The look she gave him suggested that, in her opinion, his entire person was an unsavory contagion.
I sighed. They were fighting. Again. “Watch out now.” With my foot I nudged Ephraim away before adding my sap to the kettle. I cast aside the bucket, slid another log onto the fire, then swiped my dusty hands on my trousers. “Last night’s unrequested Bible lesson was your mistake, Phin. You shouldn’t have started in on how all evil in the world stems from Eve’s transgression in the Garden.”
A smile trembled on his lips. “It’s not exactly a new theory, and truly, it doesn’t say much for Adam, succumbing so—”
Rachel gave him her back. “The children are going to miss you.”
The snub made me smile. “I’ll miss them, too.” And Marian’s hospitality and Rachel’s friendship and even (most of) Phineas’s jokes. But the missing wouldn’t keep me from Daniel.
It was Thursday. Though the party was the next day and we probably should have been inside preparing for the event, Phin reckoned the afternoon might be our last chance for sugaring. “Wind’s turning southerly,” he’d said this morning.
One thing I wouldn’t miss was the perpetual squabbling. To escape another round, I wandered across the yard to the woodpile, where the children were stacking kindling and playing at cabin building.
Behind me, Rachel called, “How many children should we have, Freddy?”
I tripped as I turned.
Phineas shot me an evil grin and repeated my former proclamation about this matter: “As many as God wills.”
Rachel sniffed. “Then I hope God gives us many, many children.”
Phineas shuddered with exaggerated revulsion.
I couldn’t repress my own shiver. This was something Daniel and I had yet to discuss. I didn’t want to give birth to a tribe. Thanks to the intriguing information Phineas had imparted on our journey, I knew how to prevent such a fate. Two children would suffice for me.
Marian appeared in the doorway and gave the combatants an exasperated look.
I regained my smile. No matter how irate Marian appeared, it was hard to be intimidated by a woman absolutely round with child.
“Try to be cheerful, friends,” she ordered. “We have a gathering to look forward to.” Then, hopefully: “I have an idea! Let’s practice some music. Phin, you want to warm up your fiddle tonight after supper, give us a taste of tomorrow’s tunes?”
“No.” He settled the neck yoke across his shoulders. The empty buckets swung on the ends like silent bells. “I don’t perform for bedlamites.”
“Bedlamites?” Rachel glared at him.
“Anyone wishing for a whole litter of irritating babies is insane.”
Thinking I might halt Rachel’s answering cut, I asked quickly, “How about some music, Miss Welds? Why don’t you sing for us before bedtime?” Singing I knew she loved to do.
“Sorry but no.” She turned up her nose at Phineas’s departing back and resumed stirring the boiling sap. Loudly: “I don’t sing for misanthropes.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
There was certainly no questioning the effectiveness of Phineas and his sister’s ability to spread word of their gathering. After cramming the morning hours with food preparations, we had just enough time to scrub and dress the children, then scrub and dress ourselves, before neighbors (if neighbors they could be called, living as far away as some of them did) began to arrive. They came on foot, on mule, by wagon, and one, two, even three to a horse. Undoubtedly, they crossed streams, circled swamps, and threaded through the woods according to the markings on the trees.
I couldn’t have provided a background fact for a single one—which guest sprang from prosperous New England stock and which one had entered this wilderness with nothing but an ax to his name. It didn’t matter. The guests were consistently young (for who else but the robust and unfettered would be brash and able enough to take on this frontier?) and thrilled for the occasion to gather. They greeted us, veritable strangers, like long-lost friends. Too much solitude in the disparate nooks of the forest had made them ready for companionship.
Marian’s oldest two climbed into the oak Phineas had left standing close to the house for shade, and they heralded new arrivals with shouts. The men brought whiskey, the women food, probably more than they could spare. And as soon as Daniel, Gid, and the Welds brothers arrived, Phineas rosined his bow, tuned his instrument, and started the music.
