by Anita Mills
She came in with the enamelware coffeepot and stopped when she noticed him reading the embroidered words. “It seems like that was a whole lifetime ago,” she said softly. “I thought it’d be like that forever,”
“I guess we all believe that way.” He turned around, his face sober. “But some of us are just plain fools.”
“I loved Jesse, Dr. Hardin. That was the happiest day of my life.”
“I wasn’t talking about you—I was thinking of me.”
“It was a bad time to get married, right before the war like that, but we didn’t know then Lincoln would win, and North Carolina would secede. The Jesse I knew back then was the best man I ever met.”
“Yeah.”
“I guess war changes men sometimes,” she added sadly. ‘They seem to come back harder than they went in.”
“Yeah.”
Recovering, she carried the pot to the table and filled both cups before she sat down. “Your coffee’s ready.”
“Thanks,” he murmured, taking a seat across from her. For a moment, he stared into the rich, brown liquid pensively, then recovered. “It wasn’t me who changed.”
“You sound like Jesse. He always said he came back to a different woman than the one he’d left behind. Maybe that was true, but I don’t know. Maybe being alone all that time, sitting at home, waiting for both of them to come home, I got used to doing for myself like he said, but I don’t think so. I mean, I’d always had to look after things as far back as I can remember. No, it was him that changed,” she said positively. “Before the war, we’d always dreamed together.”
“And after?”
“He’d been dreaming alone all that time he was gone, and he had it set in his mind what I wanted.” She took a sip from the steaming cup, then set it down. “And he was going to give it to me, no matter how many times I tried to set him straight.”
There was a wistfulness in her voice that touched him more than her words. “Sometimes it’s hard to know what’s in someone else’s mind.”
“Yes.” Her chin came up. “Yes, it is. I thought I could read Jesse’s like it was a book. When he came back, I couldn’t do that anymore, and it hurt. I liked what I had, Dr. Hardin—I didn’t want to come out here.”
“I sort of figured that out.”
“But I am here, so I’ve got to make the best of what I’ve got. Otherwise, I’d just drive myself crazy wanting what I can’t have.”
“Which is?”
“My home back. Danny. Jesse the way he was before the war. They’re all gone now. All that’s left is me and this baby.” Recovering, she leaned back in her chair. “I guess I sound pretty sorry for myself, but I’m not. Mama always used to say the Lord doesn’t give us anything He knows we can’t handle.” Forcing a smile, she looked him in the eye. “She also liked to say life’s what you make of it, not what you’re given. If she was right about that, then I’m going to do all right. I never was one to complain about anything I thought I could change.”
“I’d” change a lot of things if I could.”
“Maybe you just think you would,” she murmured, sipping her coffee again.
“Well, I won’t let another woman make a fool of me, that’s for damned sure. Once burned, twice shy, as they say.”
She eyed him curiously, wondering how a man like him had become so soured on his life. “Well, I wasn’t exactly burned, but I don’t think I’ll ever want another husband. Not that anybody out here wants to believe that. They all seem to think that widowhood is an unnatural condition, you know.”
“You’ve got admirers, I take it?”
“I’ve got a lot of idiots who ought to know better,” she retorted. “I’d like to get a mirror for all of them, too. I don’t know what there is about a man that makes him think a flea-bitten, louse-infested fellow who doesn’t even know what a bathtub’s for is a prime catch for a woman. And they aren’t particular the other way, either—I could be cross-eyed, bucktoothed, stringy-haired, knock-kneed, and nigh to ninety, and it wouldn’t make much difference to any of them, as long as I was interested in marrying. You’ve got no notion of how it is out here, Dr. Hardin,” she declared with feeling. had to quit offering haircuts, because the money wasn’t worth the importunity.”
“You’re a pretty woman.”
“In this condition? I doubt that very much.”
“You are.”
