Bittersweet (12 page)

Galen closed one eye and tilted his head to the side. “Hmm.”

Sean stretched tall and puffed out his scrawny chest.

“Close, but I’m thinking you’ll take on that job next season.

You and Dale need to be picking the beans in this field while Colin, Ma, and I harvest the last of the corn.”

“Aww, Galen!” Sean kicked the dirt.

“And you’ll weed Ma’s flower garden, too.”

Sean folded his arms across his chest. “Da wouldn’t make me do woman’s work.”

“Da would paddle your backside for saying that.” This was the first time one of his brothers had challenged his authority.
They’ll not grow up to be the kind of men God and Da would approve of if
I’m not firm. Da entrusted me with the boys on this very spot. ’Tis fitting that
I’ll be making my first stand here
.

Galen glowered at Sean. “A man—a real man—does what needs to be done. Adam and Eve were the first farmers, and the only job God gave to the woman that was hers alone was to bear children.”

“Huh-unh.” Sean shook his head. “Eve had to sew the leaves into clothes.”

He’s testing me
. Galen leveled a stern gaze at his little brother. “Making clothes isn’t a woman’s work. God himself made clothes for Adam and Eve when He cast them from the Garden of Eden.”

“Are you teasing me?”

“Our Lord is to be praised and worshiped. I’d not treat Him or His Holy Word lightly. ’Tis in the second or third chapter of Genesis.”

The slightest squint still narrowed Sean’s eyes, and his head cocked a little to the right.

He’s trying to figure out how far he can push me
. Galen’s jaw hardened. He lowered his voice and spoke very distinctly. “The next time you try to shirk a chore because you think ’tis beneath you and expect Ma to do it, you’ll be doing that chore while suffering a sore backside.”

Sean’s jaw dropped open.

“We’re a family, and we work together. Whatever work needs to be done, we do.” He crooked a brow. “Are you hearing me, Sean Michael O’Sullivan?”

Sean nodded very slowly.

More than once, Da had said God tempered His power with wisdom. Galen took that lesson to heart. He’d made his point; best he dismiss Sean now. “Go on and change out of that new shirt and put on your old one. There’s plenty of daylight left.”

Sean didn’t scamper away. “Galen? I came to tell you my horse is going lame.”

Galen folded his arms akimbo. “Change and meet me in the stable. We’ll look at her together.” Once Sean left, Galen bent forward and smacked the soil from his knees.
Don’t know why I’m
bothering. My brothers are going to keep me on my knees, Lord. If you’d spare
me a good measure of wisdom and a bushel of patience, I’d appreciate it. Oh,
and while I’m asking for things, if you could see clear to having that horse be
hale, I’d be thankful
.

Ten minutes later Galen held the mare’s hoof between his knees and guided the dull knife in Sean’s hand. “See here? That pebble worked its way in and is hurtin’ the poor beast. Pry it out gently. Aye. Better to take your time and do a good job than to rush.”

“It’s hard not to hurry. Lightning is hurting!”

“Not when she’s not putting her weight on this hoof. There! You got it out.”

“I did it!” Sean beamed. “I made Lightning better!”

“Aye.” Galen turned loose of the mare’s leg and straightened up. “But you were right to have me come check her. Have you ever noticed how Josh and I often look at a horse together?”

“Yeah.”

“There are plenty of good reasons. A second opinion or evaluation can often bring to light something one man might miss. Then, too, hurt beasts aren’t always docile, and horses are big and powerful.”

“Like when Mr. Lufe’s stallion bucked?”

“Exactly so.” Galen slid the knife into his belt. “Eddie Lufe was smart enough to have someone with him, else he might have gotten hurt. Never mistake being brave with being foolish.”

“I won’t, Galen.” Sean stooped down to pick up the little pebble. He stood up, admired it for a moment, then stuck it in his pocket.

“Go round up Dale. I’ll have the two of you carry some wood in for Ma.” Minutes later, Galen held Dale and Sean off to the side until Ishmael finished splitting another piece. Just as the ax descended, the log tumbled. The ax struck and most of the log shot off to the side while a big chunk flew up and hit Ishmael.

