Carolyn Davidson (22 page)

He grunted, turning to his side. “We needed it. It’ll make the plowing go easier next week.”

“Plowing already?” She covered her legs with the quilts and curled on her side.

“Yeah, we’re having an early spring. I think I’ll get the corn in before the first of the month.” He stretched his arm across to where she lay, catching her around the waist and tugging her snugly against him. “Sleepy, Jo?”

Ducking her head, she wiggled in his hold. “Don’t, Tate. Not with Bessie right across the hall.”

“For crying out loud, honey! She can’t see us in here.” He leaned to nuzzle her neck. “You haven’t wanted me to touch you since she got here. What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“I’m just tired, I suppose.” She closed her eyes, aggravated by the effect his mouth was having on her. Tate Montgomery could have her in a loving mood faster than a spark could light tinder. “Please don’t, Tate.” She stiffened in his embrace, and knew a moment’s regret as he backed away.

“All right, honey. I know you’ve had a hard week. You’re doing too much lately.”

“I’m not complaining,” she said, pulling the covers over her shoulder, strangely chilled as Tate turned from her.

“Go to sleep, Jo,” he told her, yawning widely and reaching to pat her shoulder in a gesture of comfort.

“Yes…” She closed her eyes. But, caught between Tate’s soft snores and the certain knowledge of a child growing within her, she lay silent and unmoving, unable to relax. Finally aware that she would not sleep again, she watched the rain against the window, until the last sprinkling drops were chased from the sky by the westerly wind and the rising sun.

“A
unt Bessie’s gonna stay another week,” Pete announced, the screen door slamming behind him as he tore through the kitchen. “I gotta find my string. We’re gonna make a kite.”

He was gone, his feet fairly flying up the stairs as his words sailed back to ring ominously in Johanna’s ears. The wonderful Bessie was once more proving to be innovative and charming. Kites, indeed! Fixing pot roast for supper was more the order of the day, as far as Johanna was concerned.

Playing games and entertaining the children was all well and good, but when it came right down to it, small stomachs needed nourishment three times a day, and somebody had better be in the kitchen.

Not fair! Johanna’s heartfelt cry was no less poignant for its silence, and her tears dripped steadily as she tended her meal.

She’d never been so childish and foolish, she thought, swiping at her cheek with the pot holder she held. Imagine being jealous of a poor old widow who had no children of her own and had come for a visit. Even to her own mind, that statement smacked of insincerity, and she laughed
aloud as she attempted to relate the sumptuous Bessie to the vision of a “poor old widow.”

Admittedly, Tate’s attention to Bessie had waned, his work taking him farther from the house during the past couple of days. The first week of Bessie’s visit, he’d pretty much stuck close to home, playing the part of host. But Monday morning had found him impatient to ready the fields for planting, and the visit to town had produced bags of seed corn from the mill.

“It’s a new breed of corn I’d like to try,” he’d said as Johanna questioned the purchase.

“Pa always used his own crop for seed the next year,” she’d told him stubbornly, thinking of the money he was spending.

“I told you before, I’m not your father, Johanna.” Tightlipped, he’d refused to defend his theory, and they’d spent the ride home in near silence. Except for the giggling of two small boys in the back of the surrey as Bessie regaled them with stories.

Selena had been cautiously sympathetic when Johanna stepped to her desk to pick up the mail.

“Will she be staying long?” Her fingers were deft as Selena sorted through envelopes and periodicals, her query casual yet pointed.

Johanna had groaned. “It’s been too long already,” she confided, leaning forward so as not to be overheard.

Bessie had emptied her small leather purse of change, spending it on penny candy during that shopping trip, and Johanna had been at her wit’s end, dealing with Timmy’s stomachache throughout the night hours.

“The boys aren’t used to eating a lot of sweets, Bessie,” Tate had told her at the breakfast table, his smile an apol
ogy
for the statement.

Bessie had sniffed and shared a secret smile with her two coconspirators. “Nonsense! A little candy never hurt these boys before. I think Johanna’s been a bad influence on you,
Tate. You never used to be so stingy with your sugar!” An arch look of fond remembrance had accompanied her remarks, and Tate had subsided after a quick glance in Johanna’s direction.

Now Johanna chewed on that last bit of suggestive reasoning Bessie had offered. Just what sort of “sugar” had the woman been speaking of? Surely Tate had not been involved in that direction? No, Tate Montgomery would never stray beyond the boundaries set up by marriage vows, be they his or someone else’s. That was one thing Johanna would stake her very life upon.

“Jo?” Soft and cajoling, his calling of her name jarred her from the reverie in which he had played so large a part.

He stood behind her. His smile was tentative, as if he doubted her approval of his appearance there, and she wondered at that. Tate was not usually dubious about his welcome in her kitchen.

“I’ve been thinking about something, honey, but I want to make sure you’ll like the idea before I do it.”

