Of Needles and Haystacks

by Ann Elizabeth Fryer

  “Doc says stress made his condition worse.” Guilt colored each syllable. She gazed at the patchwork sunburst in reds and yellows. The sunrise, a symbol of hope.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” I chose to speak out, for my sake. That nothing may be left undone in order to sleep without frustration. Father had always said not to let the sun go down on my anger, or anyone else’s if I could help it. I’m pretty sure God said that too. I plunged ahead.

  “I’m not sure what Uncle told you, but I’ve not been courting Mr. Bleu.” Though we seemed to have been thrown together for that purpose since the gala. “He is not after my...our land. And I have a perfect right to my father’s papers. I’m sorry Uncle thought me incapable of taking care of my own family’s business.” I took a breath.

  She stopped sewing and looked at me with wide, serious eyes, her lips pressed tightly.

  Mrs. Meade came in with the tea, breaking any possibility of a reply. Her sweet, confident spirit dispersed the ill air. Aunt accepted her tea but said little. Words aren’t always needed to understand feelings.

  Mrs. Meade spoke of each and every precious blossom she’d spied on her morning walk, as if these tender growths were the latest, most intriguing news. Had I seen the dear gathering of yellow violets growing near the maple’s roots? Yellow, mind you. I must peek at them before I left. Promised I would.

  I didn’t get to see Uncle, but I did kneel down at the yellow violets and stroked my hand over the velvety little comforters. Couldn’t help but smile over the delicate buds.

  Chess came round with the wagon and helped me in. I’m afraid Helen saw him. We both waved to her. She lifted a mud-streaked sleeve. I tried to shout “good bye” but she had already turned the corner of the cottage.

  In one month, none of them will be able to avoid me.

  Chess sang folk songs and silly tunes all the way back to Cedar Gate. I didn’t dare join in, but like the violets, I enjoyed a little cheer.

  When we arrived home, father’s metal box sat in my desk chair. Mr. Bleu, bless him, had been here.

  JAMES RODE BACK TO his farm disappointed. She’d gone to call upon Hammond and Jenny in town. He hoped their visit went well, but his gut told him differently. His visit the previous day had yielded no results. Hammond’s sense of betrayal cut deeply.

  “You’re not going to play me for a fool, David.” The endearment fell from his tongue from years of habit.

  “I’m not after your farm.” James touched his arm and left the room. Further stress meant longer recovery. God knew the man must get well enough to work.

  He’d left them with one of Ruth’s pies and hoped there’d be one waiting for him at home.

  He trotted past Hammond’s farm—Ernest waved him down. Dirt covered every inch of the gangly kid. “Think you might take a dunk in the creek tonight?” He smiled.

  “Very funny. I chose the trees we need to use, if you can come over tomorrow. Good thing the leaves aren’t all out yet.”

  “I’ll be there first thing.” He mentally gathered the tools needed for stripping branches.

  “Dad talking to you yet?”

  James shook his head.

  “Ever since his debts...” Ernest didn’t finish. He tried again. “I don’t know how he got into the mess, but we were managing, then all of a sudden, our account had emptied and letters started showing up saying how much we owed. Dad didn’t know it, but I sneaked and read the bills. I figured if I was going to run this place one day, I needed to know a thing or two.”

  James breathed deep and slow.

  “And then Dad’s sister wanted to help. Right kind of her. And now, we might lose our living after all. Not sure I can do this alone.” He shrugged. “Tom and Henry aren’t near old enough to do the work of a man.”

  “I’ll help you all I can, Ernest. I promise.”

  “Ah, you got your own farm to run.”

  “Philip and Chess come see you today?”

  “Philip worked all day, like a regular mule.” Ernest cast his eyes down, humbled but thankful.

  “We aim to help you get up three acres of tobacco at least.” James gripped his reins. If needed, he’d hire an extra man to see this family through.

  “We collected enough seed last year. Was going to sell some, but I reckon we’re going to need it.”

  “Let’s get the fields ready first. Finish the house after planting.” James caught Ernest’s flinch. “That is, if you think it best.”

  “I’ll feel a lot better when Dad does.”

  James patted his horse. “We all will.”

