Mr. Dobson shrugged. “Well, farming was always more Lanny’s strong suit, I suppose.”
“That brother of yours was both smart and good with his hands,” another of the men added. “Always finding ways to improve his crop yield or make life easier for him and his family.”
“I’ll bet you’ve seen some exciting things in your travels,” Virgil interjected.
Jack could always count on his friend to try to snuff out any “Ain’t Lanny wonderful?” conversations before they got too thick. “I don’t know about exciting,” Jack drawled, “but yes, I’ve happened on some sights. I’ve seen the Rocky Mountains and the Grand Canyon. I’ve seen the Pacific Ocean and I’ve seen a tree so big it would take twenty men to circle it.”
One of the men let out an appreciative whistle. “That must be some tree.” Then he turned to someone else in the group. “That reminds me. Didn’t Lanny say he’d planned to put in a peach orchard next spring?”
And as quick as that, the conversation turned to Lanny once again.
Jack let the conversation flow around him. He was well-traveled and experienced. Still, to these folks, he was Lanny’s shadow of a brother. Nothing had changed for him here.
Nothing ever would.
A few minutes later, the womenfolk began to signal that it was time to go. As the groups reformed into family clusters and headed toward their wagons or moved to the sidewalk that led into town, Jack saw Annabeth run up and take hold of one of Callie’s hands.
Simon left his friends grudgingly to join them, and Jack noticed that the boy’s surliness had returned.
“Where’s Emma?” Callie looked around the dwindling crowd, a frown on her face.
“I saw her picking flowers back behind the church,” Annabeth said. “You want me to go fetch her?”
Jack waved them forward. “Y’all go ahead and get settled in the buggy. I’ll fetch her.”
He headed toward the side of the church, nodding to friends as he did so. But before he’d covered more than a couple of yards, he spotted his niece leaving the cemetery, traces of tears on her cheeks.
Wishing he’d asked Callie to search Emma out, he stood there as the girl caught sight of him and hurried over.
“I’m sorry,” she said as she drew close. “I didn’t mean to keep y’all waiting.”
“That’s okay. We’re not in any big hurry.” Feeling awkward, Jack put a hand on her shoulder. “Any time you want to come out here and visit, you let me know. Okay?”
Emma nodded and offered him a grateful smile.
Jack felt a flash of relief. Apparently he wasn’t completely without the skills needed to handle this parent thing.
Callie sat in the parlor, pen poised over a sheet of paper.
Lunch was over and the kitchen cleaned up. The sound of the children playing with the dogs drifted in through the open window. Jack was upstairs doing heaven only knew what. The man was certainly not one to voluntarily share any personal information.
There was absolutely nothing to keep her from finally writing that letter she’d promised her father.
Yet she’d sat here for ten minutes now, just staring at the blank sheet of paper. How could she possibly explain all that had transpired in the few short days since she’d arrived?
The sound of footsteps descending the stairs provided a welcome distraction. But when Jack came into view, he looked dressed for work.
“Where are you going?”
He paused with his hand on the screen door. “There’s a section of fence out behind the barn that needs attention,” he said as if she had no business asking. He pushed open the door. “I thought I’d—”
She set her pen down. “It’s Sunday.”
They stared at each other for a long minute. Finally Jack shrugged and let the door close. “All right.” He headed toward the parlor and leaned against the doorjamb, crossing his arms. “So what do you suggest we do with this perfectly good afternoon? I’m not much good at just sitting on my hands.”
“Well, we could have a talk.” She’d like to learn more about this man she was married to.
“Talk about what?”
He made it sound as if she’d asked him to eat a dung beetle.
She’d better start with something safe. “It’s not as if we know each other well,” she said. “I’m certain there’s lots of information we could share to help us get to know each other better.”
“Actually, I figure we know all we need to about each other.” He crossed one booted foot over the other. “The less personal we make this whole arrangement, the better it’ll be.”
The words were like salt on a cut. Why was he so determined to keep that wall up? “Very well, then, we should do something with the children, something to help them feel like we’re coming together as a family.”
“What do you suggest?”
The man was determined not to make this easy.
Remembering the items still packed in her small trunk, Callie stood, a grin spreading across her face. “Actually, I have just the thing.” Why hadn’t she thought of this sooner? “You gather the children. I’ll meet you out on the porch.”
Callie was thrilled. She’d found something they could all enjoy together, something that brought them one step closer to being a true family. Now if she could just do the same for her marriage.
When she stepped outside, four pairs of eyes looked at her with varying degrees of wariness and expectation.
She held up the item she’d retrieved from her room. “This book is called The Swiss Family Robinson. I thought I might read a part of it to you this afternoon.”
Annabeth’s eyes lit up. “Is it like our story about Flora and Hawk?”
“It’s a different kind of story.” Callie sat on the porch swing, where she was immediately joined by the two girls. “But I think you’re going to like it every bit as much.”
