by Lynn Austin
‘‘He’s working down at Aunt Betty’s house this morning,’’ I finally said. ‘‘I’ll be glad to go get him—’’ ‘‘Thanks, but I know how to get to Betty Fowler’s cottage.’’ He climbed back into his car and drove off.
I wanted to go down there and hear what the sheriff and Gabe had to say to each other, but I would have to rely on Aunt Batty’s report. I asked her about their meeting that afternoon as I mixed up a batch of bread dough. We seemed to be eating bread faster than I could bake it lately. Aunt Batty was in the kitchen with me, giving the pantry a good spring cleaning now that Queen Esther had finally rid it of mice.
‘‘That Dan Foster was being downright nosy,’’ she told me. She wrung out her cleaning rag as if it were the sheriff’s neck. ‘‘He questioned poor Gabe as if he were wanted for murder, asking where he’d lived previously and where he’d worked—he even had the gall to ask him for a list of references. Dan can be a real bully when he wants to be—which is a good thing, I suppose, when you’re dealing with criminals.’’
‘‘What did Gabe say?’’
‘‘He may be a quiet man, but he wouldn’t let Dan bully him. He said his name was Gabriel Harper, he lived in Chicago, and that any business he had with Wyatt Orchards was none of Dan’s. I cheered him on. I said, ‘Good for you, Gabe!’ and that got Dan all worked up. He said this happens to be a private conversation and he asked me to leave, and I said this happens to be my house, maybe he ought to leave! Things went downhill fast after that.’’
I smiled as I turned the dough out of the mixing bowl and began kneading it. ‘‘I’m sorry I missed it,’’ I said.
‘‘Oh, it was great fun! Dan was mouthing threats by the time he pulled out of there. He vowed to check up on Gabe, and he swore that if he found out Gabe was taking advantage of a defenseless widow there would be ‘you-know-what’ to pay.’’
Aunt Batty disappeared into the pantry again and I heard her banging things around in there. I was a little disappointed that I hadn’t learned anything new about Gabe, yet like Aunt Batty, I couldn’t help but cheer him on.
‘‘What about the letter the sheriff had for Gabe?’’ I asked, suddenly remembering it.
Aunt Batty stuck her fluffy head out of the pantry. She had a big grin spread across her face. ‘‘That was wonderful news! Gabe’s story is going to be serialized in the Chicago newspaper!’’
My hands froze on the dough. ‘‘So now he’ll probably leave us.’’
‘‘Oh, I don’t think so, Toots. Gabe has a stubborn streak a mile long. I saw that for myself today. The sheriff tried to run him off and that just made Gabe dig in his heels all the more. You told folks he’s your manager and by golly, from now on Gabe is going to manage Wyatt Orchards!’’
I covered my face with floury hands and wept with relief. I hadn’t realized how much I dreaded the thought of being on my own again. I had come to rely on Gabe more than I cared to admit. Aunt Batty laid down her cleaning rag and wrapped her arms tightly around me.
‘‘You poor little thing,’’ she soothed. ‘‘You’ve been carrying a mighty heavy burden, haven’t you? But you don’t have to worry anymore because God sent you a guardian angel to help you out for a little while.’’
I wiped my eyes and bent to rest my head on her shoulder. ‘‘I think He sent me two angels.’’
One cold, rainy morning I noticed one of our cows acting funny. My father-in-law had taken her to be bred last summer and I figured she must be about to calve. But unlike the other three cows who’d always known what to do when their time came, Myrtle was a first-time mother and I could see she was having trouble. Afraid to leave her for very long, I dashed back to the house through the rain to get help. Becky and Aunt Batty were in the kitchen getting a new batch of eggs ready to take into town to sell.
‘‘Is Gabe still working down at your house?’’ I asked her.
‘‘Yes, he’s working on the inside today on account of the rain.’’
‘‘Becky, I need you to run and get him,’’ I said. ‘‘Put on Luke’s old galoshes and take my umbrella. Tell him Myrtle’s having trouble calving and I could use his help.’’
