Maryelle (War Brides Book 2)

by Linda Ford

  “Humph.” Lena jerked away, practically slamming her empty cup on the table. “Who says we need bread for dinner?”

  “I’ve yet to sit down to a meal in this house where there isn’t bread or biscuits on the table.” She refrained from mentioning she would soon be preparing biscuits. One victory at a time.

  She breathed a sigh when all four loaves came from the oven golden and well risen. They sat on the cupboard cooling when Mother Brown came in from the garden. She nodded at the freshly baked loaves, then turned to Lena. “Good. Forgot to tell you we needed bread. Glad you remembered.” She drew her brows together. “You must have started early.”

  Lena didn’t bother to correct her mother and gave Maryelle a dark look, daring her to do so. Maryelle shrugged. It didn’t matter what Mother Brown thought as much as it did that she prove to Lena she could not only learn to do something, but she had every intention of doing so and pulling her share around the house.

  It was Kingston who revealed the truth. He bit into a thick slice slathered with homemade butter. Maryelle eyed the butter. Another task she was determined to learn in spite of opposition.

  “This is great bread, Maryelle. Don’t you think so?” His question included the rest of those around the table.

  “You made this?” It was Katherine who dared admit the accomplishment. “When?”

  “I guess that explains what you two were doing up so early,” Father Brown said. “I wondered what you were up to.”

  “It’s good,” Lily said.

  Jeanie watched Lena, waiting to see her response.

  Lena reached across the table for the salt, passing the bread without taking a slice. “About time she learned to do something useful.”

  Maryelle stared at her. “You seem to be enjoying the baby carrots I brought in from the garden. I’d say that was useful.”

  Lena pushed the rest of her carrots to the side of her plate. Maryelle knew they’d be going to the pigs. She bit her tongue to keep from retorting. Mother Brown said nothing, keeping her attention on her plate.

  Maryelle waited, knowing the older woman would have to look up sooner or later. She finally did, a darting glance that slid away as quickly as it came but not before Maryelle caught a glimpse of—dare she believe it—understanding.

  Father Brown took a slice of bread. “Food is food. Now let’s eat up and get back to work. We’ve wasted enough time already this morning with having to fix that axle.”

  Maryelle’s neck muscles tingled at the look he fired at Angus. She knew she didn’t imagine the way the boy drew his shoulder forward. She slanted a look at Kingston. His eyes were on his brother. His jaw clenched until she knew his teeth would be ready to crack. Her appetite fled. What had happened this morning to make the brothers so uneasy?

  Kingston turned toward her for a moment. His eyes were so full of pain and despair that she wanted to jump to her feet and demand answers from this family seated so quietly around the table. What’s the matter with you? Why do you have to be so cruel to each other? But Kingston held her gaze until she calmed down. She knew without any words being exchanged that some things were best left unspoken. To voice her feelings would fuel the emotions causing the problem.

  She gave an almost imperceptible shrug, and Kingston relaxed. She tried to smile at him, but all she managed was a little grimace. He seemed to understand for he tipped his head a fraction of an inch in silent acknowledgment.

  “Pass me some more bread, Maryelle,” Lily said.

  “Please?” Mother Brown corrected.

  Lily sighed. “Sorry. Forgot. Please pass the bread.”

  Maryelle handed her the plate, smiling at the innocent child. How long before her world was tainted with the stain of this family? She wanted more than anything in the world a place where she and Kingston could be alone, but how could she even consider leaving this child to the mercy of her cruel sisters, her angry father, and her indifferent mother? Her gaze returned to Angus, his head still bent over his plate even though his fork had not moved in several minutes. What about this poor lad? Would anyone but Kingston defend him? She doubted it. She ducked her head and shuffled two carrots around on her plate. How had she ended in such a mix-up?

  “Let’s get back to work.” Father Brown pushed his chair away from the table, the legs scraping on the floor with a sound that sent shivers up Maryelle’s spine.

