by Linda Ford
At that moment, Kingston stepped from the barn, paused to check the length of leather in his hands, then ducked around the corner.
“No better time than the present to find out what’s ahead,” she murmured and jumped up, dusting her skirt before she followed in his direction.
It took several minutes to reach the barn. She rounded the corner and saw Kingston facing his father.
Having no desire to discuss anything in front of Father Brown, Maryelle halted in the shadow of the barn, hoping the men would part and go their separate ways. Instead Father Brown stepped toward Kingston.
“You ain’t got the brains God gave a sack of hammers.” Father Brown’s voice was low and guttural. She thought he must be joking, but she heard no humor in his tone.
“It was already cracked,” Kingston replied, his voice low and calm. “Bound to give way sooner or later.”
Father Brown stood beside a piece of farm machinery, a spanner in his hand. “Don’t give me that. You always did have a knack for busting everything you touched.”
Kingston didn’t move.
“Bet you that high and mighty little English girl ain’t even happy to be here with you.”
Her dear husband didn’t reply, but she bled for him. How often did he endure these degrading remarks?
Father Brown shook the spanner in his face. “Got nothing to say to that, do ya? Too close to the truth, maybe.” He snorted. “She’ll get tired of you soon enough. Fact is, I can’t figure out why she’s still here. I expected her to pack it in and head back home long ago.”
Maryelle took one step forward, an angry protest on her lips. How dare he say things like that to Kingston—the finest man she’d ever met? She would never leave him and go back to England. What was there to go back for? Her heart and soul were here with her husband.
“I think we can fix it up in a jiffy.” Kingston turned toward the broken machine.
His father blocked his move. “ ‘We’? I like the way you say ‘we.’ You break ’em. I fix ’em. So where does ‘we’ come into it?”
Kingston faced his father. He spoke not a word.
“You never was worth a hill of beans.”
Maryelle reached toward her dear, sweet husband, wanting to stop this attack. She wanted to say his father was wrong—Kingston was worth ten of anyone else in this cruel family—but she didn’t know if speaking would make things worse. She remained in the shadows, her mouth parched, her heart heavy, her arms aching to hold her husband.
“The army didn’t seem to agree with you.” Kingston’s voice was still calm. “They thought I was good enough to lead a troop against the Huns.”
“Too bad you didn’t get shot out there. Would have saved me a bunch of trouble.”
Maryelle thought her heart would rip from its place.
Kingston only shrugged. “Well, I’m here. And I’m ready to work. Just as soon as we repair this.” He bent toward the machine.
Father Brown roared. “Get your hands off it before you bust it for good.” He raised the spanner above his head and swung at Kingston.
Maryelle grabbed for the barn as her legs weakened beneath her.
“I’ll kill you. I swear I will.”
Kingston ducked away. The spanner missed him by a fraction of an inch. He jumped back, his arms at his side. Maryelle saw the ready tension in his body. “If you kill me, who will do your work?” His voice revealed no emotion.
“I managed while you was gone, didn’t I?” He breathed so hard Maryelle could hear him from where she stood. “Me and Angus, we managed.”
“The fences were broken down, the loft floor damaged, and several fields weed infested—but, yes, you managed.” Kingston dropped the hunk of iron he held. “Maybe you’ll manage again.” He turned on his heel and strode away toward the barn. He glanced up, and Maryelle felt his gaze bore right through her.
“You get back here.” He threw another spanner. It caught Kingston in the shoulder, but Kingston marched on without slowing or turning. His father roared a string of curses.
Maryelle could face no more. She sped away before Father Brown saw her, her heart beating in her ears like a marching drum. She ran past the house, past her garden, her lungs begging for air. She didn’t slow down until she crested the hill behind the house, where she collapsed in a heaving, sobbing heap on the ground.
Arms enclosed her. “You shouldn’t have been there.”
She hadn’t heard Kingston following her, but she readily turned into his embrace. “How could he do that?” she sobbed. “He tried to kill you.”
He sat down and pulled her into his arms. “He would never kill me.” He gave a snorting laugh. “Who would do his work if he did?”
She clung to him. “It was awful. The things he said to you.” She drew a shuddering breath. “How could you stand it?”
He shrugged. “I don’t let it bother me.”
She tipped her head up so she could see his face. “But it does bother you. I can tell by your voice. And your eyes.”
He looked deep into her eyes, and she saw just how much it hurt him. His pain was her pain, and she groaned. He pulled her tight, burying his face in her neck. They clung to each other. It was several minutes before she could speak. “How long has this been going on?”
He sighed a sigh that seemed to come from deep inside him. “All my life.”
His words shivered through her body.
“I used to think maybe I wasn’t his son. Asked Mom about it once, and all she said was, have a look at your grandfather. She meant Dad’s father. And she was right. I look so much like him it’s uncanny.” He shrugged again. “I don’t know why he treats me as he does. It’s only me.”
Maryelle held her tongue. From what she’d seen, the rest of the family did one of two things: do as Lena had and develop a tongue that would stop even Father Brown. Jeanie was well on the way to developing the same sharpness. Or retreat into sullen pliability as had Angus and Mother Brown. Katherine, she wasn’t sure of. Lily alone, besides Kingston, remained free spirited despite the family dynamics. Suddenly she feared for little Lily as she grew older.
