Her understanding did much to smother Caroline’s agonizing feeling of incompetence, but she still tossed and turned for hours before finding sleep, rehearsing how she would tell Jack.
Chapter Eleven
Jack was up on the roof with a couple of the other men, hammering the last beams of the roof in place when Raleigh called up to him, “You got company, boss.”
He looked around to see Caroline trotting up to the cabin on a yellow dun he’d seen at the livery stable. Even as he raised his hand in greeting, he looked behind her, expecting to see the twins riding double on some other mount, but she was alone.
Alarm shot up his spine. If Amelia and Abby weren’t with her, did it mean that one or both of them was ill—or hurt? Had they both come down with lung fever or fallen into the creek? Yet as she drew closer, he could see that she didn’t look frantic, as he assumed she would if she were summoning him to a sickbed or worse. But surely something had to be amiss for her to visit without them, didn’t it?
He sat down on the roof and slid to the roofline, then jumped to the ground.
“Caroline, is anything wrong? Where are the girls? Are they all right?” he asked, searching her face for any hint as to why she had come.
“No, they’re fine, Jack,” she said. “They’re at home with Mother.”
The alarm bells stopped clanging, to be replaced immediately by an illogical surging hope—had she come purely to see him? She was wearing a charcoal-gray split skirt with a matching spencer and a light gray blouse—was the hue significant?
He moved with instinctive courtesy to the horse’s head and made sure the beast stood steady while she dismounted.
“Actually,” she said when she stood on the ground, “I needed to talk with you about Abby, and I thought I’d better come alone.”
“Oh?” His soaring hope fell like a dove felled by a well-aimed rock. He tried to keep his face expressionless and not reveal his disappointment. “Here, Wes, make yourself useful and take Miss Wallace’s horse. Miss Caroline, why don’t we walk over there and you can tell me about it,” he said, indicating a grove of cottonwoods that hugged the meandering creek.
Caroline was silent as they walked, skirting clumps of prickly pear and mesquite, keeping her eyes on the uneven ground, while he strode alongside her and wondered what his daughter might have done. Of the twins, Abby was the one most inclined to mischief.
Once they reached the creek, Caroline turned and recited the tale of Abby’s wandering away from school in search of him, how she’d managed to get as far as Mrs. Detwiler’s house on the south road before Caroline had caught up with her and brought her back. Then Caroline stopped and stood still as if she was a condemned criminal waiting to have sentence pronounced.
“Hmm...” he murmured, rubbing his chin and looking down at the autumn-dry grass at his booted feet. “Sounds like I need to have a talk with Abby when I see her tomorrow.” He turned back to her. “Sorry she worried you so and disrupted school, Teacher.”
She blinked at him, then her eyes widened in astonishment. “Is that all you’re going to say? Disrupting school is the least of it. Can you imagine what could have happened to the child, walking over this road alone? She’d never have made it here before she collapsed in exhaustion, if some predator didn’t get her first!”
“But she didn’t. You found her before anything happened, and all’s well,” he said. He didn’t want her to be worried, even if he had to be.
Her mouth tightened, and her fine brown eyes kindled with exasperation. “Yes, that’s what my mother said, but I thought you ought to know what happened,” she said. “I take full responsibility, Jack. I can’t help thinking—”
He didn’t want her to heap any more recriminations on her head. “l said I’d speak to her about it tomorrow when I come. I’ll let her know there’s not to be any repeat of such behavior,” he promised. “Afterward, I thought, if you wouldn’t mind packing something like a picnic lunch, we might all come out here again so they could see the cabin completed. Cookie’s been whittling them some wooden animals as a surprise.”
“I—I don’t think my coming along would be such a good idea.” Now she faced the clear water that meandered merrily over the rocks in the creek bed rather than him. “I think the mischief Abby got into is her way of telling you she and her sister need more time with you, Jack—and not time they have to share with me.”
“You...you don’t want to come with us?” he asked.
