“Even half that is too many for me.”
Concern creased his brow. “Your birth mother…”
I shook my head. “I’m no wisp of a girl like she was. It’s not just the childbearing. Child-rearing is hard on a woman. Too many children, and raising them is all she has time to do. I want more than motherhood for my life. I want selfhood.” It didn’t matter that my middle name was Submit. God hadn’t given me a good head and sound body just so I could yield to others’ expectations. I would make my own decisions.
“Then we won’t have children.” He brought my hands to his lips. “I’m marrying Harriet for Harriet—no one and nothing else.”
Warmth flooded me. “Well, I might not mind one or two little ones.” Maybe even three. I thought about this, shrugged. Or maybe not.
“Only if you’d like. Doesn’t make sense, really, to have a large family, not in New England. Portion off a farm to too many children, and no one gets much of anything. I’d rather properly provide for one or two and keep the family close together than force our sons and daughters far away”—he smiled wryly—“to wilderness like this, where resources aren’t yet scarce. One or two. Yes, you’re absolutely right.”
I looked around, disconcerted. “Didn’t think this would be so easy.”
“We’re simply like-minded.” He started drawing me close again.
Eyes narrowing, I braced my hands on his chest. “You’re awfully agreeable.”
“Well, of course.” He kissed my neck. “Because I’m awfully in love.”
* * *
With Fancy wagging her tail and trotting happily at Gid’s side, my brother soon returned and threw us a distracted wave, clearly oblivious to our disheveled appearance. By way of hello, he announced, “It’s official. Bob and Ed can’t cook, either. Hope you’re well enough to keep us from starving, Freddy.”
“I can do that.” I’d worked up an appetite, too.
Flashing me a smile, Daniel jumped out of the wagon and began organizing provisions. Gid restored the canvas covering, and I hung the blankets from branches, then made a late breakfast.
Full and in good spirits—perhaps inordinately good, for Daniel and me—we set out to finish the cabin, running poles across the walls for the loft and adding a ridge beam and rafters to support the roof.
Lighter than the men, I took charge of the topmost job.
Squinting, Gid watched me attach an oak splint to the half-finished roof. “You’re like a cat. Aren’t you scared up there?”
“Not any different from climbing trees.” I arranged another splint. “I thought house building would be trickier.”
By the wagon, examining some basswood he was considering for the floor, Daniel murmured absently, “No great secret to building. No special magic.” He looked over with a smile. “A person just has to have the desire and make the effort.”
“Desire and effort.” Gid grunted and crouched to continue working on the ladder for the loft. “Well, we’ve got plenty of both.”
When we took a break, I taught Daniel and Gid how to mix a batter, fry biscuits in pork fat, and put together a decent soup, letting them do the chopping, portioning, and stirring so they’d remember the lesson. Gid grumbled about the time it was costing him, but I shook my head. “You’ll thank me when I’m gone and you’re cooking for yourself.” Then, with a teasing smile: “No secret to cookery, no special magic. Just takes a little desire and effort.”
Hours later, we stopped our work on the cabin. It was almost done but, with the clouds covering the moon, destined not to receive its finishing touches until morning. Daniel took my outstretched hand and walked with me to the wagon. To my brother he provided no false explanation of where he was heading, and I didn’t wish him to. My decisions were none of Gid’s business.
That night again proved the day’s lesson. When it came to ensuring an endeavor’s success, there was a great deal to be said for desire and effort.
In this case, however, I couldn’t dismiss the possibility of enchantment. I felt spellbound. There was, indeed, some special magic.
* * *
The next morning, Gid was gone. Since both his cap and coat were missing, I guessed he was off visiting the brothers or exploring his property. I breakfasted with Daniel, then climbed the ladder to the roof. I’d nearly finished attaching the splints when I heard my brother return.
He was whistling. Loudly.
Lightly swinging a hammer, Daniel wandered out of the cabin and glanced up at me with an amused face. “Giving fair warning.”
