Heartland Courtship Page 12

  After Jacque handed her the dried spoon and emptied the dishwater onto her flowers, Rachel and he carried the clean dishware inside and set the stack on the shelf and covered it with a clean cloth.

  Rachel rested a hand on Jacque’s shoulder. “We will have a good day,” she said more to bolster her confidence than his. “I’ll get my Bible.” Then the two of them walked down the track toward town.

  She sighed. “Let me be frank, Jacque. Thee knows how children—and grownups, too, unfortunately—can be to strangers.”

  Jacque looked up and frowned.

  “I remember how children always pick on anyone new or different.”

  Jacque shrugged. “I can take care of myself.”

  “Thee intends to fight anybody who is rude?” she asked without rancor.

  Jacque repeated the shrug.

  “I understand thee might have to…defend thyself, but—” to emphasize her point, she gripped his shoulder “—don’t start the fight.” She had been raised to turn the other cheek, but even Quaker boys fought with each other. “Does thee understand me, Jacque?”

  He considered this. “I can fight back, but I better not take the first swing?”

  “Well stated.” The schoolhouse lay on the other side of the village. As they walked through town, Levi came out of his shop and joined them. Rachel nodded in reply to his greeting and noted that Levi looked as if he’d taken special care with his appearance today. She wondered why. All the while, the fact that Mr. Merriday had not come also prodded her, drawing down her mood. Why had she even hoped he’d come?

  At the door of the log schoolhouse community church, Noah waited to greet them. Rachel said, “Jacque, this is my cousin Noah Whitmore. Noah, this is Jacque.”

  “Hello, sir,” Jacque said, but refused to look into Noah’s face.

  Noah gripped the boy’s shoulder. “You are welcome here, Jacque.”

  This caused the boy to glance up at the man. Then the press of others arriving moved the two of them into the church.

  Just inside the door sat Old Saul in his wheelchair. Rachel had met him again in town with Noah, who obviously held the older man in high regard and affection. So she stopped to greet him and introduce Jacque.

  The older man took the boy’s hand gently. “Jacque, we are happy to have you with us. Just remember God never forgets us even when it feels like He has.”

  “Yes, sir,” Jacque said obediently.

  Old Saul smiled and nodded. “You’ll understand that when you’re older, I pray.”

  More people wanted to greet Old Saul. Rachel headed straight for her cousin’s wife near the front. Jacque sat beside her, craning his neck and swinging his legs.

  She noted the attention, some surreptitious and some blatant, that Jacque was receiving. She hoped no one would ruin the day with rudeness. She would make certain to steer clear of certain people, most notably Mrs. Ashford.

  Noah went to the front. The service went as usual, hymn singing, prayers for the nation, state and town, and one of Noah’s bracing sermons on loving one’s neighbor. Rachel hoped it would actually penetrate a few stubborn hearts here. Loving others always brought blessings.

  Soon everyone was outside in the blazing summer sun. Sons helped fathers set up tables in the shade of trees and daughters helped mothers set out tablecloths and bowls of food. Families laid down blankets for the children to sit on while the adults sat at the tables.

  Rachel enjoyed the festive excitement but Jacque stayed close by her side, which saddened her a little. He should be off making friends, but his situation and history worked against him. Evidently he didn’t even trust Johann to be his friend in the presence of others. When Mr. Merriday had ordered Jacque to come with her, had he given this any thought? Probably not.

  Then a younger boy with dark hair and eyes approached them. “Hello, Miss Rachel.”

  She smiled. Everyone had adopted Brennan’s form of address. She liked it. She’d seen this boy before. “Thee is Gunther Lang’s nephew?”

  “Yes, miss. I’m Johann.” He turned to Jacque. “You want to play tag with us, Jacque?”

  Jacque looked up at her, asking silent permission.

  She nodded with a smile.

  Jacque’s face lightened. The two boys hurried off together.

  Ellen Lang, Johann’s new aunt and a former schoolteacher in Pepin, had come behind Johann. She was a tall, elegant woman in a lovely dress of blue cambric and a fashionable hat. “I was happy to see you brought Jacque with you. He needs to start making friends.”

