Maryelle

by Linda Ford

  Grandpa set a pail of water on the table and slung a sack off his shoulder to the floor. “Potatoes, a slab of bacon, some of those biscuits the young lady made, and a few other things.” He reached into his pocket. “Some fresh eggs.”

  Grandma nodded. “That’s fine, Wes. Real fine. Now why don’t we leave these young people to settle in?” She paused at the door. “I expect you’re wanting some time to yourselves, but you’ll no doubt be needing a few things. Come up to the house when you’re ready. We have plenty of everything.” She paused again and spoke over her shoulder. “Everything but someone to share it with.” And then they were alone.

  Maryelle stood in the center of the room, uncertain what to do next.

  Kingston dropped the bundle on the bed. “Let’s have a look around.”

  He opened the cupboard by the stove. “There are dishes and pots here. Looks like we have everything we need.” He rattled the contents as he tallied them.

  Maryelle pulled a chair out from the table, plopped down, buried her head in her arms, and wept.

  “Maryelle?” Kingston hurried to her side, his hand stroking the back of her neck. “Don’t cry, my sweet wife.” He lifted her to his lap. “I suppose it was bound to come to this.”

  “I’ve taken you from your family,” she sobbed.

  “This is not your doing. If anyone should be blamed, it would be Dad.” He pulled her head against his neck. “Besides, now we can be alone.”

  She sobbed harder. “I didn’t want to be alone bad enough to tear your family apart.”

  “I don’t think we were very much together in the first place.”

  There was enough truth in what he said for Maryelle to be soothed. “What are we going to do now?”

  He stroked her cheek. “We’re going to set up housekeeping here and then take it one step at a time.” He sat her up. “And I suppose the first step is for me to go get the rest of our things.”

  Suddenly the thought of him returning to his home filled her with dread. She clutched at his shoulders. “Do you have to go back?”

  His green eyes intent, he gripped her shoulders and looked at her steadily. “I will not live my life in fear of his anger. I never have, and I never will.” He set her on her feet. “I’ll see if Grandpa Wells will let me borrow a wagon.” He crossed to the door. “In the meantime you put away what we have, and”—he smiled at her, his eyes flashing warm sunshine from an ocean—“you can make something for dinner. I’m hungry.”

  She nodded, waiting until he left to examine the contents of the cupboard herself. A gentle peace filled her as she untied the quilt and folded Kingston’s clothes into the tall wardrobe. “We’ll start over,” she murmured. “We’ll forget about the past and start over.”

  By the time Kingston returned with her trunks and set them up at the end of the bed, she had thick pieces of bacon frying with sliced raw potatoes. She handed him some freshly brewed coffee while eggs cooked. “How did it go?”

  “Fine. Dad was nowhere to be seen. Angus helped me. There was no one else about. He said they disappeared like shadows when we left. I hope they’re thinking about how they’ve acted.” He took a gulp of his coffee.

  “This is nice,” he said as she set a plate of food before him. “Just you and me.” He took several mouthfuls, then added, “I’ll see if I can help Grandpa Wells with anything.”

  “After I’ve cleaned up, I’ll go see Grandma. She deserves some sort of explanation.”

  He nodded.

  She took her time after dinner, loving the freedom of being on her own. Then she wandered past the garden and bushes to the house.

  Grandma heard her footsteps and threw open the door before Maryelle had a chance to knock. “Come in, Child. I’ve gathered up some more things you’ll be needing.”

  Maryelle gaped at the bulging sack. “You don’t need to do that.”

  “Of course, I don’t need to. I want to.” She tilted her head in the general direction of the garden. “How much do you think two old people can eat? You’ll be doing me a favor if you eat up some of the stuff we have stored. In fact, I was just going down to get some canned jars for you. Come along.” She led the way down the narrow stairs into the dark cellar.

  Maryelle waited while Grandma found a lamp and lit it.

  “See what I mean?” She held the light high, and Maryelle saw row after row of filled jars, green and yellow, red, pink.

