Anna waved for the women to go to the porch.
Pamela, holding Lizzy’s hand, stepped onto the porch. She moved to one side so Samantha and Harriet could join her. The smell of cooking meat drifted through the open door.
Anna vanished into the house. She reappeared minus her apron. She glanced over her shoulder at the house, then back, looking uncomfortable. “I was cooking up a batch of squirrel and beans if you’d like some.” She bit her lip. Obviously, there wouldn’t be enough food for visitors.
Once again, Pamela eased the tension. “Squirrel and beans sounds lovely. We knew you wouldn’t be prepared for such a large party dropping in on you, so we brought food and drinks to share with you. If we could just wash up first….”
Anna indicated a chipped basin sitting on the bench near the rail. A rusted coffee can, a bar of soap, and a grubby towel were next to it. “There’s fresh water in the can. Let me get you a clean towel.”
The older girls walked up to the house, each carrying a saddlebag that they handed over to the women.
Pamela took two from Sara. “Wash up, girls.”
Once everyone was clean and dried, they went inside.
Harriet blinked, adjusting her eyes to the gloomy interior. On one end of the cabin, a big bed pushed against the wall, covered in a patchwork quilt. A neat pile of bedding that the girls must use as pallets was stacked nearby.
The kitchen consisted of a round three-burner stove and some crates nailed to the wall on either side of a window. Beans boiled in one pot, and long strips of squirrel meat sizzling in a frying pan gave out a delicious aroma that made Harriet’s stomach growl. She clenched her middle, hoping no one had heard.
A long table took up the center of the room, stretching almost all the way across, leaving a narrow space on either side. Tucked underneath both sides, plank benches looked as if they could hold the entire family plus a few. One carved and polished high-backed chair at the head of the table contrasted to the rough-hewn table and benches—a piece of furniture handed down from family or bought in more prosperous times.
Anna pulled out the chair and then looked back and forth at the women, obviously uncertain whom she should invite to sit in it.
Pamela tactfully solved the problem for her. “Miss Stanton, with your injured ankle, you should take the chair. She turned to Anna. “We’ve brought tea, if you would boil water.”
The woman’s worn face creased in a smile. “Tea will be a real treat.”
Harriet seated herself and made shooing motions at the girls to slide to the middle of the benches.
One child, who looked about three, lingered. With one arm, Harriet drew her close. “What’s your name, my dear?”
The child reached out to finger a tiny rose sprinkled in the pattern of Harriet’s green shirtwaist. Even though the fabric was old, it was in far better shape than the grayed-out dresses Mrs. Swensen and the girls wore.
“You like flowers, don’t you, sweetheart?” Harriet touched a gentle finger under the child’s chin and raising it so she could see the girl’s eyes. Like her sisters, this little one had big blue eyes in a thin face, long gold eyelashes and brows, her blond hair pulled back in tight braids, and skinny limbs.
“That’s Marta,” her mother said. “She doesn’t talk much. Understands everything, though.”
“Marta, nice to meet you. Next year when you come to school, I’ll be your teacher.” The child gave her a slight smile and ducked her head.
Krista ran into the cabin, lugging a bucket. She plopped it down on the table in front of Lizzy. “Here you are.”
The adults laughed.
Pamela said, “ Thank you, Krista.”
“Bring the glasses and cups, child,” Anna said, gathering up three china plates, one with a chip on the side, and setting each in front of the women. The visiting children had tin plates, and the Swensen family made do with wooden platters. Instead of silverware, crude wooden forks were the utensils. Anna placed one sharp knife in the center of the table, meant to be shared by all.
Pamela and Samantha started pulling food out of the saddlebags and unwrapping the napkin- and paper-wrapped parcels. They used the wrappings as serving platters.
Around the table, the eyes of the Swensen girls grew bigger, bodies shifting with suppressed eagerness. But, obviously well-mannered, they didn’t reach for anything.
