He wiped his hands on his pant legs and went to her side. “I’m hungry and thirsty. We’ll start again after we take a quick rest.”
She turned soft brown eyes on him and almost dropped another ear as she sagged against him. August caught her and held on while she sobbed against his shirt. Unsure how to console her, he stroked her hair. She wrapped her slender arms around his torso, crushing the bruises there, but he didn’t want her to move. He’d waited for the day when she came to him for comfort. A little pain wouldn’t ruin it for him.
“We’ll never finish this,” she said, voice muffled.
“I’ll keep picking. You’d better stay up at the house. This is too much work for you.” As much as he hated to admit it, he wouldn’t risk hurting her over a crop.
She raised her face. “I’m not weak, August.”
“I know.” Her eyes were red-rimmed, her face blotchy. It frightened him to see her so worried and exhausted. “Come on. You’ll feel better after you eat something.” Keeping his arm around her shoulders, he steered her toward the house. The team followed them and he thanked the heavens that Jeremiah’d had the ability to purchase such a well-trained pair.
“I’m too tired to cook. I’d rather go lay down.” She wiped her eyes with her hand and stared at the house as though it was miles away.
“You rest while I cook. I won’t poison you.” He gave her a quick smile. If he was lucky, she’d eat something and fall asleep. While he worked outside, she could get the rest she needed.
They trudged up the path and his hand slipped down her side as he helped her up the stairs. His fingers curved around her side, beneath her ribs where her flesh was rounding at her waist. Though she still wore her regular clothes, soon she’d need to let the waists out, or buy material for new dresses. His pulse quickened when he imagined her growing rounder.
He’d love Jeremiah’s child, no doubt in his mind, but what would it be like to have his own?
Loyal looked at him as he reached for the screen door. She couldn’t know what he was thinking.
He avoided her gaze in case she guessed.
“I think you should go back to town and try again.” Her voice wobbled, giving away her exhaustion. “This time it might go better. I’m sorry, August. I can’t do this and you can’t do it alone.”
He hung his hat on the wall and nodded. Although he didn’t want to return to Springfield looking like something that been stomped on by an angry horse, he knew she was right. Pride wouldn’t bring the crop in.
“It would be best if I could trade for work. Someone else might be looking for laborers to help harvest in a few weeks.”
“Is it a possibility?”
What she meant was, would anyone hire him?
He shrugged. “I can try. Go on and lay down. I’ll bring you something before I go out again.”
She didn’t protest as she turned wearily for her bedroom.
August dropped into a chair, burying his face in his hands. When he’d left the bootheel, his friends on the lumber crew had called him crazy for wanting to become a farmer. They’d said he wouldn’t last a month before he’d be back cutting trees. It was good-natured ribbing meant to keep him from dwelling on his brother’s death, although he wondered if they weren’t right. As a sawyer for the Missouri Mining and Lumber Company, for months he’d felled trees, stripped branches, and loaded lumber only to wake up and do it again the next day. He hadn’t imagined farm work would be this difficult.
His stomach growled and he stood, going to the larder for ingredients to start breakfast. It wouldn’t be much, as he didn’t fancy a trip to the spring house. Loyal probably didn’t want a lot. Her appetite didn’t seem to improve until the evenings.
While he waited for biscuits to bake, he fed Loyal’s chickens. Sunny bawled from the pasture, eager for her share of grain, but he ignored her until the biscuits were ready. He fried eggs, careful not to break the yolks. After adding apple butter from a jar in the pantry, he had a meal fit for a queen. He put the plate and a cup of milk on a tray and carried it to her room.
Loyal was snoring on top of her quilt when he entered the room. There were shadows beneath her eyes, but she looked peaceful. He almost hated to wake her. Pink lips begged to be kissed and for a few moments, he just watched, wishing he could join her. Someday, he promised himself. With a gentle nudge on her shoulder, she opened her eyes, confusion darkening them.
“Jer—oh, August.” She sounded disappointed.