  Maryelle touched a jar. “You have enough here to feed an army.”

  “Crab apples, pickled crabs, plums, rhubarb sauce, beans, corn, mustard pickles, dills, sweet pickles, pickled beets, carrot pudding.” Grandma touched row after row, naming the contents. “Canned chicken, canned beef.” She pulled forward a jar to even out the row. “Strawberries, raspberries.”

  Maryelle threw up her hands, but Grandma moved on to another shelf.

  “Rhubarb jam, chokecherry jelly, currant jam, carrot marmalade—”

  “Grandma, what are you doing with all this stuff? Why do you do all this work for the two of you?”

  Grandma gave an embarrassed laugh. “Most of it is produce from our garden and the fruit trees and bushes.” She shrugged. “It seems a shame to let it waste.” She smiled gently. “Besides, I enjoy doing it. Wes likes to help me.” Reaching under the bottom shelf, she pulled out a flat crate. “So don’t feel guilty about helping me use it up.” She filled the crate with a variety of things. “Take this and feel free to help yourself.” She looked at the display of filled jars. “Please.”

  Maryelle giggled. “It’s too bad you couldn’t have shipped this to London during the war. People would have given their eye teeth to be able to get stuff like this.”

  Grandma nodded. “When I heard about the shortages, I felt so bad. About all I could do was keep canning and hope someday it would help someone out.” She patted Maryelle’s shoulder. “I’m glad to help you young folk. Now let’s go have a cup of tea.” She waited until Maryelle carried the crate up the stairs before she blew out the lamp and followed.

  Over tea, Maryelle told her of the morning’s events. “I’m sure Father Brown did it, but I can’t understand what he gained by destroying the garden.” All her work for nothing. All the pleasure she’d enjoyed—

  “I think it was because he knew how much it meant to you.”

  “I’m not sorry to be out of there, but I can’t help feeling it’s my fault Kingston had to leave his family.”

  Grandma looked thoughtful. “It seems to me the family has been falling apart for years. Kingston survived because he’s strong and stubborn. I pray Angus will find the same strength.”

  “He seems so cowed right now.”

  “God has a plan in this situation. Perhaps this step is part of His plan. Who’s to say? Maybe Kingston can be more effective now than he was while living there.”

  “Maybe.” But she didn’t see how. Who would step in to protect Angus with Kingston gone?

  Grandma glanced over Maryelle’s shoulder. “Here’s Wes now and your Kingston.” She rose and got two more cups as the men joined them at the table.

  Kingston touched Maryelle’s shoulder as he passed. She smiled at him.

  “I’m glad everyone is here,” Grandma began. “Because Wes and I want to propose something to you.”

  Maryelle didn’t know what to expect and glanced at Kingston. He sat placidly waiting, but Maryelle wasn’t fooled. She saw the way his eyes shifted color and knew he wondered what the Wellses had in mind.

  Grandma shook her head. “Now don’t go looking all fearful.” She turned to Kingston. “I don’t know what your plans are. Whether you plan to continue working with your father or not.”

  Kingston shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  The older woman nodded. “It will take time to sort out. But Wes is finding he can’t manage all the work around this place.” She smiled a sweet, gentle smile at her husband. He beamed back. “The barn needs repairs; the shingles on the house need repair. There are fences to fix, th
e barn to clean, trees to trim.” She laughed. “Lots of jobs to do.” She took Grandpa’s hand. “We were hoping we could hire you, at least part time.”

  It was a moment before Kingston answered. “I’ll be pleased to help but only if it’s in exchange for rent.”

  Grandma and Grandpa looked at each other. Grandma nodded. “We’ll see.”

  “What do you think?” Maryelle asked later as she and Kingston sat down to supper.

  “I think it’s most generous, though there are definitely repairs needed around the place. I can hardly wait to get at them.”

  Maryelle smiled. “You’re the greatest one for wanting to fix things up, aren’t you?”

  He nodded. “I can’t stand to see things falling to rack and ruin for want of a few nails or the use of a screwdriver to tighten something.”