  MAY 18, 1880, EVENING

  My cheeks burn for now I know. But what can I do? How can I order my life as if nothing has happened?

  For nearly two hours I’ve been sitting by lamplight on the floor, sorting through Father’s box. Pandora’s box, that is! I tried not to see Uncle’s red, furious face gasping for air. Has he guessed at James’ kindness? If he has, how dare he be so...so...

  Anyhow, I lifted the latch and found a note from James inside, reiterating his apology. He never should have taken it. Shows how a lie can eat a body, even with the best of intentions. And then I found what I could scarce believe. James had, to the best of his ability, rewritten the letters that he’d burned! Each line detailing how much the farm needed financially to survive and its worth. I confess myself taken aback. I had no idea of the value of my inheritance. I still wonder at how my father was able to come up with such a sum. It soon became clear.

  I organized each receipt, every message. Lots of banking words I am not accustomed to, but I did get a sense of what was going on. And then came the agonizing moment of truth.

  Father paid some of Hammond’s debts. Is this the money that James had borrowed? To help pay for debts? I slid a receipt from an envelope and found another tucked inside. A deposit. A very large deposit in the exact value of the farm. Wouldn’t Father need to deposit it elsewhere if he were purchasing? And then a cancelled check slid out. Mr. Bleu’s unmistakable script, also in the exact amount Father had deposited. I held these hot coals of truth. Mr. Bleu had paid for everything. Entirely. I think. But I need to go over these details again to be sure...

  Chapter 23

  JAMES WORE A SHIRT soaked in sweat. Branches lay in a tall heap. Henry and Tom pitched in, each with a hatchet chopping the branches into small bundles—good for the cook stove.

  Ernest took a long drink.

  James took a swig out of his own canteen. “It’s shameful that no one has bothered to visit Dorothy at Cedar Gate.”

  “They haven’t?” Ernest frowned and looked off towards town.

  “Might be good for you to visit her—show her that some family still cares about her.”

  “I’ve a mind to visit my sisters and give them a talking to. Not that it would do any good! Scarcely ever listen to a word I say. ‘Sides. I got all this work to do.” He gazed down the length of the tree, pain swept his countenance.

  “You can’t help what they do, Ernest, but you can certainly be the friend Dorothy needs.”

  “Haven’t you been to see ‘er?”

  James thumped a finger on Ernest’s chest, ire rising. “I’m not her family.”

  Ernest shrugged. “Feels like you are. I’ll take the time. I’ll go. You’re right. It’s just downright embarrassin’. Easier to ignore it and keep workin’.”

  They labored for an hour more when James nearly let his axe slip off the side of the fallen poplar.

  Dorothy stood like a grave apparition a few feet away, unmoving, unspeaking in a brown walking dress—her hair shining in the midday sun.

  “For land sakes, you spooked me, Miss Trafton.” She’d saved Ernest a trip.

  She offered a light smile. Ernest yanked his shirt on and went to her.

  “I wanted to see how the rebuilding is progressing. I know you must be working night and day.”

  What was that she carried? Did he smell cinnamon?”

  Ernest pointed to the long trees. “The
se here will give us enough lumber to patch up what’s left of the house. Need to chop down a few more if Mom’s going to have her kitchen again.”

  James joined in. “We’ll take them to the saw-mill tomorrow. You’ll be back home in no time.”

  Dorothy nodded lightly, avoided his gaze. “Thank you for bringing the box yesterday.” Ah. She looked at him, color rising to her cheeks. He couldn’t look away.

  She held out a lunch pail. “Mrs. MacDonald and I made a batch of molasses cookies this morning. Thought you and the boys might like them.”

  A blue checkered napkin peeked from the pail. She lifted a corner. “Henry, Tom! Wash up and I’ll let you have some.”

  The boys skittered down to the creek. James laughed. “They don’t know we’ve a bucket of water right here.”

  She handed over the pail. “I’ll let you dole them out.”

  He could eat the whole lot of them. He inhaled the spices—better than gold.

  MAY 21, 1880

  I didn’t mind the lonesome walk to and from my farm, so consumed by Mr. Bleu’s financial gift to Uncle. Had I read the receipts right? I was scarcely able to think on anything else. Or look him in the eyes. It was afterwards, when I escaped to my bedroom, that my busy mind plunged my heart into deeper trouble.

