Bittersweet (31 page)

Laney took a deep breath as Josh slowed the horses and brought the carriage to a stop in the churchyard the Sunday after Christmas. She rested her hands on her brother’s shoulders as he lifted her down.

“Careful,” he warned.

Resolve quickened her pulse. “Trust me.”

Folks milled around outside the church, and as Galen and his brothers rode up, a strained silence descended. “Why’s everybody staring at us?” Dale asked in a piercing voice.

Laney stepped forward. She modulated her voice carefully. “Staring is rude, Dale. I’m sure no one would do that on purpose. I’ve been worried about your mother, though.”
Dear mercy, that didn’t
come out the way it ought to have
. Laney quickly added on, “Ruth and Hilda have both mentioned their concern, as well.”

Ethel piped up, “I saw Galen come fetch the doctor on Christmas. How’s that bride of yours doing, Galen?”

The gossip intentionally twisted the conversation. Incensed, Laney injected a matter-of-fact tone into her voice. “I’m sure Galen’s wife is concerned about Mrs. O’Sullivan, as are we all.” It took every scrap of poise she could muster to say the words
Galen’s wife
. She refused to stand by and remain silent.

Ruth stepped up beside her. “The fact that Ivy stayed home in order to help your mother deepens our concerns, Galen.”

“Doc said it’ll be another week till Ma’s up and walking well.”

He gave them a polite nod. “I’ll be sure to tell the ladies you asked after them.”

“Please do.”

“Ma and Ivy’ll be here for church next week.” Colin stood by his brother in a move of support.

“Good thing.” Lester elbowed the man standing next to him in. “Some folks need to get religion or brush up on what they have.”

Galen’s jaw hardened.

Josh’s voice went steely. “We all have room to better our walk with the Lord. Stopping your own walk to pick up stones and throw them at someone else … well, we all know what Christ said about being blameless before we cast stones.”

Tension crackled in the churchyard. Wanting to change the topic and still show her support, Laney smiled at Galen. “Hilda, Ruth, and I plan to come over for our usual Friday sewing time unless you send word otherwise.”

“Miss Laney,” Dale said as he tugged on her skirts, “when you’re there, you can visit our pigs.”

“Pigs?” Ethel’s scoff sounded remarkably like a snort.

“Yep. Pigs,” Dale boasted.

“Yes. Dale and I are partners.” Laney fought the urge to glare at Ethel and smiled down at Dale instead. “He’s doing most of the work, though. We’re raising pigs.”

“Since when?” someone asked.

Before she could respond, Dale did. “Since I won the greased pig catch at the fair!”

Greta Newman skipped over. “He told me all about it! Dale said sooo-eee, and the pig ran straight to him, and they named him Mr. Snout.”

Sean elbowed his way into the yard. “And guess what? There are going to be babies.”

Dale turned on his brother. “You weren’t s’pose to tell! It was a secret.”

“No use trying to keep secrets like that.” Bart Winslow’s laugh sounded downright mean. “Time brings ’em to light.”

“Speaking of time”—Laney caught herself almost yelling, so she softened her tone—“the service ought to be starting soon.” Dale and Greta chased around, but Josh escorted Ruth and Laney toward the church.

Galen stood at the steps. He looked so grim Laney’s heart almost broke. She kept track of how closely folks followed her and dared to whisper, “By comparison, Ethel’s conversation skills make her look like a famous chef.”

Galen’s eyes glinted for a second, so Laney knew he’d heard her.
Waiting until Friday to tell Galen that I believe him won’t be easy, but
at least he knows I support him. That’ll have to be enough for now
.

As soon as church ended, the O’Sullivans left. Laney didn’t blame them. They’d come to worship, and Galen faced condemnation and cruelty from the people who knew him best.

Laney stood with Hilda and Mrs. Newman as they discussed the merits of lard versus butter in piecrust. Ethel nosed in. “Nothing’s better than olive oil for pie crust. Since Lester refuses to order oil through the mercantile, I have to make do with bacon drippings.”

“Hilda’s bucket of lard took first place at the fair,” Laney said, wanting to put an end to the mundane conversation.

“Laney, dear,” Ethel tutted. “You’re such a sweet child. You have something nice to say about everyone—even when it’s not warranted. Why, after the way Galen O’Sullivan broke your heart—” “Laney does bring out the best in us all.” Ruth whipped open her new fan and fluttered it. “Ethel, just before we went into the sanctuary, she made a comparison, and your cooking came out favorably.”

Ethel beamed.

Laney took the opportunity to change the conversation. “Ruth, I believe I overheard Mr. Maltby mention that the Basquez brothers have decided to relocate to San Francisco.”

Mrs. Newman nodded. “It’s true. Mr. Maltby mentioned it to my husband.”

“Rick Maltby!” Ethel pressed a hand to her bosom. “That’s it! Laney, you could do far worse. He’d be a steady provider.”

Laney tried to redirect the conversation. “Ruth, wouldn’t the Basquez brothers’ shop be an ideal location for the library?”

“Absolutely!”

Mrs. Newman drew her shawl a bit closer. “That would mean you’d be able to open the library far sooner. Greta’s learning to read, so we’re anticipating visiting often.”

“When we were in Sacramento, Ruth bought a wide variety of children’s books. Dale and Sean helped select them—”

“Those O’Sullivan boys.” Ethel shuddered dramatically. “If you knew what was good for your little Greta—”

“Greta enjoys playing with Dale,” Mrs. Newman said with a smile. “It’s so nice for her to have a friend her very own age.”

“They were darling together on Christmas morning, weren’t they?” As soon as Ruth spoke, she grimaced and shot Laney a forgive-me look.

A young woman came over. “Aunt Ethel? Are you ready to go home?”

“In a minute, Myrtle.”

