Jane Bonander (7 page)

“Good morning, dear,” the woman called from the buckboard, giving her a warm smile. “Isn’t it just a lovely day?”

Small talk. Susannah was never in the mood for small talk. Pasting on a smile, she left the porch and greeted the sweet, frail woman with the kind smile.

Ma Walker had looked kind, too, remember?
Oh, Susannah remembered only too well. But the kindness had vanished every time she’d done something to displease the old woman.

Susannah approached the buckboard. “Is something wrong?”

The woman started to get down, and Susannah took her hands, helping her to the ground. The skin over her knuckles was so thin Susannah could see the tiny blue veins winding beneath the surface.

“Oh, we have a shaky wheel, I’m afraid.” Her face was flushed, and once she was on the ground, she fanned herself with a handkerchief. “We should have had it looked at in Angel’s Valley, but my husband . . .” She paused, a bit embarrassed. “You see, Alvin, my husband, is so afraid for my health, he didn’t want to take the time. He just wanted to get me home.”

Susannah knew it was selfish, but she didn’t want company, much less a sick woman whom she’d have to care for, no matter how brief their stay. She wanted Nathan to fix their wheel and send them on their way. The woman took Susannah’s arm and started toward the porch, leaving Susannah no choice but to help her get there.

“Are you ill?” Susannah had to admit the woman didn’t appear well.

“Not really,” the woman answered, slowly taking the porch steps. “It’s . . . well, it’s just my heart. Not as strong as it used to be.”

“I see. I’m . . . I’m sorry to hear that.” Susannah
did
feel sorry for the woman, she just wasn’t accustomed to company. And, too, the woman reminded her of Ma Walker.

Her first memory of Harlan’s mother filtered through her thoughts. She’d seen the woman sitting in a chair by the fire with a quilt thrown over her knees.

“Fiona, her ma, is dead,” Harlan had told his mother. “She got no place to go.”

Ma Walker had reached out and clutched Susannah’s tiny hand, enveloping it in her big, rough one. She’d seemed so happy to have Susannah there, and Susannah had been eager to please her.

But even that first night, when she thought Susannah was asleep, the old woman had whispered angrily to her sons that “the skinny little brat would be useless” to her. “I never said you could bring your whore’s child here and I don’t care if the slut is dead,” the old woman had whispered sharply. “How do I know it weren’t your seed? How do I know she ain’t yours?”

“Goddammit, Ma—”

“Don’t you blaspheme, Harlan Walker,” the woman had scolded.

“Sorry, Ma,” Harlan had answered contritely. “But she ain’t mine, and she ain’t Sonny’s. The kid’s ten years old. Fiona said the girl’s pa died years ago. An’ it’s only been five years since Fiona moved here.”

Because of all that, Susannah had tried so very hard to please her, wanting her to be happy Susannah was there. But that never happened. Over the next few years, she’d tried so hard to be the best little girl . . . but she had never been good enough, not for any of them.

Susannah’s guest stopped on the porch to catch her breath. “Awful, isn’t it? I can’t even walk a few steps without feeling as though I’ve walked a mile uphill.”

Susannah gave her a weak smile. Ma Walker had appeared frail and helpless, too.

She helped the woman inside and settled her on the sofa. Excusing herself, she went to Corey’s room, feeling a warm sense of relief when she saw him still sleeping, his thumb in his mouth. She stood a moment at Corey’s door, trying to gather her scattered thoughts.

She didn’t want company, but they were here, and she couldn’t do anything about it. For years she’d learned to make the best of a bad situation; surely she could do that now.

She turned from Corey’s door and went to the stove. “May I fix you a cup of tea?”

“A cup of tea would be lovely,” the woman said. “By the way, my name is Lettie Hatfield.”

Susannah hesitated, for she still didn’t like giving people her name. “I’m . . . I’m Susannah.”

As Susannah prepared the tea, Mrs. Hatfield explained to her that she and her husband had been up this way for her sister’s funeral.

“I’m the only one left now,” Mrs. Hatfield said on a sigh. “But at least I still have my Alvin.”

Susannah put the tea on the table beside the sofa and studied her visitor. That kind of expression, that look of love, stunned Susannah. Oh, she loved Corey to distraction and she’d loved her mother, but this love between a man and a woman more than puzzled her. A feeling of hunger gnawed at her, and it had nothing to do with food.