  “Then this arrangement suits you?”

  “I don’t want to be taking their money though. I have no idea how much they have.”

  “They certainly have a good supply of food.” Maryelle told him about her trip to the cellar.

  He pulled her to his knee and kissed her on the nose. “We’ll be just fine.”

  “I know we will.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, leaning forward for a kiss.

  He pushed her back. “Now don’t be distracting me while you have dishes to do.”

  She giggled. “It’s so nice to have you to myself.” She scooped up the dishes and carried them to the basin.

  Kingston walked to the open door and leaned against the frame, his eyes staring far out into the distance. Maryelle followed the direction of his gaze. He was looking toward his home. She paused, her hands in the sudsy water, knowing he was troubled by the events in his family and wishing she could do something to help. She returned to scrubbing dishes. There was nothing she could do, only pray.

  He turned back into the room and, grabbing a towel, dried dishes. Finished, she dumped the water on the raspberry bushes outside the door, wiped the basin, and hung it up. A strand of hair fell across her cheek. She pushed it back, tucking it in, and felt dirt on her scalp.

  “My hair is full of dirt.” She rubbed her fingers along her scalp.

  “What did you expect? You were face down in the garden.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Do you suppose I could wash it?”

  His eyes flashed bright blue-green. “I’ll haul water over, and you can heat it. I think I saw a tub in the little shed behind us. I’ll bring it.”

  The tub was small, but it would serve the purpose. He hauled and heated enough water to fill it partially. She bathed, then scrubbed her hair. She leaned forward for him to pour clean water over her head.

  “I’ll be right back.” He hurried out with the tub and returned to pile wood in the fireplace. “It’s really too warm to light this, but you need to get your hair dry.” He took the brush from her hand and led her to the fireplace.

  She sat on the worn braided rug, leaning against his legs.

  He began to lift and brush her hair. “I love your hair,” he murmured, the sound of his voice sifting down through her senses.

  She was more than half asleep when he put the brush aside. He lifted her and carried her to the bed.

  A few evenings later, she pulled him from his contemplation of the far horizon. “Grandma Wells has a nice selection of books. Would you like me to read to you?”

  He turned, a grin on his face. “Like in London?”

  “Yes, that’s what I had in mind.”

  “I’d love you to read to me, Mrs. Brown.” His eyes darkened to the color of shadowed pines as he marched toward her, holding her gaze while he crossed to a rocking chair and pulled her to his lap. “Read away.”

  She took a deep breath and, opening the book, began to read.

  His arms around her were warm and possessive. He rubbed a little pattern up and down her forearm. His breath smelled like the coffee he’d finished a few minutes before. He lifted his finger and tucked a bit of hair behind her ear, resting his hand on her neck.

  She closed the book. “I’m so happy,” she murmured. “The happiest I’ve been for so long.”

  “Me too,” he said softly.

  It wasn’t until he left the next morning and she had the house to herself that she wondered if he was truly happy. Oh, she knew he was happy when they were kissing and hugging. But too often she caught him staring across the fields and knew he worried about his family.

  10

  The days passed. Kingston worked hard at repairs on the Wells farm. And he continued to stare across the fields toward home. She could feel his concern as plainly as if it were a rock in her pocket. It seemed she could do nothing to help the situation.

  “We’ll ask God to show us what to do.” Grandma said it over and over. Maryelle prayed too, needing God to direct their future. She had finished the breakfast dishes and opened her Bible on the table. She read a few verses, then turned to the solace of prayer.

  God, I know You are almighty and powerful. You know the end from the beginning. I, I hardly know what this moment holds. But what I do know is this. My dear, sweet Kingston is unhappy. He’s concerned about his family. He doesn’t know what he should do. I don’t know what I should do.

  Everything in her protested at the idea of returning to the farm; yet it seemed to be the only way Kingston’s needs would be met.

  I don’t want to go back there. Everyone was so unkind. I felt like I was waiting for a bomb to drop.