Simon held back, wrinkling his nose. “I’ll bet it’s just some sappy fairy tale about princesses and such.”
“Actually, it’s an adventure story. My father read it to me when I was about Emma’s age. And I enjoyed it so much I read it on my own when I got older.”
Simon looked far from convinced. “What kind of adventure?”
“It’s about a family who’s shipwrecked and stranded on a deserted island. They have to find ways to survive all on their own.” She turned to Annabeth, tweaking one of her curls. “And along the way, they encounter lots of strange and exotic animals.”
Annabeth bounced up and down on her seat. “Ooh, that sounds exciting.”
“It is.” Callie opened the book. “I tell you what. I’ll start reading. If any of you get bored, feel free to return to whatever it was you were doing before.”
Turning to the first page, she began reading. “Already the tempest had continued six days; on the seventh its fury…”
Thirty minutes later, she closed the book. “Well, that’s enough for one sitting.”
She smiled at the clamor of protest. Even Simon had edged closer while she read.
Her glance snagged on Jack’s and she felt her grin widen at the look on his face.
He’d enjoyed the story, too, had he?
As soon as he realized she’d noticed, Jack stood and stretched as if bored by the whole thing.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it so much,” she said, turning back to the children. “But the book is much too long to finish in one sitting. If you like, we’ll plan to read a little every day.”
Chapter Eighteen
That evening, Jack sat on the porch again, whittling by the light of the moon.
Callie sure didn’t fit into any kind of box he knew of. Hiding behind that bonnet and avoiding the limelight the way she did made her seem timid. And the woman was absolutely out of her element when it came to handling the farm chores.
But then again, she didn’t seem to let much stand in her way when she wanted something, at least not for very long. In fact, when she happened on an obstacle, she easily went o
ver or around it.
And she hadn’t murmured a word of protest this evening when he’d told her it was time to get the animals in for the night. She just asked what she could do to help.
There was no denying she was good with the children. They’d hung on to her every word as she read that story. And to tell the truth, he’d been almost as taken in by it as they were.
The tale itself was part of it—nothing like a rousing adventure to keep you wanting to find out what happens next. But it was more than that. The way she’d breathed life into the words—the animation in her voice and face—had been just plain entertaining. He could see the whole thing playing out as if it were on a stage.
And her singing in church today. She had an amazing voice, using it as a good musician used his instrument. And he was pretty sure he wasn’t the only one who’d noticed. In fact he wouldn’t be surprised if the choir didn’t try to recruit her next time they showed up for Sunday service.
The door opened behind him and she stepped out on the porch.
“Thank you for going to church with us today.”
He ran his thumb over the edge of the wood. Did she think he’d done it just to get her approval? “I keep my promises.”
“Yes, of course. I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.”
Jack changed the subject, moderating his tone as he glanced over his shoulder. “Interesting book.”
Some of the stiffness left her spine, and she sat on the bench behind him near the door. “I’ve always enjoyed it. I probably read that story a half dozen times before I turned twelve.”
“Seems an unusual choice for a girl.”
“Does it? I’ve always liked books that could carry me off to exotic destinations.”
At least that was something they had in common. He turned just enough to see her without turning his neck. “So, you like to travel.”
She laughed. “I’m afraid the only traveling I’d done before coming here was through books.” She tugged on her bonnet. “My family was always good about keeping me close—you know, sheltering me from strangers and large crowds.”
Hmm. Couldn’t tell much from her tone, but he got that sense again that something wasn’t quite right. Was that so-called sheltering something she’d appreciated or chafed at? Or had there been other motives that drove her family to keep her close?
He leaned back and studied her a moment. “You know, you don’t need to wear that bonnet around the house.”
The smile she gave him was one part wistfulness and three parts resignation. “I think it’s probably best I keep it on until the children get to know me a little better.”
“They’re all in bed now.”
She took her bottom lip between her teeth, studying his face as if not certain of his intention.
He felt a stubborn impulse to push the point. “You insist that this is your home now, that me and the kids are your family. Did you wear that thing constantly when you were just among family?”
“Not growing up. But—”
She halted abruptly.
Now wasn’t that interesting? He’d give a pretty penny to know what it was she’d been about to say.
Whatever it was, though, she apparently decided against elaborating.
“Very well.” With a small nod, she untied the ribbons under her chin. After only a slight hesitation, she removed the bonnet completely and set it in her lap.
It never ceased to amaze him how different she looked without that shield she hid behind.
Sure, she had that birthmark. But she also had rich green eyes and high cheekbones that gave her profile a classic beauty.
Why had God seen fit to mar such a face with that angry-looking stain? As far as he could tell, she was a good and dutiful member of His flock, not a rebellious scapegrace like himself. Surely she’d earned some measure of mercy.
Realizing he’d been staring, Jack went back to whittling. “So, what do you think about Texas so far?”
