by Bush, Holly
Jacob climbed down from the wagon, Mark in his arms. “Olive,” he said.
“Jacob,” she said and turned to him with a soft smile.
Olive’s hair was tied back loosely with a scarf and dirt streaked her nose and cheeks. Her white blouse as well was marked with dirt and her hands fumbled in her skirt. She continued smiling at Jacob and he grinned back at her. Sweat glistened on her forehead in the noon sun and he shuffled his feet.
“You two look like you’ve been wrestling a pig,” Jacob said.
Olive’s hands flew to her face and hair. “Oh, my. What a sight I must be. Theda and I were turning some ground over for a garden.”
Jacob looked over her shoulder as Luke and Peg ran off with Mary and John. “I’d have never guessed.”
“The ground’s much harder than I’d thought it would be.”
Jacob walked to the spot Olive had marked off with twine and sticks. He picked up the shovel and quickly black earth gave contrast to the prairie grass.
“Why didn’t you tell me you wanted a garden? I would have turned it for you.”
“I just decided. Is it too late?” Olive asked.
“For some things, yeah, but peas and beans and beets will do alright.”
Jacob worked methodically as Olive watched and he spoke to her without turning. “I’ll be here at five tomorrow to take you to the dance, Olive.”
She smiled at his broad back as he continued working. “We’ll be ready.”
* * *
Olive hurried a cream-colored scoop neck blouse on her Singer, Saturday morning. She had sewn tiny tucks down the front of the shirt and fitted it with pleats in the back. Olive had taken apart an out of style, burgundy taffeta dress from her trunk and made a full skirt to match. She taught Mary the basics of the sewing machine with a scrap of the material and now had a matching tie for her hair. Olive removed the dark red buttons from the bodice of the scrap dress and sewed them to her new blouse as Mary stitched on the machine. When the house was straightened and John and Mary dressed, Olive tried on her new outfit.
She stood and twirled in front of the mahogany framed oval mirror in her room and listened to the crinkle of the fabric as she moved. When the door opened she said, “Come in Theda. What do you think?”
“Are you wearing your hair down and loose like that? The tie will never hold all the curls,” Theda said as she came to stand beside Olive in the front of the mirror.
“Yes,” Olive replied and preened in the mirror. “I think it softens my features and you don’t notice my glasses so much.”
Theda stood stiffly beside Olive, turned sideways and pulled her hand tightly down the front of her dress. “I’ve always felt I looked my best in black, don’t you?”
Olive looked at the reflection of herself and Theda in the mirror. Her friend’s stiff posture and tightly pulled lips certainly did complement the austere look of her outfit. Theda’s hair, black but for a few gray wisps, was pulled back into a small bun. Theda had beautiful skin, Olive knew, but not an inch other than her face and hands was revealed. Olive’s head tilted at the picture she beheld in the mirror and could not believe the differences she saw. Granted, Olive had looked the same as her friend three months ago, but now, she could pass for Theda’s daughter. My friend looks old, Olive thought and well . . . pulled tighter than a noose.
Olive heard the rumble of a wagon and Mary’s shouts and hurried out of her room, straightening her hair and new dress, one last time. She stood in the doorway as Peg climbed out of the wagon in the pink flowered dress Olive had sewn. Luke wore his denim pants and Olive noticed they were getting a bit short in the leg. Jacob climbed down carrying Mark and Olive hurried down the steps to take the child.
* * *
Jacob watched Olive come to him and noticed the new outfit she wore. His heart raced when he saw her. Her waist was cinched in tight and as he looked down at her as she talked softly to Mark, his eyes found the edge of her blouse and the cleavage peeking above it. He wanted to tell her she looked like a young girl, all fussed up and pretty. But Olive was no young girl and she knew it.
“You look beautiful Olive,” he said.
“Thank you,” she said and smiled broadly up at him. “I have something for you in the house, Jacob. Come in.”
Jacob nodded to Theda but the woman seemed intent on continuing their unspoken conflict. Her lips pulled together as she nodded back and held her head stiffly.
