Season Of Hope

by Cox, Carol

  She didn’t whine, either. He chuckled ruefully, remembering the way she’d lit into him, even though her head must have hurt like anything after that whack she gave it. He admired that kind of grit and determination, and she’d need every bit of it if she truly planned to make a go of this place.

  He stared after Rachel’s retreating figure, growing smaller in the distance. When he’d made the offer to help out, he wasn’t sure whether she’d accept or throw him off the place. He was beginning to be glad she had taken him up on it. She might not be a delicate beauty like her sister, but she was one very intriguing woman, this Rachel Canfield.

  four

  Rachel gave the clothes in the washtub a final stir, then straightened, pressing her fingers into the small of her back. She swiped at the dampness on her forehead with the back of her wrist and shook her head wearily. This time of year, a body expected crisp fall weather, not temperatures nearly as warm as summertime.

  She rolled up her sleeves and set the washboard in place, preparing to give their clothes a good scrubbing. It galled her to lose the time she should be spending in the field to this chore, but it couldn’t be helped. She ignored the laundry as long as she could, and the only relatively clean clothes she and Violet owned consisted of the ones they stood up in. Violet generously offered to do the wash, but they both knew she didn’t have the stamina to carry out the strenuous chore. Rachel set her to mending instead.

  No wonder Pa left the farm solely to Rachel. He knew that, try as she might, Violet would never have the staying power needed for the outdoor work. Even the heavier indoor chores sometimes taxed her delicate strength.

  Over a year ago, Pa shared his misgivings with Rachel when she took him a cold drink in the field one midsummer morning. “I may have made a mistake bringing your sister out here,” he’d said, rubbing his hand across his forehead the way he did when a decision faced him and he couldn’t make up his mind. “The way things were back in Missouri, it seemed like the right thing to do.”

  He tilted his hat back and mopped his lined forehead, squinting at the cloudless summer sky. “Even with the war being over for more than a decade, folks still held so much hatred and bitterness in their hearts. Fellas would have come crowding around you girls one day, and I didn’t like the looks of any I saw. Didn’t know if I could trust a one of them. Out here,” his gesture encompassed a region far broader than the farm they’d carved from the forest, “it didn’t matter so much which side a man had fought on. Politics didn’t amount to much. What counted was what he’d made of himself since then. I wanted you two to have a real choice when the time came. When the fever came and took your ma, I figured it was a good time to move on and make a new start.”

  Rachel nodded soberly, remembering the dark days of her mother’s death. “You were right to do it, Pa.” The words came out in a whisper. “Coming out here helped us all.”

  He flashed her a quick smile of gratitude before his face grew thoughtful again. “I’m not so sure about Violet. She’s frail, like your mother. I should have seen that in her before we left home, I guess, but I thought she’d grow strong out here.” He shook his head slowly. “When it comes time for her to think about a husband, we’ll have to make sure she gets the right one. She’s going to need a town man, Rachel. Violet isn’t like you; she’ll never make a farm wife.” His eyes lit up again, and he looked at his older daughter with pride.

  Rachel relived that moment, remembering how proud she’d been of his accolade. Looking around her now at the tub of clothes still awaiting her attention, the corn yet unharvested in the field, and the kitchen garden in need of weeding, her heart sank. What would he think now, to see the myriad chores still left undone? She closed her eyes, ready to admit defeat, then she raised her chin and squared her shoulders. Pa had believed in her. Somehow she’d find the strength to make a go of the place he’d worked so hard to build. She wouldn’t let him down.

  She reached for the washboard once more, then paused when she noticed the buggy out on the road. She puffed out an impatient sigh. With all the work ahead of her today, she just didn’t have time for company. She watched the buggy, hoping it would pass by and continue on toward Jeb McCurdy’s. Instead, it slowed and turned in to her place.

  Rachel smoothed back the strands of hair that had fallen loose from her bun and pasted on a smile. Maybe she could get rid of whoever it was before they wasted too much of her time. With the sun in her eyes, she couldn’t see more than just a silhouette stepping down and walking toward her. She shaded her eyes with her hand, and the smile froze on her face when she recognized Hiram Bradshaw.

