A Place Called Harmony, page 10
Every time he saw her rocking the baby he thought of another time, another wife, another baby. Part of him wanted to tell her that once he’d had a woman who thought he hung the moon and didn’t freeze every time he got within three feet of her.
Only he couldn’t talk about his Mary. He’d sworn he’d never bring up his past or Karrisa’s. But somehow this not talking didn’t seem the way to start. They couldn’t very well spend the rest of their lives not speaking, not touching.
Or could they? He decided that being around someone who didn’t want to be there was worse than being alone, and he’d become an expert at being alone.
After he brushed down the horses, Clint walked through the barn taking inventory. Whatever his job would be tomorrow morning, he needed to know where things were. The old guy was well stocked with what looked like enough hay to last the winter and enough lumber lining the back wall to frame out at least one house. Two years didn’t seem long enough to build a town, but the old man seemed to think that if they put up the buildings folks would be like ants at a picnic. They’d just move in.
When he finally walked back to his bedroom upstairs, Clint heard the young couple in the middle room whispering and laughing softly. They were no more than kids, but Patrick and Annie seemed made for each other. They touched every time they got within three feet of each other. Patrick was tall and she was short and rounded, but somehow they fit together.
Turning the doorknob on the last door, he slipped into his room, surprised to find the lamp still burning low. Karrisa was in bed with the baby tucked in beside her. Her eyes were closed, but he doubted she was asleep.
He moved to her side of the bed. “I brought you up a cup of well water. Thought you might get thirsty after the baby nurses.”
“Thank you.” She shifted and took the cup. “I know you don’t think so, but you are good to me. I’ve no complaints, Truman.”
He didn’t know what to say. How bad must all the men in her life have been for her to think a hard man like him was good to her?
“You all right with this setup, dear? I don’t think I heard you say a word to anyone tonight.”
“I’m fine.” She set the half-empty cup down beside her bed.
“That’s all?” He wanted her to say more.
“After watching Daisy doctoring tonight, I think the first thing we will need in our new house is a medicine box.”
“All right.” He waited for her to say more.
She looked a little frightened, as if she’d been put on the spot. It took her a while, but she added, “Everyone seemed nice.”
They were on safe ground now. They could talk about the others, and for a change he needed to talk. “The McAllens are young. Little more than kids. Old Ely said he’s a good carpenter, but it bothers me that he doesn’t carry a gun. With Captain Matheson down, if trouble comes, I may have to handle it alone.”
“Can you do that?”
“I can,” he answered without hesitation. “I was barely seventeen when I ran off to the war. I was trained very well over the years.” He hesitated, not knowing how much to tell her. “I’d rather face a half dozen men alone than have to worry about McAllen getting hurt trying to help. So if a fight comes, I’ll do my best to keep him out of it.”
She asked no questions.
He walked over to the window and stared out at the moon, remembering the times he’d killed. In self-defense, to save others, because he was ordered to. The reasons didn’t matter. The ghosts of those who died would always haunt his nights.
After a while, he spread his blanket out and lay down on the floor. Before he fell asleep, the baby began to fuss.
Karrisa sat up and opened her gown. As she began to breast-feed, Clint realized she hadn’t turned around or covered herself with one of the baby blankets. She had no idea if he was awake or asleep in the shadows. The light from the moon came through the window, crossed above him, and shone on her.
Her breasts were full and nicely rounded, her skin as pale as her gown. When she finished she tucked the baby in the basket he’d left by her bed, and then she buttoned up her gown. As she slipped the last button in, she raised her head and stared directly at him. “You are my husband,” she whispered. “I’ve no reason to turn away when dressing or undressing.”
He’d lost the ability to speak. All he could do was stare and wonder if she could see him watching her. Had she been talking to him, or herself?
The next morning, while he held the baby, he pretended not to watch as she removed her nightgown and slipped into her clothes. After all, he wasn’t interested in her as a woman. She was a wife in name only. Plus, she wasn’t beautiful. Way too thin with hair that had no shape at all.
When he handed her back the baby, he said simply, “Now you are ready, it’s time we go down to breakfast, dear.”
She followed him out of the room and down to the little kitchen behind the store. Leaves had been added to the table to accommodate ten chairs, but there was barely room to walk.
As promised Annie, Patrick’s wife, had made what she called a farm breakfast, complete with pancakes, eggs, and ham. She told anyone who listened about how her father had her cooking for his new wife and her daughters by the time she was eight.
Daisy was already at the table and smiling. Her husband hadn’t opened his eyes yet, but his fever was down and he seemed to be resting easy. “The captain won’t stay down long,” she repeated to everyone, as if saying the words made them true.
Ely joined them, saying that the girl, Jessie, had asked if she could sit with Captain Matheson for a while. The old man couldn’t stop smiling. His dream was about to come true. He filled his coffee and picked up his plate. “I eat in my store at sunrise. Open seven to seven every day but Sunday. Expect all of you to work the same hours except a week off if you need to plant a garden in the spring. Anything you grow or make can be sold in the store. You keep the profits as long as I keep one out of every ten things, be it pies, eggs, or carrots, to stock my kitchen. Any questions?”
