Bitter Eden (15 page)

Time hadn't healed the hunger of the laborer. Time

hadn't healed men's lust for profit Time hadn't healed the depraved need to exploit the helpless. Time hadn't healed the wounds lust and abuse had left on Rosalind. Only goodness healed. Only goodness would heal Rosalind. Only goodness would heal Callie, and that he didn't know how to give, for it was God's gift

At the front door he told her to close her eyes. Again she obeyed. A puppet Sadly Peter wondered what kind of fear and despair could make a human being obey anything on command. Stumbling, but rigidly obedient, she walked across the slippery, muddy yard, forced to cling to his arm with cold deathlike hands.

"Callie, there's no need to be so frightened. My brother and I built you a bower—a place filled with the warmth and color of May. Open your eyes, Callie, and see that even now in the rain and the cold there is still a place of beauty. There is always such a place." He felt like a fool. His words sounded stilted and pedantic, yet he kept talking, almost desperately, wishing somehow that it was possible to make a world for her as it should be.

Callie opened her eyes. Before her in the drizzling rain stood the May house, a small structure built in the cold and the wind, covered with boughs of green and bedecked with hundreds of Natalie's dried flowers. Muted by the mist, marigolds and pinks mingled with delicate blue-and-violet cornflowers. The flowers of the field nestled snugly against their more sophisticated brethren of the garden.

She took a step farther into the May house, no longer aware of the Bereans. Inside it smelled of the earth, a moist, rich smell. Then she smelled the pine and the heady scent of newly moistened dried rose petals. Bathed in the misting rain the dried flowers came alive again. On their petals stood tiny crystal

droplets, brilliant and clean. The flowers, as dried up as Callie, softened in the moisture, their colors once more natural, their pliancy renewed for this brief moment. The March grayness disappeared in Callie's mind. She no longer noticed the cold or the wintery wind that stirred the pine boughs and occasionally threatened to dislodge the flowers from the May house walls. Inside of her spring began, its special warmth flowing through her, thawing, living.

She saw things as she hadn't been able to for months. Entwined in the branches was the Bereans' welcome. Their love was secured there as were the flowers. Caring had gone into the cold hours Stephen and Peter had spent building it after they had completed a long day's work. And Natalie's pride, her flowers, were there, given freely. In the May house she finally saw the Bereans clearly—all of them, even Peter.

Slowly the enormity of what James and Meg offered her came clear. They wanted her. The Bereans had opened their arms to her from the start. The strangeness had not been in them, it had been in her. It was she who had prayed to God to protect her from them—from Peter—and He had answered her through a loving act by the man she had feared.

The tears streamed down her face. It seemed to her that in her May house the sun shone as brightly as it might any May morning. It shone everywhere but in the one spot where she.stood. She had so much to atone for.

She turned suddenly, her face wet with tears, to look at Peter. He stood at the entrance to the May house, concerned, his face lined with doubt.

"Oh, Peter, forgive me," she said, tears bursting from her. She ran to him as she might have run to her

father when she needed his protective guidance in understanding some new and momentous feeling.

His arms closed around her. "Ahh, Callie, don't cry. It's nothing—just a May house. I shouldn't have forced you to come."

She shook her head against him. "No, no, I didn't understand ... I didn't know . . . I . . . the men at Mrs. Peach's ... I thought you were like that I'm so sorry. Oh, Peter, I'm so awful."

He patted her, then took his handkerchief from his pocket, trying to wipe her tears and blow her nose for her. All but incoherent, Callie continued to babble out the whole tale of Mrs. Peach and her infamous business.

Rosalind took several steps backward. She watched wide-eyed, listening to a story resembling her own; then she had to turn away, her hand against the pounding pulse at her throat. She felt as though her world were crumbling. Her whole life had been peopled with men and women she couldn't trust, people who used her, who left her when she needed them. Peter had been the exception. Despite her complaining and nagging, she had believed he would always be with her. He'd be the one who would never turn from her, never leave her. Now she was frightened as though he were already gone.

