Bittersweet (11 page)

Ishmael barely opened the door a crack and whispered, “Milk pail’s not in the barn.”

“We’ve gotten a slow start this morn, Ishmael. I’ll send Sean out to milk the cows, and you can muck the stable.”

“’Kay.” The door shut.

Ma looked at Colin, but she said nothing.

“We’ll work things out here, Ma,” Galen promised.

“Dale and I’ll go gather the eggs.” She reached over and squeezed Colin’s hand. “None of us’ll breathe a word to Ishmael yet. I won’t do anything that’ll hurt any of my dear sons.”

Everyone else slipped out of the cabin, but Colin didn’t budge an inch. Anger sang from his tense body.

Lord, grant me wisdom
.

“You can’t give away Da’s shirts!”

Galen looked over at the washstand and let out a long, slow breath.
Be with us, Lord. The valley of the shadow of death is far darker than
I imagined
.

Galen wrapped his left arm around Colin’s stiff shoulders and half dragged him to the washstand. “The cotton of a shirt is insubstantial. It tears and rots away.” He opened the washstand drawer and slowly curled his hand around something. “You’re a man now, Colin. Aye, you are. I’m thinkin’ Da would be wantin’ you to have this.” He pressed the item into Colin’s hand.

“Da’s razor.” Surprise and reverence mingled in Colin’s voice.

“Aye. And a fine one ’tis. The one I use belonged to Grandda. Proud I am to have it. This one—Da’s—was made to last and be passed on.” He reached over, wedged Colin’s jaw in his hand, and turned it from side to side. “Time’s come to let go of your childhood, Colin. We’re going to shave now.”

He’d already stropped his razor, but he did it again for show. “Now you do yours.”

Colin smacked the razor up and down the strop with more zeal than skill, but that didn’t much matter. He squinted as he checked the edge of the razor and nodded as though he knew exactly how it was supposed to look.

“Hot water works best. Ma always sets a full pot on the stove in the mornin’, so fetch it.”

Bringing the water toward the washstand, Colin asked, “How much do I put in the mug?”

“Just a wee bit. Barely cover the soap.”

Colin slopped in a little too much and winced.

“Since we’re both shaving, we’ll use it.” Galen forced a smile.
I did the same thing the first time I shaved, and Da said the selfsame thing
to me
.

“Nothing smells like McGillicutty’s,” Colin murmured.

“’Tis the finest.” Galen relaxed at the familiar recitation of what Da always said about his shaving soap. “Now work that into a fine lather, then scrub it onto your face in brisk circles.”

Soon they stood side-by-side, faces covered in a white froth. “Watch me. Hold the razor just so. Keep your forefinger firm, then lift your chin and pull your face to the side so the skin’s taut, then shaaave.”

Intent on faithfully copying every nuance, Colin managed the first stroke fairly well. By the third stroke, his confidence got the better of him and he managed to nick himself. “Ouch!”

Galen yanked open the drawer, grabbed the styptic pencil, and put it beside the mug. “The alum in that styptic stops the bleeding but stings like a wasp.”

A grunt was about the only response—until Colin used the pencil. He grimaced and chuffed air in and out for about half a minute. “That’ll teach me to be more careful.”

“Aye.” Galen continued to demonstrate how to shave and warned, “Many’s the time you’ll shave your mustache and get McGillicutty’s up your nose. Pull the razor away, else you’ll sneeze and cut yourself.”

Colin finally finished wiping the last specks of soap from his 85 face. “Well?”

Pretending to be critical, Galen rubbed his thumb across his brother’s chin. “I’d say you’re owning a fine razor now. It did a grand job.”

Colin looked at their father’s razor. “It served Da well. I won’t ever forget watching him shave.”

“’Tis the memories that make us strong. In the years ahead, you’ll use his razor and recall the wise and good things he said and did. We’ll share the memories, and that’ll keep Da alive in our hearts and minds. Other things we have to let go of, Colin.”

“You’re talking about Da’s shirts.”

“’Tis true, I am. And there’ll be other things, as well.”

“But why?”