Mrs. Swensen moved around the tables, carrying the pot and ladling a dab of beans on each plate. Then she returned with the squirrel, setting what must be a quarter of the animal on each plate.
Pamela pursed her lips. “If you don’t mind my fingers, hand me your plates, and I’ll pass out the chicken and potatoes.” She reached for Harriet’s plate.
Harriet handed it to Pamela. “And I’ll do the pickles. Perhaps, Mrs. Swensen, you could pour the tea?”
The woman nodded. “If you don’t mind, I’ll make a plate for my husband for when he returns. He’s always hungry after a hunt.” Receiving agreement, she filled a wooden platter, covered it with a napkin, and set it aside.
Once everyone had a full plate, Anna looked around the table. “We have a prayer we say before our meals. It’s in Swedish, though, but sometimes, we say it in English.” She looked around the table at her daughters. “English today, girls.”
“Lovely,” Pamela said, folding her hands and bowing her head.
Everyone followed suit, and the girls, led by their mother, recited a short verse:
“In Jesus’ name, to the table we go.
Bless God the food we get.”
Their voices swelled on the last word as if eager to get the praying over with and the eating started.
Although Harriet was hungry, she ate lightly, wanting to leave as much food as possible for the Swensens, and she noticed Pamela and Samantha did the same. She received far more enjoyment in watching the children tuck into their food than she would have in filling herself up.
After they’d finished eating, all the girls cleared the table. The women opened the blanketrolls and saddlebags, pulling out the dresses and shoes and spreading the garments out on the table. They lined the shoes on one of the benches and dumped the socks and undergarments on the bed. Harriet picked up one dress and held it against Inga’s front. “I wasn’t quite sure of sizes, so we brought enough to sort through.”
The women began to pick up the dresses and hold them up to the girl nearest them. If they looked too big or small, they were passed on to another child.
Elsabe clapped her hands. “It’s like Christmas in the summer.”
Inga elbowed her. “It’s better than Christmas.”
Elsabe made a face at her. “Yes. At Christmas, you’re the only one who sometimes gets a new dress. I have to wear your old one.”
Anna shook her head at the two. “Each daughter’s clothing gets passed down to the next,” she explained to the visitors. “So only Inga’s ever had anything new. Not really new, either. I make her clothes out of my old dresses.” She jiggled the toddler on her hip. “Maria’s practically threadbare.”
Pamela looked over at Lizzy, standing next to Krista and solemnly watching her. “Sara either ruins them, or avoids dresses as much as possible. I’ll send the two girls out looking perfect, and Lizzy will return the same way. But Sara’s clothes will be torn and dirty. Most of the time on the ranch, she runs around in her brother’s cast-off clothing. It’s easier that way.”
Soon all the Swensen girls clutched their dresses to their skinny chests, their blue eyes shining. Each wore a pair of stockings and shoes, which they had put on as soon as the correct size and some room to grow had been determined. In addition, Inga had two larger dresses, giving her clothes for when she outgrew the new ones. This way her old ones could always be handed down, shifting the outgrown clothes to the next sister, so each had a plain dress and a special one.
Anna reached out a hand to Harriet and another to Pamela, and included Samantha with her look. “I can’t thank you enough.”
Harr
iet squeezed Anna’s hand, glowing with pleasure. “Then I’ll see your girls when school starts?”
“You will, indeed,” said Anna fervently.
The women gathered the blankets and saddlebags, and walked outside to the horses. Everyone called out their good-byes and mounted up.
They rode down the mountain, Harriet in the lead. She relaxed in her saddle, thinking about the events of the day. With Anna’s promise that the older girls would attend school while the weather remained clear, Harriet knew she’d accomplished her dream for the Swensens.
She couldn’t help spinning a few fantasies about what the Swensen girls could do with their future educations someday. Maybe become teachers or merchants. Harriet thought of an article she’d read about medical schools admitting women. Maybe nurses, or even doctors. All because she’d found a way to get them to school.
I can hardly wait to tell Ant.