Corey came into the room, rubbing his eyes and dragging his blanket, changing Susannah’s focus. The commotion had apparently wakened him early. She pulled him into her arms and sat down in the chair beside the sofa.

“That was a short nap, sweetheart. Are you still tired?”

Corey gave the other woman a shy look before shaking his head.

“What a darling child. You’re so lucky,” Mrs. Hatfield said with a wistful smile. “Alvin and I were never able to have children. Because of it, we grew to depend on each other. From the day we first met, almost forty years ago, he’s treated me like his queen. The only thing missing from our lives was children, someone to care for us in our old age.”

Susannah felt a twinge of sadness for the woman. Her life would mean nothing if she didn’t have Corey. But then, she didn’t have a man in her life who treated her like royalty, either. Dark, black thoughts of Missouri intruded, pressing at the doors of her memory. Susannah excused herself briefly, anxious for something else to occupy her mind.

Morning encroached on noon. Susannah pulled her bread from the oven, grateful at how it had risen. She still remembered one of the first loaves she’d ever baked, hard and flat as shoe leather. It had been so cold in the cabin, it hadn’t risen. And no one had told her to keep it next to the fire.

Reflexively, she touched her cheek, the slap she’d received from Ma Walker still stinging as if it had just happened.

Stupid, wasteful girl!

Corey tugged at her skirt. “Outside, Mama?”

With a sigh, she glanced at the door. She wanted to keep him inside and entertained, but he was accustomed to being outside, and she couldn’t very well explain to her guest that she didn’t want her son near Nathan, because she was jealous of the attachment. Jealous and afraid . . . She reluctantly let him go out.

She stepped out onto the porch, dredging up the nerve to even say his name out loud. “Nathan?”

When he turned, she felt that same fluttery feeling in the pit of her stomach that she had earlier down by the river. He’d begun to work in earnest, for he had unbuttoned his shirt She glimpsed the hair on his chest, and the fluttering inside her intensified. “Could you . . .” She swallowed, trying to moisten her dry mouth. “I mean, would you mind keeping an eye on Corey?”

He gave her that now-familiar half smile and waved, flustering her further.

While Mrs. Hatfield napped, Susannah made lunch: her fresh baked cottage bread, cheese, canned peaches and cookies. Glancing outside, she noticed Nathan was still working on the buckboard wheel. Corey sat beside him on the tree stump, playing quietly with several small blocks of wood. Mr. Hatfield stood by and watched Nathan work, talking incessantly, offering helpful little hints about how to fix the wheel. He went from one subject to another, barely stopping for breath. Susannah hid a smile, almost feeling sorry for Nathan.
Almost
.

She arranged a tray, covered it with a cloth, and put it out on the table on the porch. As she took the steps to the grass, she heard Mr. Hatfield’s chatter, and
Nathan’s occasional grunting response. She stood behind them, waiting to be noticed, unwilling to interrupt them—a gesture left over from days past. Even Corey was too busy to look up.

Nathan had stripped to the waist and was bent over the wheel, studying the axle. She pulled her gaze to the safety of his shoulders, but the well-muscled expanse proved no safer at all.

He stood, the wheel in his hands, and turned toward her. Sweat streamed over him, forking into tiny tributaries as it tunneled through the hair on his chest.

Feeling breathless, Susannah looked away, but not before her gaze caught Nathan’s and held, briefly.

Mr. Hatfield turned and smiled at her. He was a wiry little man, full of nervous energy. “Well, little lady,” he enthused, “I’ve been giving your man here some hints about fixin’ wheels, but he’s determined to do it his own way.”

Her man? Susannah felt a knot in her stomach. “Oh, but we’re—”

“Mama!” Corey slid off the tree stump and ran to her. She scooped him up and they rubbed noses.

“Yessir,” Mr. Hatfield continued, “I shoulda stopped in that town back there an’ had it fixed, but by golly, my Lettie ain’t feelin’ too good, and I just wanted to get her home. Nice we came across you folks, though. Yessir, the Lord was with us, no doubt about that.”

Corey saw Max and squirmed in Susannah’s arms. She put him back on the ground. He picked up a stick and chased after the dog.

“Corey,” Nathan warned, “don’t run with that stick. If you fall, you’ll hurt yourself.”

Susannah resented his interference, but she couldn’t fault the message.

