Calico Brides Page 5

  “That’s what I thought at first.” Gladys struggled to put her thoughts into words.

  “But God called you to love Mr. Keller, even when he’s grouchy and mean?” Ruth guessed.

  Gladys squirmed uncomfortably and stopped stitching for a moment. “Something like that. Only I don’t know what to do next.”

  “Ask Mr. Johnson if Mr. Keller ate the soup you brought to him. Maybe you can bring more over,” Ruth said. “Isn’t there a verse in the Bible that talks about heaping coals of fire on your enemy’s head? Not that Mr. Keller is your enemy.”

  “That’s a good idea. I’ll ask Haydn tomorrow.”

  That statement started the speculation all over again.

  Gladys hoped her friends had worked the teasing out of their systems at their Saturday meeting. But on Sunday, when they all arrived at church about the same time, Annie started in again.

  “It’s a pity that Mr. Keller is so unhappy, since he’s so rich.”

  “Oh, Mr. Keller is rich enough to buy himself ten carriages if he wanted to.” Gladys fingered the lace on her collar and wondered why she had gone to so much trouble. “But money hasn’t made him happy.”

  When they left the cloakroom, Gladys spotted Haydn across the sanctuary, and a smile leaped to her face. She lifted her hand to wave, but he didn’t acknowledge her presence in any way. She wondered if he had forgotten about the invitation.

  Ma came up beside her. “Don’t worry, Gladys.”

  How mothers sensed these things was beyond Gladys.

  “I’ll remind Mr. Johnson of our invitation.” Ma made her way through the crowd like a cat weaving its way through a maze of feet. Gladys couldn’t see over the tops of heads well enough to see what happened, but he joined them at their house after the service.

  But something was wrong. The ease that had fueled conversation between the two of them disappeared, and their words fell into uncomfortable gaps at the dinner table.

  Haydn covered it well. He talked with Georgie about all kinds of train cars, from engines to hoppers to the little red caboose.

  “Can you whittle one for me, Mr. Johnson?”

  “Not me.” Haydn smiled. “Mr. Keller made those for me. I’m not any good at it.”

  “Then you can come outside and throw snowballs with us.” Gordon sounded like Haydn’s visit was for his special benefit.

  “I will if your mother doesn’t mind.” The two of them discussed strategy, whether to use loose or hard-packed snow to throw.

  Grace didn’t say much to their guest, blushing whenever he glanced in her direction.

  With Pa, Haydn discussed the finer points of Pastor Fairfield’s sermon, taken from the love chapter in 1 Corinthians. “I try to love my wife like that. The way Christ loved the church.” Pa pointed a fork at Haydn. “That’s what I will expect from the men who marry my daughters.”

  Gladys could have sunk through the floor at that statement. What would Haydn think?

  Haydn gave her a passing smile. “I don’t blame you, sir.” He didn’t say anything to suggest he had any intentions toward Gladys at all.

  The boys more than made up for Haydn’s lack of interest in her, monopolizing his time from the moment they finished eating.

  “Go ahead and talk with our guest.” Ma tried to shoo Gladys out of the kitchen.

  “I can’t.” Gladys pointed out the window. “He’s out there playing with the boys already.” Touching her collar again, she thought of the extra minutes she had spent on dressing this morning. Waste of time, as it turned out.

  About the time Georgie tired of the game and stomped his boots at the door to shake off the snow, Pa met Haydn at the door and led him to the barn. Gladys took her time drying the dishes, her glance darting to the window more times than she wanted to admit.

  When the two men exited the barn, Haydn headed down the street without returning to say good-bye to Gladys or her mother. Gladys stayed rooted to the spot until Pa came in.

  At a single shake of his head, Gladys ran up to her room, holding back her tears until she could sob into her pillows.

  When Haydn first overheard Gladys’s comment, he decided to excuse himself from his visit to the Polson house. But faced with Mrs. Polson’s friendly insistence and Gladys’s hopeful face, he’d felt helpless to refuse. Maybe he had heard Gladys’s words out of context.

  Unwilling to risk his heart, he sat as far as possible from Gladys at the dinner table. He spoke to her only when he had to. He never expected her to be money hungry, but Grandfather’s warning had turned out to be prophetic.

