Maryelle

by Linda Ford

  Maryelle knew at once that Jeanie was well aware of the undercurrents in the family. “Thank you both, and be sure to thank Katherine for me.”

  “You gonna give her a name?” Lily asked.

  “I suppose I should. Unless she already has one.”

  Lily smiled. “I called her Rags.”

  “Rags. What an interesting name. Why did you call her that?”

  “’Cause her fur is all mixed up like a bunch of rags.”

  Maryelle laughed at the description of the calico-colored kitten. “Rags it is then.” She set the kitten in the basket. “We’d better close the lid so she doesn’t get lost. It will take her a day or two to learn her way about. Now do you two want to go with me to find Kingston?”

  “Yes!” Lily jumped up and down, speaking for both of them.

  Maryelle went with them to find Kingston in the barn, fixing the frame of a small window. Grandpa Wells happily sorted a bucket of nails into smaller containers.

  Kingston, looking up at her approach, saw his younger sisters and strode toward them. Lily jumped up into his arms. When Jeanie held back, he bent down and lifted her too, hugging them both and kissing their heads. “I have missed you two so much.”

  Lily buried her face against his neck. “You smell hot.”

  Jeanie clung to him.

  Kingston lowered them to the ground. “Now tell me you two haven’t run away from home.”

  Lily giggled and shook her head.

  Jeanie frowned. “Of course not.”

  “Good. And how are Mom and Katherine and Lena?”

  Jeanie said the same thing she’d said to Maryelle. “Lena cries a lot.”

  Kingston looked surprised. “Why does she cry?”

  Jeanie stood still, ignoring the excited jumping about of her younger sister. “Mom says she’s sad.”

  “Well, I hope she’s finished being sad real soon.”

  Jeanie nodded.

  “And Angus?”

  Jeanie’s eyes grew dark. “He hides.”

  Lily nodded. “He comes to my playhouse with me.”

  The muscles along Kingston’s jaw bulged. He looked from one little girl to the other, then addressed Jeanie. “What do you mean, he hides? Does he hide all the time or what?”

  “Only sometimes after supper.”

  He met Maryelle’s eyes for a moment, then turned back to his sisters. “How would you like to have a glass of milk and some cookies Maryelle made?”

  “Yes, please,” they chorused.

  After the girls had their milk and cookies and departed with the now-empty basket, leaving Rags in Maryelle’s care, she turned to Kingston. “Is it time yet?”

  He shook his head, his eyes dark and stormy. “Not yet.”

  “I don’t understand. How will you know when it’s time?”

  “I’ll know.”

  They settled into a comfortable routine in their new surroundings. The days slipped by as Kingston did repairs and helped Mr. Wells with the garden and chores.

  The much needed rain came, and the garden and crops thrived.

  Under the patient direction of Grandma Wells, Maryelle learned how to can the generous bounty of the garden.

  The little girls came to visit several more times. Each time they left, Kingston would stare after them, his expression thoughtful.

  Each time Maryelle would ask, “Is it time?”

  And he shook his head and answered, “Not yet.”

  She didn’t know what he waited for, but she welcomed the delay. These days together were idyllic, and she didn’t want them to end. She knew they would if Kingston made peace with his father and wanted to move back to the farm.

  The morning was sweet with the smell of ripe raspberries. The sky was cloudless blue, promising a warm day. Rags, having learned this was her home, sat on the step, washing herself in the sun.

  “Good-for-nothing cat,” Kingston growled.

  Maryelle smiled at his teasing. “If you don’t have a cat, you’ll have mice.”

  “You gonna try to tell me that itty bitty thing is going to catch a mouse?” he jeered. “The way you feed her morsels from the table? Not a chance. She’s already too spoiled to want to make the effort.”

  Maryelle grimaced. “The poor baby is hardly big enough to hunt. Give her time.”

  “She’ll never be anything but a lap cat. Just like Sheba.”

  She drew herself up to her full height and planted her hands on her hips. “Sheba caught many mice in her prime, I’ll have you know. Dad always said he hadn’t seen a mouse in the shop from the day we got her.”