“Well, I don’t feel it, and I don’t want to be, anyway. If I had two wishes in this world, it’d be a healthy baby and a chance to raise him in peace. If I had ten choices, none of them would be a man right now.”
“I never met a woman who didn’t want to live off a man.”
“I’m not a leech.”
“No, you’re not. You’re a remarkable woman.”
“No.” Leaning across the table, she refilled his cup, then stood up. “You’re welcome to sit a while, but I’ve got washing to finish.” For a moment, she allowed her expression to soften. “I must sound like a real harridan, I know, but I’ve let myself get behind. I am glad to see you, Dr. Hardin. I’m not too blind to know I owe you a lot”
“I’ll make do with supper,” he murmured.
“Well, to tide you over, you’d better eat some of that bread and jam you haven’t touched yet.”
When she came back nearly two hours later, he was asleep in her daddy’s old rocker, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his head resting on the broad back of the chair. Tiptoeing closer, she reached to touch the thick black hair.
“Dr. Hardin…?” she said softly.
Asleep, he’d lost his harshness, making him look years younger, more like the twenty-eight years he claimed. There was no question that he was a handsome man. This time, she shook him gently. “Dr. Hardin, you’ll get a crick in your neck like that,” she told him.
It was no use—he was dead to the world. Feeling sorry for him, she rolled up a towel and eased it beneath his head, then went to the kitchen corner to’ peel potatoes for supper.
He was just plain exhausted, she decided. It .made her wonder how far he’d actually gotten before the snow stopped him. What a bitter pill that surely must have been for him to swallow. How terribly hard to turn back. He’d wanted to find that little boy so much, and now he had a long winter to wait before he could try again. It just wasn’t right.
She still didn’t know what his wife had done, but whatever it was, it’d left him a bitter, disillusioned man. As her knife circled the potato, making a ribbon of the peel, she knew his wounds were as deep as hers. And it was going to take more than a winter to heal them.
He awoke to find the room almost dark, and the smell of onions in the air. Sitting up, he twisted his head, trying to ease his stiff neck, and he saw that she had a fire going in the hearth. A big black kettle hung from a hook above the flames, and a heavy Dutch oven rested on a flat rock at the corner of the fire pit Passing a hand over his eyes, he asked, “What time is it?”
“Good—you’re awake. It’s six-thirty, and I was beginning to be afraid the cornbread would burn waiting for you.”
“I didn’t mean to nod off,”
“Well, if you hadn’t needed to, you wouldn’t have.”
“You’ve got an answer for just about everything, don’t you?”
“I thought you might wake up cranky,” she murmured, taking the Dutch oven from the hearth.
“I’m not cranky,” he muttered.
“No? Then I guess I’m just mistaken. Anyway, if you want to wash up before you eat, the water bucket’s right outside the door.”
“Thanks. I thought I smelled onions.”
“I made potato soup.”
“Potato soup and cornbread. I ate a lot of that back in Missouri, and I always liked it.”
“Oh? I thought you were Georgia born and bred.” “No. We moved there when I was nine. My stepfather was the Georgian.”
“And he was the preacher.”
“Yeah.�
�� With an effort, he forced his tired body from the rocking chair and headed outside.
“The privy’s around back,” she told him from the door. “Mr. Hawthorne sent some Chinese up to dig it for me.”
When he came back in, he looked as if he’d poured the bucket over his head, she decided as she dipped the soup from the kettle into the bowls. Carrying them, she met him at the table. “Go ahead—I forgot the butter.”
“Do you mind if I crumble the cornbread into my soup?” he asked. “I know it’s not mannerly, but I like it that way.”
“Suit yourself,” she said, setting the butter plate m front of him.
He ate with gusto, wolfing down three bowls of exceptionally good potato soup, while she toyed with hers, and he realized she was watching him. “Sorry,” he apologized sheepishly. “I’ve been living on hard tack and jerky most of the month since I left.”
“I figured you liked the food.”
“Ummm—very much.”