“And that’s a mighty fine son you got there, ma’am. Me and my missus never had children. Nope, never did. Wanted to, though. Yessir, wanted to, just never did.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Susannah saw Nathan’s relief when Alvin Hatfield focused his chatter on someone else. She tried to smile, but the strange winded sensation she’d felt earlier when she’d looked at Nathan’s chest hadn’t left her.

“Your wife is resting inside.” She pointed to the porch. “I have lunch up there for the two of you any time you’re ready.”

Corey came back from romping with the dog and hugged her leg through her skirt. “Me eat with big man, Mama.”

“Oh, darling. I think you should come in and eat with—”

“It’s all right, Susannah. He can sit with me.”

She was no longer angry at Corey’s defection. She was afraid, but she still couldn’t identify her fears. Not wanting to create a scene, she surrendered. “Well, all right. If you’re sure.”

“Come on, Corey,” he said, taking him from Susannah’s arms, “time to wash up at the pump like a big boy.”

A panicky feeling crept over Susannah, but she fought through it and simply stared as Corey eagerly went into Nathan’s big, strong arms, against that wide, hard, hair-covered chest. . . .

Clearing her throat, she turned and gave Alvin Hatfield a wan smile as they walked to the porch. She climbed the steps and motioned to one of the two chairs at the table. “Please,” she said, “have a seat. Help yourself. Here. I’ll . . . I’ll pour you some coffee.”

Alvin Hatfield sat and smacked his lips when she whipped off the cloth. “Mighty nice, ma’am. Mighty nice. Oh, fresh bread, I see. Ain’t nothin’ as tasty as bread fresh from the oven.” He helped himself to a piece of bread, slathered it with butter, and slapped some cheese on it. “You’ve got a mighty nice little family, ma’am. Mighty nice.”

Her panic returned, and she could hardly finish pouring coffee into Nathan’s cup.

“Mama! Mama!” Corey ran to the porch and crawled up the steps. “Me wash at the pump like the big man.”

“Good, Corey. That’s . . . that’s good.” She had to set Mr. Hatfield straight. She was about to tell him Nathan wasn’t her husband, when she glanced toward the pump. That fluttery feeling in her stomach was still there when she and Nathan exchanged glances. He walked toward her, buttoning his shirt.

She turned away just as he stepped onto the porch and pulled Corey into his arms. Pressing her fingers to her throat, she found the pulse that throbbed in the little hollow behind her collar. It
had
pounded hard like this before, but never with pleasure. Always with fear. She took a deep breath and tried to still her runaway heart. When she looked, he and Corey were seated at the table, across from their guest.

Corey clapped his hands and reached for a piece of cheese, almost knocking over Nathan’s coffee. Susannah held her breath, but Nathan just moved the cup out of Corey’s reach.

“How ’bout some lunch, Corey?” Nathan’s voice was patient. Susannah’s stomach pitched and tossed.

She went to the door, listening and lingering before going back into the cabin.

“Bread and cheese! Bread and cheese!” Corey chanted.

Susannah looked back at them just as Nathan handed Corey his bread. Emotions she couldn’t describe rushed through her like a river overflowing its banks.

She watched Corey lift his bread to Nathan’s mouth.

“Big man want some?”

To satisfy Corey, Nathan took a bite, then continued with his own meal.

Susannah had the strangest urge to laugh. Or cry. She didn’t know which, but a huge lump had formed in her throat.

She stepped into the cabin, her glance going to the sofa where Lettie Hatfield lay, still sound asleep. Susannah went to her and knelt down beside her.

The woman opened her eyes and blinked, then smiled at Susannah. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, starting to rise.

“No, please,” Susannah insisted, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t get up. Obviously you need the rest.”

Lettie sighed and briefly closed her eyes again. “I do get so tired.”

In spite of her suspicions and her desire to have them gone, Susannah grew concerned. “Where do you live?”

“In Jonesboro, in the next valley.”

“But . . . but that’s over fifteen miles away.” Susannah hoped the woman didn’t detect the dismay in her voice. They couldn’t possibly make it to Jonesboro before nightfall.

“It will be all right. Alvin can make up a bed for me in the back of the buckboard. He’s done it before, dear.” She drew her legs up and snuggled against the pillow.

Shock mingled with Susannah’s dismay. She couldn’t let this fragile old woman sleep in the back of a
buckboard
. Oh, but she didn’t want them here, either.

She turned away, pretending to straighten the lamp on the table while she fought with her conscience. She didn’t know what to do. That wasn’t true. She knew what was right.