“Here, Jacob. I made this for you and I’ve been meaning to give it to you,” Olive said and handed him a newly made shirt. “I . .well . . I’ve made everyone else something new to wear and I realized I hadn’t made you anything.”
Jacob accepted the gift and watched Olive as she held her hands behind her back and waited for a reaction. He shook out the shirt, gray and black plaid soft flannel and held it up. “Thank you, Olive.” He looked closely at the double stitched cuffs and patch pocket and knew she had spent some time making it.
“I mean . . .well . . .you helped move me here and turned over my garden and all and I wanted to repay you,” Olive said, flushed.
“No thanks necessary, but I appreciate the gift anyway,” Jacob said and smiled.
“Well, then children, I guess we’re ready to go,” Olive said.
“Wait a second, here,” Jacob said and began to unbutton his homespun shirt. “Everyone else is wearing new duds. I think I’ll wear mine.”
* * *
Olive could not tear her eyes from him as he slowly pulled his shirt from his pants. She knew her face colored as she watched the material slide from Jacob’s thick arms, revealing a solid, muscled chest, more intimidating, more enticing than her dreams of him. Olive swallowed and felt hot and unable to catch her breath. She felt as if every eye in the room was watching her. But the children were busy looking at John’s marbles but Theda’s eyes were as big as half dollars. Olive watched her friend stare at the only male chest she had ever seen. Olive cleared her throat. Theda’s head snapped around and her face colored.
“Come along children. Let’s get in the wagon,” Theda said. She primly swept past Jacob and said, “There are rooms with doors Mr. Butler. Changing clothes is usually done behind them.”
Jacob rolled his eyes as he looked over at Olive. He held his arm out stiffly and her shoulders dropped with a sigh as she curled her hand around his forearm.
* * *
The dance was held in the same barn as the last and when they finally arrived, Olive hailed Flo and Beth and introduced Theda.
“Pleased to meet you, Theda,” Beth said.
Flo stared unashamedly at Theda and Olive. “My God, Olive, you’ve changed. You looked just like Theda here when you first came.”
Beth and Olive exchanged embarrassed glances.
“I understand what you mean, Mrs. Williams,” Theda said and nodded. “I told Olive she had best start wearing her bonnet again and this loose fashion she’s taken to wearing her hair, just won’t do. Pieces come loose from the ribbon and her hair, well, looks slovenly.” Theda turned to Olive and nodded.
“Oh, yes, well,” Flo stuttered.
“Your outfit is beautiful,” Beth gushed to Olive. “I bought fabric last week and I was hoping I could come to your house and use your new sewing machine.”
Olive smiled and looked down at herself. “Anytime, Beth. I’d love to help you. What are you making?”
“Some new shirts for Jack and a dress for myself. I’ll see when I’m done, what’s left over to use for the children.”
“I doubt Mrs. Steele will want a neckline as low as the one on this new blouse of yours, Olive. Maybe we can piece a pattern from one of my dresses before I leave,” Theda said.
“Oh, Theda, the neckline on this blouse is hardly revealing,” Olive said.
Theda’s cheeks receded as she slowly gave the front of Olive’s dress a look. “What do you think, Mrs. Williams?” Theda leaned in conspiratorially and whispered, “One can almost see the tops of her bosom.”
The corner’s of Flo William’s mouth turned down as she peaked over the top of Olive’s blouse. “I don’t think so Miss Patterson. And anyway if a man that looked like Jacob Butler was hot on my trail, I might have done away with another inch or two of that blouse.”
Theda’s eyes widened and Olive turned to her. “Flo is teasing you, Theda. Come on. Let’s get something to drink.”
The children were playing games with other youngsters and Olive’s eyes were drawn to Jacob as he stood talking to other men and holding Mark. He winked at her and her eyes did not leave his face as she followed Theda to the table for refreshments. Until she ran square into the sheriff.
“Oh, sheriff, pardon me,” Olive said.
“The fault is mine,” the sheriff replied. His eyes slowly perused Olive’s form and as he met her eyes, his jowls trembled and he held his hat over his heart. “Miss Wilkins, Olive, you are as pretty as a picture. Not a woman here holds a candle to you.”
