. Doesn’t Chung?”

Quon laughed, and his dark eyes twinkled. “Chung smart. He know big brother is boss. He not—how you say?—pick fight.”

She did her best to shove aside the painful memories of Dillon accusing her of setting fire to the factory where they’d both worked and striking her when she’d protested. “I’m glad you get along. It must be wonderful to have a brother who’s your friend. I never had many friends.”

“You have friend now.” Quon jabbed a thumb at his chest. “I your friend.”

When she’d left Chicago, she never would have imagined that she’d make friends with someone from a culture so different from hers, but Quon was right. He was her friend. The kindhearted man had even been keeping her secret. “Well, my friend, I’d better get back to the garden. I’ll be waiting for you.”

True to his word, Quon met her a few minutes later with the flat of tomato plants. Their neighbor Mr. Stratton had given them to James as a token of appreciation for his work repairing the broken water pipe. Becky and Quon spent the next hour getting the leafy plants in the ground.

She’d seen no sign of James since breakfast. The past week he’d spoken to her only when necessary. Considering the number of times she’d thought of him since that memorable morning milking the cow and admiring the trees afterward, his absence was probably a good thing.

Even though he’d been keeping his distance from her, he showed Mutti kindness, noting her needs and helping her without being asked, and that was what mattered. The tender kiss on the cheek he gave her each evening before she headed to bed showed how much he loved her.

Watching his mother’s decline was hard on him. Just yesterday Becky had caught him blinking rapidly after he’d given Mutti her nightly buss.

If only he didn’t feel the need to shoulder his burden alone, but he’d rebuffed Becky’s offers of sympathy. She wanted to help ease his pain, but finding ways to do so would be a challenge.

She removed her work gloves and admired the large plot. “It will be a wonderful garden. I can’t wait to see everything come up. Thanks again for all your help, Quon.”

He grinned. “I only talk. You do all the work.”

“It wasn’t work. It was fun.” She couldn’t remember the last time she’d enjoyed herself that much. Quon had spent hours wielding a hoe as he taught her. He loved learning as much as she did and had encouraged her to tell him about her life back East. She did, reminiscing about her parents but saying little about her bully of a brother.

“I have more work. Must go. Goodbye.” Quon pressed his palms together and bowed.

Becky returned the gesture and strolled back to the house. She opened the front door as quietly as she could so she wouldn’t wake Mutti, but the kindly woman sat in her rocking chair, working on her embroidery.

“I didn’t expect to see you up already. Did you have a good nap?”

“It was all right, but it’s hard to get comfortable. I feel every lump and bump these days. It never used to be like that. William used to say I could sleep through anything. But enough of my complaints.” She patted the seat of Kate’s puffy purple chair. “Tell me about the garden. What did you plant today?”

Becky sat and filled Mutti in on the morning’s activity, minus any mention of the dog.

“I’m not surprised you like Quon. He’s a good man. He’s definitely more outgoing than his brother. Chung tends to be more reserved, like you, but he’s just as eager to please.” Mutti laid her embroidery in her lap. “What does surprise me is how much my boy intimidates you. When James is around, you say very little.”

“He doesn’t intimidate me. I just don’t know what to make of him. Sometimes he— No, I shouldn’t say any more. He’s your son, and I know how much you love him.”

“He’s my son, yes, but he’s not perfect. Go ahead. Tell me what you were going to say. Keeping the lid on a pot can cause it to boil over.”

Becky twirled a piece of embroidery floss around her finger. “He can be thoughtful one moment but ignore me the next. Sometimes he even appears to be upset with me. I’m doing my best not to annoy him.”

“You don’t like him ignoring you, but it seems to me you’re doing the same thing. If you’ll give him a chance, you’ll see he’s not the ogre you seem to think he is. You’ll try to get along with him, won’t you? It hurts me to see you two at odds.”

She would do almost anything for Mutti, but that was asking a great deal. James was the one making things difficult. If he weren’t so gruff, Becky would welcome his company. In the meantime, she’d have to make an effort to be sociable—at least when Mutti was around.

* * *

James shoveled in the last bite of his cheesecake. If he had room, he would seriously consider having another slice. Becky turned out mighty tasty desserts.

She’d kept her focus on her plate ever since returning from helping Mutti to bed. He might as well be alone for all the conversation he was getting out of her.

Although she’d shuddered in his arms during the milking lesson, understandably repulsed by him, he was curious what filled her thoughts. “You’ve been awfully quiet.”

“I’m not very ludicrous.”

She rested her fork on her plate, smiling as though pleased with herself for pronouncing the last word correctly.

Her disjointed reply took him aback. Although she hadn’t intended it to be, her misuse of the word was amusing. “No, you’re not very talkative. I’m not loquacious myself, but I wondered what you’ve been thinking.”

She groaned in a most unladylike fashion and smacked a palm to her forehead. “Loquacious. Yes. That’s what I meant.” She lifted her head and actually looked at him for a change. With the bruises almost gone, the dusting of freckles on her round cheeks was more visible. “I was thinking about the trip here.”