* * *
Ant reined Shadow in and studied the log house situated on the edge of the prairie, where fields of golden wheat fluttered in the breeze. While he didn’t particularly want to live in a log house, at least it wasn’t a soddy. Anyway, he didn’t have much choice unless he wanted to buy some land and build his own—something he didn’t have time for if he wanted to get David settled right away.
As log homes went, this one wasn’t bad. The logs were square-timbered, the chinking smooth, with a stone foundation, steep-pitched shake roof, and double-hung glass windows in the front. More prosperous looking than he expected for a house on the edge of the prairie.
Ant liked that Abe had added a broad front porch across the length of the house. Two rockers sat there, and he wondered how Abe felt about sitting alone in the evenings without his wife. Did he imagine her in the other rocker? Did he talk to her like the conversations Ant had with Isabella in the first years after she’d died?
He turned to look at the view of prairie on one side and mountains on the other. Definitely worth looking at.
What would it be like to plant myself here? The reality of his decision to remain in Sweetwater Springs made him uneasy.
He glanced around, seeing a barn that he mostly wouldn’t need, although he’d have to get David his own pony. To the side, a half circle of cottonwoods shaded hitching posts, a trough for the horses, and a stone well. A large garden straggled to the right of the house. What the heck do I know about gardening? Rows of fruit trees marched across the back of the garden. A small grove of birch shivered in the breeze to the left of the house. He could make out a root cellar, what looked to be a smokehouse, a rickety privy, and the hen house. And dirt. Lots of dirt.
A weight settled around his shoulders. A feeling of being overwhelmed made him long to flee back to his familiar life. Ant had to resist turning Shadow toward the East and riding away. His nephew too effectively rooted him here.
Could David be happy in this place?
Could I?
Abe Maguire opened the door. A dog dashed out, some kind of brown hound, followed by two fat puppies. The momma dog galloped toward him, barking all the way. The puppies waddled after her, adding their yaps to the cacophony.
Ant placed a calming hand on Shadow’s neck.
Abe stomped onto the porch and called the dogs to him, and they reluctantly obeyed. He squinted up at Ant. “You sure look like a giant up on that horse.”
Ant grinned at him. “So I’ve been told.” He dismounted.
“You didn’t bring that boy of yours?”
“No, he went home with Daniel Rodriguez after church yesterday. The boys have formed a fast friendship, and Daniel begged for him to come for an overnight visit.”
“Your boy’s in good hands than. That pretty widda done miracles with those Cassidy twins.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Thompson snapped her right up.” Abe paused to consider. “Well not right up, but soon enough.”
“Right. Well, I’ll just see to my horse, if I may.”
The man nodded and hooked his thumbs in his suspenders.
Ant led Shadow to the trough and pumped in some water. After the horse drank, he tied him to the post, grateful that the trees provided some shade.
Back at the house, he instinctively glanced up at the porch overhang before he stepped onto the planking. To his surprise, there was plenty of headroom.
Abe saw the look. “You’ll find my ceilings a good height, too. My Emmeline was a tall gal, and she wanted a place where her family would feel comfortable. Plus, she thought we might have a few big ’uns ourselves. And we did.” He chortled.
That took care of one major problem. He’d been in many a place where his head brushed the ceiling, and some where he couldn’t stand upright at all. He had no fancy to live in such a cramped place.
Abe continued his rambling. “Had one tall ’un like his ma’s family. One like me.” He patted his potbelly. “And a gal inbetween.” His face sobered. “And the two who didn’t make it.”
Ant took off his hat. “I’m sorry.” Two words that couldn’t begin to dent what must have been the tremendous pain of losing a child, not once, but twice.
“We were luckier than most, but not as lucky as some.”
Ant remained silent.
“It was a long time ago.” Abe waved to a distant circle of cottonwoods. “That’s the boundary of the property. My Emmeline and the young ’uns are buried there. I aim to join ’em someday. Don’t want to lay by myself in the ground behind the parsonage.”
“If I live here, I’ll pay them my respects.”