She looked back to her husband and Callie with sad eyes; then her jealousy began to grow. Why had she never been able to cry as Callie was now? Why couldn't she tell her innermost shameful secrets and believe someone would listen to her and like her? Why had she always to be so alone with her doubts and fears? Rosalind had never been able to bear her soul so completely. She had always known everyone would hate her and know whatever evil there was, was in her.

She turned from Peter and Callie again and ran from the May house, envying Callie and hating her at the same time.

The rest of the Bereans stood stunned, helpless and moved by the wrenching outpouring. James Berean cocked his head, indicating they should leave. Peter looked at his father, seeking guidance.

"Let her talk," James said quietly. "It's, what she needs. Just be patient, son. It's not important that it make sense to you. It does to her/' James motioned to Stephen to join him.

Stephen stood near the rear of the May house, his own blue eyes bright with tears. He looked with longing at Callie, wishing that it had been to him she had turned. Slowly he moved past his father into the rain.

James left the May house, stopping for a moment at the entrance to look at his son and the girl. He was not certain what he had witnessed, but he knew somehow that it would affect them all. He was not a fanciful man, nor was he given to premonitions, but he had never seen anything so sad, nor anything so natural, as he watched Callie and Peter clinging to one another, drawing strength and the power to heal. He felt puzzled and uncustomarily removed from reality as he walked back through the rain to the house.

Peter watched his father leave; then his attention returned to Callie. He hardly knew what to do with her. Her whole body shook with her sobs and still she continued to explain. He listened to her tell that terrible story of ill fortune, crime, and terror, and he held her tighter. He could feel the fear and horror pouring from her, and he felt angry.

He didn't know what he was angry about, or at whom to direct it, but it was there, big and strong inside him. He wanted to fight the thing or people responsible for harming her. As he did at the laborers'

meetings, he felt an urgent, surging power of idealism that made him see the simplicity of justice. Men were good. They had only to practice it. Good was simplicity itself. Yet he did not know how to give it to others. Often at the meetings he had said in his strong clear voice, "It is the abandonment of evil. It is the relinquishment of cruelty. We must not harm the farmers or any other living soul, or we can never win our battle for justice. We strive for fairness and justice for you. It cannot be gained by the perpetration of foul deeds, nor built upon the carcass of iniquity/' They listened to him. Some agreed. All believed, but none practiced it, at least not fully. The striving for a better world was always relegated to a future in which it would be easier to be Christian once the laborers had gotten what they wanted. He had heard the same thing from the farmers. All of them would like to give fair wages and would—just as soon as the government gave them what they wanted.

He rocked Callie, murmuring words of comfort in her ear, and in his belly and chest there was the aching hurt that came again and again when he knew no one would stop hurting another until he himself was no longer being hint. Who were these people depraved enough to hurt Callie? Why?

He cupped his hand beneath her chin, bringing her head up until she met his gaze. "No one will harm you again. I'd not let them."

Her eyes were the blue of the cornflowers nestled among the pines. From them shone hope and trust and love. The haunting fear might never have been. Peter's eyes held hers as he marveled at the power of the very young to begin again, knowing that was the true gift of life. "You'll come to me if you ever feel afraid again?"

She nodded, trying to smile.

He laughed in relief and hugged her fiercely. "Oh, Lord, I'd build you a May house for every day of your life if I could always keep you happy."

She laughed brokenly, hiccoughing and sniffling. "I want only this one."

Chapter 10

After the May house Sunday, the calendar lost meaning for Callie. Even in times past she couldn't remember being happier. Perhaps she'd never noticed before, but now it seemed that the Berean house constantly rang with laughter and hummed with activity. It seemed they were all emerging from a long, bitter winter.

All the work on the farm was divided casually among the members of the family. One did what one was best at. It was for Callie to find her particular niche. She set about this in a sort of frenetic joy. Her rich contralto could be heard through the house as she scrubbed like a scullery maid, polished furniture with the hired girls, learned to sew well enough to put Mrs. Pettibone's fine stitchery to shame, and mastered bread making to a fine art.

