Their Frontier Family Page 9

  When her turn came, she shook his hand and smiled. Old Saul beamed at her and mentioned how he’d enjoyed her little girl’s part this morning.

  Then Noah accepted the older man’s gnarled hand, shook it and with a murmured phrase, tried to step back. Old Saul gripped his hand, keeping it. He didn’t say anything, just looked up into Noah’s eyes a long time. Then he said, “I served under Old Hickory, Andrew Jackson, at the Battle of New Orleans.”

  Noah didn’t move or speak for a few moments. Finally when he nodded curtly, Old Saul released his hand.

  And with relief Sunny stepped aside for the Osbournes to take their turn, Noah by her side. Sunny wished she could make sense of the older man’s words. She knew that there had been a president named Andrew Jackson, but what about the Battle of New Orleans? She regretted once again her lack of schooling.

  But more worrying was the edginess she sensed from Noah. She realized that the time might be nearing for her to confront Noah as she had after Charles and Martin had come and logged that first time.

  Going to meeting had stirred him up again, just like that day. She didn’t want to make him face what was bothering him, but she needed to know why he’d come to the meeting this morning. She needed to understand him.

  And perhaps there were some things he needed to understand about her, as well.

  * * *

  A few days later Noah cleared his throat at the end of supper. “We should go over to the Fitzhughs now.”

  “Oh?” Sunny looked up. The weather had been cool and gloomy all day so the door was shut. Only faint light filtered in around the closed shutters. They would put glass windows in before fall, Noah had promised.

  Today’s weather matched Noah’s mood. She hadn’t gotten up the courage to ask Noah why he’d gone to worship. But maybe it wasn’t the right time. Noah had had the worst nightmare of all last night, and she could see he didn’t feel like talking.

  “The Fitzhughs are leaving in the morning for Kansas.”

  Noah’s words crushed her spirit. For a moment she couldn’t speak. Caroline had been her first friend here. Was losing Charles’s cheerful presence one cause of Noah’s renewed edginess? The Fitzhughs had been the ones to bring Noah and her into the community. Was losing them hitting Noah hard, as well?

  “Oh, Noah, I thought they might wait till Martin’s bride came. Or change their minds about leaving.”

  “Charles is itching to head west in time to find a place and plant a crop.” Noah’s tone was dark.

  Heavyhearted, Sunny rose, shed her apron, donned her bonnet. Then she thought of something and knelt by the door to open the chest. After she tucked the small gift into her pocket, she picked up Dawn and stepped outside. Noah shut the door behind them, pulling out the latch string.

  “I’ll carry Dawn,” Noah said.

  Three deer leaped across the path ahead of them. How graceful they were.

  “Plenty of game hereabouts.” Noah followed the game with his gaze. “We’ll eat well.”

  His commonplace observation sat at odds with the turmoil she sensed in him. Last night he’d had such a nightmare that he’d wakened Dawn. He climbed down from the loft and paced outside till, exhausted, Sunny had fallen asleep. She’d hoped the Sunday service would have helped. What would help Noah?

  The two of them walked the trail in silence. The trees cast long shadows and from the nearby creek, peepers—little frogs—peeped all around them. And then they were at the Fitzhughs’ place.

  The Osbournes had come as well as Martin. They all gathered outside the entrance to the small one-room cabin.

  “I wish you’d stay long enough to meet my girl Ophelia,” Martin said. “I wrote her about our neighbors.”

  “When you tie the knot, you write us, Martin,” Caroline Fitzhugh said, looking down.

  Sunny recognized the tremor in Caroline’s voice. She recalled that Caroline had family in Wisconsin. What was Charles thinking taking his family all the way to Kansas? Why, there still were Indians and buffalo out there.

  Martin nodded glumly. “You’ve been such good neighbors.”

  “Well, Martin, you tell Ophelia,” Nan Osbourne said stoutly, “she’ll still have me and Miz Whitmore nearby.”

  “That’s right,” Sunny agreed quickly.