“Argh!” Ishmael dropped the ax and covered his eyes with his hands.

CHAPTER TEN

G
alen parted the boys and ran over to the stump. He spun Ishmael around and shoved him to sit right where that log had once been. “Let me see.”

Ishmael didn’t remove his hands. He rocked back and forth. “Dad burn it!”

Grabbing his bandanna from his back pocket, Galen barked, “You lads go tell Ma he’s hurt and I’m bringing him in.” He didn’t bother to look to see if they obeyed. Blood poured from Ishmael’s nose and through his fingers. Galen wrenched Ishmael’s hands away and smashed his bandanna to the wound running from Ishmaels eyebrows to his hairline. “It’s your forehead. Can you see now?”

The farmhand’s eyes opened. “Wouldn’t hurt … so much … if you weren’t so ugly.” “If you weren’t already bloody, I’d punch you for that. Here. Stand up. I’ll help you into the house.”

Ishmael stood. “Dad burn it! Dad burn it!”

Galen clenched Ishmael’s arm. “You’re hurt, but mind your tongue. Bad enough you cursed with my little brothers here. I won’t have you speaking that way around my ma.”

Ishmael reached up and took over holding the bandanna to his head. He gritted his teeth, and that was the full extent of his reaction.

Galen led him across the yard and up the porch. Colin stood in the doorway. “Do I need to go fetch Doc, or do you want me to hitch up the buckboard to drive him in to town?”

“Let me have a look at it first.” Ma already had towels on the table and one in her hand. “Half of this mess is nothing more than a bloody nose. Ooch, now. A chunk of skin’s missin’ from your forehead, Ishmael Grubb. It’s none too deep, but it’s wide enough to make you glad the dear Lord gave you a thick skull to protect your brain.”

“What do you need, Ma?” Galen admired the way she always stayed calm in an emergency.

“I’m wanting to stop the bleeding and clean him up.”

“We’ve got a styptic pencil with our razors.” Colin dashed toward the washstand. “Nay, Colin. Some purple loosestrife would serve far better.

Ishmael, pinch your nose here to stop the bleeding. Galen, hold this towel to his head. I’ll fetch some loosestrife.”

Ma left and returned with three stalks of a purplish-pink flower. “Wouldn’t you know they’re dusty?” She rinsed them, then stripped the flower petals into one of her smaller mixing bowls. After adding a small splash of water, she crushed the petals with a wooden spoon and mixed them to form a paste.

“Boss, I left yore ax out thar.”

“Colin will see to it.” Galen glanced at Colin, who nodded and left.

“Ma,” Dale called down from the loft where he’d gone so he could see better, “whatcha gonna do with that?”

“I’m making a paste.”

Dale giggled. “You’re going to paste him back together?”

“ ’Tisn’t funny when someone’s hurting.” Galen gave his littlest brother a stern look.

“Don’t mean to be quarrelsome, Boss, but I was a-thankin’ the selfsame thang.”

“Loosestrife stops bleeding and has healing properties.” Ma took the towel off Ishmael’s forehead and started smoothing the paste on him.

“Ain’t niver wore posies afore. My smeller ain’t good with my nose messed up, so I cain’t tell if ’n these got much of a scent, but they’re shore puttin’ a halt to the burnin’.”

About ten minutes later, Ma fussed over Ishmael as she gently cleaned off the paste. “It’s going to be sore for a few days, I’m afraid. I hope it won’t scar.”

“Do you think Doc would want to stitch him together?” Sean asked, leaning over the loft railing.

“He wouldn’t,” Ma said with great authority. “’Tis wide and shallow, and you only stitch when a wound goes deep. Galen, his shirt’s a rare mess.”

Galen silently crossed the cabin and got one of his father’s shirts.
Lord, you knew this need before the accident even happened. Thank you
for preparing the boys—and especially Colin—this morn
.

