Meadowlark

by Carolyn Lampman

  Now, Garrick waited patiently for the storm to break over his head. It was the way his father had always dealt with his mother’s volatile Irish temper, working quietly at some task until she finally blew up and told him what was bothering her. He’d sit contritely listening to her tirade then smooth her ruffled feathers with good calm Norwegian logic. Though Garrick’s mother often complained that her husband didn’t fight fair, it seemed the best way to deal with an angry woman.

  Garrick could tell Becky’s anger was simmering just below the surface as she slammed the dishes in and out of the dishwater. It wouldn’t be long now. He braced himself.

  But nothing happened. Finally, he chanced a glance in her direction and was appalled to see tears sparkling in her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  “What’s wrong?” she repeated, glaring at him. “Nothing’s wrong. I just found out my husband has the most dangerous job in the world, and he never told me. Why should I be upset?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You’re a powder man, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, but I use black powder, not nitroglycerine like Ace Klynton does. The way I do it, my job isn’t any more dangerous than any other.”

  “Oh, no. You just blow things up. If you use too much powder, or too short a fuse, or somebody sneezes at the wrong time, you’re either blown to smithereens or buried under several tons of rock. There’s nothing dangerous about that.”

  Garrick was incredulous. “You’re mad because I’m a powder man?”

  “No, I’m mad because you never told me. But then I guess that shouldn’t come as a surprise. You never tell me anything. We’ve lived together for six weeks, and we’re still total strangers.”

  “We are not.”

  “Oh no? I don’t know one thing about you that I didn’t find out the first day.”

  Garrick felt a spark of anger. “That’s not true.”

  “It is too. I couldn’t even get you to tell me if you wanted me to make you a new shirt.”

  “I bought that material for you and the baby.”

  “But did you tell me that? No. You just brought it in and dropped it on the table. I was supposed to figure out what you wanted on my own.”

  “What did you want me to do,” he asked, rising to his feet and glaring back at her, “give you detailed instructions?”

  “I want you to talk to me once in a while.”

  “I talk to you.”

  “Yes, one word at a time. Don’t you understand, Garrick? You never tell me anything. I don’t even know if you like me.”

  That hurt. He’d shown her how much he liked her in a dozen different ways. Didn’t she realize all the things he did around the cabin were for her? He felt the irrational desire to hurt her back. “How can I tell you anything when you never shut up long enough to listen?” he asked.

  “Maybe I would if you’d tell me what’s going on inside your head.”

  “You don’t want to know what I’m thinking.”

  “Try me.”

  “All right,” he said, crossing the room to her. “Sometimes I think I’ll go crazy if I don’t have some peace and quiet. I detest cornmeal mush, and I’m so sick of beans and corn bread that I could throw up.”

  As he advanced, Becky backed away until she stood cringing against the wall. The stark terror in her eyes infuriated him even more. He braced his hands on either side of her head and leaned over her. “And most of all,” he said in a dangerously soft voice, “I hate the way you act when I get close to you.”

  As he moved to grab his hat off the mantle, she instinctively covered her face and ducked away with a whimper of fear.

  “You don’t need to worry, Madam Wife,” he said with dry emphasis. “I won’t touch you.” He took a dozen steps and went out, slamming the door behind him.

  With a sob, Becky slid to the floor. Why, oh, why hadn’t she just left well enough alone? Suddenly, she realized how she must look to him, tall and gangly, her body distorted and swollen with another man’s child. No wonder he hadn’t ever wanted to share her bed. He couldn’t even stand the thought of touching her.

  Worst of all was the knowledge that she’d been making a complete fool of herself, and he knew it. Shame flooded her as she thought of the many times she’d unobtrusively leaned closer to him to catch the scent of wood, leather, and an indefinable something that was uniquely Garrick. When she’d touched his hand or brushed against him just to feel his solid warmth, he’d been aware of what she was doing and had been repulsed by it.

  Tears came, and sobs of anguish racked her body. After everything he’d done for her, saving her life, giving her a real home, chinking the walls, mending the roof, building chairs, chopping wood, she couldn’t even cook him a decent meal. She was a dismal failure as a wife. Right now, he was probably on his way to the saloon just as her father used to do when she’d made him mad, and the thought scared her half to death.

  “Swede, long time no see!” Angel’s obvious pleasure at the sight of him went a long way toward soothing Garrick’s hurt feelings. “The little wife finally let you out of the house?”

  “You could say that.”

  “Well, I’m glad to see you at my place again. Can I buy you a drink?”

  “No, thanks. I work tomorrow.”

  “So, marriage hasn’t changed you after all.”

  “It hasn’t made me stupid, if that’s what you mean.” Garrick gave her a sardonic smile. “That happened last time I was in here and decided to get drunk.”

  “Ah. So, the newlyweds had a little lovers’ spat, did they?” When Garrick’s only reply was a glower, Angel laughed. “What you need is a good game of cards and a little appreciative female companionship.”

  “That’s why I’m here.”

  “There’s an empty chair right over there at Molly’s table. Just go easy on the house, will you?”

  “I will as soon as you go easy on your customers.”