Tears sheened in the old man’s eyes. “Sure would appreciate that.” He swallowed and gave a decisive nod. “I’ll be by now and then to visit them. You see a wagon parked there, you just pay me no mind.”
“Will do.”
“Be hard to leave a place that I started from scratch when I came here with my bride.” Abe scratched his beard. “Empty prairie it was then, ’cept for the trees by the river. Well, it’s really a stream, but after the snowmelt it becomes a river. My wife, she loved trees. Planted more by the river and a lot around the house. He pointed to some spruce by the outhouse. “Drove to the mountains one day to dig those up when they were this high.” He spanned his hands six inches. “A surprise for my Emmeline. Made her real happy it did. Wanted them planted by the outhouse. Pine fragrance, you know.”
“Ah, yes. Pine fragrance.” Ant echoed, taking a moment to understand that Abe’s wife had hoped the trees would mask some of the privy odor.
Abe’s expression brightened. “But I got me a passel of grandchildren. Does a body good to be around them. That’s why I’m pulling up stakes.” He made a come-in motion with his arm. “Let me show you the place.”
Although Ant had to duck to get under the doorway, that was normal for him. He straightened to his full height and glanced up, admiring the plank pine roof that was still a good foot from his head at its lowest point. That settled, Ant surveyed the room. This would be the parlor, with a settee and two comfortable looking wooden chairs with worn leather cushions, one of them even big enough for him to sit in and stretch out his legs. A few portraits hung on the log walls, and some pictures that looked as if they’d been taken from magazines and framed.
A bookcase on one wall contained several volumes, and a whatnot in the corner held some decorative items. He liked the room. A man could sit in that chair and relax, read, think....
He checked out the kitchen, which looked as a kitchen should. Stove, cupboards, dry sink, pie safe, and table and chairs. His heart sank a little about the lack of water in the house. But he’d lived rough before. So had David. They’d make do. Maybe could add a pump later.
The three bedrooms were a nice surprise. One held the big marriage bed. A second small room had bunk beds. The third only had one bed. All had windows that looked out to the mountains or prairie. Everything should suit. He wished he felt more excited about the idea and less overwhelmed by the new responsibilities he faced.
Back in the front room, Ant ti
lted his head toward the big chair. “That come with the house?”
Abe looked at the chair in question, thought about it, then slowly nodded twice. “That chair, most other things. Can’t take it all to my daughter’s. They’ve built a room for me, furnished it too, except for a bed. Have to take that.” He waved at the whatnot. “I’ll take the do-dads. There’s always room for do-dads. Can leave the rest.”
“How about dishes and pots and pans?”
“Seems to me my daughter has all she needs. Her husband comes from a fancy Eastern family. Rich. He’s a good man for all that. When they got married, his relatives sent out enough to stock a store. Far as I can tell, they haven’t stopped. You should see what Christmas is like in that house! She’s got far nicer dishes than her ma ever had. More of ’em, too.”
Ant smiled at the image in his mind. Before his mother remarried, he’d been raised with similarly lavish Christmases. This year he’d have to give David one. “How about if you check with her first. I don’t want to cause any hard feelings. Then I’ll buy what you want to leave.” First thing is finding someone to make a big bed. Even Montgomery Ward doesn’t carry them long enough.
“Sounds like you’re fixin’ to take the place.”
“I am.”
The men got down to haggling, and in the end, Ant owned a home and two surrounding acres—lock, stock, and almost barrel, along with one of the puppies and some livestock. What the heck he’d do with a cow, pigs, and chickens…? Maybe put David in charge of them. Animals should tie the boy to his new home.
But what is going to tie me here?
He thought of the big chair...of sitting there and reading a book by lamplight, while David did his homework. An unexpected thrill of excitement surprised him. He’d been a wanderer all his adult life. Except for that time with Isabella, he’d never thought to settle down. But maybe...just maybe, the idea of having a home to call his own could have unexpected attractions.
Although I’m still not sure about the pigs.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Debra Holland Page 16