  He rolled his eyes.

  She was about to say something silly when a figure crashed through the trees next to the house. “Someone’s coming.”

  Kingston jerked around. “Angus.”

  They were both on their feet, dashing for the door.

  Angus stumbled, caught a bush to slow himself, and swayed as Kingston bounded to his side, Maryelle hard on his heels. She gasped at the sight of him—a huge welt beside his eye, his lips pouring out blood, tears and blood mingled together dripping from his chin.

  “Bring him inside,” she ordered.

  Kingston led the boy to a rocker and pushed him down.

  Maryelle grabbed a basin of water and a clean rag and knelt at his side; but when she reached out her hand to sponge his face, he shrank back.

  “It’s all right,” she murmured. “I won’t hurt you. I only want to clean up your face.”

  His eyes round with fear, he let her sponge away the blood and dirt.

  Maryelle bit down hard to keep from saying something about the bruises.

  Kingston ground out the words. “Angus, what happened?”

  Angus lifted tortured eyes to his brother. A sob caught in his throat. “I did what you said. I pretended I wasn’t afraid. I said, ‘I’m not afraid of you. You can’t hurt me.’ ” His voice dropped to a whisper.

  Kingston groaned. “I only meant you shouldn’t let him make you afraid inside. Challenging him like that was like waving a red flag in front of him.” He slammed a fist into his palm and muttered, “It’s time.” He strode for the door, pausing to speak to Angus. “You stay here with Maryelle. I’m going to see our father.”

  He jumped off the step, grabbed a thick branch off the ground, and slammed it against a tree. “It’s time!” he shouted, swinging the club as he strode toward the farm.

  Maryelle’s heart thudded like a galloping horse as she stared after him.

  Angus’s moaning drew her attention back to him.

  Rags trotted into the house and, seeing a lap waiting, jumped to Angus’s knee. Angus cradled the kitten to his chest, his eyes shining with tears.

  She studied his bruised face and thought she detected dark hollows under his eyes, evidence of many days of strain. “You look about all in. Why don’t you lie down and rest?”

  His gaze strayed to the bed, but all he did was tighten up into a little ball.

  “Go ahead. Looks like Rags would be glad to keep you company.”

  He wrapped his arms protectively around the kitten.

  “You’ll have the place to yourself. I’ll be outside picking raspberries.”

  Finally he kicked off his boots and dropped to the bed, Rags cradled in the crook of his arm.

  She slipped out, pulling the door partway shut.

  Although there were berries to be picked, she didn’t go to the raspberry bushes. Instead she stood at the far tree, staring in the direction of the farm, praying Kingston would be safe.

  She pressed her fist to her mouth, determined not to cry. She had never been so afraid, not even during the war when a zeppelin had flown over London. Not even when Kingston had gone to the front lines.

  She had seen this enemy. She had tasted her own fear.

  She returned to check on Angus. He’d fallen into an uneasy sleep from which he occasionally cried out. She pulled a quilt over his shoulders and went back out. Her restlessness would not be cured
until Kingston returned.

  Finally he crested the hill, too far away for her to see his face. As she ran toward him, a sob caught in the back of her throat.

  “Kingston, are you all right?”

  He smiled down at her, then draped his arm around her shoulder. “I’m just fine. How’s Angus?”

  “Sound asleep with Rags curled up in his arms.”

  “Best thing for the boy.” He glanced down at her. “Do you mind if he stays with us a few days?”

  “Of course I don’t mind.” She pulled away from his grasp and gave him a hard look. “But you better tell me what happened over there.” She ran her gaze down his full length, then checked behind him. “You didn’t hit him, did you?”

  Kingston snorted. “I’ve never hit him in my life. I don’t intend to start now.”

  “You roared out of here in such a rage, that huge stick in your hand. I feared you would strike him.”

  Kingston pulled her back to his side. “Mom was waiting for me when I got there and insisted she was going with me. I was concerned about that. I didn’t need anything to fuel Dad’s anger. She said she would stay out of the way until I said my piece, but she wanted to say something too and said she needed me there to give her strength.” Kingston stopped walking.

