Bittersweet (13 page)

“What’re you a-singin’, little bird?” Ivy looked up at the songbird on the branch overhead. “Yore cheery as cain be. I reckon yore a-trying to sing for your supper. Well, I ain’t sharin’ none of this.Yore fatter than I am.”

“Sis?”

“Uh-huh?” Ivy rubbed the back of her hand across her cheek to banish a vexacious itch. She turned and let out a yelp. “What happened to you?”

“A log I was a-choppin’ decided to hit back.” Ishmael grinned. “Didn’t knock any sense into me, so you cain stop lettin’ your hopes soar.”

“That’s gotta smart.”

Ishmael gently touched the wound on his forehead. “Ain’t bad a-tall. And lookee here. Ain’t this a fine shirt I got on?”

“If it wasn’t for that nasty scrape on yore head, I’d say yore right handsome.”

“The O’Sullivans gave me the shirt. It belonged to Mr. O’Sullivan before he died.”

“’Less I seed a ghost today—” she frowned as she shooed away the persistent little bird—“Mr. O’Sullivan’s still alive and kickin’.”

“I meant his father. You saw Galen O’Sullivan today? When?”

“Wasn’t s’posed to know ’twas him. He snuck through the trees and give us a poke full of vittles.” Ivy snapped the ear of corn in half and slipped it into the kettle. “Gonna have us some nice sweet roastin’ ears tonight.”

“Sounds toothsome.”

“You shore yore head’s alright? It looks dreadful bad.”

“Ain’t nothing more’n a scrape. What’s been goin’ on round here today?”

Ivy didn’t want him worrying about her. Ishmael didn’t need to know that Mr. Smith or Jones or Johnston—or whatever name he made up—made her hackles rise. She shoved her braid back over her shoulder. “That feller and the man what come earlier both showed up. Brung a heap of corn and four bags of sugar.”

Ishmael’s eyes went dark and the muscle in his jaw twitched. “I don’t cotton to them comin’ round when I’m not here. You give ’em wide berth.”

“I got my knife, and I ain’t afeared to use it. Put yore mind to rest.” Ishmael knew her too well. If she didn’t change the topic, he’d ferret out her fear. Ivy flashed him a smile. “You’ll niver guess what was in the poke Mr. O’Sullivan brung.”

“Roastin’ ears sound mighty fine to me.”

“Yup. Me, too. Pa done et most of the pears and apples I brung back, but we got more now. And a bag of rolled oats so’s we’ll have us some stick-to-yore-ribs breakfasts.”

“Don’t make any tomorrow or the next day.”

Ivy gave him a disgruntled look. “Why not?”

“’Cause I’m here. All the days I work, I get a strappin’ breakfast and lunch. On the morns when I’m at home, I cain do without. It’ll make me feel better when I walk o’er to the farm, knowin’ you’ll have a warm belly full of oats.”

Ivy playfully bumped into him. “You been workin’ with horses too much. Yore makin’ me sound like one!”

“Boss shorely has hisself some fine horseflesh. Four are his own, and t’other three belong to the Pony Express.”

She nodded. Ishmael never tired of telling her about those horses. He’d never dared to admit it, but Ivy knew he wanted his own mount. What man didn’t?

“It’s downright gratifying, sis, watchin’ them O’Sullivan young’uns ride off to school.”

“Ishy, deep in yore heart, d’ya ever begrudge them even a little?”

Ishmael looked surprised, then tried to hide the wince that expression caused. “Down to my toes, I’m glad them boys got a sound future a-waitin’ them.”

She shook her head. “Sometimes I wonder that we’re kin atall.”

“Cain’t get no closer’n bein’ twin-born.”

“But yore glad for them kids. Me? I cain’t holp thinkin’ t’ain’t fair.” She cast a look at the tent. “Ever’body else gots a roof o’er their head. I spent my first dozen years with a tin roof what leaked like a fishnet, and the last eight years with canvas that ain’t no better. I ain’t had a day of book-learnin’ and niver e’en onc’t sat on the back of a horse or mule or donkey. Most of the time, I’m so hungry my belly button’s scrapin’ my spinebone.”

With each flaw she cited, the corners of his mouth tightened. Ishmael cleared his throat. “Thangs are gonna be better now.”

