Bittersweet (7 page)

Dale wrinkled his nose. “If men are s’posed to vote and it’s a secret, then why do they talk so much about it?”

“They’re trying to talk others into voting for the candidate they want to win.” Laney winced as two men argued in strident tones over whether Bell or Breckinridge ought to withdraw so the other would have a better chance of winning. “I’m going to relish the peace and quiet when we get home.”

Josh’s wife, Ruth, nodded. “Me, too. I have a new appreciation for the wide-open spaces of the Broken P. But getting home might not be so easy. I’m wondering how this many people will ever fit on the train.”

“Board!” the conductor shouted. Josh sauntered over and assisted the ladies up the train’s steep steps.

Laney waited until Dale scooted toward the window, then gathered the golden skirts of her traveling dress and carefully arranged them so they wouldn’t obstruct the aisle.

“This is about as backward as things get,” Mrs. O’Sullivan said as she took the seat on the other side of the aisle. “We were supposed to go home with less than we brought.”

“Except for the library books,” Ruth said. “You were all so helpful. We got a wonderful start on that library I’m going to open. I couldn’t have gotten half as many good books without your opinions and advice.”

Dale bounced up and down on the wooden seat. “But best of all, ’stead of going home with no pig, now I have two!”

“Hortense is Miss Laney’s shoat now,” Mrs. O’Sullivan reminded him.

“Yeah, but she said she was sharing Hortense with me. And I’m going to share Snout with her.”

“Snout?” Laney tilted her head to the side. “Snout. I’m not sure that’s a name a pig can be proud of.”

“Since when were pigs proud?” Hilda tried to adjust her hat so the brim didn’t hit the window.

“Snout is Hortense’s beau. He has plenty to be proud of.” Laney looked at Dale. “In fact, since he’s such an important pig, I’m going to call him Mr. Snout.”

“Didja hear that, Ma?” Sean laughed. “Wait till I tell Da—” His mouth snapped shut and tears filled his eyes.

“Here now.” Mrs. O’Sullivan pulled her son close. She rocked back and forth as she whispered in a voice thick with tears, “’Tis hard, I know. Twenty times a day at least, I catch myself thinkin’ to tell him something.”

The train’s engine started chuffing, and a shrill whistle rent the air. Anticipating the fair had made the trip to Sacramento exciting; returning home to an empty place at the table sobered everyone. The short train ride back to Folsom didn’t take long; it took forever.

When the train finally pulled into the station, Laney scanned the area and tamped down a flood of disappointment. She’d secretly hoped Galen would come to town to fetch his mother and brothers … and see her.
It was a ridiculous hope. He’s been home
alone, trying to run the farm and the Pony Express relay all by himself. He
didn’t have time. I can’t expect him to see me as a grown woman when I
dream up impossible situations
.

Josh helped them all down from the train. “Go on over to the Copper Kettle. I’ll arrange for wagons from the livery and load up our things. Dear—” he gave Ruth a firm look—“you know what to do before you order for me.”

Ruth nodded. “Ask who’s cooking.”

“If Ethel’s at the stove, it’s a waste of money to stay in town for a meal,” Hilda stated.

“A waste of food, too,” Sean piped up. “I heard she burns everything.”

“Gossip is beneath you, son,” Mrs. O’Sullivan said. “Besides, you couldn’t cook any better.”

“I wonder how Galen’s managed.” Laney grinned. “He’s hopeless when it comes to food.”

“Oh, he’s good at eating it,” Mrs. O’Sullivan said, a smile tugging at her mouth. “He just can’t cook.”

Laney took Dale’s hand. “Let’s go. Josh, please be careful with those special boxes.”

“You got special boxes?” Dale tugged on her hand. “We’re partners. You’re not s’posed to keep secrets from me.”

Laney leaned down toward him. “Shhh. It’s a Christmas surprise.”

“Ohhh.” Dale’s eyes grew huge. “I got a peppermint stick big around as Ma’s broom handle last Christmas!”

“I’m more interested in meat and potatoes than sweets,” Hilda said as she trundled up the boardwalk.

As they walked up the hilly main street, the Copper Kettle’s door swung open. Lester Pearson from the mercantile exited and said under his breath, “I’d best warn you—Ethel’s cooking today.”

Hilda stopped so quickly Sean bumped into her. She looked from Laney to Ruth and back. “I could rustle up sandwiches at the Broken P.”

“There’s no bread at home.” Ruth straightened her shoulders. “We’ll do as Josh said.”