Gid bore no cheer to go with his whistle. He looked sorely put out. After tossing his coat on the ground, he planted his hands on his hips. “Well, this is just splendid. Headed over to the brothers again to see if they could spare some treenails and found the boys tipsy.” He kicked his coat. “Before breakfast! If they keep this up, they’ll drink themselves to death. Of all the stupid ways to squander their time. I tried to talk some sense into them, even took them to task for abandoning Rachel at the Lintons’, but I don’t know if any of it sank in. They’re plain saturated with whiskey.”
“Goodness, that’s too bad,” I murmured.
“It’s despicable!”
I bit my lip and briefly met Daniel’s eyes. There was something excessive about Gid’s anger. I got the impression it wasn’t all for Robert and Ed. It was clear Daniel thought so, too.
Throughout the morning, my brother glared at Daniel and me off and on, glowered at the rough field, stomped around the cabin, and complained bitterly about how much work there was to be done “just to get the ridiculous bumper crop of rocks out of this bloody soil.”
I steered clear, but before our nooning, Daniel followed him to the stream. The discussion that transpired clearly didn’t prove productive. My betrothed’s expression was pure impatience when he joined me by the campfire.
I smiled ruefully. Poor Daniel. First Matthew. Then me. Then Gid. “We Winters are a tedious lot, aren’t we?”
“Your brother’s acting like an idiot.” His hand plowed his hair. “One more week, Harriet. That’s it. One more. We’ll finish the house. We’ll fix him up the beginnings of a garden. We’ll plant some potatoes. Then we’ll go. I don’t want a long engagement. We can get married in Batavia.”
My smile wilted. So soon? What about Rachel? She needed me even more than Gideon did. And what about Freddy? I wasn’t finished with him yet. Then there was my family in Middleton to consider. “Mama won’t understand.… If we rush this, she’ll be disappointed.… The lack of ceremony, not having the chance to help me make my dress—”
“We can throw a party after the fact. Let’s not wait, Harriet. No one knows us in Batavia. No one. Think about that: the lack of interruptions, the privacy.”
This was true. Privacy. Blissful privacy. My thoughts returned to the previous night. How wonderful it had been. The doubts remained, but now desire, like a commanding song, muffled them. “You’re right, Daniel,” I sighed.
“Is it a plan?”
“It’s a deal.”
He beamed a relieved smile. “Shall we shake on it?”
“Heavens, no.” I took his hand and pulled. “We can do better than that.”
* * *
“Gid?” I patted my face dry and ran the towel over my wet head.
“What?” He was kneeling by his stoneboat and didn’t bother taking his attention away from the broken board he was repairing.
“Better wash up. Friends will be here soon.” When he ignored me, I added cautiously, “For the housewarming.”
He threw down his hammer. “What’s there to celebrate? Nothing is working out the way it was supposed to.”
I gave him a stern look. “Try a little gratefulness. You have a sweeping piece of land and a sturdy cabin.” Not to mention many helping hands.
“And best friends who’ve turned into lazy drunks and a sister who just can’t wait to flit away, who’s gallivanting here and there and everywhere.” My burst of laughter only deepe
ned his scowl. “I’m serious. It’s shameful. Meanwhile, I’m stuck with no family, no helpmate, no—no—”
“Wife?”
He slumped. “No wife.” His brow fell in his hands. After a moment, he muttered, “I’m sorry.”
I patted his crown. “Things did turn out differently than we expected, but different doesn’t mean bad. You have possibilities you’re not even pursuing.”
“Marian Gale?” He grunted and shook his head. “As if she’d even consider me.”
“I think she would. Why wouldn’t she? You’re a good catch, Gid.” I crouched to give him a sideways hug. When you’re not a gloomy fool.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Accompanied by the cacophony of the children’s shouts, Phineas alighted from the wagon with the finesse of a young duke disembarking from an elegant phaeton. He stood for a moment and scrutinized the new cabin, nodded in satisfaction, flicked a speck off his delicate yellow pantaloons, twisted gracefully but quickly enough for the long tail on his blue superfine coat to enact a jaunty wave at the end, then held up his hands to the driver’s seat, where Rachel awaited.
He wore such an expression of tender regard, I couldn’t help but gasp. Could the two actually be getting along? Had Phineas relinquished his merciless buffoonery? Had Rachel decided to look past his obnoxiousness?