She smiled as she fanned herself with the bonnet. “It’s certainly a lot hotter than Ohio. But I can see why Julia came to love it so much.” She gazed off into the night, her smile turning dreamy. “There’s a wild sort of beauty here, an untamed quality, that gets under your skin. God’s majesty seems closer, more visible somehow.”
“Don’t you miss your home just a little bit?” Jack asked.
Her grin had a teasing quality to it. “If you’re trying to hint that I should go back, I’m afraid it’s too late for that. To answer your question, though, of course I miss my family and former home. But my life has taken a new path now and I’m quite happy with it.”
He leaned back, resting his spine against a support post. “Speaking of family, you know a lot about mine, but I don’t know anything about yours.”
She gave him a look he couldn’t quite read. Was she remembering that he’d refused her earlier offer to have this conversation? If so, she chose not to throw it back at him.
“There’s not a lot to tell. I have four sisters, two older and two younger. All four are married, two have children. My father is a tailor, one of the best in Hallenton.”
He heard the touch of pride in her voice and remembered her saying her father had read to her as a child. Theirs was obviously a close relationship.
“And your mother?” he prodded.
“She died of a fever when I was fourteen.” Callie paused, seeming to go inside herself for a minute. “About six months ago, my father married a very sweet, lovely young woman whom he met while on a business trip to Philadelphia. Sylvia, my stepmother, has made him quite happy.”
The very neutrality of her normally expressive voice hinted that there was more to the story.
“And how do the two of you get along?”
Her expression closed off further and he wondered for a minute if she’d tell him to mind his own business. But she leaned back against the wall, putting her face deeper in shadow.
“Sylvia is a gently raised woman with very delicate sensibilities. She’s been nothing but kind to me. In fact, she went out of her way to make certain I knew I would always be welcome in my father’s home, even though she was now the ‘lady of the house.’”
Was that it? Had there been tension between the women over that position of power? Or did it have more to do with her stepmother’s “delicate sensibilities”?
Suddenly her earlier half-finished answer—when he’d asked about wearing her bonnet in her old home—made sense. He felt a surge of anger that anyone would make her feel she was a burden or someone to be tolerated.
But before he could press further, she turned the tables on him.
“What about you?” she asked. “I know something about the boy you were, but Julia and Lanny never heard from you after you left Sweetgum. What did you do during those years?”
Her words reminded him again of the advantage she had over him because of Julia’s letters. “As you said, not much to tell. I drifted around for a bit, seeing different parts of the country. Went to work for the railroad. Joined up with a demolition team and learned the trade. Eventually formed my own team. I’ve been blowing things up ever since.”
“What an odd way to describe it.” She tilted her head slightly. “Don’t you sometimes wish you were building something rather than destroying things?”
Her question got his back up. Was she judging him again?
“Actually, I’m proud of the work I do. And I’m d—I’m good at it. I’ve built up a reputation for precision and safety that few others in the business can match.”
He shaved another curl of wood from the block in one quick motion. “And I don’t think of it as destroying things. What my team does is clear the way so others can come behind and build new things, important things, like the railroad lines that connect people and places.”
“I hadn’t thought of it that way.” Her brow furrowed thoughtfully. “So you enjoy your work?”
“Yes, I do.” Time to change the subject. “By the way, I plan to spend some tim
e in town this week clearing away the debris left from the fire.”
Her face lit up with approval. “That’s a fine idea. It’s not good for the children to face that every time they go to town.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
“And I’m certain the townsfolk will appreciate it as well.” Her smile shifted to concern. “But you’re not planning to tackle it alone, are you?”
He shrugged. “Normally I would. But I’d like to get most of it taken care of before we go to town for market day on Friday. I asked Virgil after church service this morning to spread the word that I was looking to hire some help. I’ll spend the day around here tomorrow making sure everything’s in order, then get started on Tuesday.”
“Will that be enough time to get it all done?”
“If I get a couple of hard-working youths to help out it shouldn’t be any problem. But even if I have to do it all myself, I’ll see that it gets done.”
Jack watched from the corner of his eye as she twisted her hands in the folds of her skirt. Something was on her mind.
“I wanted to speak to you about Emma,” she finally said.
Emma? Of the three children she seemed to be adjusting the best. Sure, she’d been crying at the cemetery this morning, but there was nothing so unusual in that. The girl had just lost her parents, after all. “What about her?”
“She’s just too quiet, too closed in.”
Wasn’t quiet a good thing? “Mrs. Mayweather did say she’s always been on the shy side.”
“I know.” Callie tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “But this seems like something more than just shyness.”
How could she know that after so short a time? “The kid’s been through a lot these past few days. Seems to me it’s only natural for her to mourn for a time.”
“Maybe you’re right.” Callie didn’t sound entirely convinced.
The Hand-Me-Down Family Page 14