  She looked around the house that was theirs for now.

  It’s small, God, but there’re just the two of us. And I so enjoy having him to myself. But I guess You know that.

  Kingston meant everything to her.

  Everything? an inner voice questioned.

  Enough to do what was best for him even if it meant she would have to sacrifice something? She stared at the cold fireplace, remembering how he stared out the door several times a day. She’d do anything to ease his inner torment.

  She bowed her head into her hands. I will go back if that’s what he wants, but You’ll have to give me the strength and wisdom to endure.

  It was two more days before she said anything to Kingston about her decision—two days in which she struggled with her reluctance—but finally she couldn’t bear his staring out the door any longer.

  She joined him in the open doorway, leaning against his side. He slid his hand around her shoulders.

  “Why don’t you go back and make your peace?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I know you’re missing the farm, and you’re concerned about the family. Why don’t you go over there and talk to your dad?” She filled her lungs with courage-giving air. “If you want to return, I’ll pack up and go with you.”

  “Thank you, sweet brown eyes.” He turned, pulling her into his arms. “But it’s too soon.”

  She tipped her head back so she could look into his face. “What do you mean, too soon?”

  He tweaked her nose. “I know my father. He has to get a lot lower before he’s ready to accept what I have to say to him.”

  “What do you have to say to him?”

  He looked past her. “I’m not sure. Which is funny because I have lots I’d like to say. Things I’d like to ask.”

  “Like what?”

  “Why does nothing I do ever satisfy him?” He sighed. “It’s always been the same. I learned to keep one eye on him and be ready to duck. He’d send me for something. ‘Go get the pipe wrench,’ or ‘Change the wheel on that cart.’ I had no idea what he meant. He wouldn’t say. If I asked, he’d tell me how useless I was. But if I guessed wrong, he’d boot me.” Kingston’s arms tightened around her. “I hoped things would be better when I came back from the war. They weren’t.” He took a deep breath. “When I go back, it will be under my conditions. If he wants my help, I’ll tell him what I’m prepared to do. If he doesn’t”—his voice hardened—“there are still some things I’m prepared to do.”

  Maryelle nodd
ed. She knew he meant Angus.

  The next day she looked up to find two little girls standing outside the door. “Jeanie, Lily, how nice to see you. Come in.”

  Jeanie hung back uncertainly, but Lily bounded through the door. “This is your place?”

  “This is where we live. What do you think of it?”

  Jeanie stood in the doorway watching as Lily made a quick tour, opening cupboards, bouncing on the bed, peering at the pictures on top of the trunk. “I like it. Don’t you, Jeanie?”

  The older girl nodded. “It’s okay.”

  “How is everyone doing at home?”

  Lily plopped down in one of the rockers and pumped it back and forth. “Good.”

  Maryelle caught the troubled look in Jeanie’s face. “Jeanie, is everything all right?”

  “Lena cries.”

  “She does?” The news startled her. Lena didn’t seem the sort to cry, and she wondered if something had happened.

  “Mom said it was her fault you left. Was it?”

  “No, Jeanie, a lot of things happened, but it wasn’t Lena’s fault.”

  “I didn’t think so. I heard Katherine tell Lena if you came back, she would be nicer this time.”

  Maryelle nodded, glad some positive changes had taken place but wondering how they would translate into action if Kingston decided to return.

  Lily sprang from the chair. “We brought you something.” She raced past Jeanie and out to a spot on the grass where she picked up a small lidded basket and carried it back to the house.

  She set the basket in the middle of the floor and folded back the hinged lid. “See.”

  Maryelle looked inside. “A kitten. You brought me a kitten.” She pulled it out and rubbed her face against the soft fur. The kitten reached up two paws and pushed at her face. Maryelle laughed.

  “She’s for you.” Lily looked pleased with herself.

  Maryelle looked from one little girl to the other. “Are you sure you want to give her away?” Two little heads bobbed up and down.

  “Katherine says it’s the least we can do.” Jeanie looked thoughtful.