  In spite of his resolution to keep his distance, Haydn couldn’t help being drawn to the family. Who could resist little Georgie, who clung to his arm and sent snowballs across the yard with great abandon and bad aim? Or young Gordon, eager to prove his coming manhood? Even the two girls, Grace and Glenda, had charmed him with their blushes and giggles. They were the kind of younger sisters Haydn wished he had.

  Not a one of them seemed curious about how much money he had or didn’t have. As Haydn whisked the boys back into the house to dry off before they got too cold, Mr. Polson appeared. “Care to join me, Mr. Johnson?”

  Although phrased as a question, the gleam in Gladys’s father’s eye told Haydn he’d better not refuse. Inside the barn, Haydn’s horse neighed a greeting, and Haydn stroked its nose.

  After Mr. Polson’s comments about loving his wife as much as Christ had loved the church, Haydn could guess what was coming. What timing. The first time a father took him aside to ask, “What are your intentions toward my daughter?” happened within days after Grandfather laid down the stipulation that Haydn marry before year’s end.

  Gladys’s father took his time getting around to the point. At last he took a seat on a bale of hay and gestured for Haydn to join him. “When I was courting my wife, I was a bundle of nerves. I never imagined what it was like for her father. Now I think it’s even worse.” He smiled. “Gladys is our eldest, my firstborn. I love all my children, but for three years, until Grace was born, we poured all our love and energy into Gladys. So if anyone were to hurt her in any way…” He left the sentence dangling.

  Haydn gulped. What had Gladys said to give her father reason to think he was courting her? All he had felt was a passing interest, a curiosity, no more, a feeling born of proximity and new surroundings and his grandfather’s impossible demand.

  Mr. Polson continued. “I also want to be sure my daughter and any children she may have will be taken care of. What kind of business are you in, Johnson? Do you have the means to support a family?”

  Money, again. Haydn’s heart dropped. Even if it didn’t matter to Gladys, it did to her father. Maybe she felt compelled to marry money.

  “I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding, sir.” Haydn used all the skills he had picked up in elocution class at the university. “Gladys is a fine woman, but all that lies between us is a joint interest in making life better for Mr. Keller.”

  Mr. Polson frowned. “I had the impression, from what my wife said… More than that, I’ve seen the way Gladys looks when she mentions your name. I’ve never seen her like that, and there have been several young men who’ve come calling.”

  The conversation had taken an awkward turn. Haydn offered an olive branch. “I have, however, enjoyed working with Miss Polson to get Mr. Keller involved with the community again. He has shut himself away from people for too long.” He paused, wondering how much he could say without revealing too much. “I don’t know how much your daughter has told you about her last visit. After she left, Mr. Keller expressed regret over his harsh words.” That wasn’t exactly true, but Grandfather hoped for something to develop between Haydn and Gladys. “Please tell her that she is welcome at the house anytime.”

  Mr. Polson stood, brushing off his pants, his back straight, as if relieved of a heavy burden. “You may stay and tell her yourself.” His eyes were at peace again. Did the man think Haydn was courting Gladys after all? Wasn’t he liste
ning?

  Haydn didn’t want to talk with Gladys privately where she could read the doubt in his eyes. “Mr. Keller is awaiting me. In fact, I told him I expected to return before this. Please tell Mrs. Polson how much I appreciated the wonderful meal.”

  When Mr. Polson opened the barn door, only gray light greeted them. “It looks like it’s going to snow,” he said.

  The temperature had plummeted, turning the afternoon much colder than the morning. The first flakes of snow fell as Haydn returned home. His mind sped across the contents of their pantry. Even without more of Aunt Kate’s food, they had plenty to last for several days.

  At the house, Grandfather was chopping wood. What was he thinking? Haydn hustled down the side path, but Grandfather disappeared before he reached the woodpile. He filled his arms with logs and headed for the house. During the short walk home, the fury of the snowfall had increased. Haydn shivered inside his thick coat.

  Grandfather reappeared with a wheelbarrow. “What are you carrying all that wood for? Put it in here with the rest of what I chopped.” He grabbed the top logs from Haydn’s arms and dropped them in the wheelbarrow, glaring at Haydn.

