The Unplowed Sky (36 page)

This is good, Hallie thought as she looked around in the mellow lamplight. This is happy. This is what I'll save to remember all the months and weeks till spring. Whatever happens, I'll remember this and be grateful.

Garth's eyes met hers, held. Just for the pause of a heartbeat, a surge of achingly sweet awareness seemed to pulse between them. Then he looked away.

Had she imagined it? Had the feeling been only hers? “I'm plumb fiddled out,” Shaft said with a last sweep of his bow. “You want any more music, you'll have to get it from the phonograph or the radio.”

“We'd all better turn in,” said Garth, rising. “We need an early start tomorrow.”

“Do you have to go tomorrow, Daddy?” Meg asked.

“'Fraid so, sweetheart. But spring'll be here before you know it.”

“It won't! It'll seem like—like forever!” Meg's glance touched the manger. Did she think of those who had made it, who really wouldn't see Rusty again on this earth? Whatever went through her mind, Meg straightened. “The radio will help a lot, Daddy. And I'll be walking when you come back.”

“Sure, honey.” He helped her out of the chair. “I'm going to need my water monkey!”

As she did before bedtime every night, Hallie supported Meg down the steps and waited for her outside the privy. The thin layer of snow was luminous blue in the starlight and crunched beneath their feet.

“Are you going to marry Uncle Rory?” Meg asked.

Too startled to consider her words, Hallie said, “Goodness, no! I don't love him.”

“I wish you did. It'd be sort of nice if you married him. There'd be more—more family.”

So you'd like me for an aunt, but not a stepmother. I guess that's some improvement
. “Families are wonderful,” Hallie said. Gracious, on the way back from the privy on a freezing winter night, they were almost having a friendly conversation! “Especially at Christmas.” Hallie hesitated and then decided to risk the truth. “I'm glad Jackie and I were here with all of you instead of by ourselves.”

Meg shivered. “Oh, that would be lonesome! It helps to be with people, doesn't it? Like Luke and Rusty's wife and her mother and the kids must make each other feel better. Maybe when one's real sad, the others talk and get them cheered up.”

“I'm sure that's how it works. Laughing's better with others and so is crying.”

“Men don't cry.”

“Maybe they should. They certainly must feel like it.”

They went up the steps. It was the closest Hallie had ever come to Meg's thoughts but when they entered the kitchen, Meg said a careless general good night to everyone except Jackie. She bent on her crutches for his hug and kiss and then let her father help her up the stairs while Shaft carried Jackie, his locomotive, and a dump truck.

Not wishing to be alone with Rory, Hallie wished him a hasty good night and followed hot on the heels of the others. After Jackie was tucked in, Hallie heard Shaft go downstairs and Garth a few minutes later.

The outside door shut. Shaft must be going to his place. A little muffled conversation passed between the brothers. Then one of them came up and entered their shared room. Because of the rapid footfalls, Hallie thought it was Rory. Garth moved more silently and slowly.

He must be downstairs alone. She halted with her fingers on the buttons at her throat. What if she went down? Would he immediately go up or would he talk with her a while?

Nothing ventured, nothing gained. As well hang for a sheep as a lamb. Better to have loved and lost—Hallie broke off the chain of proverbs and buttoned her collar. If he played Great Stone Face, she'd fuss in the cupboard a minute as if she had forgotten something and retreat.

What she wished she had the gall—or courage—to say was, “I love you, Garth MacLeod. When our eyes meet and my bones melt, don't you feel anything at all?” But she knew she couldn't do that unless he gave a sign.

She was going down, though, to give him that chance. Her hand was on the doorknob when she heard a vehicle coming down the lane. Who could it be at this hour?

Surely not the Donnellys. Raford? Hallie could see the back yard from the window. She tugged the edge of the curtain aside and tried vainly to peer through the frost-sculptures on the pane. All she could see was the haloed lights that went off as the engine stopped.

If it were Raford, he wouldn't try to hurt Garth, would he? Should she go down? Nothing in her room would serve as a weapon, but there were all kinds of deadly objects in the kitchen, from carving knives to the fire poker. Hallie's hand was on the knob again when she heard a female voice, one she hadn't heard in months but recognized at once.

