Bittersweet (4 page)

“Don’t matter none to me,” Ishmael declared. “You letting us stay here—that’s good enough for me.”

“But we keep all of our yield,” Pa tacked on.

“There’s still a lot of work to be done around here.” The man’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Pa.

“The gal and me—we’ll manage.”

Ivy bobbed her head and rose. To be able to settle here without worrying that they’d be shooed off at any moment—this man was fulfilling her most ardent dream. It didn’t matter that she’d be doing the work and Pa would barely lift a finger. Wasn’t any different than it had always been.

The man shook his head. “I can’t agree to that.”

Her hopes crashed, and the onion in her belly burned.

“Two full days a week, and three half days.” The man nodded. “That’s what I ask in return as rent for your temporary use of my land.”

Pa gargled a wad of spittle and spat it at a dandelion off to the side. “Two full days and
one
half day.”

Oh, Pa. How could you spoil this?

Ishmael forced a chuckle as he scrambled toward the stranger. “When you get to know Pa, you’ll learn he’s got hisself a rare sense of humor.” He stuck out his hand. “Two full days and three half days are a fair deal, seein’ as you’re lettin’ us keep the crop. Mister, you got yourself a farmhand.”

“I remember your given name is Ishmael. What’s your last name?”

“Grubb.” Since he’d finished eating, Pa finally set aside his plate and got to his feet. “I’m Ebenezer Grubb. You got yourself a fine worker in Ishmael. Ivy’s my daughter.”

The man turned toward her once again and nodded his head to acknowledge her. “Miss Grubb. I’m Galen O’Sullivan.”

“Mr. O’Sullivan.” Nobody ever used fine manners toward her. His gentlemanly greeting left her feeling unaccountably shy … but sad, too.

He and Ishmael made arrangements for Ishmael to show up to work the next morning, and then he took his leave.

Pa did a funny little jig once Mr. O’Sullivan rode out of sight. “Boy howdy! It’s ’bout time thangs went right for me. I got me a right good deal here.”

Ishmael looked down at her. “I’ll work hard for the man, sis.”

“I knowed you would, Ishy.”

Ishmael turned to Pa. “It still don’t seem right, repayin’ his kindness by runnin’ a still on his land.”

“What he don’t know won’t hurt him.” Pa waggled his finger at them. “Keep your yap shut and work hard. Ain’t no reason for you to ruin my good fortune.”

Ivy turned away and looked at the cornfield. Pa hadn’t lifted a finger to clear the land, plant, water, or weed. Come harvest, he wouldn’t strain himself to help, either. He never did. But he’d spend time nursing that dumb old still and drink part of the profits.

Ishmael waited till Pa went back behind the lean-to. “Sis, I’ll work my fingers to the bone for that farmer.”

She gave her brother a weary smile. “Pa don’t know that the best deal he ever got was havin’ you for his son.”

“Hey, now. You an’ me—we was born together. You cain thank I’m the best deal Pa ever got, but shore as I’m a-standin’ here, I got the real prize that day. You’re the specialest fortune I ever got.”

Her nose wrinkled. “Yore one sorry man, Ishy, to consider someone who reeks of onion as a prize.”

“Boys!” Laney tried to maintain a modicum of dignity and grace, but with Dale and Sean each pulling on her hands, she did well to keep her hoops in some semblance of order. She feared at any moment she’d lose the battle and provide all and sundry with an immodest view of her ankles.

“We can’t be late, Miss Laney!” Sean said as he tugged on her hand again.

“We’ve time aplenty yet,” Mrs. O’Sullivan said. “If you drag her much farther, her legs are goin’ to be worn down to nubbins and she won’t be tall enough to watch.”

Colin chuckled. The sound made Laney smile, for he’d barely spoken or smiled since the day his father died. Bringing the O’Sullivans to the state fair was working even better than she’d dared hope.

They halted by the fence and watched as a man spread grease all over the squealing pig.

“It’s bigger around than you, Miss Laney!” Dale declared.

