Читать книгу Suddenly A Frontier Father - Lyn Cote - Страница 14
ОглавлениеMason blinked. He couldn’t think. But he could see Emma’s face just inches above his. “You’re so good,” he whispered. “And you could have been mine.”
Her eyes widened. “Mr. Chandler? Can you hear me?”
Silly question. Of course he could hear her, see her. He realized then that he was lying on the prickly grass, looking up at the blue sky. Crowded around him were his girls and Asa’s boy. Why was Emma on her knees beside him? “What happened?” He moved to sit up.
With her small hand on his chest, Emma pressed him back. “Take it easy. You’ve been unconscious for a couple of minutes. You fell from the roof.”
He closed his eyes and the memory returned, his sliding off the roof. That breathless jolt of panic. “I stepped on a loose shingle and lost my balance.”
“That could happen to anyone,” Emma murmured. She slipped her hand under his head. “You don’t have a bump. Does your head hurt?”
“A bit.” He appreciated Emma’s trying to soothe his dented pride, but he noticed then that Charlotte was crying and that Birdie, with tears running down her cheeks, was comforting her. He stirred himself. “I’ll be all right, girls. Don’t worry, Charlotte.” He tried to work his fingers to sign but he couldn’t. “I’ll be all right,” he repeated. He watched Birdie sign this to his sister, but she continued to cry. He could see the fear on her face. I must get up and show I’m all right, he thought to himself. He tried to sit up again.
Emma pressed him back once more. “First let’s make sure you’ve not hurt anything seriously.”
He glanced up at her, very aware of her being so close to him. He hoped she hadn’t heard him say, “You’re so good,” or, worse, “You could have been mine.” He cringed inwardly, hoping he hadn’t said that aloud. The words were true but too personal and embarrassing in the extreme.
“Start by moving each part of you and see if you feel any sharp pain,” she counseled.
He didn’t want to obey. He just wanted to stand up, thank her for her help and hurry her along home. Her presence was bringing forth feelings he didn’t want to explore. But yes, he might have hurt himself, so her instruction made sense. He didn’t want to make matters any worse than they were. He obliged her, moving his neck and working down his body, moving each arm individually and rotating each joint—shoulders, elbows, wrists, knees.
All was well till he tested his ankles one at a time. “Uhhh.” The pain-filled syllable was forced out when he rotated his right ankle.
Emma glanced down. “I think you can safely sit up. But perhaps you should first push down your stocking so we can see your ankle.”
Once again he obliged.
“Oh, it’s swelling,” she said as they both stared at the flushed ankle. “But you were able to rotate it, so that should mean it’s just a sprain. It will heal in about a week without any further problem. When we were children, my brother suffered a sprain after falling from a tree. I know what to do.”
Mason could not believe he was in this situation. And he’d fallen while she was nearby. Humiliation. “I have so much to do. I can’t be laid up.”
“Well, we can’t do anything about that until we take care of your ankle.” She rose and rested a gentle hand on Birdie’s shoulder. “Explain everything to Charlotte and let her know this isn’t serious.” Then she turned to Colton. “Please run into the house and bring out a chair. Birdie, please go get the water bucket inside the door.”
He tried to make sense of her instructions but the wind had been knocked out of him and he felt depleted somehow. I guess falling off a roof does take it out of a man. He grimaced ruefully.
Soon after instructing Colton to stand behind the chair to steady it, Emma helped Mason sit up. “Now the chair is right behind you. When you’re ready to stand, I want you to put your hands on my shoulders so I can steady you as you push up onto your good foot. I’m sure you have the strength to stand, but favoring your ankle will put you off balance. So hold on to me.” Stooping, she positioned herself in front of him.
He parted his lips to refuse her help.
“Seeing you fall again will only upset Charlotte more,” she whispered in his ear.