  “I’ll get them inside. You go on in before you get cold.” Haydn glared back.

  “I’ll have you know I’ve been cutting my own wood since before you were a speck in your father’s eye.” Grandfather’s chin jutted out. He tossed two more logs onto the wheelbarrow before he grabbed his arm in pain. As he doubled over, his breath wheezing, he began coughing. Haydn dropped the wood he was holding into the wheelbarrow and put his arm around Grandfather’s shoulders, helping him into the house.

  Chapter 7

  On Tuesday morning Gladys awakened to a white world with a shining blue sky. Snow covered the limbs of trees and the ground, in spite of Pa’s attempts to keep the path to the barn clear.

  With the blizzard’s onslaught coming on the heels of Haydn’s Sunday visit, Gladys hadn’t had a moment’s peace to herself to think about her conversation with Pa on Sunday night.

  He had evaded Gladys after Haydn left until the children went to bed. In the quiet, she sought him out in his refuge, his study. Standing in front of his desk, she asked, “What did you and Haydn talk about for so long out in the barn?”

  “Now, Gladys, don’t jump to any conclusions.”

  A quiet knock on the door interrupted them, and Ma came in.

  “I’d like to hear what you have to say.” She took a seat. “And Gladys. Pull up a chair and talk like a sensible young woman.” Once everyone was situated to her satisfaction, she settled back in her chair. “Now, Herbert.”

  “Did you ask him what his intentions toward me are?” Gladys spoke crisply.

  “Not in so many words.” Pa squirmed a bit. “I think he felt threatened when I warned him not to do anything to hurt you. And I asked him if he had enough money to support a family.”

  Taken aback, Gladys almost laughed. Of course Haydn had work. He had come to Calico to conduct business with Mr. Keller.

  “Gladys,” Ma said. “You’ve wandered away from us.”

  Blinking, Gladys brought her thoughts back to the conversation. “What was Haydn’s answer?”

  Pa cleared his throat. “I don’t want to disappoint you.”

  “Stop beating about the bush.” Ma’s voice held firm, but her hand cushioned Gladys’s in its grip.

  “He said he had no interest in you in that way. That what brings the two of you together is your desire to bring Mr. Keller out of his solitude.”

  Gladys had come to the same conclusion about their relationship. So why did it hurt to hear the truth come from her father’s lips? “He’s right, you know.” She squeezed Ma’s hand.

  Ma’s gaze pinned Gladys, daring her to speak the truth. “If you say so, Gladys. I will confess”—she cast one of “those” looks at Pa, the kind that always reassured Gladys that her parents loved each other and everything was all right with the world—“the way you look at Haydn when you think no one is watching reminds me of the way I used to look at your Pa when we were courting.”

  Shame flamed heat into Gladys’s cheeks. “You’re the ones who taught me there’s a difference between wishing and the truth.” Not wanting to say any more on that topic, she added, “But I do believe God has more for me to do with Mr. Keller.”

  “Then all is well.” Pa looked as relieved as a dog who escaped a scolding after licking his master’s face. “That is exactly what Mr. Johnson proposed: that the two of you continue to partner in your work with Mr. Keller.”

  As always, Ma knew all was not well with Gladys. She kept the younger children out of her way as much as she could with the seven of them housebound. Gladys didn’t know if she could take another day inside. Now, with the storm ended, she determined to get to the diner, even if she had to shovel the path herself. She donned several layers before she walked to the kitchen. Ma was already there, stirring up eggs and oatmeal. “You’d better eat a hot breakfast before you go out in this cold.”

  At least Ma didn’t argue with Gladys about heading to work today. Even though Gladys’s insides felt like burning fire, she wouldn’t refuse the food. She added a bit of butter and milk and honey and cinnamon to the oatmeal and took a spoonful. Delicious, soothing, especially with the light-as-air eggs that were even better than the ones Aunt Kate cooked at the diner. The warm coffee finished the job. “Thank you, Ma. For everything.” She threw her arms around her mother and hugged her. “You knew I’d head to work today.” She buttoned up her coat.

  “Of course.” Ma grinned. “You have to get more soup for Mr. Keller.”

