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I admit Elias was exactly how Marta described him, and standing there for a moment, I forgot how to speak. His dark hair framed a square jaw with tiny whiskers sprouting on his chin. Yet it was his scowl, which awakened me from my daze.
She berated me for ten solid minutes before I got a word in. "Take a breath, Marta," I fussed, and I slung the turkey onto the table in the barn. "I get it."
She covered her eyes at sight of the turkey's broken neck. "I don't know how you can do that!"
I shrugged. "Man's gotta eat."
"But surely, your brothers could dress it."
I gazed at her face, and Elias caught my eye. I puzzled at his expression. If he wasn't totally repelled by now, he soon would be. I went back to my work on the turkey.
"They could, but they won't. I caught it, so I have to clean it. Rule of the hunter."
"Rule of the hunter, my eye." Marta plopped onto a bale of hay, leaving Elias standing awkwardly before me.
I offered him the knife. "You wanna cut or shall I?"
A boyish grin lifted on his lips. "Never had a girl offer me a knife before." He stared at the handle.
I extended the knife further. "I guess I'm not your ordinary girl. My apologies for being late."
He took the handle, running his thumb over the smooth wood, and gave a curt nod towards the turkey. "You really shoot that?"
"Oh, she shot it."
Our heads swiveled toward the doorway where Brian stood. "Sis is a crack shot," he remarked. "She'll split your hair in half at one hundred paces."
I raised the rifle to my shoulder and aimed just past his head. He didn't flinch. With a laugh, I lowered it. "What do you want anyway?" I went back to plucking the turkey.
"Papa says to clean up. He'll do the turkey."
I wrinkled my brow. Clean up? He'd given me the day off and generally, he didn't care what I did with my free time. "Whatever for?" I finally asked. Feathers floated around the room and stuck to my fingers.
"Gloria Pinser's in labor, and she's askin' for you."
Elias spoke up then. "Don't tell me you're a midwife?"
I focused on his face, and a moment passed between us. "My boy," I said, and I patted his cheek. "There's a lot you don't know about me." With that, I headed for the house.
Elias stood there stunned. A loose feather clung to his skin. He glanced over his shoulder to her retreating form and swallowed. The back view wasn't so unpleasant either.
Marta's tug on his arm brought him back to earth. "C'mon," she said with a pout. "We'd best go. She'll not return 'til the baby's born."
He skipped a step to catch up. "She's not, is she?"
"Not what?" Marta flicked her gaze to his.
"A midwife."
She giggled. "No. She and Gloria Pinser are friends. I suspect she's gone to watch Paula. That's Mrs. Pinser's little girl. Anyhow, Angel will be at church tomorrow. That is, if the baby's born tonight. We'll invite her to lunch."
"Does she ... wear pants to church?" He gulped at that image.
Marta shook her head. "No, just when hunting. Why?"
He cleared his throat. "Oh, no reason."
She forged ahead. "Anyhow, as long as we have the wagon, I'll show you around town."
The wagon rumbled down the lane casting a cloud of dust behind it until they reached the newly-laid brick streets. The bricks were an idea the town voted for in the last election, and following its passage, a committee was formed and work groups raised.
Elias' teeth clattered as they jounced down the street, relief washing over him when she pulled the wagon to a stop. They might look nice, but they did make for a bumpy ride.
"We'll walk," she said, and she hooked her arm through his.
He took in the view of the street. If he closed his eyes, he could be in any town in Florida. Rows of red-brick buildings adorned with white-plaster trim and decorative awnings lined the street's edge. There was a cobbler's shop, a feed store, a livery, a ladies' goods store, a millinery, and the grocery directly in front of them.
"Taylor's?" he asked, reading the sign. Through the plate glass window, a plump older woman rearranged goods on a shelf.
"Angel's father's shop. He closes it on Sunday unless someone needs something. He's good like that."
"Which brother did we meet?" he asked.
"That was Brian. He's the oldest, twenty-one. He was engaged, but they broke up last year. Mama says it's just as well because that girl was too flighty. The next youngest is Steven. He's nineteen. Angel's eighteen, and then there's Martin. He's fifteen."
"You say her mother died?"
Marta nodded and paced ahead. "That was sad. Angel doesn't talk about it much. Doc Jones said she had the flu. But it turned into pneumonia, and she never recovered."
Elias pictured his mother's face. How awful. He couldn't imagine not having his mother around.
"She was eleven. Her dad did the best he could, but Mama always says he let them go, especially Angel. But I think some girls are not meant to be ladylike. Angel's got a good heart. Problem is people don't get close enough to her to see it."
They paused at the corner, and Marta waved across the street to the park. "There's where they'll have the dance on Saturday."
Elias studied the evenly-spaced trees and well-laid pathways. Preparations had already begun. Workers hammered to erect wooden structures near the center.
"They’re building a gazebo for the band,” she announced. “Then they'll put plywood down around it, so we're not dancing in the grass." Her fingers pointed to the distant corner. "That's where they'll erect the tree. They’ve only done that for the last two years. But they won't light it until right before the dance. C’mon, I'll show you!"
Tugging at his arm, she led him across the street and into the thick crowd of workers. He weaved behind her through stacks of lumber and bags of nails.
"Hello, Marta." A boy, a hammer clenched in his fist, spoke softly.
Marta jerked to a stop and bit her lip. "Hello, Arthur."
Elias flicked his gaze from one to the other, noting the rosy flush of Marta's cheeks and her tight fists. Now, here was something interesting.
The boy laid his hammer on the ladder and wiped his hands on his soiled pants. His gaze darted toward Elias. "Who's this?"
Elias met his gaze without blinking, and a cold shiver crept up his spine.
Marta frowned. "This is my cousin, Elias Harper. He's here for the holidays."
Unflinching, the boy stared. "Cousin," he stated flatly, and he shifted his feet on the ladder’s rungs. "Will I see you at the dance?"
Marta didn't respond at first, but then mumbled, "I guess so."
Elias shifted his gaze to her face.
"Maybe we can talk then,” the boy said. He lifted his hammer, but his gaze returned to Elias.
Marta shuddered and sprinted ahead. Elias glanced back over his shoulder. "Who was that?"
"Arthur Merritt."
"Why didn't he ask you to the dance? Seems like he likes you.”
She scrunched up her face and sighed. "It's a long story."