Her warm breath against his ear stirred him. And her words persuaded him to do as she suggested. “I’m ready.” He reached up and gripped her slender shoulders. He pushed up, staggered. She steadied him as he landed in the chair. A touch of vertigo and sharp pain in his ankle vied with his reaction to being so near Emma Jones. She smelled of roses. He closed his eyes momentarily, marshaling all his self-control against the pain and against the temptation to reach for her. He leaned against the back of the chair. “Thank you.”
She stifled a chuckle.
His eyes flew open in surprise.
“Sorry.” She looked abashed and amused at the same time. “I caught myself just before I said, ‘My pleasure.’ It’s silly how certain words trigger other words, isn’t it?”
He didn’t feel anything like smiling, but she drew one from him anyway. “I know what you mean.” He gazed at this woman who was surprising him in so many ways. She had a sense of humor. He liked that. Then he shifted in his chair slightly, and that tiny movement caused pain to shoot through his ankle and up his calf. He held in a gasp.
Charlotte moved to his side and pressed against him. He put an arm around her and kissed her forehead. He haltingly signed that he would be fine and she shouldn’t worry. Or he hoped that was what he said. His grasp of sign language still did not rival Birdie’s.
Emma stepped away, primed the pump, filled the bucket and made him rest his foot in cold water up over his ankle. He noted that she tried not to look directly at him and wondered if it was just this situation. After all, she had volunteered only to dust, not to take care of him. Or was it just her not wanting to be here with him?
“I know most people put sprains in hot water,” Emma said, standing in front of him, “but my mother always told me that cold water does best to reduce swelling. I hope Judith still has some goose grease. That works amazingly on sprains.”
He nodded. The cold water was painful on his throbbing ankle. Goose grease. Good grief.
Emma stood near him, scanning the area and obviously thinking. “Children, we need to do the chores. Mr. Chandler isn’t able—”
“I’ll be fine. Just give me a few minutes—”
“Mr. Chandler,” she interrupted, “of course it’s understandable that you don’t want us to do what needs to be done, but you are going to have limited mobility for several days.”
He wanted to argue but the throbbing in his ankle underlined her words. He nodded, head down.
She turned to the boy. “Colton, Mr. Chandler is going to need a crutch. I want you to go in the woods and find a young tree about this thick.” She curved her hands together, leaving about a three-inch-diameter opening. “Take a hatchet and cut it off and bring it here.” She turned to Mason. “While you’re soaking your ankle, you can fashion it into a crude crutch.”
Mason nodded, pulling out his pocket knife. Disagreeing would be pointless and graceless. And he still felt shaken. I should have been more careful. Why couldn’t anything go right this year? His one hope was that the words he’d said upon regaining consciousness had been inaudible. So far Emma had given him no indication that she’d heard his much too personal words.
* * *
“You’re so good. And you could have been mine.” Mason’s words played in her mind much later that unexpectedly stressful day. Now she walked beside him up the forest track on their way to Judith’s for supper. He was balancing himself on the crutch he and Colton had contrived out of a young tree, now stripped of its bark with cushioning rags wrapped around the crook under his arm.
“Are you sure—” she began again.
“I can walk the short way to Asa’s,” Mason said, grimacing as he stumped along on the uneven dirt track.
She sighed inwardly. Men. Sometimes when the bounds that hemmed her in as a “lady” felt onerous, she reminded herself that men also were hemmed in. Men didn’t show weakness—period. And then he’d been forced to sit and watch her get his place ready for the night, including the cattle. So she understood how lowering this situation was for him, especially in front of her.
“You’re so good. You could have been mine.” She couldn’t get his words out of her mind. She never appreciated the way people always first commented about her appearance. But this man had mentioned her character and so had proven that he was looking into her as a person, not just at her face. This once again inched her toward caring about him. She resisted it, must resist it. Love was too treacherous a path to go down again—ever. Just thinking of allowing herself to be vulnerable again caused her to feel slightly nauseated. I can never do that again. I don’t have it in me to love like that again. No.