  The men moved apart, talking. The women gravitated to each other. Sunny set Dawn down to play with the other children. She didn’t know what to say so she let the other women do the talking. Finally the sun lowered enough for Noah to say they needed to head home.

  Sunny shook Charles’s hand and then hugged Caroline farewell. She pushed the length of the blue ribbon she’d brought into Caroline’s hand. “For your girls. To remember us by.”

  “That’s real nice,” Nan said, standing at Sunny’s elbow. Nan’s voice trembled as if tears threatened.

  The visitors all walked together to the wagon trail. There, Martin turned the other direction and parted with a wave. Together, the Whitmores and the Osbournes walked westward down the track in the waning light, subdued and quiet. Nan leaned close just before she and her husband turned off toward their place. “My time is getting near. Can my husband come and get you when I need help?”

  Shock shot through Sunny. “Of course I’ll come. But I’ve only been to my own birthing.”

  “Gordy will head into town to bring out the storekeeper’s wife,” Nan explained further. “She’s had ten herself and said she’d be glad to come help me. But while Gordy’s gone, I’ll need somebody to sit with me just in case.”

  “Gordy,” Noah spoke up, “you come and fetch Sunny. Then I’ll go to town for you. You should stay with your wife.”

  Noah’s quick offer of help encouraged Sunny. He wasn’t as withdrawn today as she had first thought. Then recalling the nightmare he’d suffered last night cast a veil over her hope. The dreams seemed to be getting worse, not better.

  “Thanks, Noah. Thanks.” Gordy shook his hand and the Osbournes waved and headed toward their place.

  With Dawn already heavily asleep on Sunny’s shoulder, they reached the cabin just as the last rays of sunshine flickered through the trees and disappeared. Noah shut the door behind them. Sunny laid Dawn in her hammock.

  Noah turned to climb up the ladder to the loft to leave her to dress for bed alone as usual. The Fitzhughs moving on still lowered her mood. But Noah’s offer of help to the Osbournes kept repeating in her mind.

  Noah had not wanted to get “thick” with their neighbors but he obviously couldn’t go against his own good nature. Hope bobbed within her and she decided to speak.

  “Noah.” she paused, then went on, feeling as if she were venturing out onto new ice, “I’m concerned about your nightmares.” There, she’d said the word neither of them had ever spoken.

  “I didn’t mean to wake Dawn last night.” His voice was gruff.

  “That isn’t my concern.” She found she didn’t have the words she needed. Exactly what was she trying to say? “You’re my concern.” The words startled her. But should they? This was her husband. And he needed something. But was it something she could offer?

  “I can’t help having them.” He started up the ladder to the loft.

  She went after him. “Don’t leave me. Let’s talk. Maybe if we talk—”

  “Talking is just words,” he barked.

  “Words can be important. We spoke words and we became husband and wife. God spoke words and the world was created. Can’t we talk about your nightmares? Maybe it would help.” The last sentence wobbled from her lips.

  “‘Maybe it would help,’” he mocked. “Words can’t change what happened.” He hurried up the last rungs.

  “Noah—”

  “Let it be, Sunny,” he growled.

  “Noah, I can’t let it be. We need to talk this out. It can’t
hurt and it might help.” She wasn’t really sure about the first part.

  He came down the ladder, carrying his blanket and pillow with him. He headed for the door.

  Panic shot through her. Was he leaving her? “Where are you going?”

  “I’ll sleep in the wagon.” He stalked to the door.

  She hurried after him. “No, Noah—”

  He shut the door in her face.

  Leaving her caught between fear and frustration, she wanted to go after him, but fear held her back. What if he left her and Dawn? She’d only tried to be a good wife, but she’d failed. She slumped into the rocker, shaking inside. Those moments standing together as a family at Sunday worship, had they just been an act? Had they made no progress toward becoming a real family? Had she done more harm than good tonight? Pushed him further from her?

