by Linda Ford
Mrs. Wells saw her glance around the room and picked up a photo. “Here we are fresh off the boat.”
The picture showed a very young couple in front of a low building that bore no resemblance to this small house.
“That’s the bunkhouse out back. We lived in it for five years and then built this house. We used it as a bunkhouse for our hired men for years, but it has stood empty since the war took away all the young men.”
She chose another photo and showed Maryelle. A small child stood between a slightly older Mr. and Mrs. Wells.
“This is your son?”
“That’s our Harry.”
“Where is he now?”
“Our Harry died.” She showed Maryelle a photo of a young man probably in his early twenties. “Pneumonia took him almost fifteen years ago.”
Maryelle murmured her condolences.
“There’s only me and Wes now.” The older woman turned toward the door as an elderly man with a firm step came into the room. “Here he is now.”
“Wes, Dear, this is our new neighbor, Maryelle Brown, young Kingston’s wife.”
“The lad got married?”
“I told you that. Remember? She’s from London.”
“Have we been to London?”
The man looked from his wife to Maryelle, his expression troubled.
“Oh, my, yes, but so many years ago it’s like another life.” She turned to Maryelle. “We were married in London.”
Maryelle smiled. Despite the old man’s fading memory, this older couple had a sweetness about them that tugged at her thoughts. “I barely remember my grandparents, but you remind me of them.”
“Well, bless your heart, Child. Why don’t you call us Grandma and Grandpa? We’ll never have anyone of our own to call us that.”
Maryelle readily agreed. It was like touching home again. She didn’t realize how much she’d missed the sound of English voices, nor how lonely she’d been with no one but Kingston to show her kindness.
“You’ll stay for a cup of tea, won’t you?”
Maryelle laughed. “I’d love to. It’s so good to hear familiar accents again.”
“When I heard Kingston was bringing a British bride, I wondered how you would adjust.”
“I’m adjusting.”
Grandma nodded. “It’s a hard time for everyone. So many of the lads died in the trenches and then that dreadful Spanish influenza.” She patted Grandpa’s hand. “At least we were spared that, weren’t we, Dear?”
“Yes, Dear,” the elderly man said. “So young Kingston’s back. How is he doing?”
“Busy with farm work.”
“The farm missed him.”
Maryelle knew what he meant. Kingston had said much the same.
Mr. Wells finished his tea and wandered back outside, Grandma’s eyes following him until he was out of sight.
“I expect you’ve found many things different here?”
“I couldn’t believe it at first. They grow or make everything themselves.”
“You learn to do what needs to be done, especially when there’s no choice. You won’t find a baker or butcher around here. I expect you’ve already learned to do many of the necessary tasks.”
Maryelle ducked her head without answering.
“Tsk. Seems I’ve hit a troubled spot. Having difficulty learning some of the things?”
Maryelle shook her head. “No. I’m sure I could learn whatever I need to, but I’m not allowed to.”
“Not allowed. What do you mean?”
“Every time I try to help, the task is snatched away. They make it clear they don’t need or want my help.”
“My dear.”
“Oh, I help with dishes now, though it took several days before I was granted the right.”
“I don’t understand. Mrs. Brown has always been most efficient. I’m sure she’s trained her own daughters well.”
“It isn’t Mother Brown.” She didn’t intend to say anything more; but once started, it seemed she couldn’t stop. She told how Lena treated her and that everyone, except Kingston and Lily, seemed to resent and oppose her.
“I think the good Lord sent you to me so I could help you.”
“You have already. I needed someone to talk to.”
“I have in mind a whole lot more than that. First, we will take it to the Lord. He needs to do some healing in that family.”
She took Maryelle’s hands and prayed. “Lord, grant us wisdom in this situation. Strengthen Maryelle’s heart. Help me find ways to ease her situation. And, dear Lord, You know the hurts in that family, especially young Lena’s loss. Reach into that poor heart and flood it with Your love. Amen.”
Maryelle kept her head bowed a moment longer. Grandma’s prayers were like a healing balm to her soul.
Grandma pushed to her feet. “Come along now. I’ll show you the place first.”
They went outside. Grandma pointed out the chicken coop and the old bunkhouse and led her to the garden.
“There’s Wes.” Grandpa Wells bent over a piece of machinery. “Wes, what are you doing, Dear?”
“Can’t get this thing to work.”
They went over to see what was the problem. He had dropped some bolts on the ground. Grandma picked them up and handed them to him. “Put these in here.” She pointed. “Then turn this over.” She touched a handle. “See if that helps.”
He nodded and did as she said, smiling when it worked.
Too soon it was time for Maryelle to go.
“I have a plan,” Grandma said. “You come back early tomorrow afternoon, and I’ll give you a lesson in making bread. We’ll soon have you ready to run a house on your own.”
Maryelle wanted to tell her that a house of her own was not in the immediate future, but she’d already said too much.
“I’ll be back,” she promised
Humming, she headed home. She set the table and helped serve up the food, ignoring Lena’s flashing looks. She could hardly wait for supper to be over so she could tell Kingston about her afternoon.
But when the men tramped through the door, she glanced up and saw Kingston’s dark expression. Her heart dropped like a rock. Father Brown glowered at Kingston’s back.
