Bittersweet (15 page)

“Good thang we chopped down that second tree.” Ishmael straddled the porch rail as if he were riding a horse. “These gals are liable to burn every last twig in yore fancy cookstove by the day’s end.”

Galen lifted a slice of bread laden with pear butter. “I’m thinking I’d gladly chop a tree a day if this is the result.”

“The aroma of cooking pears is wonderful.” Laney pinched the ends of a beef rib and lifted it from her plate.

“Onliest thang that smells half as good is that purr-fume 116 Laney’s got on herself.”

Galen turned to Laney. “I’m partial to it.”

Laney smiled at him, but confusion assailed her.
Is he agreeing
that the pear butter smells good, or is he complimenting my lemon verbena?

“Just you wait till this next batch.” Hilda said as she plunked into a chair next to Mrs. O’Sullivan. “Apples will smell heavenly.”

Miss Genevieve would have kittens over seeing me eat with my fingers
. Laney smiled to herself and took a bite. Miss Genevieve probably never had the joy of sitting on porch steps and eating a rib. The taste more than made up for the mess, and being beside Galen certainly rated as sufficient reason for casting away most of the trifling rules of propriety.

Conversation flowed along. Between nervous hope and being laced in so tightly, Laney didn’t have much of an appetite. She’d barely managed to nibble one side of her rib.

“Hold still,” Galen said as he pulled a fresh bandanna from his pocket.

Laney flushed, realizing his intention.
He’s never going to see me
as being mature when I wind up with food on my face
.

He wiped her left cheek. “There. How much am
I
wearing?”

“On yore shirt, yore hands, or yore face?” Ivy asked.

Ishmael chuckled. “What does it matter, Boss? You still got another rib to et. You’ll wind up with more on you, so no use awipin’ up the mess twice.”

“Yup.” Ivy bit into her rib and shook her head side-to-side to worry off the last morsel.

Galen frowned at Laney’s plate. “Aren’t you hungry?”

“After tasting pear butter all morning? I couldn’t eat another bite.”

“She only et one side of her rib.”

Heat filled Laney’s cheeks at Ishmael’s observation. “Ruth, it tasted wonderful. You seasoned them perfectly.”

“Shore did,” Ivy agreed. “No use letting good food go to waste.”

“You’re right.” Galen took the last rib from his own plate, put it on Ivy’s, then snatched Laney’s leftover.

“Mr. O’Sullivan, yore workin’ hard out thar.” Longing crept into Ivy’s voice. “You oughtta have the big ’un.”

“Nope.” Galen lifted the other half of Laney’s rib to his mouth. “This one suits me just fine.”

As soon as they finished eating, everyone went back to work. Hilda gave Laney a smug smile.
It’s not just my imagination? Is Galen
really noticing me?

The afternoon flew by. Galen’s brothers came home from school, did the chores their mother assigned them, then sat out on the porch to read or do schoolwork.

“Ma,” Colin called to her, “When’s supper?”

“Soon, soon.” Mrs. O’Sullivan continued to stir the huge pot on the stove. “Hilda, can you pull the roast out of the oven? I don’t want this last batch of pear butter to burn.”

“Wait just a minute.” Laney tore a generous chunk of bread off a loaf. Hilda had brought enough dough for four loaves, and Mrs. O’Sullivan already had six rising when they arrived. Since the stove was lit, it only made sense to bake at the same time. All day long, they’d baked bread. “Here, Ivy. Go taste this batch.”

Ivy didn’t demure. She grabbed the bread and scrambled over to Mrs. O’Sullivan’s side.

Mrs. O’Sullivan spooned pear butter onto the bread. “I’m wondering if we have enough cinnamon in this. What do you think?”

Ivy didn’t wait for it to cool. She blew on the food, then popped it into her mouth. “Ohhh.” Mouth full, she chuffed in a few breaths, then started chewing and talking at the same time. “This here’s the best batch yet. Didn’t thank it could get any better’n the first pot this morn, but saddle me and call me a donkey if ’n every batch don’t get better’n the one afore it.”

Hilda waved the potholders in her hands at Ivy. “The roast is going to burn if you don’t move.”

“Cain’t let that happen!” Ivy got out of the way.