  Haydn hadn’t slept much since Saturday night. After Grandfather’s foolish hours spent chopping wood outside, he had turned really and truly sick. Haydn had never experienced a storm quite like this. Wind and snow blew so hard, a person could get lost walking from his house to the barn and back. With Grandfather so ill, Haydn did what he could and prayed for the best until the storm ended.

  Dozing in the chair beside his grandfather’s bed, Haydn woke with a start in the middle of the night. Peering through the snow crystals on the window, he saw that the storm had stopped. Grandfather’s breathing had eased. As long as he was resting, Haydn would take advantage of the opportunity to clear a path to the street. Grandfather needed a doctor, although Haydn felt uncomfortable leaving him alone in the house for the time it would take to fetch one.

  Haydn grabbed a shovel from the mudroom and opened the front door. The snow had drifted higher on the porch than he expected, in spite of the protection of the overhang. He stayed in the doorway only long enough to clear a place to stand then he shut the door behind him, trapping the heat inside. Soon enough the effort he expended left him warm, and he worked with a will.

  When he left the porch, the snow reached Haydn’s knees, and moonshine sparkled on the diamondlike surface. He continued until the first rays of the sun reminded him of the passage of time. As much as he wanted to finish the job, he needed to check on his grandfather. He tramped up the steps and opened the door, carrying his boots and snow-soaked garments to the adjacent mudroom.

  Haydn added another log to the fire. The extra wood Grandfather had chopped had come in handy after all. Upstairs, the Old Man slept so peacefully that Haydn put his head to his chest to make sure he was still breathing. Pioneers lived like this all the time, with no medical help available except what they could do for themselves, locked up in a single-room hovel with no way to reach the outside world.

  Haydn’s experience hadn’t prepared him for this kind of isolation. He didn’t mind taking care of Grandfather or clearing the path, but he couldn’t do both at once. Padding down the stairs to the kitchen, he scraped the last of Aunt Kate’s chicken soup into a bowl. They’d reached the end of the food she had provided. He’d have to cook their next meal, maybe sausage gravy and biscuits.

  Grandfather managed to eat the small amount of soup and drink a few sips of tea before he slipped back into sleep. His brea
thing rasped, and he felt hot to the touch. Thrashing, he threw his quilts on the floor. Every time Haydn replaced them, he flung them down again.

  Haydn didn’t know if he should keep Grandfather covered or allow him to cool down, without the quilts. The front parlor seemed like a good solution. With the fire, Grandfather would stay warm even if he kicked off every cover. Haydn placed one arm under the Old Man’s neck and another under his knees. Amazing how insubstantial his grandfather felt in his arms, his body emaciated by illness. He picked his way down the stairs and laid Grandfather on the couch. Plumping the pillow under his head and covering him with a quilt, Haydn looked into his face. Seen like this, the man inspired pity and even love. He had lived and loved and survived.

  If Haydn wanted to please his oldest living relative, he was supposed to find a wife within the next two months. So far the only women of marriageable age he had met in Calico were all members of Gladys’s sewing circle. The ones who gossiped about Grandfather’s money. “Lord, what am I supposed to do? Are you going to send a bride my way by special delivery on a train?”

  Grandfather grunted at that, and Haydn rushed to his side. “What is it?”

  Grandfather opened those dark eyes, clear for the first time since his collapse. “God will provide.” His eyes drifted shut, and Haydn almost thought he had imagined those few words.

  Because of checking on Grandfather so often, Haydn scorched his oatmeal. Bringing a big bowl out to the parlor, he ate it quickly and set it to one side. The family Bible sat on a nearby shelf, and he reached for it. With interest, he read the family record: his grandparents’ marriage, his father’s birth, the birth and death of a younger sister, his parents’ marriage, his own birth as well as his younger brother’s.

  Of his grandmother’s death, no record had been made. Looking at the flowing script, Haydn wondered if she had kept the records up to that point. He found no mention of his youngest brother, born twelve years ago. Haydn found writing materials in the study. No one else was available to bring the family record up to date. He added Grandmother’s name but laid down the pen when he couldn’t recall the exact date of her death. Maybe he could find it on her gravestone. After adding his brother’s birth date, his eyes drifted to the page set apart to record marriages. With only two entries, the blank lines called to him. Whose name would be joined with his?