“Dale!” Mrs. O’Sullivan’s brows knit. “You can’t be likening a lady to a pig!”

Laney’s brother and sister-in-law walked up. Ruth tried to hide her giggles while Josh glanced at Laney’s sash. “Galen’s sunk fence posts that are half again your size.”

If only Galen would notice!
Laney couldn’t help thinking.

“Joshua McCain”—Mrs. O’Sullivan managed to sound both exasperated and entertained at the same time—“how am I to teach my sons their manners with you setting a bad example?”

“She’s right.” Ruth agreed. “You need to be truthful. The fence posts are at least twice Laney’s size.”

Hilda, the McCains’ housekeeper, mumbled, “Though it’s not for want of good hot food.”

Dale pressed against the fence and stared intently at the shoat.

“I’m gonna win this greased pig chase. I gotta.” “None of us won the pie-eating contest, but we had plenty of fun anyway.” Josh ruffled Dale’s carroty curls. “You’ll have a great time trying, regardless of who wins.”

“Having fun doesn’t matter.” Dale looked up at Josh. “I need to win.”

“Now, whyever do you need to win?” Mrs. O’Sullivan asked.

“’Cuz when I win the money, I’ll give it to you and I can keep Hortense.”

“The winner doesn’t get a cash prize, boy-o.” Mrs. O’Sullivan stooped down to Dale’s height. “Whoever wins gets to keep the pig.”

“I don’t want another pig. I want Hortense.”

“But you’re going to be brave.” Colin gave his little brother a stern look. “We farmers know the animals we raise are meant to be food, not pets. There’ll be another litter during the winter. You’ll find a new piglet to love.”

“But it’ll be a different piglet.” Tears glossed the little boy’s eyes. “I’ll still love Hortense and miss her.”

Mrs. O’Sullivan reached for her youngest son. Fresh grief ravaged the recent widow’s features. “You’re sad, I know. Sorrow comes when you love deeply and lose.”

Laney blinked back her own tears and made up her mind.

She’d concoct a plan to rescue Hortense.

CHAPTER THREE

B
oys and girls!” A gentleman stood in the center of an adjoining area that was blocked off with bales of hay. “Anyone participating in the greased pig chase needs to come listen to the rules.”

A moment later, Dale stood in the center of a clump of small children, listening intently. “Oh!” Mrs. O’Sullivan looked distressed. “I didn’t have Dale change into his old shirt.”

Laney made a dismissive gesture. “So little Dale will be as grubby as his big brothers. After the pie-eating contest, they’re a sight!”

“I’m no better.” Josh looked down at his shirt. “Ruth said she’d get me a new shirt, and I need one badly.”

“Can I tell her now?” Sean nudged Josh.

“Yep.”

“Ma, Mr. Josh said if Colin and me got as much pie on our shirts as he did, he’d get us new shirts, too.”

“Joshua McCain!” Mrs. O’Sullivan and Hilda both said in unison.

Laney loved the impish sparkle in her brother’s eyes. He shrugged and said in a blithe voice, “Hey, we men have to stick together.”

“As much pie as you’re all wearing,” Laney said as she started to giggle, “you’ll definitely stick to something!”

“Release the pig!” someone shouted.

Laney turned her attention back to Dale. All of the other children raced after the squealing pig. Many of them fell into a tangled knot of arms and legs, but the pig popped out and ran willynilly around the enclosure.

“What is Dale doing?” Laney watched as he sat cross-legged on the ground.

Above all of the pandemonium, she heard him. “Soooo-eeee! Sooo-eee! Pig. Pig. Pig.”

The little pig dodged several children and headed for Dale. One little boy dove and grabbed hold of a hind leg, but the pig slid out of his grasp. He shot off into the direction he’d come, squealing loudly.

“Dale’s one smart little guy,” Josh said.

“Aye, that he is,” his mother agreed.

A couple more children managed to grab hold, but the pig slithered away. Dale remained in the same spot. “Sooo-eee!”