She shook her head so adamantly her braid bounced from shoulder blade to shoulder blade. “No they ain’t. Might be we’re lucky a little while. But folks’ll run us off and we’ll trudge on. Dreamin’ on sommat that won’t ever be jist stomps on my soul. I done a real stupid thang that day, a-talkin’ with you ’bout how someday one of us would get hitched and have a house and all. Onliest thang that did was make my innards go spleenacious.”

“Ain’t nothin’ awrong with lookin’ to the future, sis. Things cain change.”

“They won’t. Onliest way we’ll ever see a better life is for you to steal some rich girl’s heart.”

“That ain’t so.”

She poked at the ears of corn as they bobbed in the boiling water. “Is too. Pa tells more lies than truth, but he’s right ’bout me. I’m ugly and stupid. Not a man in the world will give me a second look.”

“The right buck jist hasn’t happened to cross your path yet.” He curled his fingers around her arm. “You got a sharp mind, sis. Book-learnin’ ain’t the onliest kind of smart. As for looks—if’n my face wasn’t so catawomptuously chewed up at this here minute, I’d take offense. Folks say you an’ me favor each another.”

“Only because we’re towheaded, blue-eyed, and rawboned.”

Ishmael flashed her a grin. “The both of us got good, strong straight teeth.”

“Yore back to makin’ me sound like a horse again.”

On Monday morning, Laney carefully tied a cocoa-colored velvet ribbon at the throat of her pin-tucked blouse, then stepped back from her looking glass. A frown sketched across her face as she surveyed her reflection.

“Elaine Louise McCain,” Hilda bellowed from downstairs, “I’m leaving in five minutes. If you aren’t outside by then, you’re staying home!” Hilda had a habit of bossing everyone. She’d been with their family since Laney was a tiny child, and she’d scrubbed and scolded her way into Josh and Laney’s hearts. When Daddy and Josh bought the Broken P and sent Laney away to school, Josh wrote how Hilda stormed about the place, seasoning the meals with her opinion. Even now, with Josh married and Laney all grown up, Hilda managed to assert herself.

“It’s me,” Ruth said as she tapped on the door and let herself in. “Aren’t you ready?”

“No. I need help. I can’t pull my stays tight enough.” She tore off the ribbon and swiftly unbuttoned the shirtwaist. “You’ll have to help me.” With a speed she’d never achieved before, she unbuttoned her skirt, untied the tapes to her petticoats, and let them all wilt into a pile on the floor.

“They’re fine.”

“No they’re not. I look like a crumpled handkerchief. Please, Ruth, help me.” Laney wound her arms around a bedpost. Ruth untied the laces and started tugging them. “It’s ridiculous for you to wear this so tight. It’ll be hot and you’ll end up swooning.”

“I’m much—” Laney took a little gasp as the whalebones cinched tighter—“heartier … than … you think.” She took another little breath and clung to the bedpost like a limpet. Ruth managed to yank the laces so violently, Laney bobbed back and forth with each move. “I’ve never … swooned.”

“There’s a first time for everything.” Ruth pulled again.

Laney drew in a pitiful little breath. “This won’t be it.”

“Make sure of it.” Ruth stopped tugging and started tying.

Hilda’s muttering and trundling footsteps warned she was coming.

“Hurry!” Laney grabbed her shirtwaist and shoved one arm into a sleeve.

“Here!” Ruth pushed her to stand in the center of the petticoats and skirt. Yards upon yards of fine cotton, cotton flannel, and wool engulfed Laney.

Hilda’s mutterings grew louder, and Ruth hissed, “We don’t have time.”

“Just tie all of them together!” Laney desperately fought with a stubborn button.

“Easier said than done,” Ruth grumbled. “Your skirt is dragging the petticoats back down.” The woolen petticoat slid back down to the floor with her skirt. “You’ll just have to make do.” Ruth pulled the waist tapes and knotted them.

“Elaine Lou—” the bedroom door swung open—“eeese.” Hilda’s stormy expression suddenly changed. “I shoulda known. It’s going to be too hot to wear that third petticoat—and wool, at that! That fancy finishing school’s idea of what’s proper doesn’t work out here.”

Hilda crossed the room and nudged Ruth out of the way.

“While you’re half dressed, we may as well cinch you in a little more.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

L
aney refused to look at Ruth. If she did, she’d burst into laughter.

“Awww, girl.” Hilda looked at the incredibly huge knot Ruth had tied to hold up the petticoats, then patted Laney’s cheek. “You’re nervous about seeing Galen. Well, don’t you fret. Hilda’s going to help you.”