Patrick, who’d been helping his wife put the food on the table, asked, “What am I going to do with all my free time?”
Everyone laughed, but Clint had the feeling Patrick had asked an honest question. In truth, he wondered the same thing. Seven at night to bedtime seemed a long while to spend in a little room with a woman who never talked to him.
He pulled her chair out and waited for her to sit down. As usual, she didn’t say a word. He really didn’t care. Being sober made him aware of how much time people waste talking.
Clint didn’t miss the four chairs at the far end of the table filled with tiny little boys who looked just like their father, Captain Matheson. Daisy introduced them with a wave of her spoon. Abe, who could talk, said he was four. Ben, who spoke in some indecipherable language, sat beside his older brother. The other two didn’t look old enough to walk and were both tied in their chairs with apron strings.
“Twins?” Clint asked the stupid question.
“No.” Patrick pulled up the chair next to him. “Why would you say that, Truman? What was your first clue?”
All the women, even his wife, laughed at Clint.
“Look, kid, I was just trying to make conversation.” Clint decided he could dislike Patrick McAllen if he half tried.
“Don’t call me kid,” Patrick said politely. “Name’s Patrick.”
Clint saw a touch of steel in the kid’s green eyes. “You got it, Patrick.” Maybe the kid was worth liking after all. Clint respected men who stood up.
They ate breakfast like they were all half starved. Patrick’s wife, Annie, said shyly that she’d cook more tomorrow. “Since I’m the only one without children to worry about, it makes sense that I’ll cook the meals. Breakfast at dawn. A simple lunch at noon and supper when you get in at seven. Fair enough? I’ll try to make desserts as I cook and they’ll be left on the table if anyone gets hungry between meals.”
No one argued. It had been so long since Clint had a dessert, he wasn’t sure what they were. Maybe he’d try to come in every afternoon that they were working close by and have coffee and dessert with his wife. She could stand to gain a few pounds.
In the silence, Clint was surprised Karrisa spoke up. “I’ll do the dishes after every meal and make the bread as needed. I’ll also keep the water buckets filled in both the kitchen and the dressing room upstairs.”
Daisy jumped in to offer help. “When the boys take their naps, I’ll help out in the store as soon as the captain’s better. Ely has a good business, but he’ll be the first to admit that his books are a mess.” Daisy glanced from Annie to Karrisa. “We’ll work everything out here. It’ll be easier than building a town.”
Patrick moved his plate aside and spread out a piece of brown paper. “I talked with Ely early this morning. He has no idea how to start, so I came up with some ideas for building that need working on before spring. For the time being I suggest we use the kitchen as our meeting place and headquarters. I thought I’d start on the buildings that would benefit us all the first week and move to the houses next. We’ll need a better smokehouse, a forge, and there’s work that needs to be put in on the barn to hold not only our stock but our supplies.”
Clint listened to Patrick. The kid knew what he was doing. They had less than two months to build before spring planting. Soon, a town would need streets marked off. A hotel for folks to stay over. A café. A church. A school. Once the buildings started to go up, there would be people who’d either buy them or rent them from Ely. Either way, the money would pay for more buildings. In two years either Ely’s grand plan would be a bust, or Ely would be a rich man. Either way, Clint figured he’d have a house and forty acres to call his own.
He slid his hand along the money belt he still wore. At the end of two years maybe he’d buy more land or maybe he’d move on, but either way, he’d have enough to start over again if need be.
Ely passed through the kitchen for another cup of coffee. He stopped at the door and said simply, “Build your places as soon as you can. I don’t know if I can stand all you hanging around once the weather warms.”
Patrick pulled out another piece of paper he’d had rolled in his his pants pocket. “I drew up some simple houses we can put up within a few weeks each. They’ll be small and plain. All will be made so we can build on. I figure we might as well start with two stories for the Matheson clan, but Truman, yours and mine can start off as little more than cabins. As we move along with the town and begin to hire men on to work, we’ll move a team over to add the extra rooms on.”
Ely nodded. “Then pick your land, men. The houses will sit on my land for two years, and then, if you stay, I’ll deed the forty acres you pick out over to you. Any of you think you’ll want a house in the new town? I could make a bargain . . .”
All said no at once.
Ely passed through the door without another word.
Patrick stood. “I’m thinking we start with what needs doing here first. We’ve got lumber, but no stoves or sinks or a dozen little things that will make the house more than a shack. They’ll have to be ordered and driven up from the nearest train station, so we’re stuck here together until they come in. A forge between the store and the barn would probably be useful to us and travelers. With all of us eating, I could put up a smokehouse in four days. We’d have time to mark off streets later. With the creeks crossing through this place it won’t be easy, but we can start with a town square once we’re settled. Ely may be dreaming, but he claims if we build a courthouse, he might get the county seat. That and a post office and we’d be on the map.”
Suddenly everyone was talking at once. Everyone except Karrisa. She sat silent beside Clint.
He reached his hand beneath the table and closed his fingers around hers. “You all right with this?” he said in his best effort to whisper.
