Conor's Way (5 page)

Olivia rose to her feet, pushing back her
chair. "Tell you what. If I'm not mistaken, there's a tin of maple
syrup in the pantry. How about I pour some of that on your mush
along with some butter?"

Her suggestion was rewarded with shouts of
enthusiasm. Olivia went to the pantry and brought out the can
she'd been saving. Maple syrup was one of their favorite things,
and she'd intended to keep it for a special occasion, but she
supposed that special things didn't always have to be saved for
special occasions.

She added a spoonful of syrup and a dollop of
butter to each bowl, and the girls finished their mush without
further complaint. As Olivia watched them, she wished she could
solve all their problems so easily.

An hour later, Olivia hitched Cally to the
wagon for another journey into town. She climbed into the wagon,
giving Becky instructions. "Be sure to look in on Mr. Branigan
every half hour or so. He'll be asleep most of the time, but if he
wakes up, try to get some more of that willow bark tea into him, or
if he won't drink it, at least plenty of water. And some of that
broth I've got simmerin' on the stove would be good, too."

Becky nodded, and her pretty face took on a
serious expression at the responsibility of being in charge. "All
right. Mama."

"I'll be back before noon." Olivia snapped
the reins and Cally moved out of the yard. "And keep the girls out
of his room," she shouted over her shoulder before the wagon
rounded the side of the house and started down the oak-lined lane
that led to the main road.

Callersville was a small slip of a town on
the road from Monroe to Shreveport, a place where people sometimes
passed through but seldom stayed, where porches sagged and dogs
slept in the shade, where old men whittled and young widows quilted
and honeysuckle bloomed. Olivia had been to New Orleans and Baton
Rouge a few times. One summer, her father had taken the whole
family to Mobile to visit her aunt Ella and uncle Jarrod. But most
of her life had been spent right here in Callersville. Olivia gazed
at the yellow jasmine and blue lupines that grew wild along the
road, and knew she wouldn't have it any other way.

She passed Tyler's Sawmill and Lumberyard,
turned at the Baptist church, and pulled into the center of town.
She came to a halt in front of Tyler's Mercantile, which was
situated between Tyler's Restaurant and Tyler's Barber Shop. The
man just had to have his name on everything, Olivia thought,
jumping down from the wagon. As if everybody round here didn't
already know he owned just about every building in town.

She picked up her basket of eggs from the
wagon seat and mounted the steps to the mercantile. She nodded to
Jimmy Johnson and Bobby McCann, who sat on the bench by the open
door pulling a hefty chunk of saltwater taffy between them, and she
was surprised to note that for once they didn't seem to be up to
any mischief. Maybe it was just the heat.

She entered the store, relieved to discover
that it was Lila Miller who stood behind the counter today.
"Mornin', Lila," she greeted, setting the basket on the wooden
counter and pushing back her hat.

The woman gave her a smile. "Olivia! Missed
you in church Sunday."

"I had some things come up at home and
couldn't get into town," she answered. "How are you?"

"I'd be fine, if it weren't
for this heat." Lila tucked a loose strand of dark hair behind one
ear, propped her elbows on the counter, and fanned herself with a
copy of
Godey's Lady's
Book
.

Olivia glanced around, but Lila's husband was
nowhere in sight. The only other person in the store was their
fifteen-year-old son, Jeremiah, who was stocking shelves with cans
of Borden's Condensed Milk.

The boy nodded to her. "Mornin", Miss Olivia.
How's Becky?"

She smiled back at him. Jeremiah and Becky
were friends, and she knew there would come a day when they would
probably be more than that. Becky was too young yet for courting,
but when the time came, Jeremiah would make a fine husband. "She's
fine, Jeremiah. I'll tell her you asked about her."

The boy grinned with obvious pleasure, and
Olivia turned back to Lila. "Stan gone this mornin'?"

Lila nodded. "Went to Monroe. Did you need to
see him?"

"Not really," Olivia answered and gestured to
the basket of eggs. "I need supplies, and I was hoping I could
barter for what I need. I've got some of my spiced peaches out in
the wagon, too."

