The day would come when her children would be gone. What would she do with herself then?
The eerie drone of a distant bagpipe filled the morning quiet. Belle flew out of her bed and raced to the front porch. The river banks blushed with bare twigs quickening. The air bellowed with spring, but where was the bagpipe music coming from? It stopped. For a brief moment, she wondered if her ears were playing tricks on her. Then, it started again with the squawk that happens when a piper fills his bag with air. The tune was familiar. “I hear the drums a-drumming, I hear the pipes astrumming, my bonnie lassie is waiting for me. I’ll meet her at the shore, happy forever more, my bonnie lassie is waiting for me.”
The music bounced off the mountains, reverberating in all directions. The pipes sounded like Norman. Could it possibly be?
A lone piper, in his kilt, stood tall on top of the craggy rock by the hackberry tree. The mountain loomed behind him as he played that haunting sound. He was a tall black-headed Scot; it was Norman! Belle gathered her nightgown up about her knees as she ran barefoot up the slope to him. Norman, in good Scottish tradition, finished his tune while Belle found it hard to stand there and wait.
“You were hard to find, little sister.” Norman pulled the pipes down off his shoulder and embraced her. “This is the end of the earth.”
“Norman. I can’t believe you’re here. It’s been such a long, long time. You look just the same. Maybe a wee bit more around the belt.” She patted his stomach.
“It’s the kilt, lass, just the kilt. And who do we have here,” he said as he looked toward T.J. and Hannah who were running up the hill. “They can’t be yours, Belle. They’re half grown.”
“They’re mine all right,” Belle said. “Come on up and meet your Uncle Norman.” As Belle made the introductions, T.J. spotted the bagpipes.
“Can I hold them for a minute?” he asked.
“Of course ye can. I wish I could be around long enough to teach ye how to play them,” Norman said as he handed them to T.J. “Do ye like the sound, laddie?"
“Oh yes, I do. It sounds like Aberfeldy and the Black Watch.”
“But how do you know? You’ve not been there, have ye?”
“Ma has told me. I’m Scottish, you know.”
“Aye. That ye are, and a fine looking Scot. And you lass.” Norman placed his big hand on Hannah’s shoulder. “I suppose you know how to dance the Highland Fling?” Hannah pulled away and hid behind Belle.
“Speak up, Hannah,” Belle whispered.
Hannah peeked from behind her mother, and in her wee voice she said, “Why are you wearing a skirt?”
“It’s not a skirt, lass. It’s a kilt. There’s a world of difference.”
Norman was trapped. What difference? It was Belle’s sisterly duty to save Norman from an impossible explanation. “Come on down to the house, Norman. I’ll make some scones for breakfast.” Norman walked tall like the proud soldier he was, carrying his pipes. Then, he hoisted them into position and fingered the chanter as his left arm squeezed the bag, piping his followers down to the kitchen door.
“Come in, come in.” Belle waved them through the door. “But leave the sounds outside. I fear they would be overwhelming in my wee house.” As they sat over ham and eggs, scones and peach preserves, Norman told Belle that he was on his way to Montana where Alex had promised him a job on the ranch.
“But what about your education? Haven’t ye suited yourself for a profession now?”
“I finished at Edinburgh University and have my sheepskin. Sooner or later, I’d like to teach mathematics. But to come to America I needed to have employment and Alex was willing. What do ye make of the man?”
“He’s a fine fellow. Now that Meg’s got two babies of her own, you’ll find a house bulging with little ones.”
‘‘Aye, Meg’s had her ups and downs with the half-breeds but I could tell from her letters, between the lines, that she had grown fond of them. She seems to almost forget they aren’t hers. Belle, these are the best darn scones--you make them just like Ma used to,” Norman said as he heaped a huge spoonful of preserves on a tiny piece of scone he had left and washed it down with coffee.
“Tell me about the family, Norman. What’s the news?” Belle asked.
“Everyone is fine. Father loves it in St. Andrews and his work is going well. Nan and Mary told me that there’s a widow lady who finds him attractive and I wouldn’t be too surprised to see him marry again.”
“No. Not Father.”
“Why shouldn’t he? She could be a comfort to him in his old age.”
“I just can’t imagine that. Not Father,” Belle repeated.
“Ian and Willie are living in France. He got a corker when he married her.”
“What about you, Norman?”
“I’m content the way I am. No need for excess baggage--I’m footloose and fancy free.”
“Whatever happened to Mary McClarey? You were serious about her before you went to war. I remember--"
“Married.” Norman spat his words. “That’s the way she waited for me."
“Then, it’s her loss.” There was hurt in her brother’s eyes. “Don’t let that one disappointment stand in your way, Norman. You should be thinking of marrying. It’s not natural, staying to yourself too long.”
