19
“Matilda, I can’t stay.” Isaac sat across from his cousin’s widow at the farmhouse table, the kerosene lamp a flickering circle of light between them against the evening shadows. The children already slumbered in their room down the hall.
Matilda’s eyes welled, and she lifted a trembling hand to brush the tears. “I know I had no right to expect it. . . . I’m sorry.”
“You had every right to ask.” He reached to cover her other hand, her fingers still so thin and cold his gut squeezed with guilt again, but he pressed on. “And for a time I thought might be I could, or at least should. But after a powerful lot of thinkin’ and prayin’, I don’t believe that’d be best. For any of us.”
“Why?” She lifted her gaze, eyes dark pools of sorrow.
“You need a new start.” He spoke gently, though he saw her flinch and knew his words pricked. “Here on the farm, this place you and Ambrose built together—every board and blade of grass reminds you of him. Keeps you from bein’ able to move on.”
“I don’t want to move on,” she choked.
“I know. But is that truly best for Earl and Julia?”
She withdrew her hand and twined her fingers together, staring at them in the lamplit shadows.
“With your permission, I’d like to write to your folks—back in Kentucky, ain’t that so? Now, there’s a green and pleasant place. Or if you’d rather, you can write yourself. From what you’ve said, they’d like nothin’ better than to welcome you and your young’uns in. Give you a place to rest and heal until you’re ready for whatever the Lord has for you next.”
“And you?” Matilda’s words whispered.
Isaac swallowed. “I’ll own I’m feelin’ in need of a new start myself . . . but I’ve a mighty strong sense that tryin’ to fill Ambrose’s place, save his farm, isn’t the life I’m meant for. I’ll stay by your side till you and your children are well settled and provided for, I give you my word on that. But then I need to go back to Salton.”
“What if we came with you?”
He shifted his jaw. “If that’s what you want to do, I’ll make you welcome. But do you truly want to start all over without Ambrose? In a place where you don’t know a soul, save me? It’s a harsher land than this, I’ll make no bones about it.”
She sighed and shook her head. “I suppose not.” Then she cocked her head, a sudden spark in her eyes. “If it’s such a harsh place, what do you want to go back for? Or should I say . . . who?”
“I . . .” Isaac rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly warm under his hair. “I’ll confess there is, a, well, a certain lady friend. . . .” Confound it, his face must be redder than a turkey’s wattle. He felt a surge of gratitude for the room’s darkness.
Matilda’s soft laughter warmed the air, making Isaac stop and stare. “Cousin Isaac, I never did see you so flummoxed before. Well, that’s all you need to say. I understand.” She reached across the table and gripped his hand. “I’ve some notion what a sacrifice it’s been for you, staying with us for weeks. And I’ll never forget it.” Her voice caught. “I hope she knows what a treasure she has in you, this lady friend of yours.”
A treasure? Isaac shook his head. He surely didn’t think so. But he had to swallow hard before he could answer. “I thank you, ma’am.”
“I’ll write to my parents.” Her voice steadier now, Matilda pushed back her chair and rose. “Good night, Cousin Isaac.”
Isaac turned down the lamp and sat in the darkness long after Matilda went up to bed, leaning his head on his hands.
Been a long time since he’d spoken so open-like with anyone, let alone a woman. Could he find that same courage with Lark?
“I don’t want you ta go, Cousin Isaac.”
Isaac ruffled his nephew’s hair as they stood on the front porch of the boy’s grandparents’ Kentucky home. “Now, don’t be frettin’ yourself, young Earl. You’ll have a fine new life here with your papaw and mamaw, just you wait and see.”
“But not with you.” Earl looked up, tightening his arms around Isaac’s waist.
Eyes burning, Isaac hugged the boy’s head against his side. Lord in heaven, am I doing the right thing?
But he’d been over all that. Two weeks ago now, he’d finished selling off Matilda’s land and stock—with her full blessing—and loaded up his cousin’s wife, young Earl, and little Julia on that dilapidated wagon. They’d creaked their way to the nearest train line, then chugged all the way back to Kentucky. He’d stayed a week to see them well settled with Matilda’s folks, but now it was time.
Time for him to go home. To Salton. And Larkspur?
He was ready to find out.
“Come now, son. Let Cousin Isaac go.” Matilda stepped out from the doorway and held out her arm to her son. Julia poked her head out from inside, wearing a clean pinafore and with a cookie in hand. The little girl had blossomed into a tiny chatterbox this last week under her grandmother’s doting care.