Sophie Brockett! What was she doing here? Hallie couldn't hear what the woman was saying but she heard Garth's answer so clearly that she thought he must be close to the stairs and probably, in exasperation, speaking louder than usual.

“No, Sophie, I can't hire you. We got Shaft a helper down in Texas. He does a good job and needs the money.”

An indecipherable plaint. Garth again: “If you don't like the way Raford treats you, go back to your folks.”

Another murmured appeal. “I'm sorry.” Garth's rough tone showed his distress. “I can't take you on, Sophie. If you need some money till you find another job—”

Sophie must have come close to him, for this time her voice carried. “You're going to need all the money you can beg or borrow by the time Quent Raford gets through with you! He's going to have this farm and plow that mess along the creek. If you have any sense, you'll sell out while you can!”

“He send you to say that?”

Sophie faltered. “N-no. But it's true!”

“We'll see. Would you mind leaving so I can get some sleep?”

There was a hissing intake of breath. “You deserve whatever comes to you, Garth MacLeod! I gave you a chance—”

“Thanks. Good night, Sophie.”

The door slammed, and then the screen. Car lights glared through the curtain, then arced and faded. Hallie stood shivering, and not just from the cold. Was Sophie making wild threats, or was she sure that Raford was still intent on destroying Garth? Hallie had hoped that Raford was so involved in his election to the legislature and preparing for going to Topeka that he'd have no energy for harassing Garth.

Garth's tread on the stairs was heavier, wearier, than his brother's. Hallie couldn't bear it. She stepped into the hall. “Garth,” she said softly into the darkness. “I—I heard. Maybe Sophie was just being spiteful.”

“Maybe.” Hallie couldn't see his face but she could feel his nearness. “But I doubt it. He tried to get me fired off my job in Texas—told a friend of his on the railroad's board of directors that I was dangerous and irresponsible—mentioned the accident.”

“Oh, how awful!”

“It was a good thing the man who hired me had done some checking on my reputation around here and was able to convince the board that Raford, as road commissioner, hadn't fixed the bridge properly and that I had planked it.”

“So you think he's still after you?”

“I'm sure of it.”

“Maybe when he gets busy in the legislature—”

“If he's busy promoting the KKK, that won't be much of an improvement.” She could imagine Garth's shrug. His tone deepened. Some of the fatigue left it. “Hallie, thank you for staying with Meg. I know it hasn't been easy.” He hesitated. “Thank you for Christmas. It's the first real one we've had in—well, it must be the first one Meg can remember.”

She was glad he couldn't see the tears that filled her eyes. “It was Shaft's playing and the carols and Luke's and Vinnie Wells's manger that made it special.”

“And the little tree decorated with handmade pretties and the plates of candy and cookies and all.
You
made this Christmas, Hallie.” His voice, warm and smiling, changed abruptly. She could almost feel him drawing back. “Whatever happens, I'll never forget it. And I'll always thank you.”

Before she could speak or move, he was past her and turning into his room. If Rory hadn't been there, she would have followed, asked what was the matter.

Staring after him, glad of his appreciation yet distressed at the change in his manner, Hallie stood in the drafty hall till the cold made her shake uncontrollably. Closing the door and burrowing under quilts and blankets, she heard Sophie's threat again and the sudden remoteness of Garth's last words. Long after her body warmed, she felt chilled around her heart.

Hallie wanted to send the men off with a good hot breakfast, so she was first downstairs again. By the time Shaft came in with Smoky cuddled inside his jacket, the aroma of coffee filled the kitchen, biscuits were in the oven, and Hallie was stirring raisins into the bubbling oatmeal.

“Sure wish we didn't have to go.” Shaft poured coffee for both of them and splashed in the Borden's. “This job is keeping Garth afloat, though, so we'd better not grumble.” He looked at her keenly. “Who came in that car last night? They tore out of here pretty reckless.”

Hallie told him what she had heard. He shook his head. “Maybe that gal was just blowin' smoke, but I'm mighty afraid she wasn't. Guess we'll just have to wait till threshing season and see what new tricks Raford has figgered.”

“We can hope he gets so busy at the state capital that he won't have time for us,” Hallie said.