  * * *

  Weary from lack of sleep, Noah inhaled the morning air, scented with pine. The chill each morning was lessening. Spring was drifting toward summer. He’d need to break ground soon to plant in time to harvest. Sunny and Dawn had gone over to Nan’s early this morning. They were sewing some dishcloths and potholders for Martin’s bride.

  Noah remained behind alone, working on his table and thinking of the argument he and Sunny had had last night. She had made him so angry, and yet he could tell it was because she was worried. Still, he didn’t like being pushed.

  He’d felt something else last night, too. He’d wanted to reach for her, to grab her and pull her into his arms. He thought about taking her arm Sunday morning in town, showing possession. Something was changing between them. No matter how much he tried to convince himself that theirs was a marriage of practicality, he couldn’t deny that there was something else happening. Was that why he’d spent the sleepless night, tossing and turning in the wagon?

  The sound of an approaching harness jingling wafted to him on the breeze. Crosscurrents sawed through his mind. He wanted to be left in peace; he wanted whoever it was to stop.

  The wagon came jouncing over the track through the trees toward his cabin. Noah froze in place. The preacher had come to call.

  And Sunny wasn’t here to handle the social niceties and keep the preacher busy, away from him. Noah stiffened himself. He had done all right in town on Sunday, not letting his real feelings show. He could handle this. He had to. He didn’t want to be the local oddity—again.

  He bent his reluctant mouth into a smile of greeting. “Preacher!” he called out in false welcome. He put down his tools and walked over to the wagon.

  The preacher stopped well into the clearing. He laid his reins down, turned and scooted to the edge toward Noah. “Will you help an old man down?”

  Noah offered both hands and let the preacher take hold and ease down rope steps that had been hung on the side of wagon. “I thank you,” the older man said on solid ground.

  Noah felt his jaw tightening. He smiled broader to loosen it.

  “I won’t stay long. I can see you’re working. Show me your place.”

  The simple request had an odd effect on Noah. This was the first time he’d ever been able to show anybody what he and Sunny had accomplished already and in only a little over two and a half weeks. As Noah led him to the cabin, the older man leaned on Noah’s arm.

  “Charles Fitzhugh and Martin Steward helped me get my cabin up.”

  The older man stepped inside and tapped the log floor with the toe of his boot. “I do like a good foundation.”

  “Martin and Charles helped me lay the rock foundation underneath the whole. We stirred a slurry of rock, sand and water and poured it all over the stones as mortar. This cabin will stand, not shift or sink.”

  The older man nodded. “You built yourselves a nice big cabin. It will do for the large family I hope you and your pretty wife will be blessed with.”

  Noah felt the strain return, wrap around him. Would he and Sunny ever have a family? Not as things stood between them now, they wouldn’t. He hated to be reminded of his failing. When would he be able to reach for her? How could he break through to where he wanted to be? His stiff smile slipped. Sleeping outside hadn’t helped.

  “You’ve already been blessed with that pretty little girl. Do you know how lucky you are?”

  Lucky wasn’t a word he’d use to describe himself. And he’d argued with Sunny. And wakened Dawn with that nightmare. Noah felt the preacher studying him. “Dawn is a joy,” he said at last.

  The older man went to the stone fireplace. “This is fine stonework. Who taught you how to build a fireplace without mortar?”

  “I had a grandfather who was a stonemason. He taught me to lay a hearth.”

  “You could make this a trade. There’re a lot of people around here who would pay good money to have a hearth like this.”

  Noah shrugged. He had no interest in working for others.

  “Keep that in mind, son. There might come a time when you need some cash money.”

  With a mere nod, Noah led the preacher outside and showed him the lean-to and the oxen grazing along with his horse. The preacher’s easy words were calming to Noah. He worked hard to keep alert for any word-trap the man might set for him.

  “Now I see that you also work with wood. You are a man of many talents,” Old Saul said as he noticed the table Noah was building.

  Noah shrugged again, not offering any response. When would this man leave him in peace?

  “Well, you let me stretch my legs. If you give me a glass of your spring water, I’ll get back up on the wagon and go on to my next stop. I’m glad you showed me your place.”