  “It was kind of Johann to invite him.”

  “Johann understands being the new boy in town.” Then Noah called everyone to quiet for grace. A few solemn moments, then a loud Amen and the buzz of happy voices, young and old.

  Rachel smiled. Memories of childhood meetinghouse gatherings came back to her with a pang of homesickness. Then she noted how Levi had managed to get himself seated at the table where Posey Brown sat with her imposing grandmother and the Ashfords. Brave man.

  Rachel found herself at the next table, sitting with Noah, Sunny and their children and other neighbors, Martin and Ophelia Steward and Nan and Gordy Osbourne. Rachel contented herself with listening to the chatter though her eyes kept straying to the edges of the clearing, hoping to see Mr. Merriday appear.

  From the corner of her eye, she also kept track of Levi’s shy pursuit of Posey and of Jacque’s behavior. He had been invited to sit with Johann at another table. She had never seen the boy happier than when he’d run over to ask her permission to sit with the Langs. God bless Johann.

  Posey kept looking over at Jacque and Rachel wondered why.

  After everyone had eaten their fill, they rose and began putting food away in the shade or in the springhouse. Posey passed by Rachel. “Mr. Merriday didn’t come?”

  Rachel merely shrugged, wondering why the girl asked.

  “That day we helped you whip up ladyfingers, I asked him if he ever was in Kentucky. He said he doubted we’d met before. But his name just sounds so familiar. I wish I could place it.”

  Rachel didn’t know what to say and then Mrs. Ashford called Posey.

  The quiet, friendly afternoon passed pleasantly. Rachel sat on a blanket near Sunny, whose two children were napping in the shade. Rachel noticed that Levi and Posey were nowhere to be seen. The young woman’s grandmother Almeria sat dozing against a tree and Mrs. Ashford was talking to another woman. Rachel told Sunny to lie down and nap, too. She’d watch the babies.

  Rachel relaxed against the tree behind her, watching the sun and shadows play over the dry grass of the schoolyard, hearing the clink of the horseshoes and the voices of children playing as quietly as they could manage since it was the Sabbath.

  Breathing in the heavy August air, she wished Mr. Merriday had come and was here tossing horseshoes with the other men. She now knew that something bad must have happened to separate him from his wife, but what? Why had Jean Pierre called him a coward?

  Then a strident woman’s voice snapped Rachel completely alert again. “You should show more sense.”

  Rachel, along with almost everyone else, turned to see a sad-looking Posey being reluctantly led by the hand back to the clearing.

  Red-faced, Levi followed a few paces behind.

  “But Grandmother—” Posey started.

  “Do not bother to argue. I will not change my mind.”

  Posey sent Levi an agonized glance over her shoulder. Her grandmother kept pulling Posey through the gathering toward town. Levi turned away into the trees, evidently aware of how everyone was staring.

  Rachel was embarrassed for Levi and the girl and as she glanced around she saw she wasn’t the only one. Rachel’s gaze met Sunny’s.

  Sunny shook her head, frowning. “Levi is well liked in town and Almeria is a newcomer,” she whispered. “Why make such a ruckus in front of everyone? This will not be appreciated.”

  Rachel sighed in agreement.

  And then she heard rais
ed voices. She glimpsed the corner of the schoolhouse where Jacque was taking a swing at a bigger boy. She leaped up and ran toward the boys.

  When she reached them, she halted. The two boys were fully engaged. Swinging punches. Yelling. At the sight of her, the other children, except for Johann, scattered. Noah hurried to catch up with her.

  Before she could even speak, Noah grabbed Jacque by the collar, dragging him away from the fight.

  Another man yanked the bigger boy away, saying that the child should have known better than to pick a fight on Sunday in front of the whole town.

  Rachel thought the man had missed the point.

  “It is not Jacque’s fault,” Johann insisted. “Clayton always starts fights. He called Jacque’s father a…a name.”

  “That was very wrong,” Noah cut in, “but fighting never solves anything.”

  Jacque looked up resentfully.

