Romancing Olive (20 page)

* * *

Jacob leaned on the dry sink and heaved a breath. When he heard the rumblings of a kitchen chair he remembered he was not alone.

“Do ya love her son?”

Jacob’s head dropped and shook. “Why would you ask me that?”

“Well, one things fer sure. She loves you somethin’ fierce,” his mother said.

“I don’t know, Ma. Olive’s different than any other woman I ever met.”

Martha Butler smiled kindly and with the wisdom age and life brought. “She loves ya alright. It’s as clear as a summer morning. And,” Martha said as she stood and her bones creaked, “I think you love her too, maybe. But yer fighting it. Think you’ll tarnish what you and Margaret had by lovin’ another woman.”

“You don’t know how I feel, ma,” Jacob said on a sigh.

“Then tell me, Jacob. How do you feel about Olive?” Martha said and laid her hand on her son’s back.

Jacob looked out the window above the stove. No matter how old a man gets, he thought, his mother has a way of wheedling out feelings and making him take a hard look at things he may have chosen to avoid. “When she first came here, I thought she was a dried up old prune of a spinster.”

“Well, hell, Jacob, she’s nearly as old as me. Could be a grandma ten times over by now. Some women though weren’t meant for marriage and loving.”

Jacob turned quickly. “Olive is meant for all those things and more. She’s brave and strong and didn’t flinch when two crazy kids were dumped in her lap. She didn’t have the foggiest notion of how to get by on a farm, but she’s learning and working herself to the bone doing it. Olive never had a chance to love, other than her mother and father but by God she loves John and Mary and my kids too as if she had them herself. Making clothes for them and teaching them their letters and reading to them,” Jacob trailed off.

“Yer the one who said she was old, Jacob,” Martha said and stared hard at him. “A dried up old prune of a spinster.”

Jacob stood straight and stared out the window. Audrey sat on the swing laughing and shouting as Luke pushed her. “I know I did, Ma. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe age doesn’t mean so much.”

Martha turned to see what held Jacob’s attention. And there swinging was Audrey. She glanced to her son’s face and found him not looking at the young blond, frolicking but looking past her to Olive as the older woman walked towards the trees.

“Well, then if that’s the case, Audrey there ain’t too young for you. Might be suited to you if ya gave the girl half a chance.”

“I’m not interested in Audrey,” Jacob said.

“Huh, what young buck like you wouldn’t be interested in Audrey? Blond curly hair, clear skin, good teeth.”

“She isn’t a horse, ma,” Jacob said.

Martha studied her son and watched him crane his neck as Olive disappeared into the trees. “She ain’t Olive either, is she boy?”

Jacob left his mother’s question unanswered and walked through the open door.

Chapter Eight

The week that followed revealed much for Olive. Martha Butler was an endless source of information. Olive wrote recipes and struggled to explain in her writing what a ‘handful’ consisted of. How the feel of dough, wet or dry, predicted how the bread would rise and how to stretch a pitiful collection of ingredients into a meal. Olive did as she was told and Martha passed on a lifetime of cooking and caring for a family with each day. What plants yielded medicines for burns. How to make soap and candles, and her butter, sweet smelling and rich. Olive understood how a young wife like Margaret might have resented this woman but Olive listened carefully and squeezed the years a young farm girl watched her mother and learned, into seven days.

Martha Butler was fascinated by the sewing machine and Olive stood tall, knowing she had one skill Jacob’s mother did not.

“Ya sew a fine seam, Olive,” Martha Butler said as she squinted at a dress for Mary.

“The machine makes it easier and faster,” Olive replied.

“Ya put too many gee-gaws on these dresses for me, but I’ll say they sure are nice.”

“Thank you, Martha,” Olive said.

Jack Steele had come by and shown her plans for her house the day before. Olive made a few changes, asked Jacob his opinion, and told Jack to begin immediately. She and the children and Martha had ridden to the spot Olive had chosen for her home on the day the lumber arrived. Martha insisted that Jack build the house facing south so the morning and afternoon sun would not heat it, and the breeze blowing east to west would cool it. Olive had chosen a plot with an oak tree and she envisioned a swing for Mary and John that she could see from her window.