Earl gazed from his mother back to Isaac, then his mouth drooped. Dropping his arms from Isaac’s sides, he stepped to his mother.
“Go with God, Isaac.” Matilda met his eyes, face still pale but steady now above her high-necked black frock. “And thank you for everything.”
Isaac swallowed and nodded.
“I want you to take Winter.” She wrapped her arm around Earl’s shoulders.
“Beg pardon?” Isaac cocked his head.
“Winter, our mare. Her saddle too. We don’t need three horses now, not when my parents have their own team. You don’t have a horse of your own, and I’ve seen how she’s taken to you, and you to her.”
“I—I couldn’t.”
“It’s the least we can do, Isaac. Please.”
He blinked back a powerful stinging in his eyes. “Then I thank you.”
“If you hadn’t come and found us when you did . . .” She drew a trembling breath. “I don’t know if we would have survived. So Godspeed.” A faint smile tipped the corners of her mouth. “And I hope your Larkspur has the good sense you credit her with.”
Unable to think of more to say, Isaac held out his hand, and she gripped it. Then with a brief kiss for each of the children, he hurried off the porch toward the barn.
Early morning sunlight splayed across the small farm, warming the damp chill from the air. Sparrows fluttered and chirped from the spreading trees sheltering the yard, so different from the treeless expanses of Nebraska. Isaac opened the barn door and felt his way through the dimness to the stall he sought.
“Hey there, girl.” He held out his hand, and Winter snuffled it, eager for the carrot stubs he usually brought her. Isaac chuckled, and he rubbed her gray nose. “Appears you’re goin’ to be comin’ along with me.” His throat tightened, closing off further words. My own horse, Lord. Never would have thought it. But thank you.
He’d have to pay for space in a cattle car now, but she was well worth the extra cost. If they’d let him ride along with the mare, he could at least save the price of a passenger ticket.
He brushed, saddled, and bridled Winter, then saw to it that she’d drunk from the trough. Finally, he swung up on her dappled back and headed out of the barnyard, sending one glance back at the comfortable farmhouse, smoke wafting from the chimney, autumn-cloaked trees spreading sheltering arms overhead. Matilda and the children had already gone back inside, as well they should. They were safe here, loved. Cared for. Would have a chance to heal and grow, and someday walk into a brighter future, please God.
Isaac turned Winter’s head toward the lane lined with trees turning copper, russet, and gold. Now for parts north and west.
And whatever awaited him there.
He arrived back in Salton on the late afternoon train a few days later and led Winter out of the cattle car while the hiss and screech of the brakes still filled their ears. The mare tossed her head and snorted.
“I know, girl, you didn’t like that clacketing locomotive any more than I did. But here we are, back in wide open spaces again.” He stepped away from the platform, leaving the choking clouds of smoke and soot behind to fill his lungs with pure prairie air.
“We’re home, Winter, my girl.” A grin crept its way up from his chest to stretch beneath his beard. “Home. Been a long while since I knew that word friendly-like. But maybe that time is comin’.”
His heart tugged to head toward the Nielsen homestead right off, but reason and the smoke-stink of his clothes turned him toward the boardinghouse instead.
He stabled and fed Winter, popped into the workshop for a hearty welcome from William Thacker, then climbed the back steps of the Nielsen House. The familiar warmth embraced him, thawing the stiffness from his face and hands, filling his lungs with the scent of baking bread and venison stew. He found Jesse Brownsville laying plates in the dining room. The young man’s eyes lit when he saw Isaac.
“We’ve b-been wondering when you’d t-turn up again. Everything okay with your family?”
“They’ll be all right, now. Good to see you, my friend. Your wife in the kitchen?”
“No, up-s-stairs, havin’ a lie-down.”
Isaac frowned. Right before the supper hour? Climie? “Is she ill?”
“N-not exactly.” Jesse’s grin shone brighter than the just-lit lamps. “But looks l-like we’re gonna have us a little one, come spring.”
Isaac gripped the young man’s shoulder, grinning too. “Now, that’s the best news I’ve heard in a coon’s age.”
Jesse nodded. “Me too. Since Climie agreed to m-marry me, anyhow.” He shrugged toward the table. “Mrs. Hoffman and Mrs. Wells will have s-supper on soon, if you want to take up your things and wash. Your usual cot is free, I think. Guess you w-won’t have heard about what happened with the Hoffmans yet, either, or—”
“Afraid I’m behind on all the news.” Isaac glanced at the stairs. “I’ll head up to wash but don’t wait on supper for me tonight.”