The eyes of the two women met across the
counter, and Olivia knew that Lila was thinking about the day the
lists came in from Gettysburg and how they'd cried together, Olivia
for her two brothers and Lila for her eldest son. Things like that
counted for more than Vernon would ever understand.

Lila straightened and set aside her magazine.
"Now, I was here when Vernon went over the books with Stan, and I
heard him say no more credit for you. But," she added, her blue
eyes innocently wide, "I don't recall him sayin' a word about not
taking goods in trade."

Olivia returned the conspiratorial smile Lila
gave her. "Thank you. I've got three dozen jars of peaches and two
dozen eggs."

Lila made a sound of appreciation. "Heavenly,
your peaches. We'll have no problem selling them."

"I need flour, rice, cornmeal, and molasses.
Is this enough to trade?"

The two women negotiated the barter, quickly
agreeing on how much Olivia could get for her eggs and her
peaches.

"Wagon's out front," Olivia said.

"Jeremiah," Lila called to her son, "fill the
sacks and load them onto Miss Olivia's wagon. Get her a barrel of
molasses, too. And bring in that crate of her peaches."

Jeremiah went to do as his mother asked, and
Lila turned to Olivia. "Got some new dress patterns in. Care to
have a look?"

Olivia hesitated, tempted, but before she
could reply, two men entered the store.

"Mornin', ladies," Grady McCann and Oren
Johnson said in unison, doffing their hats as they approached the
counter.

Olivia nodded to them. "Saw your boys out
front. Looked like they were enjoyin' that saltwater taffy. Hope I
don't find a piece of it stuck to my wagon seat when I go back out
there."

"Now, Olivia," Grady said, in a placating
voice, "you know they was only havin' a bit of fun."

"Hmm." Olivia picked up
the
Godey's Lady's Book
and began flipping through it. "I'm not sure God
takes kindly to taffy in the church pews, Grady, particularly when
a mess of it ends up on the backside of Mrs. Tucker's dress." She
shot him a wry glance, remembering how poor Lisbeth Tucker had
tried in vain to stand up for the hymn two Sundays before. She
added good-naturedly, "'Course, it did make the service more
excitin'."

The two men laughed. Everybody around
Callersville knew that Reverend Allen wasn't the sort of preacher
to put the fear of God in a body. He just put everybody to
sleep.

Olivia looked over at Oren. "How's Kate
doing?"

The man beamed at the mention of his wife's
name. "She's fine. A bit hard for her with all this heat, but she's
holding up all right."

"Think this one's going to be a boy or a
girl?"

"Well, I'm kinda hoping for another son, Liv.
I love my daughters, but I think sometimes Jimmy feels
outnumbered."

"What can I do for you boys?" Lila asked,
diverting the men's attention.

"Need a new pair of boots," Oren said.

"Pound of eight penny nails for me," Grady
added.

As Lila showed Oren the
boots and measured out nails for Grady, Olivia studied the fall
fashions in
Godey's
. The harvest dance would be coming up in September, and she
wanted so badly to make Becky a pretty dress to wear. Things like
that were important to a young girl.

"That was some fight the other night, wasn't
it, Oren?" Grady's voice intruded on her thoughts, and Olivia
glanced up, curious.

"I've never seen anything like it," Oren
replied. "Couldn't believe the way that Irish feller did it." He
swung a fist in the air enthusiastically. "All that dancin' around
and then, slam! Knocked Elroy clean off his feet."

Olivia froze at Oren's words, hugging the
magazine to her chest, as the two men began to discuss the
incident. "What fight?" she asked.

The two men stopped talking, glanced from her
to each other, then down at the floor, looking suddenly
uncomfortable.

"It was a prizefight," Grady explained
reluctantly, pointing to an announcement still tacked to the wall.
"Circuit boxers. They travel from town to town, fighting the local
champion, or challenging all comers. It depends." He saw her frown
and toss down the magazine. "Now, it's nothin' to get riled about,
Liv. It's just a bit of fun."

"It's gambling, Grady, no getting around it."
She looked at the notice from a few days before, at the names
printed there plain as day, and felt a sudden unreasoning anger.
She'd had almost no sleep the past four nights for tending that
man, a man who'd cursed a blue streak in front of her girls, broken
her great-grandmother's china shepherdess, forced her to miss
Sunday services, and thrown up on her; a man who hadn't given her
so much as a thank-you. All that because he was a traveling
prizefighter who made his sinful living off gambling and
violence?