By the time the end of Martha Butler’s visit came, the markings where the timber for her home where linked with string and Olive knew she genuinely liked Jacob’s mother. Bossy, was an understatement as she watched Martha argue with Jack Steele but the woman was full of wisdom and wit and willing to share what life had taught her. Olive honestly felt as though she were prepared for living alone on a farm and the credit went to Jacob’s mother.

They stood on the porch and Jacob loaded his mother’s and Audrey’s bags in the wagon. Olive turned to the older woman. “Martha, I want to thank you so much. You have been generous and helpful to me about things I didn’t even know I was supposed to be doing. I have enjoyed your visit and hope you will stop and see me next year in my new house.”

Martha watched as her grandchildren helped their father and shook her head. “I miss these youngins’ somethin’ terrible after I visit. Somethin’ about children that brings us hope and a reason to get out of bed in the morning.” She turned, faced Olive and continued. “I’ve had a real pleasant time too. Seeing yer sewing machine and listening to the story you read the youngins’ at night. Yer gonna do just fine, Olive Wilkins.”

Martha stepped down from the porch and stopped. She turned back to Olive. “Thank you for helping with Jacob’s youngins’, teaching them and all. And thank you for being here for Jacob. He needs you. He don’t know it yet but he does.”

Olive breathed deeply and let Martha’s words settle. “He’s been kind to me as well, Martha. Good upbringing, I imagine,” she said.

Martha harrumphed and smiled. “You take care of my boy, ya hear?”

Olive heard Martha’s voice crack, nodded and watched the woman heave herself up into the seat. Jacob handed Audrey a kitten and a dazzling smile lit the girl’s face. The children gathered around Olive and they watched until the wagon was small on the horizon and disappeared over the hill.

“Children, you are so lucky to have such a wonderful grandmother. We’re going to begin writing her letters. I truly think she’ll enjoy reading about all of you,” Olive said and smiled.

Mary called to the children and Olive was alone with Jacob.

“Margaret hated when she came,” he said.

Olive laughed. “I can understand why. Especially if Margaret was as good a wife and mother as you say she was. But I never learned all the little tricks of life on a farm. Martha was a fountain of information.”

“Ma seemed to take to you, too,” Jacob said.

Olive nodded and smiled. She tilted her head and asked, “You avoided her Jacob. Why?”

“Because my ma can be a meddling pain in the ass.”

Olive looked down and then out over the fields. “You mean about Audrey and you remarrying?”

Jacob nodded.

“She means well. She knows first hand how hard this life is. Especially alone. Martha’s just worried.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Jacob agreed. He turned, began walking away, stopped and turned back to Olive. “She convince you this week that I should marry?”

“The subject was never brought up. Not since the day of her arrival.”

“A year’s not very long,” Jacob said haltingly.

Olive smiled softly. “A moment in time to some,” she said and turned away from Jacob’s regard. A lifetime to others, she thought.

* * *

Olive’s house went up faster than she expected and she found herself hurrying curtains as she watched windows fill with glass and walls divide her house into rooms. In her mind, she foresaw her mother’s settee near the stone fireplace and worried when her stove would arrive. Some of her things began to arrive by train and the sheriff took it upon himself to accompany every delivery.

When the July day arrived for Olive to move she felt energy and joy and a melancholy as well. Theda had shipped her clothes and china, trinkets, and pots and pans alike. Olive’s bedroom furniture had already been installed in Mary’s bedroom and Olive had purchased a bed and dresser for John. Her mother’s fine bone china and everyday plates had come through the transportation unscathed, but her father’s mantle clock had been broken. Olive was hoping to have it repaired and now waited only for her parent’s mahogany bedroom suite, which she would use as her own. A trunk arrived with bed linens and Mary’s eyes widened at the handmade wedding ring quilt that Olive now spread flat across the girl’s bed.

“Your ma and pa must have been rich,” Mary said and fingered the fine stitches.

Olive laughed. “Not really. Some of these things were passed down from my mother’s mother. My father did have a good paying job, though and my mother an eye for quality. We didn’t buy often but when we did, it was built to last and remain beautiful.”

“And you say you sold some of your stuff as well?” Mary asked.