“As long as you are patient and don’t try to hurry the healing, you should be fine in a week or so.” She did not look at him as she murmured this.
“No doubt you’re right.” He exhaled, releasing his obvious dissatisfaction audibly. “There’s just so much to do.”
“There always is.” And then they were walking around a bend and met Asa, who was already on the road, striding toward them.
“What’s happened? I was just setting out to see why Colton hadn’t returned,” Asa said.
With relief Emma let Mason explain the situation. Now, as they continued toward Asa, she could hurry on to her sister and turn Mason over to Asa. She listened to the men talking, and when Asa reached them, she headed briskly down the road. “I want to go help Judith!” she called over her shoulder. After supper, she would walk home to her own room, her own place behind the school, and relax. And not give this day or this man another thought.
* * *
On the Brants’ table the wiped-clean plates showed how they had all devoured Asa’s wife’s good supper. Within Mason the good feeling of being well fed vied with his painfully throbbing ankle. Asa and his wife with their two children sat across from him, his two girls and Emma. Mason noted that the girl Lily did not speak but kept looking at his girls and then away. He hoped she was just shy, like Emma had said earlier.
“Mason, you will just have to stay here,” Asa said, “till you get back to normal.”
Variations of this had been mentioned all throughout the evening meal. Mason felt exhausted by the day’s events and he couldn’t take much more. He’d replied politely but finally reached the end of his tether. He stated the truth. “I just want to go home. I’ve been away from home for months and I want to be in my own bed under my own roof.” Without turning his head, he watched Emma out of the corner of his eye as he had throughout the meal. She was gazing at him, her chin downward. What was she thinking? Was it of him?
“But you’ll need help,” Judith said.
“I can help,” Colton spoke up.
Asa, Judith, Emma and Mason all turned to look at the boy.
“I can help.” Colton stood up. “I can fetch and carry. Mr. Brant, you helped me and Lily when we needed help. So I can help Mr. Chandler.”
Asa gripped the boy’s shoulder and smiled at him with approval.
“That makes good sense,” Emma agreed. “Mr. Chandler walked here. He has a crutch. He just needs a little help. I completely understand why he wants to be in his own place, don’t we all?”
“Thank you,” Mason said with emphasis. “Asa, please let Colton go with me and the girls. Thanks to Miss Jones and the children, everything is ready for us to settle down for the night. And that’s all I want.” He was grateful to Emma for backing him up and to the boy for offering. But he was afraid to look at her and betray more than this. Why did she have to be both lovely and kind? She could do much better than him for a husband.
Asa and Judith exchanged glances. “Very well,” Asa agreed. “Colton, gather your things and your bedroll from up in the loft. Thank you for offering to help our neighbor.”
Colton didn’t reply but obeyed.
Pressing his hands on the table, Mason pushed himself up. Then he manipulated his crutch and secured it under his right arm. He thought he had just enough energy to get home.
Emma stood also and walked to the door. “I’ll bid you all good night. And Judith, thank you for the lovely supper.”
Mason watched the woman he had hoped to marry walk away into the gathering twilight. He bound up his mind against thinking of her. She had been helpful. She has been kind. But she had made it clear with her every glance and every word that she wanted to be only his neighbor and nothing more.
* * *
Emma arrived home and soon, in her nightwear, sat in her rocker, sipping a cup of chamomile tea and honey. She still felt stirred up and hoped the tea would soothe her so she could sleep. The day played through her mind. Her shock at meeting Mason Chandler on Main Street, seeing his two little girls—the silent and troubled Charlotte, the bright and sweet Birdie—and hearing the unguarded words he’d said when he woke.
She took another sip of the warm, sweet tea. If only she were young and unmarked by war, she might have reacted differently. But for four bloody years, she had prayed and hoped and kept up her spirits. Trusting that Jonathan, good-natured and honorable, would return whole and they would spend their lives together. Instead he’d been buried in Virginia. She stopped her thoughts there.