  “That takes time to learn,” Noah said. “And some never do. Jacque, why don’t you wash your hands and face at the pump?”

  “Come on,” Johann encouraged Jacque. “I’ll go with you.”

  Jacque allowed Johann to lead him toward the pump at the other end of the school building. Clayton and his father stalked away in the opposite direction.

  Rachel looked to her cousin. “Thank thee, Noah.” She didn’t know what else to say.

  Noah touched her arm. “Sunny and I pray faithfully for you, Mr. Merriday and Jacque.”

  For some reason, this comment brought moisture to her eyes. She pressed her hand over his and then turned, noticing Mr. Merriday at the edge of the clearing.

  Rachel nearly called out his name, but stopped herself. She didn’t want to bring attention to him. They’d both had enough of that. How could she smooth matters for Jacque after the fight? She couldn’t of course. But she could prompt them to leave.

  She lifted a hand and motioned toward the basket she’d brought, still resting beside Sunny in the shade. He obviously saw her silent request and moved to get it, sliding through the others also gathering up their goods. A few stopped to look at him; a few shook their heads in silent judgment, raising her hackles.

  Jacque returned to her side, looking downhearted. A bruise under his left eye was just beginning to show. “Johann has to go home now.”

  “Perhaps when his family comes to town, he will be able to drop in for a visit.”

  Jacque hid his reaction to this, but pointedly did not look toward his father…toward Mr. Merriday, even when he joined them walking home.

  Rachel naturally wanted to ask Jacque what the other boy had called his father, but she did not give in to curiosity. Still, she did not miss the glares Jacque was sending Mr. Merriday. Whatever Brennan Merriday had done to cut himself off from his family was still bearing bitter fruit. The strife between the two had not abated in the least.

  And why had Brennan come at the end of the picnic? “I didn’t expect to see you till supper,” she murmured.

  “Fishin’ was a bust.” Then he glanced toward the saloon, but like everything else, it was closed on Sundays. She couldn’t believe plain boredom brought him to the schoolyard.

  Rachel drew in a deep breath as she walked between two unhappy males. She ached to help both of them, but how? And was it her place? Within her power?

  Chapter Eight

  Back at Levi’s that evening, Brennan sent the boy up to bed. Thoroughly disgruntled from a lonely and tedious and empty day, he was filled with thoughts of Miss Rachel, thoughts he shouldn’t be having.

  Grumpily he sank down beside Levi outside to watch the river flow by and the setting red sun dip into the blue water. Gulls swooped and screeched, tightening Brennan’s nerves. The grass under Brennan had been seared by the sun. A green line of watered grass edged the river. Levi sat in a chair propped back against the wall. The silence was not their usual companionable one.

  Finally Brennan hazarded a glance at his friend, whose glum face shouted a dark mood. Once again his regard for this big man prompted his sympathy. “You don’t look very happy,” he said quietly.

  Levi humphed in a disgruntled way.

  “How was the picnic?” Brennan didn’t want to pry but he couldn’t leave it for some reason.

  “That grandmother of hers caught us…talking by a tree.”

  Many responses popped into Brennan’s mind, but he chose his words with care. “What’s wrong with a man talking to a girl?”

  “I don’t know. The way she acted you’d-a thought I was a convicted felon or something. We were just talking. Posey…Miss Brown has a way of making conversation easy.”

  The blacksmith had it bad all right. Old hurt and resentment gathered in Brennan’s throat, but he refused to voice it. “She seems like a sweet young gal. But you got to look at the big picture. Maybe you’re better off without her. I mean, if you married Miss Brown, the old tartar might come live with you.”

  Levi thumped his chair forward, full on the ground.

  Brennan looked up, startled.

  “If the old tartar doesn’t even want me talking to her, how am I going to get to court her, much less marry her?”

  With that Levi left him, stalking down the riverbank.

  Brennan sighed, happy that he wasn’t interested in courting. Then Miss Rachel’s face came to mind yet again. She’d looked worried on the way home today and hadn’t said much at supper. Usually nothing much rattled her. He recalled her singing with that robin not long ago. She was too good for this town. Irritation gathered in his middle. Who had upset Miss Rachel? And what could he do about it?