“Why do you put up with it? Wouldn’t it be better to leave?”
“I did leave, remember? I went to war. And discovered I missed the farm so much it didn’t matter what my father said. When I came back, I found the place falling into rack and ruin. It tore my heart to see how it had been neglected. In the few months since I’ve been home, it’s finally beginning to look decent again.”
“I know how much you love this place. It’s all you ever talked about when we were courting, as I recall.”
He gave a short laugh. “I thought you liked it.”
“I did.” She lay silent against him, thinking of the things he had said—how much he cared about this place—but Father Brown’s vicious words, his physical threats, blotted out everything else. “How do you stand it?” she whispered.
6
“By the time I get back, he will have forgotten all about it. We’ll just get on with the work as if it never happened.” Kingston paused. “Until next time.”
Maryelle’s teeth chattered. “He could have killed you.”
“I doubt it. Besides, I’d never let him.”
His words did nothing to calm her fears. What if his father one day flew into a rage when Kingston wasn’t watching? She breathed deeply to calm the nausea sweeping through her.
“We need a place of our own.” A retreat for both of them.
“And we’ll get it. Eventually.”
She pressed on. “How long is eventually?”
“I can’t say. Father thinks I’ve spent far too much of his money repairing things. He doesn’t pay me a regular wage, so it’s hard to save anything.” His face was troubled. “I’m not much comfort, am I?”
She stroked his face. “I’m not trying to increase your troubles; it’s just that we need to establish our own home.”
“I want it as much as you.”
S
he doubted that to the depths of her soul. “Would you be able to ask your father for a loan to build a small house?”
“I don’t think he’d like it.”
A shiver of fear raced through her at what those words had suddenly come to signify. “Then, by all means, don’t ask him. Something will work out.”
“I wish I could see what.”
“Listen—if you can stand it, I can stand it. In fact”—she placed her hand on his chest—“as long as we stand together, we’ll be fine.” Somehow she’d find a way to survive.
He hugged her tight and kissed her nose. “Have I told you how much I love you?”
“Maybe years ago, but not recently.”
“Well, I do, my sweet brown eyes. You are my heart and soul, my life, my joy. I love you so much.” He kissed her, and they clung together against the harshness of the world outside their love.
She walked back with him as far as her garden. “Be careful,” she murmured as he paused to give her one last kiss before returning to work. “I’ll worry about you now.”
“Nothing’s changed. Only now you know.”
“Now I know.” She grabbed his shirtfront. “Why didn’t you tell me before? What about not having any secrets?”
He looked sheepish, his eyes flashing the reflection of the summer sky. “It was no secret.” He shrugged. “But I’m glad you know. It makes me feel—I don’t know—like finally someone is on my side. But I would never have told you.”
“Why not?”
“I could never figure out how. And I learned to live with it long ago. I try not to think about it any more than I have to.”
“I understand. And I forgive you this time. But remember—no more secrets.” She shook him a little.
He straightened and looked down at her. “You too, Mrs. Brown.”
She leaned away, still within the confines of his arms. “Me? I have no secrets.” In his arms the fear that often haunted her as to whether he loved her above all else faded out of sight, so it didn’t count.
His eyes darkened. “I think you would keep a secret from me if you thought to tell me would hurt me in some way.” When she would have argued, he raised his eyebrows. “Did you not do that when you kept back the knowledge of how Lena was treating you?”
“I suppose you’re right, though I hate to admit it.”
He grinned. “Confession is good for the soul.”
“If you say so.”
He chuckled and pulled her against his chest. “Things will work out somehow. After all, don’t we pray together every night for God to reveal His plan for us?”
“Umm.” She doubted her faith would ever be as strong as his.
He gave her one more lingering kiss. “Now back to work I go.” He tweaked her nose and strode away, stopping twice to wave at her.
She watched him disappear around the barn, a sudden lump of dread almost choking her. She strained to catch any sound of fighting but heard nothing. Still she watched, her neck growing stiff with tension. Kingston came back around the barn, looked up, saw her still there, and gave her a boisterous wave. Suddenly weak, she sank to the ground. God, keep him safe. And please help us find a place to live.
The prayer had been automatic. The cry of her desperate heart. Otherwise, she reasoned, she wouldn’t have asked for a place to live. She’d promised Kingston she would be content to live with his family. But how she ached for a place where she and Kingston could find peace and privacy.
“Just a room alone somewhere,” she whispered.
Suppertime approached. Maryelle did her best to help despite Lena’s angry looks and Katherine’s docile following of Lena’s lead. Mother Brown kept her back turned, stirring a pan of gravy with complete indifference.
Maryelle helped Lily set the table.
“My kittens are growing up so fast,” Lily announced to everyone in the room.
Katherine stopped slicing bread. “When can I see them?”
Lena lowered her gaze to Lily. For the first time, Maryelle saw a softening in Lena’s expression.
“I could show you after supper.” Lily sounded uncertain, and Maryelle wondered if this child had escaped Lena’s harshness.