  I’d gone looking for Mrs. MacDonald to cure a case of idle hands. I needed some sort of project to make living worthwhile. I heard her voice float from the library door ajar—talking to Chess.

  “A marriage to her would double the size of our property. Your father would be proud to have a bit more land in the family.”

  “I thought you married for love, Mother.”

  “I did, and I absolutely love this place.” She laughed.

  “Mother.”

  “Alright. I adore your father as well. All I’m saying is that Dorothy is a delightful, lovely woman.”

  I trembled. They were discussing me!

  “True...”

  “Well?”

  “I wouldn’t court her for the land.”

  My land?

  “Losh, I know that son. I just wanted to shake you up. Not very clever of me, I know.”

  “I kinda wanted to have a look around.” His voice rose with dramatics. I imagined his arms outstretched. “A wider playing field to scout out my ultimate intended.”

  “Finding a wife is nothing like a baseball game, son. I’m telling you, you’ll not find a better girl than Dorothy. She’s what this place needs. And I want a daughter.”

  So, that’s what she’d hinted at when we sat on the porch the other day. Was she testing the air? I can’t imagine myself needed here. Or familiar enough to be wanted in a romantic manner.

  Chess yawned. “Her looks are decent enough, I suppose.”

  I felt my mouth form an “Oh!” Decent, that’s me alright. I rolled my eyes. He wasn’t the shiniest apple in the barrel either, despite his sparkling personality and easy wit. Wouldn’t Helen be pleased to know that he doesn’t have eyes for me?

  Mrs. MacDonald argued. “She is stunning, in body and spirit. Even in mourning. She has that knowing expression.”

  “You mean proud. Have you seen how she looks down at me? Why don’t you pawn her off on Philip, cure him of his curmudgeonly ways.”

  “Don’t start in on your brother. You know what he’s endured.”

  Philip. What had he been through?

  A clatter of teacups and spoons sent warning. I scooted away from the sliding doors, lest they open. I cautiously made my way upstairs, meandering down the hallway and furniture. I quickly hid behind a palm tree when Philip came thumping round the bend in cadence with my erratic heart. He was in a hurry and didn’t notice me, thank goodness.

  Mrs. MacDonald and Chess must never know I had heard them. How embarrassed we’d all be!

  I sat my decent self on my bed and tried to think about the good things Mrs. MacDonald had said. How rotten to find a man not keen on courting me, even if I wouldn’t have him in the first place! My family needs no further division.

  Her jest about my land was perhaps no jest at all. Had she more need of me or my acreage? I thought of Mr. Bleu, imagining the moment he signed the check over to Father. Trusting him to pay for and hold Uncle’s farm in his safe hands. I must be on my guard against attentions from either son. I was having such a pleasant time! Perhaps that will continue. Nothing may come of Mrs. MacDonald’s romantic suggestions. But it does rather jam a stick in the wheel.

  Chess did pay me special notice this evening. I was all suspicion. Now properly mortified.

  He offered the formal escort arm to lead me into dinner. And winked again. I began to think he must wink at everyone. Maybe he had a problem with his eye!

  I ate uncomfortably as Mrs. MacDonald said little but threw more than one knowing glance to Chess, after which he attempted to talk to me exclusively. Hard for him to do, since it seems his nature is to charm an entire room at once. Always the center of attention. I picked at my sweetened cabbage and pork chops.

  “Milked any cows lately?” he queried.

  I dropped my fork, remembering our odd conversation at the gala last month. “I haven’t, what about you?”

  “You put cream in your tea? On your oats?” He wiggled his fingers. “Thanks to me.”

  “Decent of you.” I sipped my water, trying not to believe I’d spoken the word he’d used on me, but with a very different meaning.

  Mrs. MacDonald began to brag on her boys. She was insistent that I see that though they lived in a glamorous home, they still had to work. I admit, I am impressed with this mode of living. Not dependent wholly on servants or tenants.

  Chess balanced his butter knife on the tip of his forefinger before catching it midair. Such talent.