Apparently not.
His considerate reach ended with the violin case. He drew it down, rubbed its side, secured the handle, and turned.
Rachel rolled her eyes and jumped out by herself.
“You’ve been busy.” Phin smiled. “The place is shaping up nicely.”
Gid, more cheerful now, folded his arms and rocked back on his heels. “Thank you. We’re working hard. But I wouldn’t have finished a third of the labor without Freddy and Daniel.”
Phineas acknowledged this with a small bow in our direction.
“It’s been fun.” Daniel lifted the children out of the wagon: oldest, middle, youngest. He crouched to steady Molly on the uneven ground. “All set?”
She nodded, then fell as soon as he released her.
Rachel collected the girl and situated her on a hip. While I knelt to greet the boys, my friend patted my head. “How’s Freddy?”
“Glad you’re all here.”
Gid scanned the wagon. “Not all. Where’s Mrs. Gale?”
Phineas heaved a sigh. “She stayed behind.” At Gid’s crestfallen look, he added, “Trust me: She wouldn’t be good company.”
I dusted my knees and straightened. “Not sick, I hope?”
“Just sick of her brother,” Rachel said.
Phineas made a face. “Of all of us. She started the day in the strangest mood. Grumpy but inexplicably driven.”
“Driven to what?” Daniel asked.
“Clean.” He frowned at the excited nephew who was presenting a chunk of upended sod, one grimy finger pointing out a score of wiggling worms. “Very nice. But please, Adam. You’re raining soil on my boots.” He glanced up. “At least an hour too early this morning, I woke to the distressing sound of vigorous sweeping. As soon as my sister noticed I’d stirred, she began complaining about dirt, how terribly sick of filth she was, how if I had a single care for anyone but myself and my ‘silly mare’ and my ‘stupid violin,’ I’d put up the corner shelves I’d promised her, add an extra bedroom, dig a closer well, and build her a decent porch, so people could leave their boots at the door and stop tracking in the horrible outside.” Hurt crossed his face. “I’d never seen her so angry. On my weary way to pour myself a cup of coffee, I accidentally shuffled through her sweeping pile, and she hit me with the broom. Me! Her own brother! The very man who has committed his life to her and her spawn’s welfare. Slapped me right in the head. With a dirty broom.”
I was used to Phineas’s dramatic antics and turned to Rachel for the true story, but she confirmed his tale of outraged woe with a sad nod. “Truly, she was in a peculiar state: heaving great buckets of water inside for washing, attacking not just the floor but the walls, too, with vicious scrubbing, muttering under her breath about the disgusting Genesee Valley with its awful red, sticky mud. I asked her if she wanted me to stay behind and help her, and she looked up from her cleaning, stared at me—quite unseeingly, if you know what I mean—and said, ‘If you want to help me, Rachel Welds, you’ll take the children with you, take Phineas with you, and get them all out of my hair. For. One. Blasted. Day. I want everyone out of my hair!’” Rachel’s eyes widened at the recollection.
Phineas shuddered.
Daniel gazed at me, nonplussed.
“Huh.” I could hardly reconcile this description with the Marian Gale I’d grown to admire and like very much.
Gid especially looked struck by the account. “I can’t like it. Something’s wrong.” He stared grimly at the visitors for a moment, then announced, “I’ll go visit her.”
“She made it perfectly clear,” Phin said. “She wants to be alone.”
“I can’t explain it. I just feel…” Gid rubbed the back of his neck. “I should check on her.”
Phin shook his head. “Don’t do it.”
Rachel smiled a little. “It’s a fine idea.” At Phin’s squawk, she waved an airy hand. “He might cheer her up. Marian likes Gid.”
While Phineas shrugged, my brother, who was in the process of digging his coat out of the wagon, stilled. “She does?”
His reaction—blatant surprise and pleasure—was a welcome sight. I smiled gratefully at Rachel.
She wiggled her eyebrows at me, then turned to Gid to add blandly, “Quite a bit, actually.”
“Why, that’s—that’s wonderful.” Gid coughed and abruptly yanked on his coat. “Good, then. If she’s fine, I’ll be back before sundown.”
“You’ll regret it,” Phineas said.