“Thank you,” Laney said at the same time Ruth said in a disbelieving voice, “You are?”

“You bet.” Hilda wrestled with the knot when suddenly it came free and the petticoats all tumbled into a pool about Laney’s feet again.

“Hilda,” Ruth began in a wary tone, “what did you mean about helping Laney?”

“Ruth, you’re so head-over-heels in love with Josh, you can’t see the forest for the trees. I’ve known for some time that Laney’s been sweet on Galen. Other folks are pairing them up, too—like Ethel at the diner. Even if the woman can’t cook a lick, she still realizes what a fine couple Laney and Galen will be.”

“Galen’s in mourning,” Ruth pointed out. “So is Laney.”

“Did I say they had to buy a ring and run down the aisle tomorrow? No, I didn’t.” The housekeeper picked a tiny speck of lint off Laney’s chemise. “But I know the look a man gets in his eye when he’s decided it’s time to marry up.”

Panic surged through Laney. She rasped, “Galen?”

“Mm-hmm. Galen minded himself during church, but before and after the service yesterday, that man surveyed the young women.”

“Hilda!” Ruth protested.

The housekeeper’s face puckered. “You can go ahead and think since I’m an old maid I don’t know a thing about love, but you’d be wrong. Those of us on the outside watch how attraction sparks between everyone else. Seen it a hundred times over. Those who fall in love don’t see anyone else—and that’s how you are now, Ruth. You’re too besotted with Josh to have noticed. Well, I spotted the way Galen studied all the unmarried gals, and I knew then and there that Laney’s time has come.”

“Oh, that.” Ruth made a dismissive gesture. “Galen was returning the dishes to folks who took over food for the family.”

“Everyone provided meals immediately after Cullen’s death, but it’s been two months now.” Laney tried to fasten her last button, but her hands shook. “All of those dishes were ones he’s received recently, and every last one came from a girl who’d swoon to have him court her.”

Ruth gave Laney’s stays a telling look. “Swoon?”

Hilda towed Laney to the bed. “Hold fast. I’m going to shave off at least another inch and a half.”

“She’ll swoon,” Ruth warned.

“And what’s so bad about that?” Hilda arched a brow. “A strapping buck like Galen likes to feel manly and show off his strength. Laney, just be sure to sway a little and fade toward the floor. Don’t keel over like a dying cow.”

Laney wound her arms around the bedpost again. “They taught us that at Lady Genevieve’s.”

“Well, well.” Hilda grinned. “Maybe all that money wasn’t such a waste after all.”

“Hilda, it’s a mistake for us to play matchmaker.” Ruth separated the petticoats and folded the wool one. “These things have to develop on their own.”

“A helpful nudge never did any harm.”

“I’m just saying there’s no reason to rush things. Mrs. Landon—or was it Mrs. Penley?—well, whoever it was taught me that a woman never pursues a man. Men like to be in control.”

“Men like to believe they’re in control,” Hilda countered. “We women just let them think they are.”

Ruth tugged on Laney’s wrist, jarring her from her the bedpost. “Laney, I don’t want you to be hurt, and that’s what’s bound to happen. Galen’s never once hinted that he has tender feelings for you.”

“And that’s why we’re going to open his eyes,” Hilda inserted.

Laney nodded, but Ruth held her wrist so tightly her fingers were starting to go numb.

“I want the man you marry to love you for who you are,” Ruth said. “If all it takes to attract him is a tiny waist, then he’s not worthy of you. It’s not what style you’re wearing on the outside; it’s who God made you on the inside that matters.”

“I know that.” Laney patted Ruth’s hand. “Galen is honorable.” Ruth’s hold loosened and her features no longer looked strained.

“Hilda and I talked it over. We’re convinced Galen hasn’t realized that I’m more than Josh’s little sister. Once he understands that I’ve grown up, he’ll allow himself to fall in love with me.” Laney turned back to the bedpost and clung for dear life as her mind whirled.

Hilda yanked harder on the laces. “Galen’s a man in need of help. From the sounds of it, that new farmhand’s sister is something else. We can’t let her sashay in and steal Galen away.”

“I’m afraid … she already … might have.” Laney let go of the bed and turned. The room tilted wildly, then leveled out.

“Here, now. Just two petticoats. Can’t very well have you sweating like a pig before Galen scoops you into his arms.”