  *

  At the cock’s crow, Rachel woke the next morning not her usual cheerful self. She hadn’t slept soundly as usual. And upon waking, she instantly began to worry about Jacque and what had been said to hurt him yesterday.

  And on top of this, today already felt as if it would be a scorcher. Still she had a business to run. She quickly dressed and started a fire in her outdoor oven— grateful it was away from her dwelling. Then she mixed up a double batch of cinnamon muffin batter. Soon she was filling muffin tins.

  “Good morning, Miss Rachel.”

  Rachel turned to find Posey at her open door yet again, looking unhappy. “Good morning,” Rachel said curtly and discouragingly. “I don’t have time to talk. I’m about to put these muffin tins into the oven.”

  “Can I help?” Posey asked, looking ready to cry.

  “No, I’m sorry.” Rachel softened her voice, but she couldn’t help this young girl and was not about to interfere. “I’m trying to get these into the oven before Mr. Merriday and Jacque arrive for their breakfast. Pardon me.”

  She turned and carried two muffin tins outside. When she reached the oven, she turned to find that Posey had carried out two tins also. Irritation pinched her. Please go home, Posey. “My thanks,” Rachel said in a tight tone.

  The girl slid the tins into the oven. Waves of heat flooded against their faces. Then Posey trailed her back inside, wiping her eyes with a lace hanky.

  Rachel swallowed her pity for the girl. Butting into other people’s affairs was not her chosen course.

  “Will you be making candy later?” Posey asked. The girl sounded…lachrymose, a word Rachel had heard but never used. Then she recalled when Posey’s grandmother had caused a scene yesterday. Poor girl.

  Rachel drew in a deep breath, reminding herself she had no business prying into what wasn’t her affair. “No, I think it’s going to be much too hot today to make anything more.” She glanced at the wall clock so she would time the muffins correctly and nearly shooed the girl from her kitchen. “I must start breakfast.”

  The girl nodded, looking disappointed, downhearted.

  It tugged at Rachel’s heart and she relented. “I may be making candy early tomorrow morning,” Rachel said, unable to help herself. “Perhaps you could come then?”

  Posey burst into tears. “You saw what happened yesterday at the picnic, Miss Rachel.”

  Yes, she had. She’d tried
not to comment, get involved. She now failed. “I noted Mr. Comstock’s interest in you,” she said.

  “Mr. Comstock is so…” Posey began and then tears overcame her again. She shook with their power.

  Rachel patted Posey’s arm. She didn’t want to become enmeshed in this girl’s difficulties, but she was a stranger here, too. That was probably why the girl had sought out Rachel as a confidant. “What is the problem, Posey?”

  “Grandmother says she won’t let me marry a man without land. She says a blacksmith’s widow is left with a forge and some tools. What good does that do her? If a farmer dies, at least he leaves his wife with land, something that lasts, something of value.”

  Rachel moved a step closer. She understood instantly why the grandmother would take that stand. Their family had been dispossessed and forced to depend on other family. She didn’t know what to say, so she merely murmured some comforting sounds.

  Posey continued crying.

  Through the open door, Rachel was relieved to see Mr. Merriday and Jacque coming toward her cabin. Or at least she was till she saw their grim expressions. Oh, dear.

  Posey left then, sniffling. And though Rachel tried to resist it, the girl’s mood had affected her. As did the scowls on the two males who would be eating breakfast at her table.

  Halfway through breakfast, Rachel finally lost patience. “Isn’t my breakfast well prepared? Why so glum this morning?”

  Both males looked up from their plates and frowned at her.

  In that instant she did catch a likeness between them, the way their brows wrinkled when troubled. Could that be a family trait or just coincidence?

  “Jacque, I’m sorry our pleasant Sunday afternoon ended in a fight,” she said. “I don’t think my cousin scolded thee too harshly.”

  Jacque slammed down his fork. “That’s not what’s wrong.”

  Rachel pulled back in the face of such a hostile answer.

  “Keep a civil tongue in your head, boy,” Brennan insisted.