Calico Brides (6 page)

The Old Man brushed it away. “I’m not so helpless that I can’t feed myself. Why don’t you leave a man alone to enjoy his privacy?”

“You know better than to treat a lady that way,” Haydn said. Every unkind word Grandfather spoke diminished his chances of seeing Gladys again. Even if Haydn met someone he might marry and he chose to remain in Calico, who would want to stay around a man who could change his mood at the drop of a hat?

Grandfather rose out of his chair, shaking his cane at Gladys. “And don’t bother coming back.”

With a final desperate look at Haydn, Gladys stumbled toward the door.

Haydn dashed across the floor in two giant steps and held her cloak for her. Leaning close enough to whisper, he said, “I would still like to join you for Sunday dinner. If that is acceptable after today. I’ll bring the dishes Aunt Kate sent over. You might not believe it, but he ate every bite of the stew.”

She nodded. “Get him to see a doctor if you can, will you?”

He opened the door for her. “I’ll let you know on Sunday. I’m so sorry things turned out this way today.” He helped her in the wagon and watched her drive away, disappearing down the street. Her departure leached some of the color from the brightly colored baskets hanging on the porch.

“Shut the door, boy, before you let all the heat out.”

All the warmth had fled the room with Grandfather’s outburst, but Haydn did as requested. He crossed the room and climbed the stairs.

When Grandfather coughed this time, it sounded forced, a plea for sympathy. Haydn made himself turn around and return to the living room. Grandfather picked up his teacup. “Get me some honey, will you? You’ll find it behind the jams on the shelf underneath the counter at the back of the pantry.”

Haydn smelled the chicken soup he had left steaming on the stove. Bless Aunt Kate. This was perfect for Grandfather. Deciding to risk his anger, Haydn dished out a deep bowl and brought it out on a tray along with the honey.

“Here’s the honey. And something extra you don’t deserve, not after the way you treated Gladys today.” He opened the jar of honey and poured a bit into Grandfather’s tea.

“Tea with milk tastes like child’s pabulum.” In spite of his complaint, Grandfather drank it. “I suppose Kate sent over the soup. She seems to think she can cure every ill in the world with some chicken soup.”

“A lot of women agree with her. Including my mother.” Haydn itched to get away, to go upstairs, but he made himself wait. This was a time to prove Paul’s statement that “love is patient, love is kind” and to continue helping when everything in him wanted to run.

The heated red of Grandfather’s cheeks subsided, and he didn’t cough again while he downed the bowl of soup. Neither one of them spoke until he finished.

Now that the immediate danger had passed, Haydn spoke his mind. “I’m ashamed of you, for the way you treated Gladys. All she’s done is offer friendship, and you attacked her.”

Grandfather threw back his head and laughed. “That’s the spirit.”

Haydn stared.

“I was waiting for you to show some backbone, something to light your fire about that young thing. I guess I did it, didn’t I?”

It was Haydn’s turn to frown. “You frightened her so bad, she may never return.”

“No worry about that.” Grandfather chased a final chunk of chicken around his bowl. “She’s too much like Kate to give up easy.” He placed the bowl back on the tray. “When are you seeing her again?”

“Sunday. Her mother invited me to join them for dinner.”

“Excellent.” Grandfather rubbed his hands together. “Time to meet the family.”

The remainder of the week passed quietly enough. Occasionally Grandfather’s coughing woke both of them up in the middle of the night. Haydn had taken to leaving a mug of tea with milk and honey on Grandfather’s dressing table when he went to bed. Downstairs, hot water simmered in a teapot over low heat for the night, in case he needed more. If he needed help, he had a bell he could ring to call Haydn. He didn’t get any worse, and although he didn’t get any better either, Haydn decided the doctor could wait for now.

Grandfather shooed him away earlier than usual on Saturday night. “Stop fussing over me like an old mother hen. I’ve got my bell here if I need help.” He picked it up and shook it. “If you want to make a good impression on Gladys’s father, you’ll put on your best suit to go along with your fresh haircut. If you want to get her mother on your side, you’ll praise her cooking, even if it’s charred, and her wonderful children, even if they run on top of the tables.”

Haydn had to smile at that. He’d never cared enough about a woman to worry about what impression he made on her family. But Gladys, she just might be different.

Haydn didn’t know how Grandfather had guessed about his trip to the barbershop. His mustache was trimmed about a quarter of an inch, the hair at the back of his neck shaved, the irksome cowlick at the top of head cut short and tamed with pomade. Would it be obvious to Gladys as well? He shook the thought away. No need to dwell on it. Every man got his hair cut sooner or later.

The season kept Haydn from taking flowers to offer his hostess, so instead he’d stopped by Finnegan’s Mercantile and asked the owner for any candies he carried. As he paid for the candy, he spotted a silver hair comb that had ruby-colored stones set in the handle. On an impulse, he added that to the purchase. He could imagine it holding Gladys’s dark curls in place.

Sticking the items in his pocket the next morning as he prepared for church, Haydn debated the wisdom of giving Gladys the comb. He might as well ask her father for permission to court his daughter if he gave her such a personal gift. Despite Grandfather’s conditional promise to fund the newspaper, or maybe because of it, Haydn wasn’t ready to commit to courtship.

When he saw Gladys enter the sanctuary in the company of Ruth and two other women he hadn’t met before, her hair sparkled in the light. He wanted to rush over and give the comb to her right then and there. The girls disappeared into the cloakroom before he caught up with them, and he caught himself. He waited, ready to greet Gladys as they came out.

“—since he’s so rich.”

Haydn thought it was the blond who said that. “Oh, Mr. Keller is rich enough to buy himself ten carriages if he wanted to,” Gladys said.