“You said that was your first train ride. Did you enjoy it?”

“Very much. I had no idea how big our country is. I saw mountains and valleys, plains and deserts.” She laughed, a light, airy sound free of her earlier self-condemnation. “Why am I telling you? Since you drove trains, you know that.”

“Drove trains? Where did you get that idea? I never did that.”

Her forehead furrowed. “But Dr. Wright said in the telegram that you were a railroad engineer before you became a fruit grower.”

James hid a smile behind his napkin. “I see. You thought I was a locomotive engineer. I was actually a civil engineer, helping build the railroad over the Sierras.”

She nodded. “That makes sense. Mutti told me you went to college. It must have been wonderful to receive such a fine education. When I was six, Chicago’s first high school opened. I dreamed of going to it one day. I applied every year—until my mother took ill and I began caring for her—but I wasn’t one of the few students granted admission. Even so, I try to learn everything I can on my own.” A faraway look in her eyes bespoke a yearning for what she’d been denied.

“That’s commendable.”

She reached for his empty dessert plate and set it on top of hers. “Why did you decide to become an engineer?”

“When I was young, Papa took me to Sacramento City. I got to meet Theodore Judah. He told me about his dream of building a railroad over the Sierras that would connect the country. I decided then and there that I wanted to work with him. When I finished school, my parents sent me to New York to attend the Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute where Judah had gone.”

“Did you work with him?”

“Not for long. I graduated with my civil engineering degree in ’62. I was only nineteen at the time, but I got a job with Charles Crocker’s company, which was overseeing the construction. Work started the following January. Judah headed for Washington that fall to get backing so he could buy out the owners and do things his way, but he died on that trip.”

He stared out the window at the deepening shadows, the heartache he’d felt upon hearing the news assailing him anew. He’d done his best to go on, but his enthusiasm had waned. And then came the accident that had shattered his dreams. “A part of me died, too.”

Becky laid her hand on his. “I’m sorry.”

He jerked his arm away. “I didn’t mean to go on like that. I need to see to the animals.”

“Yes, of course. I understand.”

Her crestfallen look said otherwise, but he couldn’t spend another minute with her probing into his past. Perhaps if he put enough distance between them, he could forget the pity he’d seen in her pretty blue eyes.

James took his time in the barn, grateful for the warmth of his overcoat. The temperature had dropped steadily all day. Not a good sign, since the trees were in bloom.

When he reached the house, Becky had already retired, as he’d hoped. With a long night ahead of him, sitting up and checking the thermometer mounted on the porch, the last thing he needed was to have her dredging up memories best left buried. He hung his overcoat in the lean-to, threw another log on the fire, settled into his armchair and reached for his well-worn copy of Dickens’s Great Expectations.

Sometime later he was jolted awake by an insistent scratching at the door. He stood, the book in his lap falling to the floor, and stepped onto the porch where a dog sat, its breath creating a misty cloud that hung in the chilly air.

Panic seized James, squeezing so hard he couldn’t breathe. He raced to the thermometer. The mercury had fallen even farther, hovering in the midthirties, far too close to freezing. If it went any lower, he could lose his entire crop.

He had to take action. Now.

* * *

A nudge to the shoulder woke Becky, and she opened her eyes to find a shadowy figure looming above her. A scream lodged in her throat.

“It’s all right. It’s me. James.”

How dare he scare her out of her wits like that? She shoved his arm away, tugged the covers to her chin and whispered, making no attempt to keep the irritation out of her voice. “What are you doing in here?” Her fuzzy head cleared, and reality returned with full force. “Is Mutti—”

He leaned close and spoke beside her ear. “She’s fine, but I need your help. Meet me in the kitchen right away.” He slipped out.

Propelled by a mixture of fear and curiosity, she dressed quickly and hastened to meet him. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s a late frost. I’ve got Quon and Chung setting fires under the trees to keep the buds from freezing. I know your ribs haven’t healed yet, but do you think you could carry wood?”

“Yes.”

“Good. You’d better wear this again.” He shoved his sister’s cloak into Becky’s arms. “I must warn you. It’s coldest just before dawn, so it will be a long night.”

“I understand.” She followed James to the orchard. Quon and Chung had already set two rows of fires, which glowed red beneath the apple trees.

All through the early morning hours they worked. Thick smoke swirled around her, stinging her eyes and burning her lungs as she trudged up and down the rows along with the men. Her ribs ached, but she ignored the pain and carried on.

James had said the entire apple crop could be lost if the buds froze. She couldn’t bear to see him face such a loss when he was already dealing with his mother’s impending death. He was a strong man, but if her efforts could help spare him additional pain, she’d be grateful.

Just before dawn, she stumbled as she moved from one fire to the next, her vision blurry and her legs leaden. She returned to the wheelbarrow, ready to move on, when a cry rang out.

“Stop, Becky! Your skirt!”

She blinked her gritty eyes, glanced at her dress and shrieked.

Her skirt was on fire!