“I keep telling myself I can let go of things because I have a wealth of memories that no one can ever take away. We found pleasure in remembering what Da said each morn about Mc-Gillicutty’s. Such a simple thing, that—but good.”

Sean came back in, and Ma and Dale returned just moments later. Worry tightened Ma’s features as she stared intently at Colin and Galen.

“Now, Ma,” Galen said, his arms bent akimbo. “You had no cause to worry. Colin barely even nicked himself.”

“Colin shaved?” Sean’s eyes bulged.

“Of course he did.” Ma finally smiled. “I’m thinking ’twas about time, too. He’s turned into a young man right before our eyes—and a handsome one at that.”

“Aye, he’s not hard to look upon, but that’s just the outside.” Galen served him a manly slap on the back. “On the inside, where God looks, Colin’s striving to have a pure heart.”

“As well he should.” Ma scanned all of them, then headed for the cupboard. “But I’ll not stand for empty-headed sons. If we don’t make haste, you lads’ll be tardy for school!”

While bacon sizzled on the griddle, Ma set six places at the table. It looked wrong and right all at the same time. She cleared her throat. “I’m scramblin’ eggs, Galen. Won’t take but a few minutes. You’d best summon Ishmael so he can wash up.”

“I’ll fetch him.” Colin headed outside.

While Sean and Dale washed up, Galen went over and murmured, “I hope you don’t mind, Ma. I gave him Da’s razor.”

Ma poured the eggs into the skillet and made a funny little sound. She blinked to keep from crying. “Since Colin has his father’s chin, ’twas fitting.”

Galen watched as she pushed the eggs around and they turned into fluffy yellow clouds instead of the charred mess he’d made. Odd, how such little things made life seem almost normal.

“Galen-mine, I’m glad you worked it out.” Ma leaned into him. “I wasn’t sure how to comfort Colin. Giving him the razor was a grand plan.”

“I think Da would have wanted it.”

“That he would.”

After they all sat down and Galen said grace, Ishmael didn’t reach for any of the food. “Miz O’Sullivan, ma’am, Colin asked me if ’n I’d like his daddy’s shirts.”

Ma nodded.

“I won’t take ’em if ’n spying me in ’em will stab yore heart.”

“Take them. Please.” Ma passed him the bowl of eggs. “These, too.”

“I think Da would have wanted it,” Colin said.

“For Ishmael to have the shirts, or the eggs?” Dale asked.

“The shirts.” Sean plucked three rashers from the platter and shoved it toward Ma. “We all think Da would have wanted them to go to good use.”

“That he would,” Galen agreed.

CHAPTER NINE

G
alen.”

“Yes, Ma?” He looked at his mother over the gelding he’d just unsaddled. She held a lumpy flour sack.

“You mentioned the Grubbs are staying on our land, but I don’t remember where.”

“South corner, by the stream. Why?” He saw tears welling up in his mother’s eyes and went around to her. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t bear the thought that the Grubbs are hungry.” The tears sketched down Ma’s cheeks.

Galen pried the sack from her, set it down, and pulled her into his arms. At breakfast and lunch, Ishmael had obviously been trying not to eat too much, but when Galen or Ma offered him more, he accepted with alacrity and wolfed down the food.

“We know what it’s like to be hungry.” Ma’s words came out hushed and choppy.

“Aye, we do.” They’d lost two of his little brothers to the great potato famine before coming to America. He’d thought Ma had come to peace about it. That was years ago, and she’d said God generously gave her three more sons to replace the two she’d lost. But Da’s death seemed to be raking up that sadness all over again.

“Ma, I hired Ishmael’s sister to come over twice while you were gone. She took home fruit and vegetables as her pay.”

Ma pushed away and dried her face with the hem of her apron.

“Well and good, but I’m going to take over more and ask the lass to help me put up pear butter.”

“No.”

“But you’re the one who suggested it.”

But I don’t want you going there. I don’t trust Ebenezer Grubb. Ishmael
has proven to be gentle-spirited and reliable, and Ivy worked hard when she was
here; but their father is fast-talking and shifty-eyed. Why am I letting someone
I don’t trust live on my land?
Galen tried to put his thoughts in order. “We’ll just ask Ishmael to invite her over.”