The words hit Haydn like a slab of ice, and he stumbled away. Maybe Gladys Polson was nothing but a money-hungry schemer after all.

G
ladys wasn’t sure what she had said about Haydn that got her brothers so excited. The youngest, Georgie, in his first year at school, couldn’t wait to play trains with their guest. On Sunday morning he was pushing two small blocks of wood across the floor. “Choo-choo, chugga, chugga. Do you think Mr. Johnson will bring his caboose with him?” He had latched onto Gladys’s mention of the carved toys.

“I don’t think so. They belong to Mr. Keller, not Mr. Johnson.”

Georgie shrugged. “I bet he’ll play with me. I’ll ask.”

Whether he would or wouldn’t, Gladys didn’t know. “Maybe. Now put those away and stand up before you get your Sunday clothes dirty.”

“He won’t want to play trains with you,” Glenda, the youngest girl in the family, huffed. “He’s going to come outside and throw snowballs with us.”

Gordon, Glenda’s twin, told Georgie, “You can play with us if you want to.”

“Why do you all think he’s going to play with you?” Gladys asked. “Maybe Ma invited him so she and Pa could visit with him.”

“They’re all excited about meeting him because you haven’t stopped talking about him.” Grace, closest to Gladys in age at fifteen, grinned. “You start every other sentence with ‘Haydn.’ ‘Haydn caught me when I fell off the ladder,’ and ‘Haydn helped me hang the baskets.’ Ma only invited him so you could see him again.”

After that too-close-to-home statement, Gladys didn’t ask any more questions. When she’d left the Keller mansion a few days ago, she could have sworn Haydn was every bit as upset as she was at Mr. Keller’s outburst. The way he asked if he was still welcome in their house had warmed her heart. His question hinted that he was eager to see her again, even to spend time with her family.

If she’d thought her family was bad, the sewing circle was even worse. Annie wormed the story of Gladys’s last visit out of her in less than fifteen minutes.

“He’s sounds mean as an ogre. I wouldn’t go back.” Annie shook her pretty blond curls.

“That’s what I thought at first.” Gladys struggled to put her thoughts into words.

“But God called you to love Mr. Keller, even when he’s grouchy and mean?” Ruth guessed.

Gladys squirmed uncomfortably and stopped stitching for a moment. “Something like that. Only I don’t know what to do next.”

“Ask Mr. Johnson if Mr. Keller ate the soup you brought to him. Maybe you can bring more over,” Ruth said. “Isn’t there a verse in the Bible that talks about heaping coals of fire on your enemy’s head? Not that Mr. Keller is your enemy.”

“That’s a good idea. I’ll ask Haydn tomorrow.”

That statement started the speculation all over again.

Gladys hoped her friends had worked the teasing out of their systems at their Saturday meeting. But on Sunday, when they all arrived at church about the same time, Annie started in again.

“It’s a pity that Mr. Keller is so unhappy, since he’s so rich.”

“Oh, Mr. Keller is rich enough to buy himself ten carriages if he wanted to.” Gladys fingered the lace on her collar and wondered why she had gone to so much trouble. “But money hasn’t made him happy.”

When they left the cloakroom, Gladys spotted Haydn across the sanctuary, and a smile leaped to her face. She lifted her hand to wave, but he didn’t acknowledge her presence in any way. She wondered if he had forgotten about the invitation.

Ma came up beside her. “Don’t worry, Gladys.”

How mothers sensed these things was beyond Gladys.

“I’ll remind Mr. Johnson of our invitation.” Ma made her way through the crowd like a cat weaving its way through a maze of feet. Gladys couldn’t see over the tops of heads well enough to see what happened, but he joined them at their house after the service.

But something was wrong. The ease that had fueled conversation between the two of them disappeared, and their words fell into uncomfortable gaps at the dinner table.

Haydn covered it well. He talked with Georgie about all kinds of train cars, from engines to hoppers to the little red caboose.

“Can you whittle one for me, Mr. Johnson?”

“Not me.” Haydn smiled. “Mr. Keller made those for me. I’m not any good at it.”

“Then you can come outside and throw snowballs with us.” Gordon sounded like Haydn’s visit was for his special benefit.

“I will if your mother doesn’t mind.” The two of them discussed strategy, whether to use loose or hard-packed snow to throw.

Grace didn’t say much to their guest, blushing whenever he glanced in her direction.

With Pa, Haydn discussed the finer points of Pastor Fairfield’s sermon, taken from the love chapter in 1 Corinthians. “I try to love my wife like that. The way Christ loved the church.” Pa pointed a fork at Haydn. “That’s what I will expect from the men who marry my daughters.”

Gladys could have sunk through the floor at that statement. What would Haydn think?

Haydn gave her a passing smile. “I don’t blame you, sir.” He didn’t say anything to suggest he had any intentions toward Gladys at all.

The boys more than made up for Haydn’s lack of interest in her, monopolizing his time from the moment they finished eating.

“Go ahead and talk with our guest.” Ma tried to shoo Gladys out of the kitchen.

“I can’t.” Gladys pointed out the window. “He’s out there playing with the boys already.” Touching her collar again, she thought of the extra minutes she had spent on dressing this morning. Waste of time, as it turned out.

About the time Georgie tired of the game and stomped his boots at the door to shake off the snow, Pa met Haydn at the door and led him to the barn. Gladys took her time drying the dishes, her glance darting to the window more times than she wanted to admit.

When the two men exited the barn, Haydn headed down the street without returning to say good-bye to Gladys or her mother. Gladys stayed rooted to the spot until Pa came in.

At a single shake of his head, Gladys ran up to her room, holding back her tears until she could sob into her pillows.