“Some yes. I told Theda to keep some things for herself and sell the rest. My old house had more rooms than this new one. The money will keep us in good shape, until Jacob can farm this land.” Olive paused and looked contentedly around her new home. “I confess, I worried this house may be too small, but now that I’m here I have to say it is perfect, just perfect. Cozy and homey. Do you like it, Mary?”

The girl shrugged. “I never had stuff this fine. But it sure is pretty.”

Olive smiled and hugged her waist. “I can’t wait till the sheriff brings my bedroom furniture today.”

“He sure is being nice,” Mary said and eyed her aunt.

“Well, him being in town and receiving all my goods from the train certainly has been convenient. I would have had to ride in nearly everyday and hire men to load my things.”

“Like I said, he sure is being nice.”

Olive turned from Mary’s knowing look. She looked out the window of Mary’s bedroom to the oak tree that shaded the front of the house. The morning was clear and warm and birds chattered in the tree. When she left Jacob’s house that morning, knowing she would not live there with him and the children again, her heart lodged in her throat. Peg wouldn’t cuddle with her at night, Luke wouldn’t pester her with a thousand questions and Mark would not reach for the sound of her voice. Bittersweet, as well was the look on Jacob’s face when he left for the fields that morning. Their eyes had connected and she held her breath, fearing the release of a sob. He was smiling at her but when his head tilted and he nodded, she knew he was thinking the same as she. Two souls had drifted together for comfort and help. And now they would drift apart.

The rumble of a wagon at the top of the hill snapped Olive from her melancholy and she watched the sheriff slowly guide the team and the wagon towards her home. Large blankets made massive blocks of color in the bed of the wagon. Who was that riding beside the sheriff, she asked herself. Olive squinted and strained and felt John at her sleeve tugging.

“Yes, I know John. My furniture is arriving. But who is with the sheriff?” she said as much to herself as the boy.

Olive opened her front door and stood on the porch with John and Mary. The woman in the wagon began to wave frantically and Olive stepped down into the yard to get a closer look. When recognition came, tears followed quickly.

“Theda,” Olive shouted.

She ran, holding her skirts and waving back. Theda’s hand covered her mouth and Olive knew she was crying as well. In an instant, sweet memories ripped through Olive’s mind and the heartache of separation from all she had known, all of her life, filled her throat to closing. When the wagon finally stopped the two women stared at each other and smiled through their tears.

“I had resigned myself to never seeing you again,” Olive said.

“It wouldn’t have been proper to not make a housewarming call, now would it?” Theda said.

Olive laughed. “All the way from Philadelphia?”

Theda turned to the sheriff. “Sir, can you not see that I need help from this wagon?”

The sheriff’s brows rose and he pulled on the brake. He climbed down and as he passed Olive, he nodded and smiled. “Olive, you look lovely today. I have your furniture and not a scratch on it.”

“Thank you, sheriff.”

“Really, sir, I need help,” Theda clamored.

The sheriff offered Theda his hand. When Theda turned to her, Olive stepped close and hugged her. “My God, it’s good to see you,” she said.

Theda leaned back and nodded. “And you as well.”

Olive’s eyes opened wide. “Theda! Has something happened to your mother?”

“No, no. Mrs. Gunderson is staying with her while I visit.”

Olive’s shoulders dropped. “Thank God. I just thought of her and well, I’ve never known you to be away for more than a day.”

Theda smiled. “I do have a surprise for you from back home, though.” She reached into the wagon and lifted a small box covered with a blanket. “Here. Open it.”

Olive reached for the box and the weight inside shifted and made her nearly drop the package. Then she heard a sleepy meow and looked up to Theda. “Tiger!” Olive’s eyes misted yet again and she put her arm around her friend of many years, leading her to the house, carrying her orange tabby close to her. “There are some young ones I’d like you to meet, Theda.”

Theda shaded her hand for a view of the children on the porch but shouted over her shoulder. “Sheriff, do hurry with my bags, won’t you?”

“John, Mary, this is my dearest friend in the whole world, here from Philadelphia. Miss Patterson,” Olive said as she neared the porch.

“Hello,” Mary said while John clung to her side.

Theda smiled at the girl and then turned to John. Her face sobered and Olive feared she would faint.

“He . . . he is the very image of James at that age,” she whispered.