A tune carried in the breeze. Galen’s head swiveled toward the source. Ishmael kept whistling as he propped up the scarecrow.

The song was one they’d sung at Da’s funeral.

“‘Asleep in Jesus.”’ Ma slid her hand into Galen’s as she named the piece. “You were humming it after breakfast today. ’Tis consolation, thinkin’ on how Cullen’s resting against the bosom of the Prince of Peace.”

Ishmael learned the tune from me. He doesn’t know it’s a hymn, but it’s
a start. That might well be why they’re here—for us to lead them to the Lord
.

“We’re supposed to give secretly, Ma. I’ll take the bag and drop it off. Choose a day when you want to make pear butter and tell Ishmael before he leaves tonight. He’ll ask Ivy.”

“I suppose ’tis best.”

Ma went inside, and Galen hid the bag. He finished caring for the mustang and set it out to pasture.

“So, Boss,” Ishmael called to him, “whaddya want me to do now?”

Galen tilted his head toward the pigsty. “Reinforce the bottom boards all around that. Dale keeps climbing on it to visit Hortense and Mr. Snout.”

“Snout?” Ishmael threw back his head. “Hooo-ooo-ie! I misheared him. I been thankin’ he gone and named that pig Mr. Snot on account of how the critter’s coloring goes white on the bottom part of his nose.”

“You’ll have to tell that to Dale. It’ll tickle him.”

“I’ll be shore to. Long as I got a hammer in my hand, I could walk yore fences and check to be shore they’re standin’ strong.”

“I did that after you left yesterday.” Galen needed to keep Ishmael busy for awhile so he could go drop off Ma’s bag. “After you see to the sty, chop firewood. I’m behind on that, and we’ll need plenty for the winter.”

“Got stuff ready to be cut, or do I need to go chop down trees?”

“One day next week, we’ll go chop down a few trees. I recently dragged several large branches over. You can hack them into manageable lengths.”

Ishmael knew where the tools and nails were; he’d helped rehang the barn door. He gathered the necessities and went over to the sty.

Galen grabbed the bag and sneaked away. He couldn’t take a horse because it would be obvious. Instead, he set out at a fast pace. When he approached the Grubbs’ camp, Galen slowed and looked for a likely place to leave the food. He didn’t want to be seen, but he wanted Ivy to find the bag.

“Oh, my stars and garters!”

Galen wheeled around.

Ivy stood about four yards away with her hand pressed to her heart. It didn’t escape his notice that she had a knife in that hand. “Mr. O’Sullivan, you pert near scairt me outta my skin.”

He pressed his finger to his lips and shook his head.

“Ain’t much of a secret. I already spied you.”

He set down the bag and looked over his shoulder.

“Oh.” Her voice dropped to a mere whisper. “You don’t want Pa to know you brung that?”

He nodded.

“Whate’er ’tis, thankee, Mr. O’Sullivan.”

Galen smiled and left without uttering a single word. By the time he got back to the farm, the sound of the ax rang in the air. He walked through the cornfield they’d already harvested and decided that for another two weeks he’d still be able to coax beans from the vines that climbed the stripped stalks.

Last year Da tried to help strip the last of the beans, but he’d been too weak. Galen stood in the very spot where Da’s legs gave way. He’d known his father was frail, so he’d been working alongside him and caught him.

“Son, let me sit on my land. Time’s come for us to talk, and there’s no
better place than this.”
Galen fell to his knees as the memory crashed over him.
“We’re surrounded by life, son—but seasons change. Our precious
Savior will be taking me home ere we see another harvest. Your ma and your
brothers—I’m entrusting them to you. God will give you strength to carry on.”

“Galen?”

The panicky edge in Sean’s voice yanked Galen back to the present. He strove to sound calm. “Aye, boy-o?”

“So you’re not hurt or sick, are you?”

Galen rose and grabbed Sean, then tipped him upside down and shook him until he giggled. “I’m hale as a horse. Aye, I am.” He pretended to drop Sean, jerked him back up and set him on his feet. “But you’re growing big as can be. One of these days, I’ll pull with all my might and you won’t budge an inch.”

“Does that mean I getta pick the corn tomorrow, too?”