Callie grew in health and well-being with each day. She came to know each of the Bereans, feeling more and more a part of the family. Often she thought of Ian and how proud he'd be to see her now. There were few moments when Callie wasn't radiantly

happy, and the Bereans in turn took to her and were warmed by her. Rosalind alone maintained a sour reserve, but she hadn't reckoned with Callie's persistence, nor her determination that Rosalind should behave as Peter deserved. The cooler Rosalind's attitude, the hotter Callie's pursuit. In time Rosalind's feeling became ambivalent. She was jealous and put out by Callie, and at the same time she wanted so badly to have the courage and freedom to do what Callie had done; she was fascinated by her. Occasionally Rosalind cooperated with Callie's constant plans, which mostly had to do with Peter.

"But what shall we do? Peter wont like this," Rosalind said in response to Callie's suggestion they take the noon meal to the fields. "He'll think we're daft . . . two silly women with their parasols." But there was a trace of excitement in her voice.

"You slice the bread while I get the fresh cheese. I think this is the best I've ever made and it's aged just right."

"Is there any pie left from last night, Callie?"

She grinned and pointed to the corner cupboard. "I baked tarts—just for the three of us. Peter's favorite-apple."

As the two of them finished packing the basket and enclosing it with a fresh cloth, Natalie entered the kitchen, her eyes hard on Rosalind, then softening as she looked at Callie. "Dinner outdoors? May I come?"

Rosalind's face fell; the lightheartedness she had just begun to feel disappeared. Callie looked sympathetically at Natalie. "Oh, Nattie, I'm sorry. I didn't think to ask you if you'd like to come. We've packed only for three, and there isn't time to change it now." Callie noted Natalie's glance at Rosalind, then at herself. "Rosalind sees so little of Peter lately, we thought we'd surprise him. Next time, I promise I'll plan for

you to come too. Perhaps we could ask Albert and Stephen to join us."

Natalie said nothing, but Callie sensed her jealous anger. Quickly she suggested, "Let's go into Seven Oaks this afternoon, shall we? I'd love for you to help me select some new ribbons."

Natalie hesitated, then sauntered toward the door, looking back over her shoulder at Rosalind. "Perhaps—if Albert doesn't take me to tea with his mother."

Callie looked down at the neat white cloth-covered basket. "I'm sorry, Rosalind. I should have realized Natalie would want to go too."

Rosalind threw herself into the nearest chair. "It's all useless." She shoved the basket. "Peter doesn't care where he eats. I don't feel like going. I hate Natalie. She ruins everything. She thrives on it, the wretched bloody bitch!"

Callie cringed at the harsh savagery of Rosalind's voice. She liked Natalie and she liked Rosalind, but whenever the two women came together there was no standing either of them. Callie had tried on previous occasions to act as peacemaker and had been scolded, berated, and screamed at for her efforts.

She stood, waiting out Rosalind's tirade against Natalie. When it subsided she said calmly, "The bell's rung. The men will be going home for dinner. If we're to surprise Peter, we'd better hurry."

"Damn Peter. Let him eat with the other field hands. He prefers their company to mine. Just ask him."

"Well, if you don't want Nattie to think she spoiled your day, you'd better come anyway." Callie sighed dramatically. "But it's up to you." She began slowly to remove the white cover from the basket.

Rosalind slapped her Rand. "You'll make us late," she snapped. "Come along!"

Rosalind strode to the fields, the fixed pout on her face giving Callie grave misgivings. She had been determined to give Peter a nice surprise and an unaccustomed, pleasant daytime hour with his wife. All she succeeded in doing was bringing him a waspish female, angry and ready to sting anyone in her path.

Callie felt her spirits rise momentarily as she saw Peter yelling jovially to Marsh that he'd see him in the south field after dinner; then they crashed down again as she thought of what Rosalind's greeting to him might be.

She was as unprepared as Rosalind for his loud, exultant whoop when he saw them. Like a tawny cat he raced toward them. He grabbed Rosalind by the waist, raising her into the air then down into his arms. Breathless, her pique forgotten, Rosalind dropped^ the basket and put her arms around his neck. "You smell like manure," she giggled, wrinkling up her nose.

"Natural-like, as they say." He nuzzled her, then put her back on the ground. "What have you brought, Callie? A bear, I hope. I'm hungry enough to eat one fur an' all."