She was right. He was here, asking her to pass judgment on his next project, and she frowned. “You’re not about to buy another bull, are you, Tate?”

His laughter was subdued, as if he were not willing to call attention to his presence. “No, even though time will prove me right, I did enough damage with that deal to last a long time, Jo.” His gaze was tender, almost yearning, as he reached for her.

The hand clutching the pot holder moved to his shoulder, and she brushed there at wisps of hay that had tangled in the fibers of his shirt. “I think we’re about past that point, Tate,” she said, her eyes fastened to the worn collar of his work shirt, needing to assure him, needing to put their quarrel to rest finally.

“Lord in heaven, I hope so,” he said feverently. Bending, he touched his mouth to her forehead. “This is something else, Jo. I’ve got something to show you.” He drew
her across the kitchen floor, pushing the screen door open, tugging at her hand, pulling her to the porch.

“I found an old fallen hickory-nut tree down at the edge of the woods, and I thought to cut it for firewood. Take a look at this, Jo.” He bent to where he’d placed a slab of wood perhaps four inches thick, an elongated oval, cut against the grain. “This’ll sand down real nice. Just look at the lines in the wood, honey.”

Johanna frowned, puzzled by his fascination. Wood was good for burning in the stove or building furniture with. Perhaps Tate was intent on making a table from his find. “What will you do with it, Tate?”

“I’ve been thinking…”

From the field to the east of the house, Sheba barked shrilly, and a cry rose, catching his attention as Tate broke off in midsentence.

“Pa! Pa! Look at our kite!” Pete was shouting as he ran, his words punctuated by the squeals of Timmy, whose short legs could not keep up with those of his older brother. Over their heads, caught by the wind, a magnificent kite with a tail of fluttering white bows sailed at the end of Pete’s string.

“Bessie knows how to make kites,” Johanna offered, her tone neutral as she stuffed her hands into her apron pockets.

Tate chuckled. “She’s amazing, isn’t she? You’d think she was just a young sprout herself, the way she carries on with them. Too bad she’s not much use for anything else.”

Johanna stiffened at that telling remark, and turned to the door. “My potatoes will be boiling dry if I don’t watch out, Tate. Supper will be ready in fifteen minutes. If those boys want to eat, they’d better haul that kite down and wash up.” Her skirts swishing smartly, she turned from him.

“Jo?” His lips tightened as he watched her go, the project forgotten. At least on her part. Tate picked up the slab of wood, carrying it to the barn, and there he wrapped it in an old burlap sack, placing it on his workbench. He’d
wait until he was finished before he showed it to her again, he decided. If she didn’t approve of his decision, so be it.

Now to call in the boys. He didn’t look forward to seeing their long faces at the interruption to their kite-flying. But Bessie would talk them out of their pout.

“Spoons ain’t nearly so much fun without you, Pa,” Pete declared glumly. Tate pulled the door shut behind himself and latched it for the night, his gaze taking in the game in progress around the kitchen table.

“You seem to be doin’ all right. I had a chore to work on,” he said, scrubbing at his hands over the washbasin in the sink.

“I thought the chores were finished a long time ago,” Bessie said, her chin propped prettily on her folded hands.

Tate shrugged. “They were. This is just something I’m doing for Johanna.” He looked beyond the kitchen doorway to the dark hallway. “Where is she, anyway?”

“Gone to bed, Pa,” Timmy offered. “She looked sleepy.”

“It’s about time for you boys to follow her, I’m thinking,” Tate told them. “Tomorrow’s another day.”

Used to following orders, Pete slid from his chair, albeit reluctantly, and nodded at his brother. “Come on, Timmy. Let’s go.”

“I’ll go up with you,” Tate offered. “You’ll need a light.”

“Miss Johanna said she’d light the lamp in the hall upstairs, Pa. We can see all right by that,” Pete said.

Tate nodded. “I’ll come up a little later, then.”

“Sit down and talk for a few minutes, why don’t you?” Bessie asked Tate, her fingers wiggling a good-night message to the boys as she spoke.

Tate filled a cup with coffee from the back of the stove and pulled his chair from the table. “Might do that. I’m
just afraid once I sit down, though, I won’t want to get up.”

Bessie leaned toward him, her mouth pulled into a sympathetic moue. “Have you ever thought about going into business for yourself, Tate? Maybe someplace in town, where you won’t have to work from morning till night, the way you do now?”

He shook his head. “Nope. Farming’s what I do, Bessie. You know that.”

She smiled knowingly. “As smart as you are, you could succeed at anything you set your hand to, Tate Montgomery. I’ll warrant you could give any merchant in town a run for his money if you wanted to.”

“Maybe,” Tate answered agreeably. “But walkin’ around in a stiff collar and being inside all day sure wouldn’t set right with my soul.” He lifted his cup and sipped at the strong black brew, then eyed it cautiously. “This stuff sure has a kick. Johanna must have added an extra handful of grounds.”