  “I see to it that the boys know how to prepare chickens as well.” How delicately she put it! And with a smile sweet enough for an elegant gala. I had seen Aunt, Henry, and Tom work on the task of, well, enacting a chicken’s demise. I usually took myself elsewhere to avoid the mess. I’d have to live without meat if I lived on my own.

  I shuddered without meaning to, Chess and Philip laughed in turn. “You shock our guest, Mother.” Chess stood. “Perhaps you need fresh air? Walk with me around the house.”

  I went. Like a silly chicken being led to slaughter. Oh, I shouldn’t have gone. I must confess I was more curious than interested in the man. I’m sure I blushed every shade red.

  We took our time walking the perimeter of the large home. I suspected Mrs. MacDonald’s eyes on me the whole time. If only to know for sure. Did she watch from the balcony? Peer behind draped windows? Eavesdrop like me? Never mind that. What he said was humiliating enough.

  “You’ve been found out, Dorothy. Discovered.”

  Caught in my very thoughts. “Pardon me?”

  “Just how much did you hear, eh? The part about the playing field, or did you come in when we talked about your remarkable looks?” His grin spread from ear to ear.

  I grew absolutely angry. I daresay I sputtered. Crossed my arms too. Even if he had known I was there, why mention it? Pretending it never happened would be so much easier. I was certainly willing.

  “Come now. It isn’t all that bad, is it? Being wanted?”

  “I didn’t hear anything about being wanted.” We were at the back of the house, far in the wide blossoming courtyard or I would have bolted inside.

  “You did, remember? Mother tires of us unruly boys.” He mocked a lady-voice. “I simply must have a daughter.” His lips twitched with humor.

  “I fail to see...”

  “What you fail to see is what you did not hear. I was having a lark with you. The corner of your gown poked in clear as day right at the edge of the door.”

  I wanted to be back in my room, burrowed under the down comforter. I wasn’t sure what he meant to say. His mother’s supposed jest about my land still rankled. Mr. Bleu’s involvement, a fact that consumed my every thought.

  Chess must have seen my appreh
ension. “We don’t need the land.” He gestured to the horizon.

  I looked at him in the eyes, hoping for clarification. His silly manners fell away, leaving behind the real Chess, the one who smiled lightly and held me in gentle, genuine esteem. Had anyone ever looked at me like this? Besides Mr. Bleu?

  “It would be an honor to court you, Dorothy.”

  I gasped without meaning to. Helen. Did I dare?

  “Though you are decent enough.”

  I swatted his arm. “I’m afraid...I...” I didn’t know what to say. I’d come along on this walk out of vain curiosity. To hear Chess joke about and try to placate his mother’s grand idea of courtship without really doing so. But here he was actually offering. And seeming as though he truly cared.

  “I wouldn’t let my brother have a chance with you.”

  “Unfair of you.”

  “What? You prefer him to me? Scandalous.”

  I shook my head vigorously.

  “I hope you will consider me? I’ll be doomed if you don’t.” He looked to the sky as if begging heaven to cure him.

  “I can’t make promises.” Certainly not then. Not yet, likely not ever. Such news might do Uncle in. And then what would become of my family? Mr. Bleu could only help so much. If the thought of my marriage to Bleu set him off...

  I knew that I could never accept Chess.

  “Girls like you need to settle down.” He gave me another genuine smile.

  And then, he did a very rash thing. He swooped closer and tried to kiss me. I should have been prepared—should never have gone on a walk alone with him. I shoved him away and ran like the wind— thankful he didn’t follow.

  Here is everything I’d been missing. A family that desires to have me around, in beautiful surroundings, no less. I’d be able to look forward to children of my own one day. Still, there is no strong pull for me to stay. No spark of love to glue me in place.

  Chapter 24

  MAY 26, 1880

  I visited both Uncle and Aunt today. Whatever our past, or lack thereof, I wanted to start fresh, make a new history. One with our whole loving family back around the hearth, telling stories and singing. Like I remember. Our time together had only begun. How I missed the little ones, constantly gathering around me, treating me like the May queen. Little Ruby dancing around the house and fetching eggs from the hen house. Tom and Henry impressing me with their monotone school recitations. Helen and Kirsten’s wistful dreams—young and romantic as my own.