“I’m not going to clear the dishes yet. I’ve still got clothes to take down before the dew makes them damp again.”
“Need any help?”
“Well, it d be nice—I mean, I could use the company.”
The whole sky was ablaze in hues of orange, pink, and a hazy purple as he looked across the rocky yard. It was the sort of sunset that took one’s breath away just to look at it. Laura Taylor stopped walking to follow his rapt gaze. “Yes, it is beautiful, isn’t it?” she said softly. “God’s paintbrush, Mama used to call a sky like this.”
“Yeah,”
There was a crisp chill in the air now, and the smoke from the chimney wafted overhead, adding the warm smell of burning wood to the world. Down the hill, the white canvas tents took on a surreal look under that awesome sky. Spence took a deep breath, drawing in the autumn air, savoring it. A full stomach, a night like this—that was the way a man was supposed to live. Then he caught himself.
“Which end do you want to take?” he asked her, looking toward the long clothesline.
“You don’t have to help—it’s too pretty an evening to spend taking down laundry if you don’t have to.”
He spied the big woven baskets. “Tell you what—you just sit down, and I’ll get the clothes. I need to work off some of that supper, or I’ll be too full to sleep. Go on, he said, turning her back toward the house.
The sweet smell of cloth dried in the sun brought back memories of another time, when he’d lived in Missouri with his mother after his father died. It’d been a hard time for her until Bingham came along, but he could remember following her down that old gray clothesline, holding the basket while she put the clean clothes in it. It hadn’t been the same in Georgia, where he’d watched the slaves do the task.
Hefting the heavy basket, he headed back toward the cabin. Laura’d brought two chairs from the house outside, and she sat facing the camp, looking out into the beautiful, darkening sky. Overhead, the moon gazed down benevolently, barely veiled by floating skiffs of clouds. Silhouetted against that sky, she was a picture to carry in the mind, her face mirroring the beauty of the place, her hands placidly resting on the mound that held her child. And he couldn’t help admiring her, thinking she was truly an extraordinary woman.
“I thought you might want to sit out a spell.”
“Yeah.”
The night sounds of an Indian summer carried on the air like a lullaby, while the lanterns in the camp below glowed like lightning bugs in a Georgia swamp, gaining brightness as the sun sank deeper into night. Sitting there in silence, Spence realized it was the most peace he’d known in a long, long time.
“I come out here every night it’s warm enough,” Laura said, her voice low.
“I can see why.”
“I expect I’d better go in, she said finally. “I’ve got all that ironing to do tomorrow.” When he said nothing, she turned to him. “Did you find yourself a place to stay in camp?”
“No.” In the moonlight, he could see her moon reflected in her widening eyes. “I’ve been sitting here, thinking some.”
“Oh?” she asked cautiously.
“Yeah. A woman in your condition needs a man around, and…” He could sense her stiffening beside him, but he plunged ahead. “I’m not talking an impropriety, you understand, just an arrangement that’d benefit both of us.”
“Oh, I don’t…like how?” she managed to ask.
“I don’t think Jesse’d like to see you taking in laundry, and—”
“Then he should’ve thought of that before he brought me out here,” she cut in.
“I was just wondering how you’d feel about taking in a boarder for the winter,” he went on. “I’d pay you for cooking and cleaning, and you wouldn’t be out here hanging clothes in the dead of winter. And you wouldn’t be alone if there was any trouble with the baby—you’d have someone here.”
“I see.”
He could tell she wasn’t exactly enthusiastic. “Look—I’m not looking for another wife, and you say you don’t want another husband. The next hard-case that comes up that hill to court you won’t get past me. All I want is a place to stay, and I’ll move on next May.”
“There’s only one room—and one bed, Dr. Hardin.”
“I’ve got a bedroll—all I need is a place to put it. And we can figure out a way to divide the room.”
“Well,” she mused slowly, “I sure never expected anything like this to come up. I don’t expect anybody’d think much about you staying here, but there’d sure be some talk about me.”