‘‘Don’t bother sending her for Gabe,’’ Aunt Batty said, reaching out to hold Becky back. ‘‘He won’t be any help. He hardly knows which end of the cow to point toward the feeding trough. I like Gabe a lot, but...’’ she lowered her voice to a whisper, ‘‘he doesn’t know what he’s doing.’’
‘‘What do you mean? He does all kinds of things for me around the farm.’’
‘‘Mind you, he’s getting better at it every day,’’ she said, wiping off another egg. ‘‘But when Gabe first started helping out with the chores, Jimmy could milk two cows in the time it took Gabe to milk one—and that was only after he got over his fear of being kicked.’’
I still wanted to believe Gabe was Matthew Wyatt. If so, he would have left home some time ago and might have forgotten a lot of things by now. ‘‘Maybe he’s just out of practice,’’ I said. ‘‘He lived in the city for a long time, you know.’’
‘‘I would bet he’s lived in the city all his life! That young man never grew up on any farm!’’ She dropped her voice to a whisper again and added, ‘‘He comes to me for advice.’’
‘‘Advice about what?’’
‘‘Everything!’’ she said with a shrug. ‘‘When to start the hot bed, how to get the chickens to set, when to plow the garden, how the manure spreader works...The horses spooked him pretty badly at first. I suppose because they’re so big. He said he’d never owned a horse in Chicago—just cars. I told him you have to let a horse know who’s boss, and he laughed and said they already know they are! He’s much better with them now and hardly ever gets their harnesses on backward anymore. But yesterday morning I told him that the raspberry canes Frank started last fall were ready to be clipped and he had no idea what I was talking about.’’
‘‘Neither do I and I’ve lived here ten years. How long has Frank raised raspberries?’’
‘‘As far back as I can remember,’’ she said, examining another egg. ‘‘Lydia knew how much I loved raspberries so she always let me pick my fill every year. I had to buy them after she died. They weren’t nearly as good, you know. You have to eat raspberries the same day you pick them or all they’ll be good for is jam and—’’
‘‘Listen, what should I do about the cow?’’ I hated interrupting her, but Aunt Batty’s thoughts could take more twists and turns than a circus’ rubber lady. Do you know anything about birthing calves?’’
‘‘Most of the cows I’ve owned managed fine on their own. Although I do remember a time or two when Father had to turn a calf. I would haul hot water for him and things like that, but I was always too small to be much help. It takes a man’s strength.’’
‘‘Will you come out to the barn and take a look at Myrtle for me?’’
‘‘Sure, Toots.’’
But after watching the cow closely all morning, it was clear to both of us that she was in trouble.
‘‘I’m afraid you’re going to have to help Myrtle out,’’ Aunt Batty told Gabe when he walked up the hill for lunch. ‘‘We don’t want to lose her or her calf.’’
‘‘Sure,’’ he said, blowing on his soup to cool it. ‘‘What do you want me to do?’’
Aunt Batty winced. ‘‘I’d better let you finish your lunch before I spell out the unpleasant details.’’ She laughed when he suddenly stopped eating, his spoon poised midair. ‘‘Have you ever watched the birthing process before?’’ she asked him.
‘‘Um...my uncle’s dog had puppies one summer,’’ he said. ‘‘And it seems as though Arabella has a new ‘kitten’ or two every time I turn around.’’ He looked at Becky and winked.
Don’t do that, I wanted to shout at him. Don’t make my children love you, then walk out of their lives!But it was already much too late for any warnings. I could tell by the way Becky took Gabe’s hand as we walked out to the barn after lunch that sh
e thought the world of him. He carried a bucket of hot water in the other hand. He still limped slightly, but he no longer needed the cane.
Poor Myrtle bellowed in misery. Aunt Batty took charge. ‘‘Let’s get her into the smallest stall so she can’t move around so much. Eliza and I will try to hold her still while you turn the calf. Soap up your arm, Gabe.’’
He looked horrified. ‘‘You don’t mean...’’
‘‘I’m afraid so. You’ll have to take your coat off. And make sure you wash clear past your elbow.’’
Gabe didn’t move. I felt so sorry for him that I was about to swallow my pride and drive over to ask Alvin Greer for help. But suddenly Gabe sighed in resignation and shrugged off his coat.