“Much obliged for the doctorin’, Miz O’Sullivan. I’m beholden to you.”

“Nonsense. It’s thankful I am that you’ll be just fine. Your head’ll ache a day or two, so I’ll get you some willow bark. But don’t drink any willow bark until tomorrow. If you have it tonight, that wound might start bleeding again.”

“No need for any, ma’am. Sis got some on account of Pa’s rheumatiz sometimes kicks up.”

Galen stood next to Ishmael. “As soon as Ishmael changes, I’ll be sure he gets back to his family.”

Ma took the hint. “Good. I’m needing something from the springhouse. Ishmael, if you need anything, send your sister here.”

“Won’t be any call for that, ma’am.”

“Oh—and on Monday, I’d like to finish putting up pear butter. Will you please ask your sister if she could help?”

“I’m shore she’d be tickled, ma’am.” Ma left, and Ishmael changed into one of Da’s shirts. “I’m steady as a hunnert-year-old rock, Boss. Don’t have no need to be watched home like a boy on his first trip home from the schoolhouse.”

“Your wits are addled if you think I’d let you saunter off.”

Galen and Ishmael started back toward the south corner of the farm. Ishmael waited until they were halfway to his place, then stopped.

“What’s wrong?” Galen asked.

“Cain’t rightly say as I know. That’s why I’m a-stoppin’ here. I ain’t a fine gentleman, but I niver stooped to bein’ raw-mouthed. Pa cusses, and I’d druther he didn’t—specially when Sis is around. But you got yore hackles up and I cain’t figger out why. All I said was dad burn it.”

“I understand you didn’t mean to curse.”
I was wrong, Lord. I
expected a man who knows nothing about you to act like a Christian
. “I’m sure you must not have known what that saying really means.”

“It meant I done sommat stupid and got myself into a fix.”

“You got hurt; it was an accident. There’s not a man alive who hasn’t had a log shift as his ax was arcing down. But your words—they have a meaning you didn’t know.
Dad
is slang for God. Remember how I said He’s my heavenly Father?”

“Yup. So you thunk I was a-wantin’ your God to burn my head?”

“No, Ishmael. Christians believe after this life, a man’s soul either goes to heaven or goes to hell. Hell is an eternal fire. When a soul is sent to hell, we say it is damned.
Burn it
is just another way of saying the same thing.”

“So when I say dad burn it, that’s the same as … Well, shut my mouth! Niver knowed them was cuss words.”

“Now that you do, I need to know you won’t use them. The boys deserve a good example, and Ma is a lady. I don’t want my family hearing foul language.”

“Cain’t honestly say I’ll niver again say it, but I shore will try not to. Is that good enough?”

Galen smiled. “I appreciate your candor. Aye, ’tis good enough. You don’t work tomorrow or Sunday. We take the buckboard to town on Sundays for church. You’re welcome to join us.”

“Nah. Cain’t see much need for gettin’ churched so late in life. This old dog ain’t gonna learn a new trick.”

Galen didn’t want to pressure him. Folks had a tendency to dig in their heels when someone else tried to strong-arm them into doing something. A nonchalant hitch of his shoulder felt like the best response to Ishmael’s comment.

Ishmael shoved his hat far back on his head. “Onc’t upon a time, I knowed a buck whose boss made him rise up early every Sunday morn jist to be shore he’d be at church. You ain’t mullin’ over makin’ me sit on a hard bench and listenin’ to a preacherman rant and rave ’bout God, are you?”

Galen shook his head. “Whether you attend is your choice. The invitation’s always there, Ishmael—for you and your family.”

His farmhand merely shrugged.

“How’s your head?”

“I got me a real hard head, Boss. You don’t gotta worry none.”

“You’ll ask Ivy about helping Ma put up the pear butter?”

“Shorely will. But I’m a-tellin’ you here and now, you cain count on her. Fact is, Sis ain’t had a chance to swap howdies with a woman in a long while. She’d do jist about anything to spend time with yore ma.”