“I don’t feel it’s best for the girls,” she said, avoiding his eyes.
That’s not what I asked you, he wanted to protest. Are you trying to avoid telling me you don’t want to spend time with me? But there was no penetrating her defenses today. She was wearing her prim, schoolmarmish manner like armor.
“I—I’ll talk to Abby, and when I bring them back Sunday evening I’ll let you know how it went,” he said at last.
He would plan to buy supplies in town Monday morning, which would give him a perfect excuse to stay the night at the Wallaces and sit in the parlor with Caroline after the girls were abed. Perhaps it would be a fine night, and he could suggest they could take a stroll....
“Well, that’s settled then,” she said, with the air of one who’s crossing an item off a list. “I’ve interrupted your work, and now I’d better let you get back to it. I’ll see you at church tomorrow, Jack.”
“You don’t have to rush off,” he protested. “Stay and have dinner with the boys and me.” Even as he voiced the invitation, he realized it was only mid-morning. What was she to do until the meal, sit on a horse blanket and watch him and the boys hammer on the roof, while listening to Cookie’s constant grumbling? But he wanted her to stay.
She looked down at her gloved hands. “Thanks, but I... I thought I’d pay a visit to Milly while I’m out here, and then in the afternoon I promised to gather pecans with the girls and teach them how to make pralines. We’ll save some for you.”
Then she started back to where Wes had taken her horse, and all he could do was follow her with his eyes. He watched until she cantered out of sight. Then, uncomfortably aware that Raleigh watched him, he clambered back up onto the roof and went to work.
* * *
“Miss Caroline, I apologize for the short notice, but we’d be right proud if you’d come have dinner with us today,” the mousy little woman said to her after the church service in the meadow.
If it weren’t for Billy Joe hovering at the woman’s side, looking hopeful while at the same time affecting disinterest, Caroline would not have recognized Mrs. Henderson, for she never encountered the woman in the shops of Simpson Creek, and Mr. Henderson frequently proclaimed his wife was “too poorly” to come to church.
Caroline struggled to hide her surprise. “Why, I’d be pleased to do that, Mrs. Henderson, thank you.” She saw the woman let out a sigh of relief and glance covertly at her husband, who stood nearby opining to Reverend Chadwick about his sermon.
“Well...that’s just fine,” Mrs. Henderson said, darting a glance at her spouse again. “You kin call me Daisy. When Mr. Henderson is done speaking to the preacher, we’ll walk down to our house. I left a roast in the oven, and it’ll only take me a little while to get the rest ready.”
Caroline nodded understanding, then excused herself to speak to Jack and the twins. She knew Jack had overheard the invitation but was surprised to see Jack eyeing Mr. Henderson with distaste.
She cleared her throat to capture his attention, wondering what had elicited that feeling from him. “Mama and I packed a picnic basket for you and the girls,” she told him. “We put it over there in the shade of that cottonwood.”
His gaze, as he turned to her, was difficult to read.
“Thanks, Miss Caroline,” he said, “but we wish you were coming with us. Don’t we, girls?”
Caroline didn’t dare tell him how much she wanted to do e
xactly that. She made herself smile brightly. “Have fun on your picnic.” She’d been planning on paying a call on the Hendersons soon to look into Billy’s home situation, so the dinner invitation could not have come at a more opportune time. But Caroline couldn’t help feeling as wistful as Abby and Amelia looked as she waved goodbye to them and turned back to the Hendersons.
Mr. Henderson was still talking to the preacher. When they were the only people left in the meadow, Mrs. Henderson finally plucked timidly at her husband’s sleeve. “Mr. Henderson, we’d better be getting home so I can take the roast from the oven.”
I’d never call my husband “Mister” if I was married, Caroline thought. Even if some thought it was the proper, respectful thing to do, she’d never heard her parents address each other in that formal way. Between them it was always “sweetheart” or “dear,” if they did not use first names. But you’re not getting married, Caroline, so why are you even thinking about it?