‘‘I wonder if the Tribunewill be interested in an article about this?’’ he said as he lathered up.
‘‘Now, Myrtle is not going to like this...’’ Aunt Batty warned when he was ready.
‘‘I don’t think I’m going to like it much, either,’’ he mumbled.
‘‘So mind she doesn’t kick you. Watch her rear hooves.’’
‘‘They won’t be easy to dodge, considering where I’ll be standing. But thanks for the warning.’’ He took a couple of deep breaths, as if he were about to dive under water, then asked, ‘‘What am I looking for again?’’
‘‘The calf’s head. Once you figure out which end is which, feel your way down from her head to her shoulder or her front leg and try to turn her around. My guess is, the calf is facing the wrong way.’’
‘‘Why do I have the feeling that it sounds easier to describe it than to do it?’’ he joked. He stepped up to the cow and patted her rump gingerly, wary of her hind legs.
‘‘Talk to Myrtle, Eliza,’’ Aunt Batty coached. ‘‘Say soothing things to her.’’
I stood near the cow’s head. I stroked her muzzle and talked to her the way I talked to the kids when they were sick, telling her everything would be fine. But thinking back on my own experiences with childbirth, I wouldn’t have blamed Myrtle if she hauled off and kicked me, too.
Gabe had finally gotten up the nerve to do what he needed to do. But he wasn’t inside more than twenty seconds before he let out a yell and his face contorted with pain.
‘‘Oh, I’ll bet she’s having a labor pain,’’ Aunt Batty said. ‘‘I forgot to mention those. She’ll have one from time to time, and my father said they just about squeeze the life out of your arm.’’
‘‘He wasn’t joking!’’ Gabe groaned. He went limp for a moment when it finally ended but he didn’t quit. He and Myrtle continued to struggle for what seemed like hours and hours. He found the calf’s head, lost it, found it again, then began the slow, arduous task of turning it around—in between the cow’s labor pains. I thought he would be cold without his coat on, but he worked so hard that sweat poured down his face and plastered his dark hair to his forehead. When he thought he finally had the calf in the right position, Aunt Batty told him to step back and let Myrtle finish.
Within minutes, she gave birth to a beautiful new calf. I saw pure joy on Gabe’s face as we all witnessed the miracle of birth. Then tears rolled down my own face as I watched the newborn struggle to stand on wobbly legs for the first time. Aunt Batty and Becky held hands and danced in circles right there in the barn.
‘‘Thank you! Thank you!’’ I wept as I hugged Gabe. We clung to each other tightly, overwhelmed with emotion. A moment later I hugged Aunt Batty and Becky, too, but even as I did, I was keenly aware that it wasn’t the same. I didn’t have the same, powerful emotions flooding through me the way they had as I’d held Gabe—and that scared me.
‘‘Myrtle’s new calf needs a name,’’ Gabe said as he lifted Becky into his arms.
‘‘Angel,’’ she said without hesitation. ‘‘Let’s name her Angel.’’
‘‘All right, Angel it is!’’
That night as I tossed in bed, I couldn’t erase the memory of Gabe’s embrace from my heart. Was I falling under his spell like Becky Jean had? I’d never fallen in love before, so these sensations were all brand-new to me. Still, I could easily imagine it happening to Gabe and me in the same slow, sure way Aunt Batty had fallen in love with Walter Gibson.
A wiser part of me knew I had to prevent it from happening. Walter Gibson had returned to Chicago, and this very afternoon Gabe had talked about writing an article for his newspaper as if he planned to return to Chicago, too. He wouldn’t stay on the farm—Aunt Batty insisted that he knew nothing about farming.
I couldn’t risk falling in love with him. I couldn’t.
But how did I stop it?
I worked awfully hard that spring, doing a man’s labor every day. I had to learn how to do everything—and I’d be doing it for the rest of my life if I wanted to hang on to the orchard. I could tell that Gabe didn’t much like me shoveling manure and slogging the team of horses through rain and mud, but it took the two of us working together just to get all the spring chores done. Now that the snow had melted it was time to start fertilizing the trees. Aunt Batty watched Becky for me and did all the cooking and other household chores while I worked outside. Those two had become thick as thieves.