  Maryelle knew he was mentally back at the farm, reliving the whole thing.

  “I found him beating the rake to bits with a sledge hammer.”

  She gasped. “He didn’t come after you, did he?”

  “No. I wouldn’t have let him. I told him to put the sledge down so we could talk. He swung it a few more times to let me know who was boss, then muttered something about ‘that’s done’ and wiped his brow, making a big show of how hard he’d been working. Truth was, he was only venting his rage.

  “He turned to me and said, ‘I suppose that young pup has gone whimpering to you.’

  “I didn’t even bother answering. I said, ‘I told you if you ever hit Angus again, you’d have me to deal with and I meant it.’

  “He glowered at me, but I paid never mind.

  “Angus will be staying with me, I told him, until we can work out some agreement.

  “He started muttering about the boy being underage and I’d better watch myself if I thought I could interfere with a father’s discipline. I was about to tell him I didn’t care about any of that when Mom stepped forward practically toe to toe with him. Bold as can be. She said, ‘I lost one boy to your fearsome behavior. I’ll not be losing another. You do whatever Kingston asks. I want Angus back here. And I want him safe.’

  “He stared at her so hard I thought his eyes would explode out of his head.” Kingston laughed. “In all my life I’ve never seen Mom stand up to Dad. But I’m telling you, when she finally got up the guts to do it, she did it right proud.”

  “About time, I’d say.” Maryelle couldn’t help thinking it was too bad she hadn’t stepped in on Kingston’s behalf.

  “Better late than never.” His voice deepened. “Maybe it will do some good for Angus.”

  “But then what happened?” Nothing had been resolved. Just a lot of words exchanged.

  “That was it. I said Angus would be here and I’d be waiting for Dad to make up his mind that Angus would go home on my terms, not his.”

  “Well.” Maryelle stopped dead and pulled away. “I guess that means Angus is about to become a permanent guest.”

  He stared at her, a puzzled look on his face. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because I can’t see your father changing.”

  “Ah. But you forget something. He now has no sons there to help him, and there’s a pile of work to be done. There’s more hay to cut and stack, and soon enough it will be time to harvest the grain. Don’t think that won’t occur to him. You wait and see. He’ll be marching down the road soon enough, begging us all to come home.”

  Maryelle turned away. No doubt Kingston was right, but the thought of returning gave her no pleasure. No pleasure at all.

  They made a bed for Angus in the little shop behind their house. He took his meals with them and followed Kingston around all day, helping with repairs.

  “I don’t see any reason not to cut that stand of hay behind the corrals,” Kingston said.

  They were gathered in the bigger house having a midmorning break.

  Grandma Wells nodded. “What do you think, Wes?”

  “Sounds fine. Just fine.” He downed the last of his tea in one gulp and stood. “Let’s get at it.” He tromped out. Kingston and Angus trailed after him.

  “That young man is looking happier every day,” Grandma commented. “Why, I believe I saw him smile this morning.”

  Maryelle agreed. “He no longer ducks his head every time I look at him.”

  “It’s good for him to be with you and Kingston.”

  “Seems to be.” She watched the men checking over the ancient equipment Grandpa owned. It was fourteen days since Angus had staggered in, his face bleeding and his heart about to burst. Fourteen days and not a word from Father Brown. Perhaps her prediction would prove correct. Not that she didn’t like Angus, but she missed having Kingston to herself. Seemed now he was always busy talking to Angus or playing catch with him or something.

  Grandma patted her hand. “It’s a hard time for you, but don’t forget God is working things out. He sees your need as well as He sees what Angus needs. You wait and be patient. Your father-in-law will be coming round soon enough.”

  That evening Kingston and Angus played another game of catch.

  Angus threw the ball harder than usual, and Kingston missed it, grumbling at the way his younger brother made him work so hard.

  Angus laughed out loud.