Katherine shot a look at Lena, as though wondering if her older sister would be angry. Then she turned back to Lily and said, “As soon as the dishes are done then?”
“Okay.” Lily looked relieved. She turned to Lena. “You can come too.”
At first Maryelle thought Lena would refuse, but then she smiled, transforming her face into soft, young lines. “Okay.” She glanced at Maryelle before she turned her back.
Maryelle knew she was being snubbed. Katherine glanced from one to the other as if uncertain whether she should invite Maryelle to go with them; then, letting her shoulders sag, she returned to her task.
Maryelle turned to fill the glasses with water. Little did Lena know she’d already seen the kittens. She thought again how much younger Lena looked when she smiled. Seemed the whole family lived with unhappy secrets weighing them down. She glanced at Mother Brown’s back and wondered what secrets kept her shut up inside so that she ignored the undercurrents at work around her. Was it possible she knew how her husband treated Kingston? How could she ignore it if she did?
The men thumped into the house.
Maryelle stiffened. She had not seen Father Brown since witnessing his attack on Kingston, and she wasn’t sure if she could act normal.
He strode into the room followed by Angus and Kingston.
Lily bounced up to Angus’s side. “You want to come with us to see the new baby kittens?”
Angus kept his head lowered, darting a glance at his father, and seeing no response in his father’s face, mumbled agreement.
Lily paused before Kingston; but before she could ask him, he ruffled her hair. “I’ve got things to do,” he said.
“Just be sure and keep them out of my way,” Father Brown muttered as he pulled out his chair and sat down. “Only thing cats are good for is keeping the mice down.”
Maryelle gave Lily a sympathetic glance, but the child seemed unaffected by her father’s attitude.
Maryelle wished she could be as easy about the head of the house. Nothing was different in the way he spoke or acted. Still part comrade, part ruler. But every time he spoke, she twitched.
Kingston, at her side, took her hand beneath the table and squeezed it. She held on, drawing strength from his steady calmness. How he could act as if nothing had happened was beyond her ken.
The crops had been planted. Kingston had put in long hours in the fields. It seemed he barely finished planting before he turned his time and attention to cutting hay.
School ended, and Jeanie was home full time, claiming much of Lily’s time that Maryelle had previously enjoyed.
She was thankful the garden took more attention. The grass was determined to retain its hold and Maryelle equally determined to conquer it. The plants fought to establish themselves. Maryelle plucked every weed.
She stood back from hoeing and admired the neat rows.
Kingston, at her side, put his arm around her. “It’s a fine garden, Mrs. Brown.”
“Not so bad for my first attempt.”
Angus edged into sight.
“Hey, Brother, isn’t this a nice garden?” Kingston called.
Angus moved closer. He gave the plants a quick look before he answered. “She sure spends a lot of time out here.”
Maryelle chuckled. “Because I like my garden.”
Angus slipped a quick look at her. Of all Kingston’s siblings, Angus remained the most distant. She had barely heard a dozen words from him.
“It looks real nice,” he mumbled before he hurried away.
But the garden could not account for every hour in the day, so Maryelle went on long walks, many of which took her to the top of the hill behind the house, where she could see down the road toward town.
On several occasions she noticed Lena slip away from the house in the middle
of the afternoon and hurry down the lane. Every time she turned left and walked to the place where another road branched to the south, and there she stood motionless for some time before making her way back home.
Father Brown had commented on Maryelle’s wanderings. “Be careful, young lady, that you don’t go roaming into trouble.” Maryelle didn’t know if he meant it kindly or otherwise. Since she’d seen his actions toward Kingston, she’d had a hard time thinking he could be kind.
Later, when she asked Kingston about it, he’d said, “He’s just warning you to be cautious. Stay away from the cows and watch for other dangers.” She pressed him further, but he couldn’t be more specific.
But now she headed out behind the barn, a direction she had avoided since witnessing the scene with Father Brown brandishing the spanner at Kingston and spewing vindictive words. Not that she hadn’t been drawn in that direction. There were many groves of trees, and the land rolled like a wrinkled carpet. She longed to explore. She was getting as bad as Lily at seeking out places of solitude.
For an hour or more, she wandered among the trees, going from one bunch to another. Suddenly she came upon a cluster of buildings half hidden by trees and stared at the serene setting.
“Come in for a visit.” A gentle voice came from the shade beside the house.
She moved forward as a tiny woman, soft gray hair wound into a bun at the back of her head, stepped into the sunlight.
“I didn’t mean to intrude,” Maryelle said.
“Intrude. Pshaw. I’m glad as can be for any sort of company. Now you come on in and sit a bit.”
“You’re very kind.” Maryelle followed her indoors, glad of some sort of diversion on this long afternoon.
The older woman waved her toward a chair and filled the kettle with water. “I’m sorry. I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Mrs. Wells.”
Maryelle gave her name. “I had no idea we had such close neighbors. You’re English, aren’t you?”
“Oh, my, yes. Wes and I came to Canada as newlyweds. Forty years ago that was.”
The house was warm and inviting, lacey antimacassars on the back of the stuffed chairs, framed photos crowding the surfaces of the tables and sideboard.