“I don’t think so.” Gid tugged on his gloves. “And who knows? Maybe her spirits will have improved. Maybe she’ll come back with me.” He glanced over his shoulder at the cabin and added, with quiet wistfulness, “I really wanted to show her my new place.”
Phin imitated, “‘Maybe she’ll come back with me.’” He grunted a laugh. “And maybe she’ll kill you.”
A look settled on my brother’s face. I knew that expression. I’d seen it a decade ago when he demanded Luke give him back his toy soldier. I’d seen it when he set out to court Rachel. I’d seen it when he decided to try his hand at pioneering. I’d seen it whenever he faced a challenge. Pure mulishness. Sure enough, he didn’t even acknowledge Phineas’s warning with a glance, just retorted, “I’ll take my chances.”
* * *
Daniel and Phineas struck up a conversation about horseflesh, then wandered side by side toward the cabin, leaving Rachel and me to the children’s mercy. Over his shoulder, Daniel murmured something vague about wanting Phineas’s input on a few farming matters, and Phineas grinned at Rachel and said that she and I—or, in his words, “the love-sick puppies”—would enjoy an hour or two of courtship without a couple of stodgy bachelors shadowing their every move.
Only the speaker appeared tickled by this comment. Rachel scowled at Phineas, Daniel frowned at me, and I shrugged helplessly.
Marian’s little ones took no offense at the men’s transparent agenda to avoid their grimy presence. After trailing Rachel and me along the woods’ edge, splashing in the stream, examining the legendary location where “the great bough knocked Freddy senseless,” demanding games involving marbles, eating all of the biscuits, poking suspiciously at the trout stew, then playing pioneering in the wagon, the children were very ready for bed.
Ephraim adamantly refuted this. “I’m not the least bit tired,” he yawned. Adam thought the sleeping loft a prime spot to play pirates. Molly began to wail for her mother. But once they were calmed down and arranged, biggest to smallest, on the floor mat and then covered with two big quilts, all three lasted fewer than five minutes into my bedtime story before falling fast asleep.
That left the adults downstairs, ju
st the four of us, no Gid to improve our numbers, obviously no Marian, either. On the root-riddled ground, so weirdly like the outside for an inside floor, we sat in a circle, close to the hearth we’d initiated with its first fire.
Gid’s absence began to make me anxious. Why wasn’t he back yet? Every time the wind whooshed and the branches rattled, my eyes flew to the doorway, as yet doorless, expecting the oilcloth to part and present my brother.
Daniel patted my back. “Don’t worry.”
“Marian probably just set Gideon to work on the corner shelves her brother was too lazy to build.” Rachel smirked at Phineas, drew in her feet so that she was sitting cross-legged, and smoothed her skirt over her boots.
Phineas shrugged. “Or murdered him with her broom.” He was plucking the strings of his violin. He adjusted one of the pegs at the scrolled head, fitted the instrument under his chin, hummed himself a note, tested a string according to the hum, and bowed across the other strings, two at a time, to tune all four, first with peg turns, then by twiddling the tiny screws at the chin end. He smiled at me. “Don’t fret. How about some music to distract you?”
“We’re not much of an audience.” Rachel turned to me. “Didn’t Gid invite my cousins?”
I attempted a casual shrug. “They couldn’t come.” Too drunk. Determined not to ruin the evening with worrying, I gave my head a shake and stuck a smile on my face. “So what do you have in mind for us, Phin?”
“A little night music.” With a pounce of his bow, he shot into Mozart’s Eine kleine Nacht, followed that with a movement from one of Bach’s Brandenburg Concertos, lingered over a piece by Haydn, then drifted into “something newer,” a dreamy work by Beethoven. Though his playing engaged me completely (so much so, I forgot all about poor Gid), I wouldn’t have known each piece’s composer or title if he hadn’t murmured the information between songs.
By the end of Phineas’s last selection, Rachel was drooping, her head in her hand.
He tapped her on the knee with his bow. “You’re insulting my performance, falling asleep like that.”
She yawned and stretched. “It’s all lovely, but I’m tired, and that last one was as good as a lullaby.”
The Beloved Wild Page 21