“Reverend, why don’t you come to dinner with us, too?” Caroline heard Mr. Henderson say. “My wife invited the schoolmarm, and if you come we’ll have us a regular ol’ party.”
Caroline could see the quick flash of dismay in Daisy Henderson’s eyes and guessed the woman feared she would not have enough to stretch to one more person. Reverend Chadwick must have seen it, too, for he graciously declined, claiming he hadn’t slept well the night before and needed to indulge in an afternoon nap.
Too bad, Caroline thought. It would have been nice having Reverend Chadwick with her, if only to keep Mr. Henderson from staring at her in that overbold way he had with every woman but his timid wife. And she might need to consult the preacher about the family if the boy’s misbehavior continued.
Billy Joe walked along at her side as if he were a great deal taller than he really was, waving to everyone they passed, clearly not wanting anyone to miss the fact that the teacher was coming to dinner at his house. Caroline could not help but be amused at his pride, since this was the same boy she had kept after school so often.
The Hendersons’ house sat at the other end of Travis Street. It had originally been white clapboard, but the paint had deteriorated into a shabby ghost of that hue. Its faded look reminded Caroline of Mrs. Henderson. A ramshackle fence enclosed a half dozen scraggly chickens scratching in a hopeless fashion in the sparse grass. The rickety gate he opened hung from one hinge.
“Here we are, our little bit of Heaven,” Mr. Henderson declared with a grand gesture, apparently oblivious to the irony of his statement.
Inside the house, however, the place was neat and tidy, if devoid of much ornamentation, and the delicious smell of roasted chicken filled the air.
“Yippee, chicken! I’m famished! How soon kin we eat, Ma?” Billy Joe cried, as his mother hustled into the kitchen.
His father’s hand snaked out and grabbed him by the collarbone. “Billy Joe, mind your manners, boy. Take your teacher’s shawl and hang it up. Miss Wallace, why don’t we set a spell here while my wife finishes dinner?” he said, patting the shabby horsehair couch next to himself.
She’d seen Billy Joe wince when his father grabbed him. Flushing dully, he came to her and asked, eyes downcast, “May I take your wrap, Teacher?”
“Why, thank you, Billy Joe,” she said, deliberately catching the boy’s eye and giving him an encouraging smile. “Mr. Henderson, I think I’ll go see if your wife needs some help.”
“Daisy don’t need—” he began, but Caroline just smiled and walked past him into the kitchen.
She found Daisy with her sleeves rolled up, grimly trying to stir the lumps out of her gravy. She flashed an alarmed glance at Caroline’s entrance and dropped her spoon in the gravy boat so she could shove down her sleeves, but she was too late to prevent Caroline from catching sight of the scattered discolorations of gray, blue and greenish-brown on both arms. Bruises in various stages of healing—and Caroline could guess who had given them to her. It made her wonder if Billy Joe bore similar marks.
Caroline’s gaze rose to the woman’s frightened eyes. Mrs. Henderson knew she had seen the bruises and guessed their origin.
“Can I help you, Daisy?” The question had a double meaning, and both women knew it. But there was no door to the kitchen, and it was obvious the man lounging at his ease on the sofa would be able to hear anything that was said.
“No, I—I’m fine, thank you. Sit down, you’re our guest—”
“Nonsense. My mother taught me a trick to get rid of those lumps in the gravy—may I share it with you?” Caroline asked and set about showing it to Mrs. Wallace without waiting for an answer. Then she scooped up the stack of dishes and silverware that had obviously been left out for the purpose and set the table. She wouldn’t say anything now, when they could easily be overheard, but she would watch for a chance later. Mrs. Henderson needed to know she didn’t have to suffer in silence.
When they finally sat down to the table, Mr. Henderson ordered, “Billy Joe, show your teacher how nice you kin say grace.” It sounded like a man commanding a dog to perform a parlor trick.
His son dutifully bowed his head and repeated a grace obviously learned by rote.