Garth brought Meg down and Rory followed with Jackie on his shoulder. “Saltin' the calf to catch the cow,” Shaft muttered, dishing up the oats while Hallie scrambled eggs. “Beggin' your pardon, Hallie. It's an old backwoods sayin'.”

By the time the last biscuit was gone and Hallie had packed a big box lunch, dawn streaked the sky and showed the icicles hanging in front of the windows. Shaft eyed them and laughed.

“Bat Masterson wrote once that rich and poor folks get about the same amount of ice, the difference bein' that rich ones have it in the summer and poor ones in the winter. Wouldn't we like some of them icicles in our lemonade 'long about next July?”

“Right now this coffee hits the spot,” Rory said. “Shaft, you stay here, and we'll take Hallie with us. She can cook and look pretty at the same time.”

“For that, you get slumgullion while the other boys stuff on beefsteak and fixin's,” retorted Shaft.

All too soon, the brothers brought down their suitcases. Shaft's was on the porch. “Stay in where it's warm,” Garth told Meg as they embraced.

“No! I want to wave till the truck turns onto the main road and I can't see you anymore!”

“I wanna wave, too!” cried Jackie.

So did Hallie. “Let me get the blame thing running first then,” Garth surrendered. He bent to shake hands with Jackie. “You keep on looking after our womenfolk, lad.”

“I will,” Jackie promised. He buried his face against Shaft's beard as the man scooped him up. “Oh, Shaft—”

“Take care of my ornery cat,” Shaft told him. “And send me a picture sometimes in your sister's letters.”

“Do you like them?”

Shaft nodded. “I show 'em to those Texicans and brag on my grandboy. Hey, sounds like Garth has the old wreck runnin'! We better jump in before it stops.”

Hallie got Meg and Jackie into their coats that hung on pegs on the porch and tugged on her own old jacket. Rory followed as she helped Meg down the steps to the where the truck shuddered and belched vapor. Meg resumed her crutches and limped forward to give her father a last kiss. Shaft tucked his suitcase under the tarp with the others and hoisted Jackie for a final hug and whisper.

Hallie didn't know Rory was at her side till he swung her around and kissed her, much as he had when they left in November. Only this time he knew she didn't love him, knew she wasn't going to wear his necklace.

She shoved at him, but he had already stepped back and was climbing into the truck. “So long, angel!” he called. “If you dream, be sure you dream of me!”

“Rory!” she shouted. “You
know
—”

But the truck veered sharply toward the lane. She caught a glimpse of Garth's face, cold as a winter dawn. He waved till the truck turned at the corner, but Hallie knew the farewell was to his daughter.

Damn Rory! Damn him! Had he told Garth lies? He wouldn't have to lie, just act the way he had. Now that she thought about it, Garth had been outside working on the aerial when she told Rory she was saving the festoon for his serious sweetheart.

Should she try to explain to Garth by letter? That would be awkward. She could ask Shaft to try to set things straight and when the men came back, she'd make her feelings about Rory clear to Garth even if it cost considerable pride. What if Garth couldn't care less, saw her only as a caretaker for Meg?

She'd run that risk.

Jackie was sobbing. Before Hallie could comfort him, Meg, in spite of her crutches, managed to draw him close. “I—I'd rather have Shaft stay than have my train!” he wept.

“I know, Jackie. Like we'd both rather have Daddy than a radio—or anything. But they'll be back. Come inside and you can wind the phonograph and play your ukulele like you were part of the orchestra.”

“Yes, and I'll pet Smoky and tell her Shaft'll be back.”

“You can draw thank-you pictures for Jim and Rich,” Hallie said, automatically supporting Meg up the steps. “We all should write to Luke and Vinnie Wells and tell them how wonderful the manger is.”

The kitchen, bereft of bantering male voices, seemed chilly and lonesome. Hallie stirred up the coals, added more fuel, and went to fetch the phonograph. There was room for it in the kitchen now. Too much room.

XIX

Early in the morning of New Year's Day, Hallie was making beds when she heard the kitchen door close. She thought it was Jackie either on his way to the outhouse or to scatter crumbs for the birds. In a moment, the door opened and Jackie yelled, “Hallie! Hallie! Meg—she failed down the steps!”