He drew back and tried to hide his hurt. “Sorry to wake you. I made breakfast.” They’d only been married three days. It was natural for her to mistake him for Jeremiah.
A weak smile graced her face. “You cooked and it looks good. I’m not awfully hungry.”
“Do the best you can. Don’t worry about the dishes. I’ll wash them later.”
She gave him a searching look. “You’re doing too much. I should take care of the house.”
It wasn’t enough, not to make up for the years he’d been gone, or show her how much he wanted to be a true husband. Cooking and cleaning were typically a woman’s work, but the simple tasks didn’t bother him. The widow Winston had taught him more about pleasing a woman than what to do in bed.
“When you feel better.”
“You must have milked.” Loyal looked ashamed. “We’re the pair, aren’t we? I’m almost useless here and you’re black and blue. We’re scrambling to hang on.”
“Jeremiah would be proud of us for trying.” He hoped it was true.
“He would.” She separated a biscuit, spread apple butter over it, took a bite and closed her eyes. A soft moan left her mouth as she chewed.
“That bad?” he asked.
She swallowed and shook her head. “Where did you learn to make such heavenly biscuits?”
He didn’t want to talk about the widow. Not after the way Loyal had reacted about his tryst before. “The foreman was married, remember?”
“My regards to your previous employer’s wife. She taught you well. I’m almost ashamed to admit this is better than mine.”
Sorry barked and August turned toward the door.
“Someone’s here. He never barks like that unless there are visitors.” Loyal wiped crumbs from her mouth. “I wonder…”
“Stay here.” He wasn’t keen on unexpected company. Suppose Maud was spreading more rumors? August walked through the house and saw a small group of people huddled in the yard. A woman and five children. A man stood on the porch, peering in through the screen door.
“Mr. O’Dell?”
Mister was a title he’d never get used to hearing. “I’m him.”
“I come about the crop work you need done, if you’re still lookin’. Brought my wife and young’uns. They got plenty of energy.”
August pushed the door open and stepped outside. The man was a few inches shorter and several years older than him, dressed in plain working clothes. His pants were thin in the knees and his sleeves had loose threads on the cuffs. The woman wore a bonnet, which partially concealed her face, but she looked sturdy and her dress was clean. All eyes turned to him. He guessed the children ranged from ten to fourteen.
“Adam Stiles, Mr. O’Dell. My wife, Rosy. We ain’t been here long. We heard you had work and we could use it.”
August let his gaze slide back to Stiles. “I’ve got eighty acres of corn to get in over the next two weeks. And probably the same amount for shucking.”
“We can do it,” Stiles assured him.
They had a hungry look about them, as though they’d traveled a while and maybe fallen on hard times. He understood troublesome times well enough.
“You live close?”
“About three miles south. Even the littler ones can make good time walking three miles. They’re hardy boys.” Stiles wadded his slouch hat in his hands, his knuckles turning white with the effort. “This is a fine farm, Mr. O’Dell. Looks like it keeps you in corn. You wouldn’t regret hiring us. We were sharecroppers back home, cott
on and tobacco. Ain’t nothin’ harder than those crops.”
It was painfully clear August had his back against the wall. No one was in the fields right now, even though the horses were still hitched to the wagon. The Stileses looked strong enough, and with additional hands tugging those ears off the stalks, he’d get done sooner.
“You know who I am?” August stared at Stiles, wondering if he’d heard the gossip in town. It must’ve surprised him to be confronted by a man with a black eye, but he’d kept it to himself.
Stiles shook his head. “Just heard you were hiring.”
“Alright. You pull a hundred bushes down a day and I’ll give you and the missus fifty cents apiece. The younger ones, a quarter a day.”
He could afford the wage, especially if it meant taking the corn to market soon. Stiles’s eyes lit up.
“We’ll take it, Mr. O’Dell. We can start now. C’mon, kids. Let’s go get that corn picked.” He slapped his hat on his head and bounded down the steps, ushering the children away from the house as though he feared August would change his mind before they could start.