Laney stood on tiptoe and held her breath as the pig veered toward Dale. Two boys descended on it and each grabbed a leg.

“Turn loose!” the director shouted.

“Why?” Sean craned his neck to see the boys grudgingly release their holds.

“Only one person can touch the animal at a time,” Mrs. O’Sullivan explained. “If two grab him, they both have to let go.”

Laney tossed caution and propriety to the wind. She cupped her hands around her mouth and called, “You’re doing fine, Dale!”

He cast a happy smile in their direction, then beamed as the pig came toward him. “Sooo-eee!” The pig trampled across one of Dale’s legs, and Dale collapsed around him.

“Five, four, three,” the director counted.

“Two,
one
!” everyone joined in.

“He won!” Colin wheeled around and threw his arms around his mother. “Ma, he won!”

Someone fashioned an odd-looking halter that went around the pig, wiped much of the grease off, then handed the end of the rope to Dale. Dale trotted out of the enclosure. “Lookee, Ma!”

“Now aren’t you a sight! Why don’t we go put him in the pen with Hortense?”

Colin jogged ahead. “Hey! There’s something on Hortense’s pen!”

Sean joined him, then hollered back, “Hortense got an honorable mention!”

Dale led his pig into the pen. “Hortense, I caught you a friend!”

A man sauntered over. He looked at the pigs, then nodded. “Good-looking shoat you have there.”

“Thank you.” Dale beamed.

“Couple of good hams and a bunch of pork chops from her.” The man didn’t notice how Dale’s smile twisted into horror. “The going rate is—” “I’m sorry.” Laney stepped forward. “I’ve already decided to buy this shoat. As you said, she’s very good-looking. The judges obviously agree, as well. That being the case, I thought she’d be an excellent investment.”

Mrs. O’Sullivan looked completely flummoxed.

“Dale’s latest acquisition is a male.” Laney tried to make her plan sound reasonable. “This could be the start of a business venture for him.”

Hilda rubbed her jaw. “Of course, you’d have to board Hortense over at the O’Sullivan farm, Laney.”

“Yes. Yes, I would. But I can go visit her.”

“Now, wait a minute,” the butcher growled. “The man in charge of this place told me this shoat was for sale. There weren’t all that many hogs here this year.”

“Which is why this would be a sound business venture.”

Laney smiled at him. “Why, next year, we’ll probably have several pigs for you!”

The man walked off, muttering under his breath.

“I getta keep Hortense?”

“You’re going to board her—much like Galen boards the horses for the Pony Express.” Laney did her best to make her voice sound serious. “Business deals are very important, you know.”

Eyes wide, Dale blurted out, “We’d be partners?”

“Exactly. A business between two people relies on their honor and integrity. Neither one of them slacks off or gives up.”

“Never, ever?”

“Never, ever,” Laney confirmed. “No matter what.”

“That’s right.” Hilda narrowed one eye and stared at the pigs. “I’ll bet Laney would be willing to make a deal with you, Dale. In exchange for Hortense’s board, you could—” “Have all of the piglets!” Laney leaned forward. “Would you be willing to do that for me, Dale? I know I’m asking a lot of you.”

“If you’re asking my son for a partnership, it needs to be a mutually beneficial agreement.” Mrs. O’Sullivan’s jaw rose a notch. “Dale, any partnership needs to be fair for everyone. If you do this, Miss Laney ought to own half of the piglets.”

“Half,” Dale said, looking up at Laney.

“I couldn’t agree to such an arrangement.” Laney shook her head. “And it’s not ladylike for me to haggle,” she added.

“Three quarters.” Hilda suggested. “That’s fair. Dale keeps three quarters of the piglets; Laney gets one quarter.”

“Miss Laney, which quarter do you want? A forequarter or a hindquarter?”

“That’s not what Miss Hilda meant, Dale.” Colin grinned at his baby brother. “She means out of every four pigs, you get three and Miss Laney gets one. They weren’t talking about butchering them all!”