“Look who is calling the kettle black.”
Belle turned away and busied herself clearing the dishes. ‘‘As long as we’re talking kettles, would you like chicken and dumplings for supper, Norman? Excuse me. I’ve got to gather the eggs."
“Ma, can my friend come for supper?” T.J. asked. “He’s over there all alone. The other men all leave on Sunday but he didn’t have any place to go."
“Your friend?”
“Yes. Hank. He’s the engineer who lets me look through his transit.”
“Sure. That’s fine. You’d better go get him now. I’ll be dishing up as soon as the dumplings are done. They can’t wait; they’re no good cold.”
“Belle can I help ye?” Norman stood next to Belle at the Majestic.
“Ye might get the plates out of the pantry. We’re having company.”
“I heard Thomas asking.” Norman swaggered across the room, his kilt swinging. “He’s a fine lad, Belle.”
“Yes, he’s that. I know what you’re thinking, Norman. There’s never been a day of trouble with him.”
“Belle, this ranch is an odd life for a woman alone. Had you thought--”
“I’ve thought a lot,” Belle interrupted. “Would you like coffee?”
“Yes, that would be fine. Back to what I was saying --"
"Then we’ll need the cups and saucers.”
As he brought them from the pantry, he continued, “What I was trying to say--"
“Norman, would you call Hannah for me. They’ll be here any minute. And see that she washes her hands.”
“I want you to listen to me for a minute.”
“The dumplings are ready and here comes T.J. up from the river with his friend. Guess they crossed on the cable. Have you seen that contraption?” Norman looked at Belle in disgust and sighed.
“Ma, this is my friend Hank,” T.J. said, stomping into the kitchen. Belle turned to see Hank Gallagher standing there, a big smile pasted on his face. She froze. This man had come from nowhere and invaded her life for one brief dance at the Bunch Resort and had stolen her heart. It had to be four years ago or more. He hadn’t changed much. Yet, his smiling eyes were more fetching than the picture she held in her memory.
“How do you do.” She managed a semblance of composure.
“We’ve met before.” There was mischief in his smile.
“I think not.” Belle’s tone was emphatic. She’d not let this renegade toy with her feelings again, ever. “It was up at Bunch’s plunge.” He winked.
“You’re mistaken. I’ve never seen you before.” Belle set her jaw.
Hank shrugged. “Well, anyway, it’s mighty kind of you to have me for supper."
“Introduce your sister and your uncle, T.J.” Belle said. She noticed a brief look of surprise on Hank’s face when she said that. His violet eyes danced as he looked at Norman.
“You’re an engineer?” Norman asked after the introductions were made.
“Yes. I’m working on a road across the river.”
“Are ye married?” Norman asked. Belle blushed with embarrassment. How could he ask such a question outright like that before the man had been five minutes in the house?
“Not yet. I’m looking,” Hank answered throwing Belle a glance.
“Sit down and help yourselves.” Belle took her apron off, sweeping her hair back from her face with her hand, patting it in place as she wished she’d put on a better dress. “Hannah get the sugar, salt and pepper."
“How much of a project is that?” Norman asked.
“Three years, maybe. We hope to get up as far as Banks this season and then to Smith’s Ferry next. Then up to Round Valley by 1928 at the latest. A lot depends on how much rock we run into.”
“I’d like to look it over.”
“Have T.J. bring you over after school. He comes almost every day. We should put him on the payroll.”
“He’s not being a nuisance, is he?” Belle asked, deliberately looking beyond Hank as she filled the big china bowl with more chicken and dumplings.
“No, he’s been a real help. He learns fast. I’ll have to watch out or he’ll have my job.” He winked at T.J. Tipping his chair back, he pulled the window curtain aside, as he chewed his food. “Is that a bunk house?”
“Well, yes, but it’s not been used for years,” Belle said.
“Would you rent it to me? It’d sure beat living in my tent.”
“Rent it? No, I don’t think so.”
“Why not, Belle,” Norman butted in. “It could mean a little extra money. “
“I don’t have the time to clean it up.”
“I’ll do that,” T.J. chimed in.
“Well, between us we could work that out.” Hank’s arm rested on T.J.'s shoulder. “That is, if your mother will rent it to me. Would five dollars a month be all right?”
“Sure would,” T.J. said
“Now wait just a minute young man,” Belle said.
“You know, there are days on the road that I have to wait for the work to catch up with the engineering. I’d be glad to do some work around here. I’m pretty handy,” Hank said.
He sure has a way of jumping right into the middle of things, Belle thought. It was true, there were a hundred things that needed to be done, things that had piled up since Harlow died. How could she get out of it? The three of them weren’t going to take no for an answer.
“We could try it for a while, I guess,” Belle conceded.