“Stiles.”
The man hesitated, his eager smile fading a bit.
“I’ll be out directly. My wife’s in the family way and I ought to tell her about this so she’s not worried. Start picking and I’ll bring the wagon down with me when I come. You can see where we stopped this morning.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
August watched them make their way across the yard. He didn’t trust easily, a trait he could thank his father for. He’d been desperate for work before too, and understood the relief in Stiles’s eyes when he agreed to take them on.
He went into the house and rapped on Loyal’s door. She was sound asleep again, the tray on the table beside the bed, although her fingers still curled around the half-empty cup. He smiled because the plate was clean. For a woman who claimed she wasn’t hungry, the eggs and biscuits had disappeared fast enough. He removed the cup, and before he could change his mind, brushed a kiss across her lips. Licking his own, he took away the sweet taste of apple butter. She stirred a little without opening her eyes.
For the first time since she’d exchanged vows with him, he felt a hopeful spark. Loyal wouldn’t end up hating him because he’d let her and the farm down.
The Stiles family worked like someone had a whip at their backs. They stripped every ear from the stalks in seconds and moved on to the next row, throwing ears across the empty space to the wagon. They didn’t speak much and barely seemed concerned about the heat.
August ignored the ache in his back and ribs. He marveled that his brother had hired a crew and done this every summer since buying the farm. The intensity of the work had never come through in his letters. Sometimes he made it sound easier than logging.
The family would have worked through dinnertime if he hadn’t called it. It was past noon if the shadows were any indication, and August wasn’t sure he’d be able to lift his arms above his head in the foreseeable future. The wagon was heaped in green. Tassels and leaves littered the ground around them.
Stiles kept pace with August as they walked back to the yard. “Alright so far?”
“Can’t complain. We didn’t figure we’d find help in time to save the crop. We’ve had some trouble with rumors.” Might as well get it out of the way. He could pay Stiles for the work they’d already done. If they didn’t want to associate with the O’Dells, there was no sense forcing it.
They stood away from the house as he recounted his experience with Fowler and what had caused the trouble. He didn’t like sharing his business and waited for them to decide they were better off without his money.
Mrs. Stiles hadn’t said a word to him all morning, but now she shook her head. “We’re not here to judge. We’d take work if it meant tanning hides and butchering hogs.”
“Sounds as though Mrs. O’Dell is lucky to have a man willing to take up his brother’s yoke. Many wouldn’t.” Stiles offered a smile. “We’re lucky to find the work. It’d be a hard winter for us without farmers needin’ day laborers.”
He was relieved they hadn’t decided to leave. They parted ways for dinner, sitting in the shade of the oak trees while he went inside.
Loyal stood in the kitchen, eyeing the strangers from behind the curtains.
“Feeling better?” August asked.
She jumped at the sound of his voice and turned to him with wide eyes. “Am I dreaming?”
“Not unless I am.” He smiled. “You ought to see the wagon. We’re going to bring in the whole crop.”
Loyal’s brow wrinkled. “Can we afford so many workers?”
He nodded, wishing he felt brave enough to cross the room and touch her. “We’ll be alright. I have money saved and Jeremiah had a good budget in place for the summer.”
“And they know about…us?” Her voice was soft, hands folded protectively over her stomach.
“I told them.” Would she ever let go of the fact that he was here because she had no other choice than to ask him? “They weren’t too concerned about it.”
Relief loosened the worry on her face. “I’ll fix your dinner. Go wash up.”
August hesitated. She’d exchanged her dirty dress for a dark blue one and fixed her auburn hair into a braid pinned to her head, which left little curls surrounding her face. He wanted to kiss her, undo her hair and let it fall over her shoulders. As he stared, her cheeks colored.
“August?”
He blinked and swallowed. “You look nice.”
She reached up and patted her hair. “Thank you.”