  “What are you doing out here?” she demanded, dropping all pretense at a cordial welcome.

  Unabashed, Hiram strode toward her like he owned the place already, stopping only a foot away from where she stood. His bold gaze moved over her from head to toe and back again, and his knowing smirk made gooseflesh prickle all up and down Rachel’s arms. If Daniel had been around, she would have hollered for him, pride or no pride, but he had left earlier to make another delivery to Fort Whipple.

  With an uneasy glance toward the house, she considered her options. A cry of alarm would bring Violet outside in a hurry, but she couldn’t bring herself to subject her gentle sister to Hiram’s ugly leer. She would just have to brazen it out and get rid of the man as soon as she possibly could.

  Hiram rocked back on his heels and regarded her thoughtfully. “You’re looking right pretty today, Rachel. A trifle tired, maybe, but pretty, all the same.”

  Rachel stood her ground, determined not to give way before his insolent stare. She lifted her chin. “I asked you what you were doing here.”

  “Not very friendly today, are you?” Hiram’s thin lips drew back in a grin. “I had some business out this way, so I decided to stop by and visit a bit.” He studied the house and the outbuildings. “I’d forgotten just how nice a setup you have here. Old Ike knew how to do well for himself, and that’s a fact.”

  “I don’t have time for small talk,” Rachel told him, trying to keep her voice steady. “I have chores to do, so if you’ll excuse me. . .”

  Hiram didn’t take the hint. He stood squarely in front of the washtub, just where Rachel needed to be. She crossed her arms to give herself some measure of comfort. She could no more force herself to move that close to Hiram than she could pet a rattlesnake. Well, if he felt inclined to take up space there, she had a hundred other things to do. Without a word, she spun on her heel and set off in the direction of the barn with Hiram dogging her heels.

  Rachel fumed and blinked back angry tears. He had no right to be there, none at all. If it hadn’t been for his inflexible position on their loan, she and Violet wouldn’t be working like slaves trying to bring the harvest in with only Daniel’s help.

  His presence only intensified the desperation that gnawed at her night and day. If she had the strength to throw the man off her property by brute force, she would. Failing that, she would just have to maintain her composure and wait until he tired of his game of cat and mouse and decided to leave.

  Whatever she did, she mustn’t show fear. That would only serve to fuel the flames of Hiram’s bullying ways. A demeanor impervious to his provocative jibes was her only hope of protection.

  In the barn, she forked hay to the milk cow, all the while keeping a wary eye on Hiram, who leaned against the center post, content to watch her work. Rachel couldn’t help but compare his behavior with Daniel’s. Daniel didn’t try to stop her from working alongside him—as if he could! she told herself with a sniff—but he would never stand by and watch her labor alone.

  A jumble of garden tools lay heaped in a corner near the wide door. Violet had neglected to return them to their proper places, she thought, pursing her lips in irritation. Not a surprising discovery, but definitely an annoyance. She bent to set the implements in some sort of order. Straightening up the hoes and shovels didn’t rank very high on her growing list of things to do, but it did have th
e advantage of keeping her busy and able to ignore Hiram.

  She picked up a three-pronged pitchfork. How did this one come to be in the pile with the tools from outside? It belonged up in the loft, ready to pitch hay down for the horses and cow. Rachel hefted it in one hand, hesitating at the thought of putting herself in a vulnerable position on the ladder or being cornered in the loft by Hiram.

  Then she eyed the fork’s sharp tines and grinned. She wouldn’t be all that vulnerable. It would serve him right to be on the receiving end of the keen-edged points. She mounted the ladder rungs and climbed upward, almost hoping he’d try something.

  Instead of pursuing her, Hiram began circling the interior of the barn, thumping the walls and trying to shake the uprights.

  “Good and solid,” he said with an approving smirk. “Nice to see it won’t need much work.”