Olivia turned on her heel and strode toward
the door.

Jeremiah came in carrying her crate of
peaches. He took one look at her face, and hastily stepped out of
her way.

"Wagon's loaded, Miss Olivia."

"Thank you, Jeremiah," she replied, through
clenched teeth, as she marched past him and out of the store,
contemplating a little violence of her own.

***

Conor was so battered and weary that he
longed for sleep, but the wee girl's words about his dreams made
him tense and edgy. Three years of trying to forget, but he could
not forget. Three years of running, but he couldn't run away from
himself. Every time he thought he had, the dreams came back. He
closed his eyes and concentrated on the present—the tantalizing
smell of freshly baked bread that drifted through the open door and
the feel of the soft mattress beneath him. He drifted back into a
light sleep.

A soft sound woke him instantly. He opened
his eyes, and for the second time in as many days, he found himself
the subject of a little girl's scrutiny. Not the impudent lass who
liked to hear him curse. No, this one was even younger, with a
round face, brown hair, and big blue eyes. She was looking at him
over the top of the footboard like a solemn baby owl peering over
the edge of the nest.

Beside her, also staring at him over the
footboard, was an enormous sheepdog, the biggest he'd ever seen.
The dog looked him over, then uttered a low, unfriendly growl, his
opinion of Conor obvious. Well, it was an English sheepdog, after
all. Conor wondered what the animal would do if he growled back.
Probably jump over the footboard and take a piece out of him.
Deciding he'd been injured enough, Conor turned his attention back
to the child.

"Well, now," he murmured, his voice soft, as
if he might startle her away. "Who might you be?"

Her eyes got even wider, but she didn't
answer.

"Miranda, where are you?"

The voice caused the child to glance over her
shoulder, and Conor heard footsteps approaching. He followed the
child's gaze to the door as yet another girl appeared, this one a
blonde of about fourteen.

How many daughters did Olivia Maitland have?
he wondered, as he watched the older girl enter the room. He was
starting to lose count.

She stopped just inside the doorway and
glanced at him, meeting his eyes for only a moment before she
looked away and noticed the wee girl at the foot of the bed.
"Miranda, you know you're not supposed to come in here," she chided
in a whisper. "Mama said so."

The little girl hung her head, caught in the
act. "Sorry, Becky," she whispered back. "He was asleep."

The older girl crossed the room and took
Miranda by the hand. "I'm sorry, Mr. Branigan," she murmured. "She
didn't mean to wake you."

"It's all right," he answered, unable to
remember the last time anybody had cared about disturbing his
sleep. The girl started to turn away, but his voice stopped her.
"Becky, is it?" When she nodded, he went on, "I don't suppose you
might have any tay about? Real tay, I'm meanin', not that foul
green stuff your mother's been tryin' to give me."

A tentative smile lifted the corners of her
mouth. "We get it whenever we're sick, too. Awful, isn't it?"

"Terrible. Would you be able to make me a cup
of real tay? I've a powerful thirst."

"I'd be happy to." She paused then added
shyly, "Are you hungry? I'll bring you some soup."

"An angel of mercy, you are indeed," he said,
smiling at her. "Thank you, love."

She blushed at that. "I'll b...bring it quick
as I can," she stammered, and hastily retreated, pulling little
Miranda with her. "C'mon, Chester."

The dog hesitated, looking from him to the
girl and back again. He uttered another growl as if telling Conor
he'd better behave himself, then he followed the girls out of the
room. That dog definitely did not like him. But then, he'd always
heard dogs were excellent judges of character. Perhaps there was a
lesson in that.

The two girls and the beast had scarcely
departed before he heard a door slam in the distance and more
footsteps coming down the hall toward his room. He watched as
Olivia Maitland stepped through the doorway. She marched to the
bed, placed hands on hips, and frowned down at him, her brown eyes
no longer soft. "You're a prizefighter," she said, with such
loathing she might as well have accused him of being the devil
himself.