She did not think of Jonathan often anymore. Mason Chandler returning and the words he’d said to her had brought it all back, all the pain, all the waiting. She would keep her distance from him. But then she remembered Mrs. Ashford’s remark about judgment and little Lily’s unusual reticence. Both of Mason’s girls would cause notice in town. They were orphans, Birdie’s mother had no doubt been a slave and Charlotte was deaf. Charlotte and Birdie—how could she help them?
* * *
Monday afternoon, as the students were finishing the last lesson of the day, Emma tried not to show the roiling pot of emotion in the pit of her stomach. Mason and his girls hadn’t attended church yesterday and she could understand that. He’d just sprained his ankle and he didn’t have his wagon yet. But she’d hoped that Colton would walk the girls to school today so she could help them get acquainted.
The rumors about Mason’s “peculiar” girls had already begun in town. Emma wanted to set the right tone and ease the girls into acceptance. She gazed over the heads of her students and let it rest on Colton’s dark head bent over his slate. She didn’t want the other children to hear, but she needed to talk to Colton.
“Children, finish the questions and then put away everything. Our day together is ending.”
The children obeyed with some murmuring. As usual, the children lined up in the center aisle and waited for her to position herself at the door. As usual, she spoke to each child, encouraging them and reminding them of what they should be practicing at home that evening. It always included studying their spelling list. The town was insistent that their spellers shine in the spring spelling bee. Her students prepared all year.
When Colton stopped in front, she asked him if he would stay to help with something. He nodded and then moved out of line. “Lily,” he called, “I got to help Miss Jones. Wait on the swing.”
Soon the school was empty except for her and Colton. “What do you want me to do?” Colton looked up at her.
She didn’t try to hide her true concerns. “Why didn’t Birdie and Charlotte come to school today?”
Colton frowned. “The little black girl wanted to come real bad. But Mr. Chandler said no, not yet.”
Emma was afraid of that.
“What do you want me to do here?” Colton asked, glancing out the open window, obviously wanting to leave.
“You’re still helping Mr. Chandler?”
“Yes, they’ll come to our place for supper. Mrs. Brant insisted. And then I’ll walk home with them and stay there for the night.”
“How is Mr. Chandler’s ankle?” She refused to let his dazed, whispered words repeat once more in her mind. Or she tried to.
“He doesn’t say anything about it. But I see he still needs a crutch.” Colton shifted on his feet, reminding her that he wanted to be off and out of school.
“Thank you, Colton.”
The boy paused and turned back at the doorway. “When Lily and me started school here, some kids acted strange around us. I think it’s ’cause...’cause our parents died. People don’t like it when you’re different.”
The boy’s wisdom surprised and impressed her. “I’m afraid that is correct.”
“I like Birdie. She’s real sweet and always helps.”
“That’s very true. Thank you, Colton.”
The boy left and she walked around the schoolroom, making certain everything was in place. She could understand why Mason wanted to protect his two little girls, but keeping them at home hidden did them no good. They were going to spend their lives here—and they both deserved as good a life as anyone else here in Pepin. If it weren’t for the girls and their need for special care, she could ignore this man. But she could see the girls might need her.
Mason Chandler, you are wrong if you keep them home. She knew how stubborn men could be. But it might just be that he needed time. She would give him time, but just so much.
* * *
A few days later, in the evening at the Brants’, the fragrance of the rabbit stew set before Mason literally caused him to salivate. He bowed his head politely while Asa offered the prayer over the meal. Hearing another man pray heightened the feeling of stone encasing his own heart. Maybe God hadn’t deserted him but it sure felt like it. Then he scolded himself. Years ago he’d lost his mother, and months ago his father, but he’d gained a sister and Birdie. He resisted a thought about also losing Emma.
“I caught the rabbits,” Colton spoke up. “I used my snares.”