  Rachel clamped her lips together and resisted the impulse to fling the pitchfork straight at him. She could always say she’d dropped it. She clambered back down, picked up the egg basket, and strode out the door toward the chicken coop. Normally, Violet took charge of the chickens, but the chore gave Rachel the opportunity to keep occupied and keep moving. . .away from Hiram.

  If only Daniel would come! He could set her free from her dilemma in short order. Her steps faltered when she realized the direction her thoughts had taken. When had she started looking to Daniel for protection? His only purpose in helping them was to repay the debt he felt he owed their father, nothing more. She couldn’t get used to the idea of having him around for long. He’d be gone as soon as the harvest ended.

  But the only reason she wanted him here today, her mind argued, was to get rid of Hiram. That didn’t mean she wished to pursue a more personal relationship with him, just that it would be nice to have some masculine strength available when she needed it. The kind of protection she’d always taken for granted when Pa was around. She didn’t need or want Daniel for anything more than that.

  No point in dwelling on such thoughts in any case, she thought drearily. Daniel wouldn’t be coming back any time soon.

  “How’s the harvest coming?”

  Lost in her thoughts, Rachel started at the grating sound of Hiram’s voice. “Fine,” she snapped and resumed her brisk strides toward the chicken coop. “You can see for yourself.” She nodded toward the cornfields off to her left where over half the crop had already been cut and delivered.

  Much to her relief, Hiram stopped and stood gazing across the land. With a renewed sense of freedom, she hurried to the coop. She set the basket down and used an old can to scoop cracked corn into her gathered apron. The hens followed her to the end of the chicken yard, clucking in anticipation, then diving after the yellow morsels when she scattered them on the ground.

  Rachel watched them bob their heads and peck at the kernels. “Eat hearty,” she told them. “You need to get lots of food so you can lay lots of eggs. You’re going to help me save the farm.” She stood a moment, smiling at their awkward antics. How long had it been since she’d taken the time to do anything more than run from one chore to the next?

  She shifted her gaze from the greedy birds to the hills around her. Their short-lived summer greenery had disappeared, to be replaced by the tawny tones of autumn. The fawn-colored grasses made a pleasing contrast with the muted green of the juniper trees. Rachel heaved a weary sigh. It seemed like ages since she’d had even a moment to appreciate the beauty of her surroundings, but she and Pa used to take time to enjoy the splendor of God’s creation regularly.

  She and Pa. The pain of his absence hit her afresh like the stab of a knife. They wouldn’t share any more times of wonder together, at least not this side of heaven. She gave her apron a final shake and went back to collect her basket. She would collect the eggs while the hens were off the nest and occupied with their food. Surely seeing all that potential income and thinking of the promise of more to come would help boost her spirits.

  It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dimness of the coop’s interior. The comforting smells of earth and straw filled her nostrils, bringing a renewed sense of well-being. With her every waking moment spent trying to find ways to stretch their meager funds, she had almost forgotten how much she enjoyed working with the animals. Their easy contentment served as a lesson in taking life as it came and not fretting over what might lie ahead.

  Once her eyes had adapted to the change in light, she scanned the nests and lifted the precious eggs into her basket one by one. Soft clucking sounds came from behind the corn bin, and she dropped to her knees to investigate. One of the hens huddled on a makeshift nest, watching Rachel with a baleful eye. Rachel clicked her tongue. Violet must have missed those eggs, and the biddy had decided to settle on the nest to hatch them.

  Rachel reconsidered her initial indignation at the loss of income from those eggs. They had a steady supply now. It wouldn’t hurt to have a new batch of hens coming up as replacement layers for the year ahead. She started to rise but stopped when she spotted an egg resting in a dark corner, then another. Finding every single egg could be something of a challenge, she admitted, reaching far beneath the roosts to extract the last one.

  She wrinkled her nose at its dusty appearance. Evidently Violet had missed it too, and for quite some time by the looks of it. She set it gingerly atop the pile, planning to bury it before she took the rest of her booty into the house.