  It was an old joke between them, and Angel wrinkled her nose at him before she wandered off to circulate among her other clientele.

  As usual, the cards took his full concentration. Garrick loved to manipulate them, to figure the odds, and to read the other player’s expressions. He was unbeatable at Blackjack, but tonight he settled for five-card stud. He played steadily for several hours, winning more than he lost, but never really relaxing and enjoying himself.

  Images of Becky kept tumbling through his mind. In retrospect, it seemed as if she had invited Ox Bruford, a total stranger, to stay for supper very quickly, then she’d hung on his every word. But her own husband, who had never been anything but kind to her, she cowered away from in fear.

  “Hello, Swede,” said a sultry feminine voice as long fingers ran through the hair on the nape of his neck.

  Garrick looked up into Collette’s smoky gray eyes. Here was a woman who wasn’t afraid of him. In fact, she found him appealing. He could see it on her face as she sat down on his lap and undid the top button on his shirt.

  “What do you say, Swede, shall we slip upstairs and let them play this hand without you?”

  “I can’t leave,” he said with a smile as he put an arm loosely around her waist. “I’m winning.”

  “Then I’ll be your prize, and you can collect me,” she murmured as she put her arms around his neck and kissed him deeply.

  With her stomach tied in knots, Becky lay in bed waiting for Garrick to come home. Hours passed, and she finally fell into a fitful sleep. She jerked awake at the sound of the door opening. Praying that feigned sleep would be enough to protect her, she closed her eyes and waited.

  She heard him walk up to her bed and stop. It was impossible not to flinch when his fingers unexpectedly touched her cheek, but she covered her reaction by shifting slightly as though moving in her sleep. After several long minutes, he gave a deep sigh and moved away to get his bedroll.

  In horrified agony, Becky turned her face to the wall, and shoved her fist up against her mouth to stifle an
y sound that might escape. Though she had been dreading the familiar heavy odor of whiskey, and the beatings that frequently came with it, she discovered the smell of another woman’s perfume was much, much more painful.

  Chapter 7

  “Sorry, ma’am, The Green Garter ain’t open till later.”

  “Good, because I’m here to see Miss Angel,” Becky said.

  “We don’t need any more girls right now,” the bartender said, staring pointedly at her stomach.

  Becky gripped her bag a little tighter. “That’s not what I’ve come to see her about. Could you please tell her Rebecca Swenson is here? She’ll remember me.”

  Sam looked her up and down, then shrugged and disappeared into the back of the casino.

  Feeling very much out of place, Becky waited nervously for Angel to appear. When the door at the back finally opened, what she heard didn’t sound promising.

  “And I tell you I don’t know a Rebecca anything. Probably just somebody looking for a handout.” With a swish of taffeta, Angel came through the door. When she saw who her visitor was, the expression on her face was anything but welcoming. Her gaze dropped to Becky’s stomach. “So that’s why he married you, the damned noble fool. And I’ll bet it isn’t even his.”

  Becky straightened angrily. “My baby is none of your business.”

  “That’s right, honey, and the problems between you and your husband aren’t either. So, if you’ve come to tell me I should have thrown him out last night, you can just turn your tail around and march right out of here.”

  “He came here?” It was out before Becky could stop it and sounded pathetic even to her own ears.

  Angel’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Just what the hell do you want?”

  “I-I need your help.”

  “Huh, and if I was stupid enough to help you out today, you’d be looking down your nose at me just like all the other self-righteous biddies tomorrow.”

  “I’m hardly in the position to look down my nose at anybody. I came here because I thought you were my friend.”

  Angel snorted. “What gave you that idea?”

  “You gave me a place to stay and were a witness to our wedding.”

  “I did that for Swede, not you.”

  “This is for him, too.” Becky looked her squarely in the eye. “What can it hurt to listen?”

  Angel hesitated for a moment. “All right, I’ll listen, but that’s all I’m promising. Now, what is it you want?”

  “I want to learn how to cook.”

  There was a moment of stunned silence, then Sam and Angel both broke into laughter. “Honey, I think you’re confused. This is a whorehouse, not a restaurant.”

  Becky blushed. “I know that, but there are five...girls, and you two. That makes seven people who have to eat. Somebody around here must know how to cook.”

  “Even if we do have a cook, why should I take her away from her duties to teach you?”

  “Oh, I’m not asking you to do it for nothing. I may not know how to cook, but I can sew.” She reached into her bag, pulled out the shirt she had made for Garrick, and handed it to Angel. “If you’ll let your cook teach me, I’ll do all your mending.”

  Angel examined the shirt. It was well made, the tiny stitches on the cuffs and collar nearly invisible. A closer look at Becky’s dress showed that it had been mended many times, yet, unless one really looked, it was impossible to tell. Torn clothing was one of the hazards of Angel’s business. A good seamstress could save her a fortune, especially one who didn’t cost her anything.

  “All right. It’s a deal, but you’ll have to take your lessons when it’s convenient for us. If something comes up, and I need you out of here, you’re gone. Is that understood?”

  Becky nodded.

  “Does Swede know about this?” Angel asked.