For the hundredth time or more Mason found himself glancing at the door. He tried not to but he always looked for Emma to join them. He turned his mind from this. “Well done, Colton,” Mason replied, recalling his boyhood days. Then another worry intruded. How could he bring up the unpleasant conversation about Asa’s destroyed corn and hay crops? He’d tried twice now but Asa had changed the subject both times.
Birdie and Charlotte sat on the bench beside him. He could tell Birdie wanted to talk to Lily, but the little girl rarely looked at them. Pain twisted in his chest over this. Birdie had wanted to go to school with Colton each day but he had kept the girls home. Why did people judge others on things like skin color and deafness?
“I’m glad you agreed to eat supper with us till your ankle is healed,” Asa’s wife, sitting on the opposite side of the table, said. “How is it doing? Did the goose grease help?”
At her words, Mason’s ankle throbbed as if taunting him with his weakness. “Yes, it helped. My ankle’s still swollen some, but it’s improving.”
“It will be all better soon.” Judith forked up a bite of stew.
“I thank you for your hospitality and for Colton’s help,” he said, grateful, knowing that his girls needed more food than he would be able to rustle up while standing on a crutch by the fire. He decided this was the opening he’d been waiting for. “And Asa, you’ve not let me discuss your planting my crops—”
“I didn’t plant your full crops—”
“You did more than I would ever have expected. And I’m going to share my corn and hay with you. I think—”
Asa tried to interrupt.
Mason forged onward. “I think that if we are careful, we’ll have almost enough to make it through the winter and put away some seed for next spring. It will be tight, but we can make it.”
“I didn’t put it in for that reason.” Asa still sounded put out.
“I know, but it’s a blessing—for both of us—that you did.”
“Asa,” Judith said, resting a hand on her husband’s sleeve, “Mason is speaking the truth. What you have done for a friend has come back to bless all of us.”
The woman’s mention of blessing hit Mason squarely in the heart, the heart that had suffered and been stretched this year. “And when November comes,” he spoke up, banishing these thoughts, “you’ll have to permit me to bring you some fresh meat, Mrs. Brant.” He savored the rich gravy, rolling it on his tongue.
“I’m also looking forward to fall hunting,” Asa commented. “But now’s a good time to start geese, grouse and duck.”
Asa and Mason discussed hunting for a while. Birdie was busy signing to Charlotte. Mason often wondered what went on in his little sister’s head. He must work harder at learning to talk to her with his hands. “Thank you again, Mrs. Brant,” he murmured.
She merely smiled at him. Again, Mason was very aware of the change just a few months of marriage had wrought in his friend. Almost three years ago, when Mason had first arrived in Pepin and found Asa as his neighbor, he’d liked Asa right away. But since they’d last met, Asa had changed, and for the better. Asa now smiled and talked easily, appeared to be more at peace. Mason couldn’t stop himself from once again wishing he’d been here in March to meet his mail-order bride. Well, life was what it was.
* * *
On Friday afternoon, Mason was in his barn, unhitching the team he’d just reclaimed and fetched from Levi’s place outside town to the northeast. He’d left his girls with Asa’s wife and rode one of Asa’s horses to Levi’s. His ankle still pained him. He limped but he’d left off the crutch today.
He turned, startled when he heard his name being called. “Miss Jones.” Nearly a week had passed since he’d seen her. He drank in the sight of her like a thirsty man finding water in the desert. He stiffened himself. Don’t embarrass yourself. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m glad to see you are walking without your crutch,” she said, not replying to his question.
Birdie with Charlotte hurried away from the head of one of the horses toward her. “Miss Emma!” Birdie greeted her.
“Hello.” Emma bent to talk to them. “Girls, I would like to have a few words in private with Mr. Chandler. Could you go play? I’ll talk to you before I leave.”
Birdie looked thoughtful but drew Charlotte outside, signing to her.