Daniel treated me to an unhurried handshake and a rueful smile before leading lucky Mary Root in a reel. My brother looked glad to see me. After complaining about his and Daniel’s recent spell of poor suppers and telling me how much he missed my stews and biscuits, he ambled Marian’s way to see if he could be made useful. Bob and Ed Welds introduced themselves, giving no indication of suspecting my true identity, though I’d known them all my life. They just looked happy that I was willing to listen as they explained their recent sickness. Given the account’s gruesome details, the other guests could be forgiven for keeping their distance from the haggard brothers.
The cabin had been emptied of its rustic furnishings for the occasion. Most of the guests danced, but a few simply leaned against the wall and enjoyed the music. Phineas played exceptionally well. Perhaps Rachel thought so, too, for she deigned to bring him a refreshment between songs and appeared almost ready to deliver a compliment.
Phineas, predictably, ruined the moment. “Why are you ignoring your betrothed, Miss Welds? I hope you’re not so fickle you’d set poor Freddy aside the second more strapping young men with actual whiskers show up.”
She snatched the half-empty glass out of his hand.
“I wasn’t finished.”
“You are now.” She looked tempted to pour the contents over his head but reconciled her ire with a tart “Just so you know, your cravat’s wrinkled.”
He tucked the violin under his chin. “Save your complaints for my valet.”
She turned sharply but promptly whirled back around, hands to her hair. He’d shot out his bow, lightning fast, and tapped her crown, like a fairy swatting an unsuspecting mortal with its wand. Smirking, he returned the bow to the strings and merely said, “Whoops,” before tackling a tavern ditty.
The cabin seemed to swell with merriment and noise. It was as if each pioneer, for so long living in isolation, had saved up his or her spirits and conversation and now unplugged the cache so that it spilled forth, in words and laughter, with abandonment.
I caught snatches of the men’s conversations: the importance of a sawmill and gristmill, plans for crops, and dealings with the Holland Land Company. And I learned even more from the women, for I danced with them. This posed no difficulty. One couldn’t be an older sister to two girls and not know how to lead. I met Dorothy, who described the black bear that took off with her hog a fortnight ago, and Ann, who predicted a bad season for fever and ague and gave me her thoughts on the benefits of bleeding and botanic dosing. Caroline, a fine dancer, agreed to take a turn around the floor twice. She wanted to teach and had an ambitious plan to open a district school in the near future.
A couple of hours into the dancing, I stole a few minutes to catch my breath, sip a cup of ale, and mull over what I was learning from my new acquaintances. Phineas, taking a break from playing, lounged with me in the corner.
Gid squeezed through the crowd. When Rachel also appeared, he intercepted her with a bow. “May I have the next dance?”
She gazed at him steadily. “I—I don’t think so.”
Color suffused his cheeks. Unfortunately, the press of guests made escape impossible, and they stood in tense proximity, turned from each other, until a part in the gathering permitted my brother to slink away.
Was it disinterest or lingering anger that prompted this refusal? I studied Rachel but only detected resignation in her fair face. She looked done with Gid. Maybe turning down his invitation had been her means to clarify that.
Phineas had also witnessed the exchange. With a shake of his head,
he replaced his frown with a smile and called, “Oh, Rachel Welds!”
Eyebrows raised, she approached.
“Better nab a dance with Freddy while you can and remind the young ladies he’s not available.” He looked at me bemusedly. “Upon my soul, for such a young’un, you’re drawing some pretty pairs of eyes tonight. Didn’t expect the maids of the valley to find you quite so interesting.”
“Not just interesting.” Rachel seized my hand. “Interested.” Ostensibly to me, she continued, with considerable feeling, “The fact is, you listen, Freddy. You actually ask questions. Most men simply talk and talk and talk.”
“Ah,” I murmured. “A hit.”
He cringed. “More like a mortal wound.” With a plunging motion, he slid the bow in his armpit, groaned piteously, and staggered.
Rachel didn’t find this amusing.
“Music!”
Phin peered around the packed room, searching for the source of the demand. “What shall it be?” Then a pointed look at Rachel: See? I ask questions.
“‘The Blacksmith’s Daughter’!”