“Fine. I’ll clean up the bunk house as soon as I have a free day. Thank you kindly for supper. Haven’t eaten like that since I left home. It was delicious.” Hank tried to catch Belle’s eye; she’d not let him do that. He disappeared down the hill.
“Why don’t you make some haggis, Belle, as long as I’m slaughtering the lamb?” Norman asked.
“Oh, I don’t think so, Norman. I was thinking of lamb stew for tonight. I haven’t made haggis for a long time.”
“Then now is the time to do it. I’m going to sharpen your garden tools this morning and then I’ll see if I can right the hen house. It looks like it might fall over just breathing on it,” Norman said.
“How long you staying, Norman?” Belle asked. “You’re as welcome as the flowers in May, you know that.”
"Alex will be looking for me. I’ll need to leave in a couple of days. That Hank fellow seemed like a decent sort. T.J. likes him. Kids have a way of sensing the nature of folks better than we do. That ought to tell you something. You sure didn’t give him the time of day, little sister.”
“Nor do I intend to,” Belle snapped
“What have you got against the man, Belle? He was just being friendly. “
“I haven’t got anything against him. He simply doesn’t interest me."
“But you were hardly civil. That’s not like you.”
“It’s time to gather the eggs again.” Belle patted Norman on the cheek as she gave him her best smile.
Only a few days passed before Hank, with T.J.’s help, cleaned up the bunkhouse. Belle watched them from a distance. They made quick work of it and were finding a lot to laugh about but Belle wasn’t close enough to get it all.
“I’m going down to Horseshoe Bend and I’ll be bringing Rosie back,” she heard Hank yell back at T.J. as he jogged down the hill toward the river.
Ah, so that’s why he wanted the bunkhouse: a place to bed some woman. She’d not agreed to that. He’d made it sound as if he were pitifully alone. Well, no he hadn’t. She had just assumed that was the case. Who was this Rosie anyway? Oh Lordy, she thought, I’m feeling like a jealous twit. Of course he’s got a girlfriend. It was surprising enough to hear he wasn’t married. A man like Hank Gallagher couldn’t possibly escape matrimony. He’d likely had women swarming around him until he fancied one. The man had such charming ways.
“This Rosie person must be something. I’ll try to be nice to her though it won’t be easy,” Belle mumbled to herself. “It wouldn’t hurt to fix up before dinner.” She appraised her face in Harlow’s little shaving mirror. Maybe she’d put on her new gingham dress. Folks said blue was her best color--it did something for her eyes.
“You’re all dressed up little sister.” Norman came into the kitchen and found Belle setting the table. “What’s the occasion?” She didn’t answer; she was deep in thought. She’d seat that Rosie woman over next to Hank, the children on the other side, Norman at one end and herself at the other.
“Nice dress,” Norman tried again.
“This old thing?” Belle looked down at her new dress.
“You look especially fetching. And I don’t think it’s in my honor. Tell me, what’s going on?”
“Nothing, nothing at all.” The dogs barked and Belle looked beyond Norman where she saw Hank riding a pony into the barnyard.
But where was the woman? Out of Norman’s sight, in the pantry, Belle took a quick look at her face in the mirror, pinched her cheeks and took off her apron.
“It’s a beautiful day.” Norman was speaking to someone. Belle turned around to see Hank, in a shirt and tie, at the kitchen door.
“Stay for dinner? I’ve set a place for you.” Belle’s eyes met Hank’s. Her heart pounded.
“It’s hard to turn down your cooking. But just because I'm sleeping in your bunk house, I won’t want you to feel like you have to feed me.”
“It’s no imposition. I always cook too much food anyway,” she lied. “Your lady friend, she’s welcome, too.”
“My lady friend?”
“Yes. The lady from Horseshoe Bend.” Hank wrinkled his forehead.
“Rosie?” Belle prompted.
Hank smirked. “Oh, yah, Rosie.” A long pause. “Truth is, I don’t think you’d want her eating at your table.”
That was the truth, but how did he know it? “I set a place.” Belle nodded at the table. “We’re having haggis.”
“Oh, Ma.” T.J. looked disgusted and embarrassed. “Rosie is Hank’s pinto.”
“Your pinto?” Belle blurted as her eyes met Hank’s.
Hank nodded. She was jealous of a horse? Belle tried to gather her composure, but she couldn’t. There was nothing left to do but laugh at her own folly. Muffled snickering followed behind cupped hands and napkins. Her children understood it is one thing to laugh at ourselves and quite another to laugh at the follies of another. She glanced in Hank Gallagher’s direction and there was no question in her mind that he was enjoying the situation. It was a good thing he didn’t know how she felt. Just how did she feel . . .?
Norman brought the haggis to the table on Belle’s fanciest platter.
Out of Innocence Page 25