“I’d be a boarder, nothing more.”
“Nobody looking at you would think that—they just wouldn’t.”
“Why not?”
“You’re a very handsome man. I’d be the widow trying to trap you.”
“I’m not trappable. Hell will freeze solid before I go looking for another wife.”
“Oh, I understand that. And if I learned one thing after Jesse came back, it was that I’d become too sure of myself to suit either of us. I don’t want another husband, Dr. Hardin, and I probably never will. I loved Jesse, but I wanted my say-so, too, and he couldn’t see why. A man and a woman have to pull together to get anywhere, and I don’t aim to be the only ox in the yoke while my husband cracks the whip.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard matrimony put in those terms,” he admitted.
“That’s what I mean. None of you understand.”
“But I suppose you’ve got a point about the talk,” he conceded, heaving himself out of the chair. “Maybe we can make some arrangement for meals, and I’ll see if I can get a place down there to sleep.”
“I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings.”
“No. It was a selfish, idiotic idea, anyway. I don’t even know where it came from. I was just sitting there, thinking how peaceful it was up here, that’s all. I just didn’t think about the consequences for you, and I’m sorry.”
He’d started for the cabin, probably to get his gun belt, and when he came out, she knew he’d be going. She sat very still, trying to figure out if it would work.
Sure enough, he came out strapping his gun to his hip. As he walked toward the place where Dolly grazed with the chestnut and the mule, she heard herself call out, “Wait…” As he turned around, the moon glittered in those blue eyes, making them look like steel. “That is…how much money are you talking about?—for room and board, I mean.”
“How much do you make doing dirty laundry?”
“Oh—now, that’d be too much!”
“How much?”
“Well, it varies, but last week I took in fifteen dollars. That’d be sixty for the month, and I wouldn’t pay that to stay with the queen of England,” she declared flatly. “And all I’ve got is half a room, anyway.”
He let out a low whistle. “You get fifteen dollars a week for doing laundry?”
“Well, I expect a decline in that now that you’re here,” she admitted frankly. “I thi
nk some of them just bring up their clothes so they can make eyes at me. I imagine your being here will discourage a lot of that.”
“I could probably manage to pay twenty or twenty-five a month, considering the meals.”
Now that she’d made up her mind, she couldn’t help smiling at him. don’t suppose you’d consider doing laundry, would you?”
“Only as the absolute last resort to keep from starving. But maybe with the board money, you could hire somebody.” Coming over to pick up his chair, he studied her face through the darkness. “What made you change your mind?”
“With you around, I’ll have somebody to talk to besides myself. I figure when a norther hits, and they say you can count on at least one every winter, we’ll need the company.”
Spence had seen slaves under the whip who .couldn’t work as hard as Laura Taylor. And it didn’t seem to make any difference what she tackled. She could study something, then figure out a way to do it, whether it was patching the wall, evening the floor, or sending a bucket of wet laundry over a pulley next to the clothesline. In the week he’d been living in her cabin, his admiration of her had grown by the day.
And her Creator had certainly endowed her with an indomitable spirit. She was totally unwilling to give up on anything until she’d given it her all. He was beginning to think there wasn’t anything she couldn’t do, even though he knew it sounded ridiculous to say it. He’d thought he was doing her some sort of favor by staying there, but he was beginning to think she didn’t need him.
She looked up from the table where she’d been counting her money. “Is something the matter?”
“No. I was thinking about getting a job with the railroad.”
“They’ve got a doctor.”
“I hear they might be hiring more men on the repair track.”
“The rep track? It’s hard, dirty work—a lot worse than washing clothes.” Holding up the money jar, she said, “There’s twenty dollars in here and another fourteen on the table.” Stuffing the new money in with the rest, she added, “You’ve got too much education to work the rep track, Dr. Hardin.”
“Hard work never hurt anyone. If it did, you’d be dead.”