Bittersweet (43 page)

“The kitchen is spic-and-span, and lunch isn’t for a couple hours,” Toledo declared. “Now are you going for that stroll with me?”

Hilda spluttered. A moment later, the kitchen door clicked shut. Complete silence reigned. Laney opened the door from the dining room to the kitchen and peeked in. “She went!”

“Could you b’lieve that?” Ivy shook her head.

“I think it’s wonderful!”

“I knowed Hilda was a sharp one, but she done went and figured out what half of eighty-four is.” Ivy continued to shake her head in wonderment. “D’ya thank if I e’er learn to read, mebbe you could teach me to cipher that good?”

“Of course. But, Ivy, we can’t ever let on what we just heard. It was poor manners to eavesdrop.”

“Couldn’t much holp it, what with Hilda bellering like a wounded moose.”

Laney giggled. “Now you have to come over more often. While you’re here, we’ll be able to play Cupid for Hilda and Toledo, too.”

Ivy enveloped Laney in an exuberant hug. “Yore wondrous smart, Laney. I’m so glad yore my friend!”

Laney hugged her back. Through their voluminous clothing, for the first time, she felt the small mound that proclaimed Ivy’s impending motherhood. Even so, Laney patted her back. “I’m glad we’re friends, too.”

“Let’s go.”

“Lemme get my papers.” Ivy gathered up her things and carefully slid them into a leather case. She bade good-bye to Laney, Ruth, and Amanda, then headed out the door.

Ishmael didn’t say a word. He clamped his hands around Ivy and hefted her into the O’Sullivans’ buckboard. “’Bye, ladies. Much obliged for them books.”

“I’ll enjoy discussing them with you,” Amanda said softly.

“Lookin’ forward to that.” Ishy set the books he’d chosen up on the seat and hopped aboard. With a click of his tongue and a jingle of the reins, he set the rig into motion.

Tension crackled between them as they headed home. Ivy knew it was her fault. She’d lied to him.
But he don’t gotta know ’bout the
babe’s pa. Ain’t nothin’ good gonna come of it
. Trying to fill the painful silence between them, she ran her hand over the reddish-colored leather case. Burgundy, Laney called it. Laney always had fancysounding names for colors—pearl, magenta, burgundy. “Burgundy,” she said aloud. “Uh-huh. That’s what color this here satchel is. Ain’t it purdy? Laney give it to me.”

Ishmael barely glanced down at the case in her lap.

“I’m a-keeping all my schoolin’ stuff in this.” She stopped moving her hand back and forth across the buttery leather and worried the clasp with the edge of her thumb. “I got me a pencil and paper and two books in here. Neat as cain be.”

Ishmael nodded.

Please, Ishy, don’t be mad at me
. “I got me a list of words I cain read now, too.”

All he did was nod again.

“Thirty-one words.”
Used to be, you’d be tickled that I could read.
Don’t change
. “I cain read thirty-one words now.”

“Good for you.” He didn’t even look at her or smile. Instead, he looked straight ahead at the horse’s rump like he never seen one before.

The buckboard jostled, and the books Amanda had helped him pick out slid. Careful as could be, he stacked them together again.

A thought raced through Ivy’s mind, and she laughed with sheer relief. “Yore so busy ponderin’ the books you got and how sweet ’Manda is, yore barely hearin’ a word I say.”

“I heard you.”

Chills ran down her back. It wasn’t what he said—it was how he said it. The only time she’d ever heard her twin use that tone of voice was when Pa used to test his patience to the limit. “Ishy, I’m tryin’ to make you proud of me.”

His head whipped around. “Proud? You lied to me.”

“You love me, Ishy. You won’t stay mad.”

“Might be I won’t stay mad, but I’ll always be ’shamed of you. Sick-clear-down-to-my-boots ’shamed of you.”

His words stole her breath.

“Things was always hard on us. Pa drug us ever’whar and we didn’t have nothin’.”