  The older man was as good as his word. He drank his cup of water. Noah helped him to get back up onto his wagon bench and he turned the team and jingled away.

  Noah had expected a homily, or stiff sermon, or some kind of prosy pap. Why had Old Saul come? Noah couldn’t figure it out. Then he recalled the only comment the old preacher had said that didn’t address the cabin and its furnishings had been about Dawn. Do you know how lucky you are? He imagined Dawn’s hug and had trouble drawing a deep breath. I don’t feel lucky, but I am. I’m not alone anymore.

  * * *

  The next morning Sunny stared across at Noah, sitting on the three-legged stool. Somehow, when she saw Noah’s long, lean form stretched over the low stool, her heart ached for him. He looked vulnerable, haggard from lack of sleep. She supposed she looked the same way—they hadn’t spoken much since their argument.

  Once again she had to stifle words of comfort. Noah, like most men, didn’t want to admit to any weakness. At least he’d slept in the loft last night, not out in the wagon. Her stomach rumbled with anxiety and she caught herself worrying her thumb. It was already red and nearly bleeding again. Should she apologize for pushing him so hard to tell her about his nightmare? Should she explain why she wanted to know? That her curiosity was because she cared so deeply?

  “Hello, the house!” interrupted her thoughts.

  Glancing to each other, she and Noah both went to the door and he opened it.

  Martin sat on his wagon bench. “I’m off this morning to get married.” If the man could have smiled wider, his face would have split in two.

  Sunny spontaneously clapped her hands. “Oh, wonderful!” She hurried forward, drawn to the man’s palpable joy.

  Noah scooped up Dawn and followed her. “How long will you be away?”

  “About ten days or so. Ophelia has everything ready for our wedding and is already packed to come north.”

  Sunny chuckled. “We will make your bride welcome.”

  “I know you will. I wrote her already that we have good neighbors.” The groom blushed.

  “You travel careful.” Noah stroked the neck of one of Martin’s horses, a chestnut.

  “I will. I’ve got the preacher’s blessings—he stopp
ed to see me yesterday.”

  “He must be making the rounds. He stopped here, too,” Noah said.

  Sunny swung around to look into Noah’s eyes. He hadn’t said anything about the visit. Why had the preacher come? Her nerves jittered.

  “Seems like a good man,” Martin replied. “Ophelia was happy to learn we got a preacher. She’d miss going to worship.”

  Sunny tried to look as if she felt the same way as Martin’s bride. But she couldn’t stop worrying about what the preacher had said when he’d visited. Had he come to ask questions about her? Did her past show in some way she didn’t understand?

  “Well, I’m off.” Martin slapped the reins and turned his wagon. He responded to their enthusiastic goodbyes with a wave over his head. The creaking wagon retreated down the track.

  Sunny did not want to start another argument, but she had to know. She clenched the hand she had worked raw. “You didn’t say that the preacher had come.”

  Noah turned to her slowly. “He just stopped to look over our place. That’s all.”

  “And he stopped at Martin’s, too,” Sunny mused.

  “Seems so.”

  Noah didn’t seem angry, so she pushed on. “What did the preacher mean about Andrew Jackson and the Battle of New Orleans? That couldn’t have been in the War Between the States.”

  Noah offered her the child. “No, that battle took place in 1815 in the second war with England. I’ve got work to start now. We may have a table to eat off tonight.”

  Sunny accepted Dawn. She could tell Noah did not want to pursue the topic any further. Yet why had the preacher said those words to Noah? What did late President Jackson and a battle over fifty years ago have to do with Noah?

  Sunny trailed Noah, no longer able to keep her curiosity in check. She hovered nearby as he unearthed his woodworking tools from the chest, trying to come up with the right words. She followed Noah to the area where his two sawhorses stood ready. He laid a board down and began planing it, making a rhythmic scratching sound, and sending up curls of wood shavings. Dawn squealed, reaching toward the curls.