Ruth motioned to Ivy. “Come with me to the springhouse. I’m not sure what Toledo, our farmhand, brought over in those buckets, but he seemed anxious for Hilda to have it,” she said with a smile as they stepped out the door.

Hilda opened the oven, and the mouthwatering aroma of meat overcame the sticky sweetness of pears and apples. “Here’s a spot, Hilda.” Laney snatched a few jars from the corner of the table, and her housekeeper set the roasting pan down with a resounding thump.

“Laney,” Mrs. O’Sullivan said, “I’m thinking the way you declared Ivy to be the official tester was clever.”

“We had to do something. The day we returned from the fair, Galen said the Grubbs were half starved. I thought he might have been exaggerating.” She paused, then added, “But he wasn’t.”

“Nay, he wasn’t.”

“What can we do to help?”

“’Twas my hope that you’d ask. I wouldn’t hurt your feelings for the world, so I’ll say it straight out. Some days, I’ll ask Ivy to come work. It lets us send food back to her family and allows the Grubbs to keep their pride. Don’t be gettin’ upset that I don’t want you gardening with me for awhile.”

Though saddened, Laney nodded. She loved being with Galen’s mother.
But that doesn’t compare to Ivy’s need
.

“We should still get together.” Hilda yanked her apron bib to center it once again. “What about sewing?”

“Sure and enough, we can do that.” Mrs. O’Sullivan banged her wooden spoon against the rim of the pot. “Why not later this week?”

“That would be wonderful. Thank you.” Laney gazed at the stack of green sacks. As things turned out, these sugar sacks didn’t match the other sacks for the quilt Ruth had hoped to make, but Laney decided they’d make lovely cushions for the window seat in her bedroom.
It’ll allow Galen to see how I can tend to housekeeping matters.
I might not know everything about running a kitchen, but I’m more than able
to sew
.

Ruth and Ivy returned. Ruth seemed utterly fascinated by the contents of the bucket she held.

“Set that aside,” Mrs. O’Sullivan said. “This last batch is ready.”

Jar after jar went over to the stove. Fragrant brown goo filled them, then Ruth and Hilda set them on the table. Laney ran a knife around the inside edges to banish any air pockets, and Ivy put on the lids.

“Ma?” Dale called from the porch, “Do we get to lick the pot now?”

“Son, you’ll have a bellyache if you do.”

Galen’s chuckle filtered into the cabin from the porch. “I’m thinkin’ they won’t, Ma.”

“I know they won’t,” Ishmael added in a playful tone.

Ivy asked no one in particular, “When did the bucks come back?”

“Ishmael and I worked up an appetite,” Galen declared from the porch. “These boys out here would have to fight us for a taste.”

“You’re not too old for me to paddle you for teasing your brothers, Galen Cedric O’Sullivan!”

Laney and Ruth looked at each other and silently mouthed, “Cedric?”

Galen filled the doorway. “It’s a good thing I’m a forgiving man.”

“The smell of good food always tames the beast,” Hilda said in a wry tone.

Ishmael shouldered his way past his boss. “Ready, sis?”

“For what?” Ruth set the last jar down on the table.

“To go.” Ivy pointed at the jar. “Soon as that’un’s got a lid, I’m ready.”

Ishmael and Ivy—especially Ivy—need to stay and eat,
Laney thought.
But Galen’s starting to notice me a little, and he’s been interested
in Ivy
.

“Go?” Ruth said in disbelief. “You can’t go now. It’s suppertime.” Ivy shrugged. “Pa had to rustle up his own lunch. I gotta go.”

Hot pear butter slid down the knife and hit between Laney’s thumb and forefinger. Twisting her hand so the knife pointed downward, she thought,
It serves me right for being selfish
. “Supper’s almost ready. What if—”

“This is nonsense.” Mrs. O’Sullivan waved her hand as if she were trying to shoo away a pesky fly. “We’ll make a plate for Mr. Grubb and send it with you.”

“That’s right neighborly of you.” Ishmael hooked his thumbs into the waist of his britches. “Much obliged, ma’am.”

Laney ran the knife around the jar. A big air bubble surfaced and popped, and the level in the jar dropped.
Just like my hopes and
dreams for Galen and me?

“Good thang you got that ugly old pocket of air outta thar. ’Twould have spoilt the whole jar if ’n you hadn’t.” Ivy sealed the lid.