“Oh, I love that girl.” His bow hit the strings with a pounce.
I led Rachel into the reel and smiled at her sour expression. “I’m waiting for you and Phin to come to blows.”
“He’s incredibly irritating. I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone quite so irritating. I’d like to plant him a facer.”
“Don’t let his teasing put you in a pucker and ruin your night.”
“Ha.” She turned her withering scorn in the violinist’s direction. “As if he could.”
“Good. Because you’re supposed to be finding me the most compelling conversationalist.”
“Doesn’t take much to claim victory in that sport. Consider the lack of competition.”
* * *
By the end of the evening, I gave up dancing and drinking. My feet hurt. So did my head.
Daniel found me in the corner by the loft ladder. “What’s this? The party’s prime favorite playing wallflower?”
My pulse beat faster at his appearance. “I’m recovering.” I patted the spot next to me.
With a heavy sigh, he situated himself on the floor.
Phineas had struck up a patriotic tune, and the guests were raising their bottles in tribute to our nation. More than one face wore the soppy, weepy-eyed look that so often accompanied drunkenness. “I expect they’ll be tarrying until morning.”
“Passed out until then, certainly.” He folded his arms, his expression turning thoughtful. “Strange how so many came out this way because they longed for wilderness, wildness, but now all they can talk about is how quickly they hope to tame it.”
“And make everything civilized. I’ve been thinking the same thing. It’ll look like Middleton around here before we know it.”
“Sadly deforested.”
“You and your trees. What’ve you been whittling lately?”
“Between helping Gideon clear for a house and widen a road?” He snorted. “Not much.”
“Ah. ‘Not much,’ meaning at least a little something.”
“Actually, I’ve been helping your brother make a gift for Mrs. Gale.” At my expectant look, he said, “You’ll see it soon.” Then, darkly: “And stop making fun of my whittling.”
Smiling, I patted his leg. He stilled, then shot me a wide-eyed glance, which only amused me further. “I’m glad you’re a whittler. I can’t wait to see what beautiful things await me in my future, all inscribed with my initials.”
“Spiles, Frederick. Many, many spiles.”
* * *
Marian and Phineas’s gathering ushered in a warm spell, and on Monday at the logging bee, when Gid’s lot was graced with some of the same men who had helped fill Friday’s music-teeming cabin, I got the sense, in the way they studied the blue sky, that the farmers of the Genesee Valley were anxious for spring. It was time to improve their properties, carve out of the forests another fifteen acres, and plow and plant wherever they could between the stumps and roots. Springtime meant hope, and they turned their trusting young faces to the morning sun, as flowers do.
Despite their obligations to their land and families, they seemed happy to help Gid, and Gid was obviously thrilled with how quickly they began clearing the thick timber. Mutual assistance was a time-honored practice in Middleton, too, but here it was so desperately needed, for to eke out of the forest a meager field required an incredible amount of effort. When the time came, for each of these helpers, my brother would return the favor.
I had borrowed one of Phin’s axes for the occasion and chose some youngish maples on which to practice. The stand’s distance from the others reassured me. Any mistake on my part wouldn’t result in a tree careening onto someone’s head. I was especially concerned about the children, though Rachel was doing a fine job of keeping them occupied across the stream, out of harm’s way, while Mrs. Gale served food and cider.
Felling trees was difficult work, especially at first, and when I spotted Daniel, I called him over to check my stance and method.
“You’ve got the right idea.” He turned and gazed gloomily into the woods.
That’s it? I had been hoping for a personal tutorial, a little flirtation, perhaps some subtle adjustments to my hold. “What’s wrong?”
He shrugged. “Just disheartening, spending day after day tearing down a beautiful forest.”
I suppressed an impulse to smile at his sweetness. “You’re sad about the trees.”
“And the songbirds.” Sighing, he hefted his ax. “Keep an eye out for flying branches. Some of the men here are reckless.”
I looked past Daniel’s departing back. My eyes widened. And fast on their way to drunkenness. Near the stream, a handful of farmers were tapping bottles and guzzling.