  Kingston paused to kiss her on the forehead and murmur for her ears only, “We’ll talk later,” before he tramped after his father.

  Angus sighed, his shoulders lifting and falling, and pushed away from the table, his meal only partly eaten. As he passed his mother, she squeezed his hand.

  It was a gesture so unexpected and quick that Maryelle wondered if she’d really seen it. But Angus carried his head a little higher as he followed the men out the door.

  Maryelle listened to the conversation around her as she washed dishes and Jeanie and Lily dried and put them away.

  “It is getting awfully dry,” Mother Brown said. “We need rain soon.”

  “I hate rain,” Lena muttered.

  “You do?” Katherine sounded surprised.

  Maryelle watched the girls out of the corner of her eyes.

  Lily leaned toward Jeanie. “I got an idea for this afternoon.”

  “You girls play close to the house,” their mother said.

  “I remember when you wished it would rain so”—Katherine swallowed hard as Lena glared at her with eyes like a small animal’s—“so Eddie…” Her voice trailed off, and she scrubbed the table with unnecessary vigor.

  “I hate rain,” Lena muttered, turning to the stairs now that she was certain her sister had been quelled. Her feet thudded up the steps and across the floor overhead.

  “I love dancing in the rain,” Lily said to no one in particular.

  Maryelle hid a smile. The child was so unspoiled. She handed the last saucepan to Jeanie and rinsed the washrag with water from the kettle as Grandma Wells had taught her. She took the tea towels from the little girls and took them outside to hang on the line. Grandma had said, “A few hours in the sunshine does wonders.”

  She got back to the step in time to catch Lena tossing the washing-up water out the door.

  “I told you I wanted the water for my garden.”

  Lena shrugged. “I forgot.”

  “I rather doubt you forgot. Why don’t you spare me your vindictiveness?”

  Lena fixed her with her dark eyes. “Why don’t you go back where you belong?”

  Maryelle took a deep breath and tried to contain her anger. “And where would that be?”

  “London. Go home, English prissy. Go home.”

  Maryelle held her stance. “I have no home in London as you very well know. Besides, what would you suggest I do about my marriage to Kingston?”

  “Take him with you.”

  Tears stung her eyes, but Maryelle was too angry to cry. She wanted to shake this girl until her beady little eyes rolled to the ground. “I hate to break this to you, Lena Brown, but you aren’t the only one who lost loved ones in the war. Only not everyone let it turn them into a sour, bitter shrew.”

  “And what gives you the right to be my judge and jury?”

  “You do, every time you turn your bitter tongue on me or on someone else in this family who is less capable of withstanding your vitriolic behavior.”

  “What happens in this family has nothing to do with you.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. I am a part of this family. You might as well learn to live with it.”

  “Never.” She fairly spat the word out. “And if you think you can worm your way in by baking a few loaves of bread, forget it.” She breathed hard. “As to your garden, well, this is what I think of you and your precious garden.” She shook the last drops of water from the dishpan, tucked it under her arm, and stormed into the house.

  Maryelle looked after her, her insides shaking. How could she live here with Lena’s hatred and the overshadowin
g fear of Father Brown’s anger?

  Spinning away, she ran toward the only place she could find comfort—Grandma Wells.

  By the time she reached the boundary between the two farms, she had such a stitch in her side, she ran bent to one side, her hand pressed into her gut, trying to ease the pain. Her steps slowed to a ragged trot.

  She didn’t bother to knock but pushed the door open and stood before Grandma, her hands on her knees, panting like a dog.

  “Child, did you run all the way over?”

  Maryelle nodded her head, too winded to speak.

  “I expect you had some reason?”

  Maryelle gave a crooked smile. Grandma’s voice said she doubted there was reason enough to act as Maryelle had.

  Finally she was able to suck in enough oxygen to stop the pounding in her head and collapsed on one of Grandma’s wooden chairs with its braided round seat cover.

  “I had to get away.”