“You s-sure?”
Though his belly growled empty, his insides were wound too tight for vittles. “I got somethin’ I aim to do first.” Isaac slung his pack on his shoulder and headed up the steps two at a time.
If he timed it right, he might make it just in time to help Larkspur with her evening chores.
He rode up to the Nielsen homestead as the sun slipped away in a quiet glory of gray clouds edged with fire. He swung off Winter just when Lilac stepped out of the barn, carrying milk pails.
“Isaac.” She stared at him. “You got a horse.”
His mouth quirked. Leave it to Lilac to focus on the mare first. “I did. Her name is Winter.”
“She’s lovely.” Lilac stepped near to stroke the dappled gray neck. “Did you bring your family back to Salton?”
“I did not. They’re home with her kin in Kentucky.” Isaac scanned the homestead. “Where’s your sister?”
“Which one?” But Lilac smiled at him, a knowing in her eyes. “She’s in the machine shed.” Her face sobered. “It’s been a rough few weeks, Isaac. Tread gently with her.”
His gut tightened. “What happened?”
“There was an accident with the mower during haying. Jonah was hurt bad. He’ll be all right, but we had to send him back home to Ohio, put him on the train last week. Caleb Hoffman came out to help us with harvest, which is a secret and whole story in itself, but Lark—she hasn’t been sleeping much. She seems to eat and breathe work right now.”
“When doesn’t she?” But Isaac’s chest ached as he thought of the burden on Larkspur’s shoulders. All while he’d been gone. “I can help now. I’m here.”
“If she’ll let you.” Lilac tipped her head. “I’d best get the milk in.”
He tied Winter to the pasture fence rail and settled his army cap. Then, squaring his shoulders, he headed for the machine shed.
Curious how facing a woman could beat staring down a whole line of Confederate artillery when it came to weakening a man’s knees.
Isaac smoothed back his beard and breathed a prayer. She must be powerful intent on her work to have not even heard him and Lilac talking. Of course, the pounding and tapping he’d heard from the shed might have somethin’ to do with it.
Enough of your lollygaggin’. He could hear his mother’s voice. He cleared his throat, then peeked around the open edge of the three-sided shed.
By lanternlight, Lark bent over the mowing machine, tinkering with a part on the sickle bar. Her hair caught the light with a mahogany gleam, tied back with her typical leather string and falling in a loose, dark rope over her shoulder. She held the hammer with quick, light taps, arms precise and steady as ever she was. The hem of her woolen skirt brushed the dirt floor.
Every strong, feminine line of her caught him in the chest and made swallowing near to impossible.
His knees suddenly weakened, and he reached for the side of the shed to steady himself. Lord above, what exactly was he going to say? And should he have had a ring?
Lark bent closer to set the blade back in place on the sickle bar with quick, gentle taps of her hammer. Just one more day of wheat harvest tomorrow, since they’d had to take breaks some days to shock the wheat, not to mention spend time in the flower garden to save precious seeds before they were lost.
Thank you, Lord. I wasn’t sure how we’d make it through this year, after Jonah’s accident, but you helped us. Like you always do.
Now they only had the threshing, and the corn harvest, and gathering from the rest of the late-seeding flowers, and getting in the rest of the vegetables from the garden before a hard freeze, and finishing the designs for the seed catalogs, and . . . there went her shoulders scrunching tight up toward her ears again. Lark forced them down and breathed a prayer, bending over the machine. Just one more blade to set back in place. I trust you, Lord. I trust you, I trust you. . . .
She jolted upright, sending her hammer clattering against the bar, then to the floor. “Land sakes.” Straightening, she stared at the travel-worn man standing before her. “Isaac McTavish, don’t you know better than to startle someone working on machinery?”
He had the grace to flinch and pull off his army cap. “I did make a noise.”
“Well, I didn’t hear you.” She blew out a breath, her heart still pounding—both from the scare and from his nearness. So many weeks without a word, and now there he stood, real and alive, his breath forming puffs of steam in the frosty evening air. She folded her arms against the urge to reach out for him. “Don’t you know these mowers can cut off someone’s limb?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m truly sorry, ma’am. Lilac told me about Jonah. Is he doin’ all right?”
She sighed and lowered her arms. “He will be. He’s back in Ohio now, should be more comfortable there—we couldn’t even let him have a room to himself once we moved him to the soddy. But we don’t know yet if he’ll fully regain the use of his leg.”
Isaac shook his head. “Must have been right terrible for you.”