  “No, and I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t tell him.”

  Angel shrugged. “As I said before, the problems between you and your husband are none of my affair. You can start tomorrow.”

  “D-do you think your cook could maybe take a few minutes to show me something I can fix for supper tonight?” Becky asked.

  Angel raised an eyebrow. “Are you that desperate?”

  “If I try to feed my husband beans and cornbread one more time, he’ll probably throw me out.”

  “Or come back here and break my bank,” Angel said. “All right, I suppose I can take time to show you how to make biscuits.”

  “You?”

  “As a matter of fact, I’m a damn good cook.”

  Becky smiled. “I knew this was the right place to come.”

  Angel made a disgusted sound as she turned and led the way to the kitchen. “Just be sure you use the back door from now on. I don’t want my place to get a bad name.”

  An hour later, Becky emerged happy and relieved. Not only did she have a bag full of biscuits, she was pretty sure she’d made a new friend. Though Angel was surly on the outside, she was a patient teacher and had a good sense of humor. Best of all, her perfume was distinctly different from what Becky had smelled on Garrick the night before.

  Garrick took his time getting home. He knew he was being a coward, but he’d made a terrible mess of things. So much for using his father’s technique on Becky. It might have worked if he hadn’t inherited his mother’s temper. Over the years, he’d become so adept at holding it in check that he tended to forget how explosive it was and how often it had gotten him into serious trouble.

  It wasn’t until Collette had tried to seduce him last night that it suddenly hit him how badly he’d blundered. No wonder Becky had shrunk away from him; anybody would have. He was three times her size and raging at her like a lunatic. She probably had a point, too. He did have a habit of keeping his thoughts to himself instead of speaking them aloud.

  The minute he realized what he’d done, he sent Collette on her way, gathered up his winnings and headed for home. Becky was asleep when he got there, but he’d been unable to resist touching her. No matter how badly he’d hurt her, he’d been paid back in full when she jerked away. Even in her sleep she was afraid of him.

  Awake before dawn, he’d snuck out of the house rather than face her rejection again. It wasn’t until later that it occurred to him she probably thought he’d never come home at all.

  Becky visibly sagged with relief when he came through the door. He’d never been this late before, which probably convinced her all the more that he wasn’t coming back. “Supper will be ready in a few minutes if you want to wash up.”

  “I’m sorry I’m late.”

  She just shrugged as though it didn’t matter before getting the plates and silverware out of the storage box.

  “I stopped at the mercantile on the way home.” He set a package down on her bed.

  “Oh?”

  “I bought some cloth for you to make yourself some new dresses and clothes for the baby.”

  She looked up in surprise. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “I figured you’d be needing them soon, and you used up most of the rest.”

  “Thank you.” Becky finished setting the table before opening her package. Tears stung her eyes, for he’d bought not one but three different fabrics.

  Silence filled the cabin as he rolled up his sleeves and poured water into the washbowl. Without Becky’s cheerful chatter, the quiet seemed oppressive rather than peaceful. Garrick searched his mind frantically for something to say as he sat down. Guilt lay heavy on his soul but not nearly as much as when he realized how nervous she was. Garrick closed his eyes and swallowed hard. She seemed afraid to put supper on the table.

  “I hope you like venison,” she said shyly. “It’s all they had at the butcher shop.”

  Garrick’s eyes popped open. He looked first at the meat and golden-brown biscuits on the table and then up at Becky’s hopeful face.

  “I love venison,” he lied.

  She smiled tremulously. “Good.”

  The meat was bur
nt on one side, the biscuits stone cold, but Garrick ate as though it were the best meal he’d ever had. “That was delicious.”

  “No, it wasn’t. But it’s a start. Food is so expensive in mining camps; we never had money enough for anything but beans and corn meal. I just got so used to them I never thought about cooking anything else. I’m sorry.”

  “No, Becky, I’m the one that’s sorry. You were right about me, you know. I don’t talk much.”

  “And I talk too much.” She looked down at her hands. “My father used to tell me to shut up all the time. I should have realized you were just too nice to say anything.”

  “That isn’t true. I didn’t mean those things I said. I have a terrible temper.”

  “No, you don’t. You’re the most even-tempered person I ever met in my life. The fight was my fault; I started it. Papa always said I was mean-spirited. He frequently told me I was the worst person in the world to live with.”

  Garrick wondered what kind of man would say such a thing to his own daughter. “Tell me about your father,” he said.

  Becky shrugged. “There’s not much to tell. He drank too much and worked too little.”

  “How did he die?”

  “He fell down a winze and drowned.”

  “A winze?”

  “It’s a shaft drilled in the floor of the mine to collect ground water and keep the tunnels from flooding.”

  “I know what a winze is. How did he manage to fall into one?”

  “He was drunk, as usual. I thought that’s what you were going to do last night but you didn’t, did you?”

  “I don’t drink when I work the next day.”

  “I’m glad.” At least going to another woman wouldn’t leave him dangerously unable to do his job. Becky rose to her feet and started to clear the table.

  Garrick watched her, thoughtfully. “You’re not, you know.”