I don’t know what to think, Lord. You promise to grant the desires of our
hearts if we walk uprightly. But I’ve been claiming that promise and now I’m
jealous and selfish. I don’t know what to do
.

“Since you’re done with that …” Galen robbed Laney of the knife and grinned as he licked the pear butter from it.

A short trill of laughter bubbled out of her.

“Simple pleasures are what make life worth living.” He took another long lick, then sighed. “A spoon would have had more on it.”

Ruth lifted the bucket of meat and carried it over to Galen’s mother. “Ivy recommended we bring these back.”

Mrs. O’Sullivan peeked in the bucket. “Ah, yes. The tongue.”

Laney shuddered. “Tongue?”

“Aye.” Mrs. O’Sullivan pushed the tongue to the side and lifted another huge, thick, hideous-looking thing from the bucket.

A funny buzzing sound filled Laney’s ears.

“This here,” Mrs. O’Sullivan said as she held the big maroon thing that dripped blood, “is liver.”

The cabin started to tilt.

“Laney!” Hilda squawked.

A dark haze spun wildly about Laney, and she felt strong arms catch her.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

M
r. O’Sullivan managed to catch Laney before she hit the floor. She draped over his arms like a soggy dishrag. “Want me to put her on your bed, Ma?”

“And where else would you be putting her?”

Hilda pumped water onto a clean dish towel. “Here.”

While he stretched Laney out on the bed and patted her cheek, his ma wiped her own hands on the towel and came over. “Out with you boys. Don’t go too far. Supper’s in a few minutes.”

Once the door shut, Hilda took over another wet cloth. Mrs. O’Sullivan pushed it away. “That won’t make a spit of difference. I’ve been marveling all day she hasn’t done this—she’s laced far too tight.”

Ivy stood back while they loosened Laney’s beautiful clothes. She wasn’t just wearing a pretty skirt; she had not one, but two underskirts, as well. “She must be a-swelterin’ in all them layers.”

“She normally wears three.” Ruth imparted that scrap of information in a distracted tone. “Is she—”

“She’ll come around in a minute.” Mrs. O’Sullivan yanked on laces. “Once she can breathe. It’s pure nonsense, a lass cinching herself in like this. I aim to scold her if you don’t, Hilda.”

Hilda shook her head. “She has tender feelings.”

Something akin to the sound of a day-old kitten’s mewling came from Laney as her eyelids fluttered. “She’s comin’ round.”

“Oh,” Laney whispered as her eyes opened. “What—”

“You swooned, Laney Lou.” Hilda fussed over her like a hen over her first brood. “Just lie still a minute.”

“It’s no wonder you did.” Mrs. O’Sullivan managed to sound firm, yet caring. Ivy wondered how she did that. “Your stays were far too tight. There’s a difference between being properly clothed and being vain. You know better than this.”

“Sorry,” Laney said in a whispery tone.

“She’s never fainted before.” Ruth waved a piece of paper over Laney’s head as if it were a fan.

Ivy stood on tiptoe and stared at the garment Mrs. O’Sullivan had loosened. It didn’t seem possible that something that silly would make anyone keel over. “Mayhap she needs her blood built up. Liver’s good for that. I could slice that ’un along with a mess of onions and fry it up right quick.”

“She doesn’t like liver,” Hilda fretted.

“Elaine Louise McCain—”

Uh-oh. Mrs. O’Sullivan don’t call someone by a whole string o’ names
’less she’s fixin’ to bring ’em up short
.

“You’ll eat liver tonight.” Mrs. O’Sullivan fiddled with the strings coming from the back of Laney’s rich-lady clothes. “A generous serving of it.”

“I’ll start on it,” Ivy volunteered. She didn’t wait but went straight to work.
Cain’t imagine what’d be like havin’ folks make a big fuss
over me. Ain’t niver seen such a to-do over nuthin’. Don’t make sense that a
body wants to bind up so’s they look like they’re starvin’
.

At supper Laney obediently took a serving of liver. Ivy couldn’t tell whether she’d finally gotten some color in her cheeks because she wasn’t strangled anymore or if she was embarrassed. Ruth sat on one side of her, and Mr. O’Sullivan made sure to sit on the other side—like it was going to take both of them to keep her upright.