“But it’ll never be thataway again,” Ivy burst out. “Don’t you see? We got plenty to et and nice clothes and a real roof and—”

“Warm blankets,” he said flatly.

The words hit her like a slap. Ivy winced. She clutched his sleeve. “Ishy—”

“We was twin-borned. We always had each other. You was my pride and joy.” He looked at her and shook his head. “No more. I don’t feel that way ’bout you no more. ’Cuz of yore lie, I held a shotgun on the onliest friend I ever had. I believed you over him ’cuz yore my sis and yore my twin and you was all I ever cared ’bout.”

“Oh, Ishy—”

“You ruint Galen’s life.”

Her fingers curled more tightly into the fabric of his shirt. “The babe, Ishy. I done it for my babe. So he’ll niver be cold or hungry.”

His eyes smoldered. “I woulda worked till I dropped dead to get whate’er you and the babe needed.”

“And that’s ’zactly what woulda happened. Then me and the babe woulda been jist as bad off as you and me always was with Pa.”

“Galen—”

“I’ll make it up to him. I will. I’ll do him proud. Jist you wait and see. My manners and book learnin’ should do him right.”

“He never looked down on you when you was wearin’ your flour sack dress and didn’t know yore letters. He was nice to you and me, and this is how you paid him back?” Ishmael’s head dropped back as he groaned, “Sis, how could you do this?”

“I’ll make it better, Ishy. I will.”

“Cain’t. You ruint his good name.”

“Folks’ll forget. Onc’t the babe’s borned, them gossips are shore to find sommat else to twitter o’er.” She let go of his shirt and started stroking the leather case again. “And plenty of folk ain’t holdin’ nuthin’ ’gainst him. The McCains been standin’ staunch. You cain’t say otherwise. Laney, ’specially. She been a true-blue friend to me.”

“Beats me, her keepin’ you as her friend.”

“Ishy!”

“Galen loved her. She loved him back.”

Ivy stared in horror at her brother.

“You done tole your lie and you stole all the happiness they was set to have. He’s saddled with a wife and a babe what ain’t his, and Laney’s heart got broke. You sit here crowin’ ’bout the things she does for you, ’bout the nice thangs you got. Well, I hope yore happy, sis, ’cuz yore lie bought you those thangs—but the folks who was the onliest ones who e’er bothered to holp us paid dear for it. That’s right. They paid with all they e’er dreamed and hoped for.”

Shivers wracked her, and she shook her head to deny his accusation.

“You been making a fuss o’er how somebody’s stealin’ stuff from the houses round here; you done worse. What you took cain’t be boughten at a store and put back like nothin’ e’re happened.”

“Cain’t be so. Tell me ain’t so,” Ivy plead. “Laney wouldn’t be holpin’ me, and Ruth wouldn’t give me purdy dresses if ’n ’twas true. They even give me a weddin’ gift.”

Ishmael’s face was grim. “’Tis the truth.”

The satchel slid from her lap, but Ivy didn’t try to catch it. It landed on the board between their feet.

Ishmael’s gaze nearly bore a hole through her as he demanded, “Tell me who the feller is.”

Ivy shoved her fist against her mouth to hold back a sob.

“You gotta. That’s the onliest chance that mebbe we could set thangs right.”

Slowly, she lowered her hand and wrapped both arms about her ribs. The word stuck in her throat, but she still answered him by shaking her head.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

I
vy, dear, come on inside.” “Yes, Ma.” Ivy trudged up the porch steps. Her heart was every bit as heavy as her footsteps. Ever since Ishmael had discovered she’d lied, life had unraveled. Nothing was right anymore. She keenly missed his jaunty smile and soft words of encouragement. Galen—he treated her real fine. He pulled chairs out for her, read aloud to her, even bought material for her to make baby clothes. Every last kind thing he or his ma did made her guilt mount.

Worst of all was Laney, though. Laney still sat beside her and helped her sound out words. She patiently modeled how to move and sit gracefully. When Laney had helped weed the big garden, she’d drawn words in the dirt for Ivy to happen across. Still, every once in awhile, when she didn’t know Ivy was watching, Laney would spy Galen and for an instant her eyes would light up. Just as quickly, she’d turn away and get busy doing something else.