Bessie’s smile was strained. “She’s quite a switch from Belinda, isn’t she? Rather down-to-earth, and all that”

Tate’s mouth twisted, his eyes narrowing as he considered her words. “Down to earth? I guess that’s a good way to describe her, Bessie.”

“She doesn’t do much with the boys, does she?”

Tate considered that idea. “I don’t know. She works with Pete with his letters and numbers. She’s teachin’ him to read, you know. And she helps with the chores and keeps their clothes clean and cooks their meals. I guess she manages to put a lot of time in on them, all around.”

Bessie’s voice softened. “They need more than physical care, Tate. They need love!”

His head lifted abruptly, and his eyes darkened. “Love’s more than playin’ games, Bessie. Don’t you doubt for a minute that Johanna loves my boys.”

She laughed—a trilling sound, guaranteed to travel the distance from the kitchen to the bedrooms overhead.

Johanna pulled the quilt over her ear. The rumble of Tate’s voice had sounded through the register in the floor, followed by Bessie’s softer words, all incomprehensible, each one a barb in her battered feelings.

“They sure have a lot to talk about,” Johanna muttered, pulling up her legs, tucking her nightgown down around her feet. She’d claimed to be sleepy. The truth was she’d had about all she could take of Bessie and her games. Not just the hilarity of spoons being grabbed and tussled over at the kitchen table, but the continual reminders of another life Tate had led. The game of placing Johanna in the nether regions, while Bessie endeared herself to the males in this household.

Another burst of tinkling laughter from the kitchen added fuel to the fire of resentment that burned in Johanna’s heart, and she pulled the quilt all the way over her head as she closed her eyes, grimly determined to shut out the reminder of the woman’s presence in her kitchen.

“I need to get to bed,” Tate told Bessie in the room below.

“You haven’t told me how you came to buy those new horses, Tate,” Bessie said, her mouth pouting prettily.

His eyes lit as he recalled that particular day, and he leaned back in his chair.

The Monday-evening train would be picking up a passenger at the depot in Belle Haven. Bessie would be leaving tomorrow, and Johanna’s heart lifted at the thought. The Sunday-dinner dishes done and the kitchen clean, she looked out the door. The yard was empty, the barn door stood open, and within she caught a glimpse of Timmy as he played with his half-grown cats. They’d be having babies of their own before the year was out, Johanna thought

From beyond the barn, she heard the sound of Tate’s
voice and the laughter of Pete and Bessie as they worked with the horses. Surprisingly, Bessie had turned out to be fond of the creatures, a good rider herself and the owner of a split riding skirt.

They were probably heading out for a ride, Pete on the chestnut He’d become more than attached to the animal in the past weeks, and Tate was proud of his progress.

“Maybe I’ll take a walk,” Johanna said aloud, and then laughed as she recognized her old habit of speaking to herself, in lieu of constant silence.

Snatching up her shawl, she slipped out the back door, casting a quick glance at the sky. It was warm for an April day, but the clouds to the west promised rain by nightfall, and the air would cool in a hurry in a couple of hours.

“I’ll bet there are trilliums along the ditch,” she said to herself, hastening her steps as she thought of the wildflowers she’d not taken time to look for during the past weeks. Spring was her favorite season, but Bessie’s visit had kept her busier than usual, as if she must prove her worth to the woman from Ohio.

Not today!
Johanna vowed.
I’m taking a walk, and I’m

not coming back until I find a handful of violets and a better mood.
She set out across the side yard, taking a shortcut to

the road, bending as she came across a patch of lily of the valley beneath the maples. She plucked one stem and held it to her nose, inhaling the sweet scent

Then, tucking it into her top buttonhole, she sauntered on. The road was dry, and she walked through patches of shade and sunshine, where pine trees edged the road, stopping to watch as she caught a glimpse of a shy bluebird on a stump.

“Mr. Bluebird, I’ll warrant you’ll be looking for a place to nest,” she said, grinning at her own foolishness. Playing hooky was good for the soul, she decided, and ambled on.

The sun was warm, even though the breeze was cool, tugging at her hair. She removed the pins holding her braids
securely around her head. Fingers combing through the tresses, she let them hang loose over her shoulders.

She felt free, unfettered, and her footsteps quickened as she considered the adventure she’d set out upon. “I believe I’ll let the wonderful Bessie fix them their supper tonight,” she told a rabbit that peered at her from behind a clump of weeds.

A spot of purple caught her eye, and she ventured from the road to where a patch of violets bloomed amid dark green leaves, begging her attention. Bending to them, she quickly gathered a handful, holding them to her nose. “I’ll bet Selena would enjoy these,” she whispered, closing her eyes as she savored the scent. They’d hurried home from church, and she’d only waved at her friend.