“We need to get going, too.” Hilda craned her neck. “Ruth, where did that husband of yours go off to?”

“Pastor Dawes is speaking with him and a few other men.”

Myrtle tacked on, “It’s probably about that awful Galen O’Sullivan. I hope the elders take a stand and vote him off the board of deacons.”

Laney’s blood ran cold. “Galen has served this church faithfully.”

Myrtle gave Laney a pitying look. “That’s so nice of you to say—especially after he practically jilted you at the altar.”

“For that no-account white trash girl,” Ethel spouted.

“Perhaps you ladies should write a book for Ruth’s library.”

Laney forced herself to laugh, though she wanted nothing more than to weep. “This ability you have to concoct a story is very entertaining. Galen O’Sullivan never spoke a word of love to me, yet you already had us at the altar. I’m sure Ivy and I will giggle over that when she and I sew together later this week.”

“Let’s go.” Josh’s curt words warned Laney that things hadn’t gone well at the impromptu meeting.

On the way back home, Ruth pulled her shawl close about her shoulders. “After today, I’m not sure why we worried about you, Laney. You are a born diplomat.”

“I don’t care if she’s a diplomat. She’s going to have to be careful,” Josh muttered.

“She was killing ’em with kindness,” Hilda harrumphed. “I just wanted to kill ’em.”

“I don’t need anything from you,” Ethel’s brother snapped as he stood on the back steps of the Copper Kettle on Monday morning. Stubborn lines plowed furrows across his forehead.

“I see.” Pride kept Galen from saying anything more. Someone from the O’Sullivan farm had been bringing milk, butter, and eggs to town twice a week for a good long time. Colin had delivered them last Friday, and there hadn’t been a problem. Galen knew precisely why the owner of the town’s only diner tacked on “from you.” He’d judged Galen and found him guilty.

Ivy’s done this. She’s destroyed my good name
. Galen drove on. Once he reached the mercantile, Lester appeared in the back doorway. “I’ve butter, milk, and eggs aplenty,” Galen announced.

Lester wiped his hands on his long green apron. “Prices are 246 changing.”

“Are they, now?” Galen shoved back his hat. “Why would that be?”

“War’s coming. Things get more expensive.”

“I suppose so,” Galen said. “Well, I’m sure Ma won’t mind you paying her a wee bit more for her eggs and such.”

“Less. I’m offering less. To offset the higher prices on some things, I have to reduce the cost of others. It’s a business decision.”

Galen clamped his jaw shut and nodded, knowing they needed every last cent. Through clenched molars, he said, “I’ll take what you’re offering.”

“All I want are two of your cans of milk … and the eggs? Five dozen will do.”

The quantities Lester had just given amounted to about twothirds of his normal order. Galen turned away and lifted the first milk can.

Galen unloaded while Lester stood back and watched. Other folks kept an account at the mercantile, but Da refused to. He’d always insisted on paying ready cash. If they didn’t have enough for something, the O’Sullivans did without until they could save up. Never before had Galen given much thought to the practice—it was Da’s way. Now he felt glad he owed nothing to Lester.

Lester shoved the egg money across the wooden counter, then pulled the feather duster out and started to dust a spotless display. He’d always handed the money to Galen—and the slight was intentional. Galen picked up all but one cent. He left it on the counter for the only thing he’d buy today.

Lester always saved the broken candies from his jars. When-ever he had them, he’d slip a few to Galen or Ma to give to the boys. When he didn’t have them, he apologized and promised to have something the next time. He’d not said or done either this time.

Galen opened a jar. The stick of candy he removed made a loud snap in the silent store as he broke it in half. Galen tucked both halves into his shirt pocket and walked out. Ma and Colin—they would have to endure some of the hardships Ivy’s lie caused, but Sean and Dale were mere lads. Galen knew he couldn’t shield them from all of the ugliness. Yesterday’s moments in the churchyard showed folks were going to speak their minds. But in this one way, Galen knew he could guard their hearts. He didn’t have the penny to spare, but he’d bought the candy anyway. His brothers’ innocence was priceless.

On the road back home, he spied Josh coming toward him. Josh drew nearer and pulled his wagon to the side of the road. “Galen!”

Galen halted his own wagon. The slosh of milk in the milk can and a full egg basket gave testimony to what had occurred in town. Bitterness swept through him.
Ivy—she’s to blame for this
.

Josh had to notice the contents of his wagon. He asked, “How’d you know Hilda wanted me to pick up eggs today?”

“I didn’t. You have a henhouse.”

Josh grimaced theatrically. “Don’t remind me. Ruth was um … chicken tending—” “Chicken tending?”

“That’s what she calls it.” Josh shook his head. “She read somewhere that oyster is good for hens.”

“Oyster shells.”

“I’m not quite sure whether the book omitted the word
shells
or if Ruthie forgot that small detail. She saw a couple of cans of oysters in Lester’s store.”

“Cans!” Galen rolled his eyes. “Much as she reads, I would have expected Ruth to know better. Food wasn’t made to be stored in metal cans. It goes bad or makes folks deathly ill.”

“Since chickens peck the ground and eat bugs, Ruthie decided they’re hearty enough to eat anything.”

“Oh no.”

“To hear my wife tell it, the chickens considered those canned oysters a delicacy. She told us all about how much they enjoyed them.” Josh thumbed back his hat. “The long and short of it is, she’s roped Toledo into digging a chicken grave.”

“Just how many hens did you lose?”

Josh looked like a man who’d been pushed to the limits of his wits. “All but two.”

“That’s truly a shame. And your wife—her being a city girl—she thought of those hens as pets.”

“She named them.” Josh studied the toe of a boot. “My wife eulogized Henrietta’s fine plumage. She’s reminded us how Melody and Harmony always clucked in unison. On key.”