  Maryelle stared at the boy. It was the first time she’d heard him laugh—a laugh that sounded much like Kingston’s.

  At fifteen, she had laughed about everything. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be afraid to laugh. She was suddenly ashamed of her eagerness to see the boy sent home.

  She went outside. “Come on, Angus. I’ll help you. Sort of even out the balance.”

  Angus stopped. His smile disappeared, but she grabbed the ball from his hands and raced away. “Move out, Angus. We’ll outfox him. Come on, Kingston. See if you can get the ball from us.”

  Angus backed away, leaving Kingston in the open. Kingston dove at Maryelle, but she chucked the ball at Angus. Kingston turned abruptly and made a leap for Angus. Maryelle tackled Kingston from behind, bringing him to the ground.

  Angus pointed and jeered. “You fell like a rock.” He laughed. “The bigger they are, the harder they fall.” He pranced up and down, laughing.

  Kingston sat back on his heels, grinning at the boy. He met Maryelle’s gaze. She knew how much pleasure he got from seeing his brother laugh. It sounded good, she admitted. And it felt good to have had a part in changing this boy from a somber, fearful lad to this boisterous, laughing one.

  Kingston pulled her to his side. “I wonder how long it’s been since he’s felt free to laugh?”

  “No matter how long it’s been, it’s too long. When I think how much I laughed at his age.” She shook her head.

  “What are you two whispering about?” Angus demanded.

  “None of your beeswax.” Kingston jerked his head away in a dismissive gesture.

  “You think not? Well, I’m about to make it my business.” He raced around the pair of them and grabbed Kingston from behind.

  Maryelle jumped out of the way as Kingston pulled the boy over his head and the two tussled on the ground, grunting and laughing.

  Finally Kingston pinned the younger boy to the ground. “You are getting too big for your britches, young one. You be careful, or I’ll have to turn you over my knee.”

  Angus sobered.

  Kingston stood, pulling him to his feet. “Angus.” His voice was full of misery. “I was only teasing. I would never hit you. You know that.”

  Angus nodded. “How long before he makes me go home?�
��

  “Angus, I promise you aren’t going home until I have a few promises from Dad. Promises that I will make certain he keeps.” His expression grew hard. “I have a few aces up my sleeve yet. So don’t you be worrying.”

  He draped one arm around his younger brother’s shoulders and pulled Maryelle close on his other side. “Now how about some milk and cookies before we go to bed?”

  Two days later, Maryelle glanced up to see Katherine standing a few feet from the house.

  “Hello, Katherine. Come in and visit.” She hoped she had successfully disguised her surprise. Her mouth grew dry as she thought of the possible reasons for this visit.

  11

  “Is there anything the matter?” she asked the girl.

  Katherine stepped a little closer. “I have a message for Kingston.”

  “Come in and sit while I get him.” She waved toward a chair and smiled as the girl entered the room, walking as if stepping on eggs. “Kingston is out back. I’ll call him.” She leaned out the window. “Kingston, Katherine’s here to see you.” He thrust his head out from under a branch he’d been trimming, his eyes wide with curiosity. A few feet away, Angus poked his head out, the fear in his eyes as plain to see as the pine needles stuck in his hair. “Come on in. I’ll set out some cookies.”

  And so the four of them sat around the table, as awkward as strangers sharing a table on the train.

  “Dad said he wants you to come home.” Katherine kept her face averted.

  “That all he said?” Kingston asked.

  “What he said was, ‘Go tell your brother to get on home.’ ”

  She shrugged. “Guess he never even said which brother.” Her glance darted to Angus. “I thought he meant you.” She turned back to Kingston. “I suppose you should come too.”

  Kingston held up a hand. “I’ll go. Angus, you stay here until I talk to Dad. Come on, Katherine.” He hesitated. “Unless you want to stay and visit.”

  “Please do,” Maryelle begged. “I’d like that.” Perhaps she and Katherine could learn to be friends if Lena was absent.

  Katherine nodded.

  “I’ll be back soon.” Kingston kissed Maryelle. Rags bounded in as he left.