I done what I had to
. Ivy chanted those words to herself whenever she was alone.
I done it for my babe. Growed-up folks cain learn to
get ’long, but a young’un—he cain’t holp hisself
. The baby kicked, as if to agree.

“Look who’s come by!” Ma thumped the coffeepot onto the stove. “The gals from the Broken P.”

Ivy cocked her head to the side. “It ain’t Friday already, is it? I lose track of the days.”

“No, it’s not sewing day.” Hilda eyed Ivy’s middle.

Ivy fought the urge to shove her hands into her apron pocket and sort of pull the apron out so her belly wouldn’t look quite so big.

“Come here,” Ruth said. “We wanted to show you something.”

“’Kay.” Ivy walked toward them and wondered what they were up to. Ruth and Laney suddenly parted, and Ivy saw what had been hiding behind their skirts.

“Not just the cradle, either, Ivy. They’ve filled it with diapers and baby gowns, too.” Galen’s ma stood next to her and added, “Silly as it sounds, I’d forgotten just how wee small the baby clothes are. You’d think after rearing all those sons of mine, I’d recall such a thing.”

Tears streaked down her face. Ivy tried clearing her throat so she could say something, but she couldn’t stop crying.

“Now will you be lookin’ at the lass?” Ma wound an arm around her. “Your grand presents left our Ivy speechless.”

Laney pressed a handkerchief into Ivy’s hand. “I’m sorry we can’t stay today, but on Friday, we’ll come and have a sewing day.”

Ivy nodded. She tried to mop her face, but then she saw the itty-bitty stitching on the corner of the hankie. It was the exact same shade of blue, and the style of the letters embroidered on it were identical to one of Galen’s Sunday-best handkerchiefs. In her hand, she held proof of what she’d tried to deny. By giving her baby a home and a father, she’d deprived her friend the love of her lifetime.

The misery didn’t abate after the women left. It gnawed at her until Ivy couldn’t bear it any longer. The next day, she concocted a reason she ought to go to town. Ishmael and Galen were busy, and Ma needed to do some gardening. Disregarding the warnings she’d been given about the thief, she set out alone for town.

It took all of her nerve, but she finally made a fist and knocked on a door.

“Come on in!” a deep voice called.

Ivy pushed open the door and timidly stepped inside.

“Mrs. O’Sullivan.”

Ivy twisted around, horrified that Galen’s mother had followed her. Only she wasn’t there.

“Can I help you?” The doctor dried his hands on a snowy towel.

She shut the door and leaned against it. “I ain’t good at knowin’ stuff. If ’n I’m wrong, I want you to tell me straight off.”

“That seems reasonable enough.”

She swallowed. “Parsons and doctors—they gotta keep a secret if ’n a body tells ’em sommat, right?”

“Yes. It’s called confidentiality. We can’t help people if they’re afraid of something and don’t give us the full truth. Is there something I can help you with?”

“I ain’t got no cash money.” Her nose and eyes started to sting with unshed tears. “And the Pony Express ain’t been payin’ Galen for all his work and for keepin’ them horses. Mayhap I oughtta go wait till the parson gets home.”

“You can do whatever you feel you need to, Mrs. O’Sullivan. I would like to take a moment, though, and talk to you about the baby.”

Her knees started to give way, and she slid down the door as she whispered, “How’d you know that’s why I come?”

“Argh!” Galen gritted his teeth against the pain.

“’Tis a vicious, mean cut,” Ishmael announced.

“Aye,” Ma agreed. “Doc’s going to have to be stitching this together, son.”

“You sew every bit as good as the doctor does.” Galen jerked his chin toward Ma’s sewing box. “Grab a needle.”

“Nay, son. Arms are tricky. More important, ’tis your right arm. I’ll wrap it up, but you’ll be seeing the doctor, and I won’t hear otherwise.”