Angus turned, and she noticed a smudge on one cheek.
Or was it a bruise?
But Angus ducked away before she could decide.
She silently sought Kingston’s eyes, wanting to assure herself he was okay. He barely tipped his head to answer her silent inquiry.
She ached to be alone with him so they could discuss it.
Talk during the meal was left mostly to Lily and Jeanie. The others all seemed to sense things were not quite right.
Maryelle jumped up as soon as was polite, poured hot water into the basin, and began to collect and wash dishes. Kingston waited, pretending to read a paper, even though Father Brown had left again to do more work.
Angus cast a nervous look at Kingston before following his father outdoors.
Finished, Maryelle threw the dishcloth over the basin. “All done.”
“Let’s go for a walk.” Kingston folded the paper and dropped it into the basket where the newspapers were kept.
He took her hand and strode in the direction of the garden. She practically had to trot to keep up to his long strides but said nothing, sensing he was upset.
They reached the garden without either speaking, but rather than sit on the ground as they customarily did, Kingston leaned against a tree. She stood facing him, her hand still caught in his.
“Kingston, whatever is the matter?”
His eyes shifted color as he studied her. “Ah, my sweet brown eyes, what have I brought you to?”
She had no idea what he meant but went readily into his embrace, resting her cheek against his chest, enjoying the salty smell of a hard afternoon’s work.
He rubbed his hand up and down her back. She waited, knowing he would speak when he was ready. In the meantime, she leaned against him, knowi
ng he drew comfort from her closeness even as she did from his gentle touch.
Finally his hand grew still. “I always thought it was only me.”
“Only you?”
His chest rose and fell in a deep sigh. “Only me my dad treated like that.”
She grew very still, her insides growing brittle as old paper. “What happened?”
“We were trying to get the rake to work. I suspect Angus caught a rock in it. Anyway, everything seemed bent and out of order. My guess is it’s needed fixing since last season or longer.” He let out a huge gust of air. “Dad lost his patience and cuffed Angus across the face. You saw the bruise.”
She nodded, her insides screaming.
“He said we were both a pair of useless—never mind what he said.”
She hugged him so hard her arms ached.
“Angus took off running as if the devil had him by the leg.”
“I expect it felt like that to him.”
“I grabbed Dad’s arm and held it like a vise. I said, ‘If you ever touch that boy again or anyone else in this family, I will personally break both your arms.’ ” A shudder ripped across his shoulders. “I threw his arm away and went after Angus.”
“Poor Angus.”
“I found him behind the pigpen. He wouldn’t look at me or talk to me at first. I’m pretty sure he was crying and didn’t want me to see.”
“The poor boy.”
“I sat down beside him and started to talk. I said I’d never have left him to go to war if I thought Dad would ever touch him.”
Maryelle knew Kingston wouldn’t have had a choice. If he hadn’t signed up on his own, he would have been conscripted.
“I told him if Dad ever touched him again he was to come to me and I would deal with our father.” For a moment he said no more, but Maryelle sensed by his tension that he wasn’t through. “After awhile, I asked if Dad had done this before. At first I didn’t think he was going to answer; then he mumbled, ‘A time or two. Mostly he uses his boots on me.’ I tell you, I saw red. To think I’ve put up with him all these years thinking it was only me. Letting it go because I figured as long as he had me around to turn on, he would leave the others be.”
“No wonder Angus walks around as if he’s afraid.”
“He is afraid—of being kicked or worse.”
“Kingston, what are you going to do?”
He released her and paced away. “I don’t know.” He ran his hand across his hair until it sprang into tails all over his head. “I’m so mad right now I feel like walking off. Let the farm fall into rack and ruin. Serve the old man right if I leave. But what will happen to Angus?”
She heard the pain and confusion in his voice and knew how difficult this was for him.
“Would he ever hit one of the girls?” She couldn’t help thinking of Lily, so much like Kingston—a fact that might be enough in itself to create a problem.
“I don’t think so.” He spun on his heel to face her. “That’s just it, don’t you see? I don’t know. I didn’t think he’d hit Angus, but I saw it with my own eyes.”
He paced back and forth, finally pausing in front of her. She almost cried at the pain in his eyes.
“What do you think I should do?” he asked. “What should we do?”
7
Placing her palms on either side of his face, Maryelle said, “Oh, Kingston, my dear, sweet husband. I simply do not know.” Part of her wanted to say, Walk away. Let’s get a home of our own. But where would they go? How would they live? Besides, she was truly concerned about the others. “Whatever you decide is best, I will support you in it.”
He reached out for her again and enclosed her in his arms. “I suppose it isn’t as hard to decide as it seems.” He gave a bitter laugh. “It isn’t as if we have someplace else to go. I’ve never looked for anything else.”
“The farm is your life.”
“I guess you could say that.”
“Then we’ll find a way to sort things out.” Even as she said it, her heart nose-dived to her feet. She wondered if he would ever choose to leave his home and family. She wished she had the confidence to demand he do so, but she feared he would refuse. And then she’d be faced with wondering how strong his love for her was. As long as she stayed in his arms, those doubts remained bearable.