She nodded as she held his hand tightly for only a moment before she let go. Instead of pulling away, she leaned forward and whispered, “When you pick your forty acres, make sure it has water for my trees.”
Clint nodded. “I haven’t forgotten, dear. Apple trees. As many as you want to plant.”
He and Patrick stood and went to take inventory of all supplies. Clint didn’t want to leave her alone with strangers, but he had to. With luck, these women would become her friends.
When he was alone with Patrick, they walked off where to build the forge and the smokehouse and then inventoried supplies. Plenty of wood, not near enough nails. Ely seemed to think all they’d need to build was wood. He didn’t stock stoves, doorknobs, hinges, or glass for windows.
“We can use river rocks to build the chimneys, but some supplies will have to be ordered in.” Patrick sat down in the shadowy barn and started a list of all they’d need. “I wish my brother were here,” he said for the third time. “He’s the one with all the brains.”
Patrick had been talking for an hour, so Clint asked, “Let me guess, he’s the quiet one?”
The kid’s head shot up. “He doesn’t speak. He can hear, but something happened with his voice. He’s not dumb, though; he’s smarter than me.”
“I’ve no doubt.” Clint didn’t even know the brother, but he didn’t want to argue. “So you’ve done the talking for both of you all your life?”
Patrick shrugged and went back to work. “Yeah, I pretty much talked all day and he listened. Annie’s noticed that too. If I didn’t have her, I’d miss Shelly something terrible. You’d like him, Truman. He’s one person who talks less than you.”
“I’m sure I would.” Truman answered. “I feel like I know him already. Let me guess, he’s older, right? But, of course he looks a lot like you. Maybe an inch or two shorter than you. Maybe not quite as thin. Only his eyes are gray, not green, and his hair a few shades darker brown.”
“Unbelievable, Truman, you described him exactly. What are you, one of those mind readers?”
“No,” Truman answered. “But I’ve always had good eyesight.”
Clint couldn’t stop smiling as Patrick turned around and looked at his brother standing behind him. The McAllens hugged, taking turns lifting each other off the ground, and then Patrick started asking questions.
Shelly pulled a note from his pocket and handed it to his brother as if already guessing what he’d ask.
Patrick took a minute to read the note and glance up at Truman. “He says it wasn’t any fun without me in Galveston, so after a week he saddled up and rode out. He made faster time because he didn’t bother to stop and visit. He writes that he passed a few places where he saw my work along the way.”
Truman wasn’t surprised. “I like your brother already. How about we go to work? Old Ely might not make him the same deal he did the three of us, but I’ll bet he’ll hire Shelly on until the captain gets on his feet.”
Patrick explained the layout of the forge to Shelly, and Clint wasn’t surprised when the silent McAllen took out his pencil and began making improvements. It seemed Patrick did all the talking even when the brothers argued over changes. Only, strange as it might sound, it was usually Shelly’s suggestions that were used.
By noon, Clint decided to skip lunch and seek the silence of the upstairs bedroom. On a good day, he’d never been all that interested in construction, and with Patrick talking nonstop to his brother, Clint didn’t consider this a good day.
He wasn’t surprised to find that his wife was also in their room. Every day since they’d married, he’d insisted she rest at midday. It was helping. She had more energy and wasn’t quite as pale as she’d been those first few days out of prison.
He tossed his hat on the chair and stretched out beside her on the bed. When she opened one eye, he said, “Do me a favor and don’t say a word.”
Karrisa didn’t even move. The baby was asleep in the basket, making little sounds babies make in their sleep. For the first time all morning there was peace and Clint simply wanted to drink it in like fine whiskey.
He took stock of his surroundings. The baby had woken him twice last night. Harmon Ely, down the hall, snored until almost dawn, and the young couple next to him must be part squirrel from all the moving-around noises coming from their room. Downstairs four little boys were yelling or crying or banging by first light.
On the bright side, he had a job and a hint of a future to plan for. His wife was letting him lie in bed without screaming, which was nearer to normal than they’d been since the wedding. Despite Patrick’s talking and Shelly’s silence, he liked both the McAllen brothers. He was stone-cold sober and for the first time in years he’d laughed.
Clint was afraid to ask if his wife was happy, so finally he simply said, “Do you feel safe here, dear?”
“Yes, Truman,” she answered as she patted his shoulder.
Chapter 12
TRADING POST
With Annie cooking breakfast and Karrisa cleaning up, Daisy had time to take care of her husband. The morning after he arrived, while the boys played on the roped-in porch, she washed Gillian and bandaged his head wound with clean strips of cotton. It looked much better and not near as red, but she knew there would always be a scar along his forehead. There were other scars he’d collected in the months they’d been apart. The year had not been easy on him either.
She couldn’t stop staring at Gillian, touching him. How could she have allowed over a year to pass without being with him? Her family had told her that if she’d hold strong about not leaving the farm, eventually he’d wise up and come home. In his letters he’d talked about places they could live, but he’d never mentioned Kansas or the little home in sight of her parents’ house as being one of them.