In spite of what Aunt Batty said, I never saw one single sign that Gabe didn’t know what he was doing. Was he putting on an act for her sake, so she wouldn’t recognize him? Or for mine?
As time passed, I became more and more frightened by the easy familiarity that was developing between Gabe and me. Our closeness grew stronger as we worked side by side, discussing things and making decisions. I’d never had a relationship like that with anyone before, not even with my husband, Sam. He had worked with his father all day while I’d had my own household chores to do. But Gabe and I had gotten so we could anticipate what each other needed. We’d be ready to hand over a tool or turn the horses around before the other person even had a chance to ask. We worked like a pair of trapeze artists, performing smoothly together in perfect rhythm, one ready to catch the other at exactly the right moment. Like I said, it scared me to death.
When it was time to harvest the asparagus, I decided to have our whole family pick it instead of hiring help. That way all the money we made could go toward the mortgage. Jimmy and Luke were thrilled to miss a day or two of school—until they found out how hard they had to work.
I used the wagon and a team of horses to take the crop to the fruit exchange. It was slowgoing, but it saved me a little money on gasoline. I asked Gabe to come with me since I’d never sold anything at the fruit exchange before, and I was afraid they’d take advantage of me because I was a woman. I thought he might refuse since he’d always given me a pile of excuses why he couldn’t go into town, but this time he didn’t.
We had harvested a beautiful crop, and quiet, gentle Gabe stood his ground with all the buyers, arguing back and forth with them like a big-city lawyer until we got the best possible price. But when I counted everything up, I still didn’t have nearly enough money to pay off the bank loan.
Afterward we went to the feed store. I had to spend some of my egg and milk money for onion sets and garden seeds and all the other things we needed for spring planting. When I told Becky to go pick out the feed sacks she wanted me to buy, Gabe looked so perplexed I knew he wasn’t acting.
‘‘Are you an authority on chicken feed, now?’’ he asked her, ruffling her red curls.
‘‘No, silly. It’s for my clothes,’’ she said. ‘‘Mama always sews me new ones with the cloth. Which sack do you think is the prettiest?’’
‘‘Don’t ask me!’’ he said, holding up his hands in protest.
‘‘High fashion has never been my area of expertise.’’
‘‘Birthing calves wasn’t either,’’ I teased, ‘‘but you did just fine with that.’’
Gabe laughed as he backed away from us. ‘‘I’d sooner birth a whole herd of calves than help ladies shop for clothes, believe me! I’ll wait for you outside.’’
In the end, Becky picked a yellow print w
ith orange flowers that was so sunshiny-bright I wondered if Aunt Batty was having a bad influence on her taste. Aunt Batty had stayed home that day, but she’d smiled mischievously as she’d waved good-bye to us, saying, ‘‘Maybe I’ll have a little surprise—or two—when you get back.’’
We’d hardly drawn the team to a halt beside the barn before Becky hopped down and ran up to Aunt Batty asking, ‘‘Where’s the surprise? Can I see the surprise now?’’
Aunt Batty led us all into the barn as if leading a parade down Main Street. There in the corner, rooting around in their pen, were two new baby piglets. Becky squealed with delight as she scrambled over the gate.
‘‘You might have to bottle-feed them for a while until they get used to being without their mama,’’ Aunt Batty told her. But my daughter was already cradling one of them in her arms like a baby and rocking it to sleep, so I knew the idea thrilled her. What worried me was where the piglets had come from, and how much they’d cost, and how I was going to pay for them. My father-in-law had always bought a few pigs to raise each spring, but I figured we would have to do without this year.
‘‘How...? Where...?’’ I stammered. ‘‘I can’t pay—’’
‘‘Don’t you worry about any of that,’’ Aunt Batty said with a smile. ‘‘We have to have ham and bacon, don’t we?’’
We had to have spray for the fruit trees, too, and I wished I didn’t have to worry about how I would pay for that—but I did. I had studied my father-in-law’s receipts and record books trying to figure out what to buy and how much I would need. Near as I could tell, he had always bought the spray ingredients on credit and paid it back when he sold the crop. But when I went into town to place my order at Peterson’s store, Merle Peterson had changed his tune.