  Grandma clucked sympathetically. “What’s happened?”

  Too miserable to sort out her words, Maryelle let them pour out. “It’s nothing new. Lena spared no words in telling me she thought I should get out and take Kingston with me. And dinner was strained. It was obvious Father Brown had one of his moods this morning. Both Angus and Kingston were subdued.” She stopped to catch her breath. “How could she say that about Kingston? That hurts more than anything.”

  “My dear. It seems things are going from bad to worse.”

  “I wonder how much more I can take.”

  “What are your options?”

  Maryelle slumped over the table. “I don’t see what options we have, but I don’t see how Kingston can stand it.”

  Grandma took her hands. “Perhaps it seems normal to him.”

  She jerked her head up. “How can it seem normal to anyone?”

  “It’s always been his family, remember. And didn’t you say his father has always treated him harshly?”

  Her face went cold. “I can’t imagine putting up with this all your life.”

  “It’s not what God intended.” Grandma looked thoughtful. “I’ve been praying about this a lot and asking God what His solution is for this situation. I can’t help wondering if He’s set you in this place so you could help.”

  “Help,” Maryelle whispered. “How could I possibly help? Whatever I try to do is thrown back in my face.” Baking bread had been an unsatisfying victory.

  “I know that. That isn’t the sort of help I was thinking of.”

  Maryelle waited, wondering what she meant.

  “I know you’re especially concerned about the younger children. Maybe you’re there for their sake.”

  “But what can we possibly do? Both Father Brown and Lena would most certainly react badly if they thought I was interfering in some way.”

  Grandma lifted her hands in defeat. “I don’t have the answers. Only God does. I firmly believe He will reveal them in His time.”

  Maryelle sighed. “I certainly hope so. There are days when I am actually afraid. I think I’m more nervous here than I was in London during the war.”

  Grandma took her hand between her soft palms. “If you ever need a place of safety, Child, you are welcome here. Both you and Kingston. In fact, that’s part of what God has been bringing to mind.” She pushed to her feet. “Come. I have something to show you.”

  Maryelle followed her out the door, past the garden where Grandpa Wells stood leaning on his hoe staring off across the field, past the rows of cherry trees, past the gnarled apple tree, until they reached a low narrow building Grandma had called the bunkhouse. Grandma opened the door and stepped inside.

  It was a long one-roomed house. Dappled light came through the wide windows along the south wall. A bed stood at one end. In the middle of the room, across from where Maryelle stood next to Grandma, a table and two wooden rockers stood before a fieldstone fireplace. The far end held a stove and a row of shelves.

  “This is where Wes and I lived for five years. Harry was born here.” She ran a white hand along the tabletop. “For years our various hired men lived here.” She faced Maryelle. “I haven’t said anything. I haven’t wanted to interfere. But if you and Kingston ever need it, this place is available.”

  A sob shuddered over Maryelle’s lips, and then she swallowed hard. “I’d move in here today if Kingston would agree,” she mumbled.

  “You must follow his lead,” Grandma warned. “I’m sure he knows what’s best for everyone.”

  Maryelle nodded. “He’s concerned about Angus. He feels he has to protect him.”

  “That makes sense, doesn’t it?”

  Maryelle wished she could argue, but Grandma was right. “I will do my best to be satisfied with living under the same roof as the rest of the family.” It would be extremely hard now that she’d seen a means of escape. “But I’m going to mention this place to Kingston, if you don’t mind. Perhaps he’d be willing to move out if he could still be close enough to help his father.”

  “You go right ahead, my dear. And we will pray for God’s guidance.” She pulled out one chair for herself and indicated Maryelle should take the other; and in that little one-roomed house with dust motes floating in the patches of light, Grandma prayed for wisdom and courage for Maryelle and Kingston.

  Maryelle stayed for tea, but she could hardly wait to return home. At her first opportunity, she was going to tell Kingston about the offer of a house at the Wellses’. Perhaps he would agree it was best to move out.