Mason didn’t have to think about why this lady had come. Colton had repeatedly told him that Miss Jones wanted the girls in school. He gritted his teeth. Evidently Emma was a woman to be reckoned with. His irritation over this vied with his unwelcome pleasure at seeing her here, so fine and determined. “I can guess why you’ve come. But I wasn’t ready to send them to school yet.” He focused on working free the horses’ harness buckles.
“Your girls are ready. Do you think you are helping them, keeping them out?”
“I’m keeping them from being hurt. Children can be cruel,” he said, just short of snapping at her.
“And adults can be. Do you think keeping them out protects them from hurt? Don’t you realize that keeping them home is hurting them, too?”
“I can teach them their letters and numbers.”
“That’s not what I mean.” She moved closer and paused, resting a hand on the rump of the nearest chestnut horse. “Isolating them is telling them that you don’t think they can handle school. That they are lesser than the other children.”
Her words cut through him like a serrated knife, a dull one that rasped painfully. He stepped back, releasing the last buckle, and led one horse toward a stall. Her accusation bounced around in his head.
From the corner of his eye, he glimpsed her standing backlit by the sunshine. She brought to mind a picture he’d seen as a child in a book. It had been the image of an avenging angel protecting the innocent. Miss Emma Jones did not take matters having to do with children lightly.
“Are you ashamed of Birdie and Charlotte?” she snapped.
“No,” he snapped back. “They are wonderful little girls.”
“Then bring them to school Monday.” She turned as if to leave. “Have some trust in me, trust in the children of this town.”
She left him without a word to say.
He moved to the open barn door but remained out of sight. He wanted to hear what she said to the girls.
“Birdie! Charlotte!” she called in a friendly voice.
The girls ran to her, Birdie beaming and Charlotte cautious, holding Birdie’s hand. “Can you play with us?”
“Just a bit. How about ‘Ring around the Rosy’?” Emma joined hands with the girls and they moved in a circle, singing and, at the right moment, all falling or, rather, stooping down.
“I must go now. I’m sure I’ll see you Sunday at church.” And without a glance toward the barn, she called out, “See you Monday at school. Nine o’clock! Don’t be late!”
He watched her go, unable to look away until she disappeared around the thickly forested bend.
The girls ran to him. “Did the lady teacher say we could come to school?” Birdie asked.
He looked down into Birdie’s eager face. So many thoughts and emotions swirled in his mind and heart. “Do you want to go to school?”
“Yes!” Birdie signed to Charlotte. “She says yes too. We can see Lily and Colton. And meet other children.”
He wondered if Birdie was capable of grasping the concept of prejudice.
“Some children will like us and some won’t,” Birdie said, answering his unspoken question. “But we want to go to school.”
He drew in a deep breath. So be it. He turned to go unharness the other horse. He hoped Miss Emma Jones knew what she was doing. He wanted everything good for his children. But he knew how cruel people could be. This moved him to snap at God, You’d better keep them safe.
He then remembered more of Emma’s words and realized that he would have to face the whole town the day after next at church. His hurt ankle had given him an excuse to bypass last week’s service. But that excuse had lapsed. Miss Emma Jones was right. He must publicly face the community with his girls, starting Sunday.
He was feeling the same dread and anticipation, a heavy weight in his middle, that he’d faced many times in the war. The mornings just before a battle, everyone—except for those who thought they needed to lighten the somber mood—had been silent, barely speaking, girding themselves for the imminent crucible of cannon, gunfire, black smoke and perhaps death.
He tried to shake off the feeling. No one would be firing at him on Sunday. But he worried for Birdie and Charlotte and any negative reactions to them. He didn’t want them to be hurt. His only hope was from the friends who’d stood by him. One was Noah Whitmore, the preacher, who’d written the orphan home’s director that he was fit to adopt his girls. Would people remember where they were—in God’s house? At least no one knew the dark secret he must—above all else—keep hidden.