  Grabbing the lid of the corn bin to help pull herself to her feet, she heard the door thump softly. “Thought I’d lost you.” Hiram’s voice came from directly behind her. She whirled, her heart pounding. How could she have forgotten his un-wanted presence?

  “Looks like you’ve been keeping right on top of things around here,” he conceded. “Must be awful hard for a couple of women alone to deal with, though. You really need a man around here to keep the place going.” He narrowed the gap between them to mere inches with one step.

  Rachel felt her throat tighten. She tried to step back, but her shoulders collided with the wall. “It’s time you left, Hiram,” she said, trying not to let her alarm show in her voice.

  “Remember the offer I made you the other day?” He leaned closer, as if she hadn’t spoken. “I have another one.” He lifted his hand and traced her jawline with a fleshy thumb.

  Rachel shrank back against the rough boards, feeling the sharp splinters dig into her shoulder blades. With sickening clarity, she realized all too well the limitations of the coop’s confined space.

  Hiram’s cold blue gaze bored into hers. He edged closer still. “You could keep the farm, Rachel. . .as my wife.”

  Her mouth fell open. “Your wi—” she began, but bile rose into her constricted throat, and she couldn’t continue. Disgust and panic lent her strength, and she twisted sharply to one side. The move increased the distance between them but put Hiram between her and the door.

  She tried to ignore the metallic taste in her mouth and ordered her heaving stomach to settle down. “Get out,” she rasped, forcing each word through stiff lips. “This farm is not for sale. . . and neither am I.” She took one step back, still clutching the egg basket.

  five

  Hiram’s hand flashed out and seized her arm in a pincer grip. Panic threatened to blind her. With a wild cry, she wrenched her arm free from Hiram’s grasp, steadying the teetering basket. Her hand closed on the first egg she touched, and she hurled it at Hiram with all her strength.

  The egg splattered across Hiram’s face, and a putrid stench exploded through the coop. Rachel gagged and pulled the skirt of her apron over her nose and mouth. Through watering eyes, she could see Hiram bent double, raking at the slimy mess. Taking advantage of his distraction, she pushed past him and made her escape.

  Away from the reek of the sulfurous fumes, she filled her lungs with sweet, clean air again and again. The door slammed open, and Hiram emerged, his face suffused with fury.

  “You!” he snarled and started toward her.

  “Not another step,”
she ordered. Of its own accord, her hand held up another egg, poised for throwing. She almost laughed out loud when Hiram froze in his tracks. “I told you you weren’t welcome here. Maybe now you’ll believe me. Now get!” She took several steps backward, then wheeled around and hurried toward the house, straining her ears to pick up any sound of pursuit.

  “I’m going to enjoy seeing you hauled out of here kicking and screaming,” he bellowed. “I’ll be standing right here when they drag you and your sister off this farm. Have you thought about what you’ll do to keep body and soul together when you lose the place? Life isn’t easy for a woman alone. It isn’t always kind, either. You remember that!”

  Rachel reached the safety of the porch and let herself inside the house, closing the door on his angry threats. She eased back the edge of the curtain with her finger and watched Hiram stomp off to his buggy. With an angry crack of his whip, he lashed his horse and drove the buggy out onto the road to town.

  And out of her life, she hoped, although she doubted her circumstances warranted such optimism. She leaned back against the door, fighting the urge to slide to the floor and bury her face in shaking hands. Hiram’s rage had unsettled her more than she cared to admit.

  Pitching the rotten egg at him had been the only way she knew to defend herself at the time, but it had also cut off any hope that Hiram might be swayed by pleas of leniency. If she couldn’t raise the money for the loan payment in time, she knew he would show no mercy.

  But she couldn’t allow herself to dwell on that dismal prospect. Sinking into a mire of such gloomy thoughts would only send her spirits spiraling into despair. Wallowing in melancholy might be tempting, but it wouldn’t get the work done. With a groan, she pushed herself upright and walked toward the kitchen, where she could hear the clanking of pots and pans. Violet must be starting supper.