  She hummed and skipped her way home.

  She passed the last bunch of trees and saw Kingston carrying something toward the barn. There was no sign of Angus or his father.

  “Kingston, wait up.”

  He turned at her call. Even across the distance, she could see his eyes flash green. He smiled as she ran toward him. Simply the sight of him was enough to fill her with gladness and excitement. The possibility of a home of their own sent her pulse into a full-blown gallop.

  “You look happy today,” he said as she drew closer.

  She pretended to pout. “Are you inferring that I’m usually down in the mouth?”

  “Course not.” He planted a kiss on her nose. “Have you been to see Grandma Wells?”

  “Yes, and I have wonderful news.” She glanced around to make sure they were alone. “What are you doing?”

  “Putting this stuff away.” He lifted the bundle of tools.

  “I have the best news.” She pranced on her tiptoes before him. “I’ve found us a place to live.”

  His arms fell to his side. “I don’t understand.”

  “Grandma Wells has a little house she will let us live in. It’s perfect. It’s close enough for you to come over to work. But, think of it, we can be on our own. It’s perfect.”

  A thud sounded from the barn. Maryelle gulped. “What was that?”

  “Dad is in there.” Kingston’s jaw muscles corded.

  “I thought you were alone,” she whispered.

  “Run along to the house. We’ll discuss this later.”

  She ran as if a hundred vicious dogs were at her heel. She didn’t know why she should be so stirred up inside. What did it matter if Father Brown overheard her? Yet she was worried and so scared, her mouth tasted like sawdust.

  Her worries were for nothing, she decided, as supper progressed with no more and no less than its usual tension and undercurrents.

  Angus ate more supper than he had dinner. Maryelle took it as a sign things had gone better in the afternoon. When Father Brown seemed more jovial than usual, she pushed aside the cable of tension that had gripped her since she’d spilled her message to Kingston an hour ago.

  “I’m taking this water to my garden,” she said to Kingston. She knew enough now to keep her hands on the basin until the water was safely rationed out to her plants.

  “I’ll take it for you.” He carefully measured the water out on her squash plants under her watchful eye.

  “If only it would rain,” she
muttered. “Is it always like this?”

  “Usually we complain it rains so much we can’t get the hay up. This spell will likely end soon. I hope before the crops suffer too much.” He turned the basin upside down in the grass and pulled her into his arms. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he whispered against her hair.

  “You’d do.” She clung to him, letting the aches and troubles of the day slip away in the consolation of his embrace. “Besides, are you planning to do away with me?”

  His arms tightened around her until she moaned.

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to hurt you. But even the thought of something happening to you is more than I can stand.”

  “Then don’t think it. I plan to be right here for a long time.” She tapped his chest to indicate she meant here, in his arms. “Tell me what happened earlier today.”

  He sighed and lifted his head. “Nothing new. Dad lost his patience and tried to boot Angus. I stepped in and stared him down. I didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to. But it put him in a foul mood the rest of the day. He doesn’t like to be interfered with.”

  She shook her head. “Poor Angus.”

  “I worry about Angus. I learned never to show fear. I discovered it fueled his anger. But every time Dad starts to roar, Angus looks like he’s going to cry.”

  A heavy weight seemed to drop to Maryelle’s feet. “You would never feel right about leaving Angus to face your father alone, would you?”

  “Someone needs to protect him.”

  “There’s no point in mentioning Grandma Wells’s offer, is there?” Mentally she bid a painful farewell to the little house Grandma Wells had offered.

  “I’m sorry.” She felt his pain. “I’m sure it won’t be forever.”

  “It will be over by Christmas?” She echoed a phrase everyone had said at the beginning of the war.

  He stiffened, understanding her meaning.

  “It went on for four long, bloodstained years.” What she didn’t say, but what they both understood, was the unspoken question: Would this be long, pain-filled years? “I didn’t think I would survive it.” I’m not sure I can survive a long siege of this.