“Thank you, Billy Joe,” Caroline said, trying to catch his eye and failing. Her heart ached for the boy. No wonder he acted up at school, if this was the way he was treated at home. She added a silent prayer of her own, Lord, please show me how to help this family.
Mr. Henderson took up the carving tools, then pointed with a thick finger at the roast chicken on its platter. “That there was a speckled broody hen who pecked at me yesterday. I wrung her neck then and there.”
Caroline thought she could have done without knowing that. The daring bird must have been the oldest hen they had, too, for in spite of the delicious smell, Caroline found she had to saw at the tough meat to cut it. Or maybe it had just been baked too long. The gravy she had helped with improved the dried-out taste only minimally, but she smiled and praised it and watched Daisy blink back tears. At least the potatoes were tasty and filling.
After the meal, she insisted on helping with the dishes. Mr. Henderson sank into a nap on the sofa before the table was even clear. Billy Joe had slipped off somewhere, too, and Caroline was determined to take advantage of their absence.
“Daisy...” she began.
But the other woman was already speaking. “We’re... I’m grateful for the attention you’re giving our boy,” the woman said quickly, looking her in the eyes at last. “I know he’s probably not the easiest child to teach....”
“Billy Joe’s a very bright boy,” Caroline said. “Sometimes the brightest children, especially boys, find it hard to sit still and channel all that energy to learn in a traditional way. With your permission, I’d like to keep him a couple of days a week after school, to work with him individually on those subjects he’s finding hard to learn. I hope you’ll tell your husband about my plan—” since he doesn’t seem apt to wake up anytime soon “—so he won’t think Billy Joe’s been misbehaving and punish him.”
She took a deep breath, knowing she’d risked making the other woman defensive.
Mrs. Henderson dabbed at her eyes with the dish towel. “But what about when he acts up at school? You won’t let him be a bad boy, will you? Mr. Henderson won’t tolerate his boy being bad.”
And he can’t see how much his son wants to be good. “Oh, no,” Caroline assured her. “I’ll find other ways to discipline him than keeping him after school, because I don’t want learning to be seen as punishment.”
“I—I’m grateful to ya, Miss Wallace. Billy Joe...he’s all we got. We nearly lost him as a baby, an’ after I had him, it don’t seem like I could have no more. I know Mr. Henderson’s...well, he’s bitter about that. Sometimes he’s a little hard on him.”
And on you?
“Daisy, I’m happy to help. I want Billy Joe to succeed at learning. And I want you to
know...” Caroline began carefully, knowing she had to be careful how she said this, for the woman had pride, even if it was a somewhat desperate, threadbare pride, “If there’s anything I can do to help you, too, you have but to tell me.” She glanced meaningfully at the woman’s now covered arms and knew she dared not be more specific.
Just then the sofa in the parlor creaked, and the woman’s eyes went wide and frightened. Caroline could easily read her thoughts—Had Mr. Henderson awakened? Had he heard Caroline’s last statement? Was he coming out to object?
But no footsteps sounded on the plank flooring, and then the snoring began again.
The woman stared at her, her eyes wide and frightened. “Just help my boy, Miss Wallace. That’s how you can help me.”
Then she cleared her throat, as if starting a new paragraph, and hung up her dish towel. “Those two little twin girls stayin’ with you are right pretty. Their papa’s a right good lookin’ fellow, too. You two courtin’, by any chance?”
Caroline groaned inwardly. You too, Brutus? she wanted to ask, but the woman would not understand the allusion. She opened her mouth to frame a polite reply, but just then Billy Joe dashed into the kitchen.
“Hey, Teacher, you wanna come see my rock collection?”
Relieved at the timely interruption, Caroline followed the boy to his room and saw his rock collection then his bug collection, and finally an assorted collection of treasures—a mule deer antler Billy Joe had found near the creek, a hawk feather, his slingshot and the slightly malodorous hide of the rabbit he’d brought down with it....
The Rancher's Courtship & Lone Wolf's Lady Page 12