Silence hung a moment. Lark met Isaac’s eyes for a beat, then caught her breath and glanced away from what she saw there. “When did you get back? I thought you were still in Arkansas.”
“I was, then Kentucky. Ended up sellin’ my cousin’s farm and takin’ his wife and children to her kin back there.”
“No wonder you were gone so long.” Lark bit her tongue. She hadn’t meant the words to slip out quite like that.
Isaac shifted his feet. “I meant to write to you, but . . .”
“But what?” But she knew the answer, didn’t she? Isaac meant to write, and he didn’t. What did that say about, well, whatever he felt toward her? The reminder settled heavily in her chest, and Lark bent back to her work.
He cleared his throat. “Can I help you?”
“I can do it. Thank you.” Silence fell but for the ring of hammer on steel.
“Miss Larkspur, please.” Isaac’s threadbare army boots moved closer, till they stopped just by the mower wheel. “I meant to write, I should have done. But you haven’t left my mind a day I’ve been gone, nor yet an hour.”
The hammer stilled in her hands. Lark twisted the handle, her fingers stiff and chilled in the cold. “Oh?” She couldn’t find voice to say anything else. Her heart beat hot in her throat.
The straw on the floor shifted as Isaac knelt down to her level. “May I talk to you, ma’am?”
She looked up, meeting his maddening gray gaze. “I’m right here.”
“I mean . . . proper like.”
With a sudden burst, Lark threw down her hammer and sat herself on the mower seat. This man could try her last nerve. “What is it, Isaac?”
He stood. “I’m sorry. Maybe I should come back another time.”
“Well, you can’t expect people to just drop what they’re doing every time you happen to come around.” She crossed her arms. “Whenever under heaven that might be.” She bit her tongue, fighting sudden hot tears.
“What do you mean by that?”
She sniffed hard. “Never mind. You want to say something, say it.”
He shifted his feet. “I’ve been doin’ a lot of thinkin’ while I’ve been away.”
“And?”
“And I—tarnation, Miss Larkspur, you ain’t makin’ this easy.” He crumpled his cap in one hand, then switched it to the other.
“Making what easy?”
“Askin’ you to marry me.” The explosive words hung in the air between them like floating sparks.
Lark stared at him, her ears tingling. “What did you say?” Her whisper scratched her throat.
“I didn’t mean to ask you like that, but there it is.” Isaac sucked in a breath, hesitated, then stepped near enough for her to smell the travel soot on his clothes. He took her cold hands in his work-roughened ones and smoothed his thumbs over her knuckles. “That’s why I couldn’t stay in Arkansas. My home is here. With you. If you’ll have me.”
Lark stared at him a moment, caught by those heavy-browed gray eyes. Was he really asking . . . ? Oh, Isaac . . .
“No.” She jerked her hands from his and paced away, as far as she could in the cramped shed, then turned to face him, gripping her elbows. “What are you thinking?”
Isaac stood still, silent.
“Why would you ask me that, right now? Why?” She wanted to pound her fists on his chest.
“Because I love you, Miss Larkspur.”
The words sent a shiver down her arms. Then she clenched her jaw, shook her head hard. “No. No, no.”
“Why?”
She flung her arms wide. “You say you love me. But what if—when—something bad happens and you leave again? You always just leave, Isaac. You’ve been gone nearly two months. I never heard a word from you, meanwhile my brother nearly died, I’ve been trying to manage harvest by myself, and where were you? Not here.”
Isaac scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I told you I had to go tend to my kin.”
She pressed her fingers to her temples. “And it’s right you should. I’m sorry. But I never know when you’ll leave nor when you’ll pop up again.” Lark strode back to the mower and shoved the sickle bar down. “I don’t hold it against you, Isaac, you’ve no obligation to us or certainly to me. But for you to come waltzing in here and think you can just—that you can . . .” She gripped the wheel rim of the mower, hard, but her hand still shook.
He reached out to her. “Lark—”
“Don’t touch me.” She stepped away from him, avoiding his gaze. Pain stabbed behind her eyes.
“Fine.” He eased back, hands raised. “But can’t we talk this out?”
She shook her head.
Isaac lowered his hands to his sides and stood gazing at her a moment longer. “You want me to just leave?”
Her chest heaved, then she nodded in a quick jerk.
Not till she was sure he was gone did Lark let herself crumple to the shed floor and bury her head in her shawl to stifle her sobs. She didn’t want Lilac to hear.
Of course Isaac left. She’d practically sent him away.
And as likely as not, broken both their hearts.