He held her close without speaking. After a long while, he whispered, “Thank you, my sweet wife. I don’t know what I would do without you.”
His tight hug softened, and he chuckled once. “I seem to have gotten us into a bit of a mess, wouldn’t you say?”
“I would say no such thing. You’ve only done what was right and honorable. How could you know how your father would act?”
He shrugged. “I wish I could see this ending well, but somehow I don’t. We’ll put up with him until our dying days and then wonder why we’re sour inside.” She knew he meant himself and his siblings. Suddenly she felt an overwhelming sadness for this family.
“How I wish you could have known my dad. He was the finest man I ever knew—except for you, of course.”
He laughed. “But of course.”
“I’m sure he would have been able to advise us.”
“What are we thinking?” He pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead. “I thought I’d never forget.”
Maryelle shook her head in wonder.
“We will pray. Somehow God will provide an answer for our situation.” He knelt on the grassy spot by the garden and prayed aloud.
“God, You have been my guide these past four years. When I knew not what to do, where to turn, even what direction to turn, You showed me the way. I ask the same of You now. Amen.”
She studied his bent head. “What did you mean when you prayed that He showed you the way?”
“It was a habit I learned in the trenches. So often we couldn’t tell where the enemy was or where they were coming from or even how to get away from them. But I’d prayed, ‘God, be my guide,’ and then I’d be certain what direction I should go. The guys got so they trusted me to find the way out. ‘Watch the pointer,’ they’d say. I told them it wasn’t that I had uncanny instincts but that I had an all-knowing God and guide.”
“You never told me that before. I like it. Makes God seem so real when I think of Him always showing you the way to go. Makes me very grateful He took care of you so you could come home to me.”
He sat down, his back to a tree, and stretched his legs out in front of him, then pulled her close so her back pressed into his chest. He nuzzled her hair.
“I am grateful every day that I can come home to you,” he whispered. “You are my heart’s desire, my joy, and the love of my life.”
She tipped her head back against his shoulder, sighing her contentment as she let the remnants of her worry about his love slip away. “Have I told you how much I love you?”
“Not for a long, long time. Probably years.”
She giggled. “I’ve only been here a few months,” she protested.
“Every minute apart, even if the separation is only a field or two, is like a year or more to me.” He crossed her arms around her and covered them with his hands. “Now, sweet brown eyes, tell me what you did all day. Lily informs me you were gone ‘all afternoon.’ ”
“I almost forgot. I met our neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Wells. They seemed to know a lot about you.”
“How are they? I haven’t seen them since I got back.”
“They’re so nice.”
“I used to go over often when I was a young lad. Mr. Wells taught me some carpentry.”
“Mrs. Wells—she told me to call them Grandma and Grandpa, by the way, after I said they reminded me of my own grandparents. Anyway, she said if I came back tomorrow afternoon, she would teach me how to make bread. She thinks I should be learning how to become an efficient little housewife.”
“Would you like that?”
“What—to become an efficient little housewife or to learn to bake bread?”
; “Yes.”
She giggled. “I would like it very much.”
“Which one?”
“Both.”
“Then you go right ahead and do it. Mrs. Wells will be a good friend for you.”
“It will be fun.”
“Not near as much fun as this.” He kissed her.
“Umm. This is fun.” She turned and wrapped her arms around his neck to pull him close. “I like this a lot,” she murmured.
“Then be quiet and let me kiss—”
She didn’t let him finish speaking before she caught his lips with hers. He tumbled backward on the grass, pulling her down with him, pinning her to his chest.
The problems of the day were forgotten for the time being.
She hurried over to the Wellses’ as soon as dinner—she still couldn’t get used to the noon meal being called that—was cleaned up. The sun was hot and bright. Kingston and Father Brown had said they were in need of rain soon. She’d already seen the evidence in the wilting plants of her garden.
“Welcome, Child—I hoped you’d return.”
“I could hardly wait.” Her insides had been tight all morning, knowing the shameful secret of the family of which she was now a member.
“Let’s get right down to business.” Grandma had written out a receipt and took her step-by-step through the process.
“Tell me how you met your young man.”
“He walked into my shop one rainy day seeking shelter. I took one look at him and fell head over heels in love. He was so tall and handsome in his uniform—and his eyes like the Mediterranean Sea under the summer sun.
“I think he picked my shop because it was a green grocer’s. It was the closest thing to a farm he could find in London.
“ ‘I farm back home,’ he said, running his hand along the carrots in a basket.
“ ‘Where’s back home?’ I asked.
“He said a little place called Flat Rock in Alberta.
“I asked him to tell me about this place.”
Maryelle laughed. “He did. He talked nonstop for an hour, I think. Then he turned those blue-green eyes on me and said, ‘So what’s a girl like you doing here?’
“First thing I know, I’d told him about growing up there, how Dad had enlisted in the army days after the war started, then my utter despair when he was killed two weeks later. I told him how Mom never got over his death and slowly faded away until she died two years later. We talked long after the rain had stopped. We talked between customers. We talked until he looked at his watch and jumped to his feet. ‘I’m going to miss my train,’ he said and raced out.”