Toward the end of the logging bee, more people than not were imbibing. The whiskey inspired foolish acts. Several men turned the felling into a competition, rushing to chop down the most trees, boasting in shouts, and drinking toasts to every round’s victor.
Eventually, I drew closer to my friends, nervous that one of the children or my dog would wander into the path of a crashing limb. Our menfolk, I was happy to see, were more sensible than the rest. Daniel stood apart from the displays of sloppy wrangling and merely shook his head, Phineas observed the antics with a disdainful expression, and Gid chewed on his lower lip and mumbled a prayer that no one die on his new farm.
After our cold supper, we sober ones formed a dumbfounded audience. The light was failing, and we kept our distance from the revelries, but we were close enough to witness Ed Welds demonstrate a headstand from a branch of a maple, as his brother stumbled his way with a bottle in one hand and an ax in the other.
Phineas blew a low whistle. “Surviving the fever only to die from stupidity.”
Rachel dispassionately considered her cousins. “Women also gather to help one another, but you won’t find their sewing or spinning turned into silly, boozy affairs.”
“Or contests,” I muttered. What was it with men and competition? Did everything have to turn into a race?
Marian grinned. “Actually, it’d be fun to see what a quilting would look like if we refreshed ourselves with rum instead of tea.”
Rachel’s lips trembled. “Do you think we might start wrestling and broad-jumping the sides of the frame?”
The idea tickled the two women into laughter.
Phineas elbowed Gid in the side. “I’d pay to see that event.” He smiled at Rachel.
“Me, too.” My brother nodded slowly. His eyes, however, were not fastened on his former love interest.
He was watching Marian Gale. And his expression was stunned.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
If I’d secretly believed returning to Gid’s land would afford Daniel and me time to gaze into each other’s eyes and recite poetry, the morning after the logging bee corrected any such assumption.
Gid was not a strict chaperone as much as he was an ambitiou
s young farmer. He wanted to work hard and finish things fast. Spring plowing ought to happen in a couple of weeks! The Indian corn had to get planted! And most pressing: We didn’t even have a house yet!
Daniel being Daniel meant Gid found a willing accomplice. I was a more grudging one. I didn’t mind the labor; I just didn’t understand why a little time for relaxation (otherwise known as courtship) couldn’t be spared.
At first light, Tuesday began with Gid promptly setting out to work all three of us to exhaustion. Since he and Daniel had widened the trail, my brother had been able to collect his wagon. He was thrilled to be fully reunited with all his tools and anxious to put them to use. He put me to use, too. I spent hours hacking at downed trees and dragging limbs to a burn pile.
And there were still meals to prepare. While Daniel finished maneuvering a massive rock onto the stoneboat in the field, Gid stood by the campfire, ate a piece of bread (too busy to sit and eat his supper like a decent Christian), and said amid rapid chewing, “I can’t imagine what this enterprise would have been like if you hadn’t joined me, Freddy. Or if Daniel hadn’t shown up. What a worker! He’s worth a dozen men.” He flashed me a smile, swiped the crumbs from his shirt, and added, already turning back to the field, “I’m glad he’s still sweet on you, because he never would have come all this way if he weren’t.”
I grunted. A lot of good Daniel’s being sweet on me did. The only intimate knowledge of my beau I’d gathered since joining the men was an interesting detail from this morning: how Daniel’s hair kinked up after it dried from its cleansing dunk in the stream, a curliness he clearly regretted, given his grimace and the ruthless way he combed it out. After that, through the smoke of my burn pile, I only caught glimpses of him. He might have been a rare species of animal, a secretive, beautiful, uncommon creature I was only allowed to admire from afar. It wasn’t that he avoided me, exactly, only that he didn’t take advantage of our proximity. Not even Gid’s tyrannical chore delegating prevented every encounter.
That night in the covered wagon, as I stared wearily at the darkness, I mulled over this strange self-restraint. Was it born of respect for my brother? Deference to me? He had to know how much I’d enjoyed that blissful, if brief, tryst on the way to Phin’s.
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