“Loyal, I—” He couldn’t tell her he loved her. She’d tell him he was wrong, that he was happy everything had worked out and he was confusing his emotions. Or that no one could love him because of his past. He wouldn’t be able to stand it if she turned him away. “I’ll be back after I wash.”
He’d saved the farm, but he hadn’t won Loyal. He wasn’t sure how to begin.
9
It was nearly dark when August dragged his feet across the threshold. Loyal set aside her sewing and stared up at her husband.
“We’re finished.” He hung his hat on the peg and brushed his hand through his hair. Dirt encrusted boots wobbled on the mat she’d laid by the door for him. Although the bruises around his eye were only the faintest yellow and the swelling was gone, there was weariness in his body that almost made her ache in sympathy. It was obvious from his wet shirt collar and sleeves he’d cleaned up in the rain barrel before coming in. His gaze drifted toward his room.
“You look worn to the bone.”
“I’m looking forward to bed,” he admitted.
She frowned. “I left dinner on the warmer. You should eat.”
“I’m not sure I could raise the fork if I wanted to. Sorry you wasted the effort.” He padded through the front room in his stockings, head hanging low and his gait stiff.
Loyal sighed. The day after the Stiles had come, August had resolved to work harder. Even when they left for the evening, he stayed in the cornfield, plucking ears until his hands were raw with burst blisters in spite of gloves. Loyal had never seen such a mess, but her stubborn husband refused to quit. New calluses finally formed on his palms. When she offered her help, he’d told her to stay in the house and prepare for the baby.
She didn’t want to tell him she thought she’d need new dresses by next month. If he’d noticed her thickening middle, he didn’t comment about it. In a way, it was a relief. On the other hand, she also felt he deserved a slender, pretty wife instead of the tired, puffy woman she was becoming.
She heard his mattress groan as he dropped onto it. The workers might have finished the harvest, but they still had weeks of shucking ahead before they could sell or store it. She’d already put up two bushels for canning, shucking them herself. She intended to help them so they could sell it right away.
Loyal carried her lamp to the kitchen and retrieved the liniment bottle. Even if she had to trea
t him while he was asleep, she’d see to it that he felt like moving in the morning.
“August, are you still awake?”
He didn’t answer. She entered the room anyway. The lamp she carried cast shadows on the whitewashed walls. He stretched across the bed, so tall he almost touched the head and footboards. A light sheet draped from his waist to his feet, and judging from the clothes scattered on the floor, he wasn’t wearing a stitch. Loyal froze. She shouldn’t invade his privacy this way, not even with the intention of helping ease his soreness.
His eyes opened and he offered her a crooked smile. “An angel has come to put me out of my misery.”
She laughed, because his tone was teasing. “I didn’t think you believed in angels.”
“Even sinners might get relief from an angel. Looks like you’re determined to stink up the room with horse ointment again.”
“If you don’t want my help, I’ll go to bed.” She shook the bottle because they both knew she wouldn’t leave. “Where do you hurt the worst?”
“You point to a spot, it hurts.” He pushed himself onto his elbows. “I’m not decent, Loyal. It’s alright if you want to go.”
She couldn’t look away from the play of muscles in his arms and chest. “Stop being noble. This won’t take long and you’ll be asleep before you know it.”
It shouldn’t have sent a thrill through her to touch him. Their agreement to keep things friendly meant she should leave the ointment with him and return to her room. Hard muscles fairly begged her to run her fingers across them and ease his pain. What could it hurt? He worked hard providing for her and his niece or nephew.
August relaxed against the sheets, closing his eyes. “After I get the new crop planted, I can start working on a cradle for the baby.”
Loyal’s knees weakened and she sat on the edge of the bed harder than she’d intended. He looked at her questioningly. “That’s…that would be fine.”
As an infant, she’d slept in a drawer. She wasn’t above doing the same for her own child. It hadn’t occurred to her that August might want to build furniture for her little one. She drew in a breath. “You’d do that?”
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