Olive smiled softly but beheld in the sheriff’s eyes what she had felt in her own heart many times before. His hound-dog face pleaded for a word of encouragement or interest. “That’s very kind of you sheriff. Theda, you remember the sheriff don’t you?”
The sheriff’s face snapped from his prolonged revelry of Olive when Theda spoke. “Well, of course, Olive. He was kind enough to drive me to your house. Sheriff.”
Theda nodded and stretched her lips into what resembled a smile. Olive knew this was Theda’s stab at coquetry but the attempt only managed to make her lips disappear and her nose wrinkle unattractively.
“We’re on our way for some punch, sheriff. Would you care to join us?” Olive asked.
“Certainly, ladies,” the sheriff said and held an arm up to each woman.
Olive smiled and hooked her arm in the sheriff’s and nodded to folks as they passed. She glanced over her punch, around Theda’s back and over her glasses for Jacob and still managed to continue a reasonably intelligent conversation with the sheriff and Theda, nodding where necessary and grimacing when she thought appropriate.
When the fiddler started in a fast clip, Olive watched the dancers begin to take the floor and she smiled at being part of the gaiety.
“What lively music,” Theda said and smiled at the sheriff.
Olive watched his eyes dart as he toyed with Theda’s comment. He glanced from one woman to the other, nervously, when Theda spoke up again.
“I haven’t heard ‘Turkey in the Straw’ for years.”
Chivalry won out as he turned to Theda resignedly. “Miss Patterson, would you care to dance?”
Theda’s eyes widened and she gave Olive a short nod and smile. “How lovely, of course, sheriff. I would be honored.”
Theda’s thin neck seemed to be pulling out of her collar as she held her head high and walked out into the crowd of dancers, on the arm of the sheriff. Olive watched the dancers and tapped her toe in rhythm to the music. She had lost sight of Jacob and searched in the crowd of dancers for him. Olive found him in the midst of a bevy of young tittering women and her shoulders dropped as he met her eye. He leaned close to a particularly attractive redhead and whispered in her ear. The young girl beamed a smile up to him and accepted Mark into her arms.
Olive watched as Jacob turned her way and slowly made his way through the crowded barn. Their eyes parted only when Jacob was out of her view and her breath came in shallow gasps. Olive stood still, warming from her stomach to her ears as she felt the seduction of the closing gap between them. Pulled, yet patient, fearful and fascinated; clinging to the lure of Jacob approaching her. He stopped once, drawn into a conversation, but his eyes never left Olive’s face. This dance they stepped to was powerful and she waited, as a maiden would have, watching a man come to claim her. By the time he stood close to her, Olive feared she would faint, she had held her breath so long. The fiddler began a new song, slower than the last and Olive swallowed as Jacob’s eyes bored into her.
“Dance with me, Olive.”
A shrill sigh escaped her lips as he put his hand at the small of her back and directed her into the dancers.
When she was in his arms, moving through the steps, she watched other dancers to avoid meeting Jacob’s stare. One look, she thought, and I will pitch over from the sheer intensity that Jacob’s gaze held.
“What’s the matter, Olive? Did you have your heart set on two-stepping with the sheriff?” he asked.
She grinned and tilted her head shyly. “No, Jacob.”
“Then what is it?”
“Nothing,” she said and nodded to Flo as she passed.
“Look at me, Olive,” he said.
Olive’s head turned slowly and the carnal look in Jacob’s eyes made her breasts heavy and her knees come undone. But once latched, their locked eyes held. Her lips were dry and her heart pounded in her ears as she leaned, soft boned into Jacob’s arms and chest. His thumb moved slowly over her palm in an erotic rhythm that mimicked a touch she sought but did not understand.
This feeling, this want, has brought kings to their knees and shattered nations, Olive thought. Men have walked away from fortunes and power through the years for this heady feeling. For what could be more powerful or irresistible than this magnet, this undeniable force between a man and a woman. She shook her head softly in fear at what she would do or become to have Jacob’s hands on her. Always.
* * *
This woman, his woman he thought increasingly, made his heart pound and stirred to life the bothersome want in his groin. “I smell lilacs,” he whispered.
“My talc,” Olive whispered.
Jacob’s gaze dropped and he pictured Olive as she dusted the powder over the already white flesh of her breasts. His eyes shot back to her face and one side of his lip lifted in a feral growl. He knew townsfolk and friends stared and smirked at their slow grind and he met staring eyes with a cautionary glare. When he saw the sheriff, watching them, Jacob regarded him with a proprietary look and pulled Olive closer still. The dance ended and Jacob pulled Olive close and kissed her forehead softly. Her eyes closed as his lips touched her. His hand did not release hers until they came to the young, redheaded girl holding Mark.
Jacob watched Olive take Mark with a smile and the little boy calm in her arms. He wondered if Olive were too old to have children. He hoped not. He would solve this ache he felt when they slept on the same sheets. When he watched Olive move under him and saw her stomach grow from their mating. That mark on a woman that proclaims to anyone near that she was in her man’s bed and took his force and that she was, unequivocally, his.
And Jacob relaxed with the wisdom of his decision. He would marry Olive. She would raise his children and he would take care of her. This would solve the children’s misery without her and the growing ache in his groin. Best for everyone, he thought and nodded with surety.
* * *
Olive’s face was flushed and she watched Jacob as he tilted his head in confusion, turning to her moments later with a broad smile.
Jacob stayed close to Olive for the rest of the dance. His hand would touch her elbow when someone approached and Olive reeled from the intake of breath the connection brought. The sheriff eyed them and Olive glanced up at Jacob as a sly, slow smirk formed on his lips. His head tilted at the man in challenge and Olive looked nervously away. Jacob was different. Suddenly different and . . .settled. As if he had worked through some long-standing argument with himself and come to a conclusion. Olive shrugged off the thought and enjoyed his attentions. She talked with Flo and Beth and heard Theda’s shrill laughter for the sheriff.
When the dance ended, Olive and Jacob gathered the children and said their good nights. Theda nearly moaned when Olive told her they must get the children home. The ride home was a perfect cool foil to the heat of the day and Olive admitted to herself, she had never been as happy. The children laughed and sang songs Theda taught them. Theda gushed endlessly about the pleasant town Olive had chosen and the wonderful people who lived here. Olive wat
ched Theda breathe heavily and sigh and look out over the darkened landscape. She knew Theda was overwhelmed as she had been with the attentions of a man and the diversions life away from Church Street brought. If she was like Olive, she was, at this minute reliving every moment of her dance with the sheriff. Because Olive could not stop herself from drifting to Jacob and the feel of his hands on her as they danced.
Jacob winked at Olive as Theda repeated for the fourth time what a gentleman the sheriff was. She shook her head at him but it did not stop Jacob from asking, “So did you like two-stepping with the sheriff, Miss Patterson?”
To Olive’s shock, Theda giggled into the night air.
“Really, Mr. Butler, what a thing to ask,” Theda said.
The children’s excitement and shouting, slowly wound down until Olive heard the chirp of the crickets in the distance. Jacob called softly to the horses and Theda stared dreamily to some unknown spot. Olive breathed deeply of the night smells in farm country and thanked God for all that had happened. John and Mary liked the house she had built and Olive hoped they felt the roots of the land twine to their hearts as she did. Her dearest friend, Theda, had ventured here and Olive knew what a sacrifice it was.
Jacob, to Olive, seemed to be at peace as well. Whatever grief hung from his heart he seem to be making peace with. He smiled more and he looked her way often and she hoped she could be as good a friend to him as he was to her.
Her house came into view vaguely in the twilight and Olive’s spirits lifted further still. Her home. How all of the tragedies thrown her way had brought confidence to Olive, she did not understand. But she knew she could do this. This life of farming and working and raising children and making her own decisions. She smiled to herself. She, Olive Wilkins, could do this. Up until now, this joy would only come to Olive when she read a book. And lived through the author’s words, another’s life. She did not need to live through Charles Dickens and Jane Austen any more, though. She had her own life, of her own design and whatever was thrown in her path, she knew, she would work around or over or under. On her own. For herself and John and Mary.