Laney leaned over and whispered to Sean and Dale, “That means we’re supposed to order sandwiches along with pie for dessert.” “Pie!” Sean perked up.

“The boy ate an entire pie all to himself the other day at the contest. You’d think he’s had enough,” Hilda huffed.

“Colin ate two whole pies.” Sean cast a look at his older brother. “And he got sick from it.”

“That was a few days ago.” Colin opened the door to the diner. “I’m ready for more now.”

Josh joined them. They’d all eaten ham sandwiches and started dessert when Ethel exited the kitchen. “I declare, I don’t understand,” she told the group. “I fricasseed four chickens today, figurin’ folks’d snap it up. Only one order for it. And my pork chops! I baked up eight big fat ones with radish and raisin stuffing in a molasses sauce. With you having sandwiches, all that good food’s going to waste.”

“That’s a shame,” Josh said.

Laney nodded. “Ethel, if you can box up the chicken, we’ll take it with us.”

“We will not!” Hilda half shouted.

“Of course we will.” Laney blotted her mouth with the napkin.

“We will?” Ruth gawked at her.

“Yes, we will.”

Ethel bustled back toward the kitchen. “I’ll get the chicken ready to go.” She reappeared soon thereafter and stacked several pasteboard boxes on a nearby table. “They didn’t understand, Laney, but I do. When you’re sweet on a man, he’s on your mind night and day.”

Laney wanted to crawl under the table. She’d tried hard not to be obvious about her attraction to Galen; a lady oughtn’t pursue a gentleman.

Blind to the embarrassment she was causing, Ethel prattled on. “You’ve been worried about Galen O’Sullivan.”

Ruth burst out, “We’ve
all
been concerned.”

“No need for that. My niece packed a fine meal for Rick Maltby to take out to him just the other day. Myrtle is helpful like that—going to make some man a fine wife. She thought to take more meals out to him, but it’s just not done. A gal can’t be too careful about her reputation.” Ethel patted the top of the uppermost box. “Anyway, no reason for anyone to fret over Galen. My good food will fill him right up.”

Hilda eyed the boxes. “That’s enough to give ten men a royal bellyache.”

“I figured on ten,” Ethel said, completely oblivious to Hilda’s meaning. “There are the eight of you here, and Galen back on the farm. He’ll be hungry enough to eat for two. Just to be sure you’ll all be full, I boxed up my famous chocolate applesauce cake.”

“Oh, you really didn’t have to do that,” Mrs. O’Sullivan said.

“But we appreciate it all the same.” Laney smiled.

As Josh stacked the boxes in the back of one of the rented buckboards, he gave her a wary look. “Laney, this is a bad idea.

Try feeding any of this to Galen, and he’ll get sicker than a dog.

He’ll never forget—” “Or forgive you,” Ruth inserted.

Hilda gave the boxes a dark look. “Elaine Louise McCain, what possessed you to take four fricasseed chickens?”

Laney popped open her pretty paper parasol. “It was the better choice.”

“I suppose all things are relative,” Ruth said slowly.

“Ethel’s a nice woman but a terrible cook.” Hilda shook her head. “Her food’s not fit for—” “
Human
consumption,” Laney supplied as she sashayed toward the mercantile. “I’ll go see if we have any mail waiting for us.”

Galen gathered the weary horse’s reins and watched the rider speed off on the fresh mount. Walking the mare to cool her down, he called over to Ishmael, “You’d best put your hat on. That field’s supposed to grow barley, not beets.”

“I reckon I’ll slap my hat on my head onc’t my face gets as red as that hair of yourn.”

“That was at least half an hour ago.”

“Whoa.” Ishmael stopped at the end of the row he’d just plowed. He rubbed his sleeve across his damp forehead. “Boss, I got a twin sister who frets over me. No need for you to take up whar she leaves off.”

“She’s not here to talk sense into you.”

“Yeah, well, anytime you take a notion in your head that you or your ma need some extry holp, I’ll bring Ivy back.”

“I’ll keep your offer in mind. After I cool down this beauty, I’ll take a turn with the plow.”

“No need. I ain’t had to stop onc’t on account of the blade clogging. I heard tell of these steel moldboard plows, but niver got to use one.” Ishmael stuck out a bony finger and drew a line in the air. “This’un cuts on through the earth, deep and sure.”

“It does.” Galen didn’t remember seeing a plow back at the Grubbs’ place. They owned one very sorry-looking mule. Had Ishmael prepared the ground with nothing more than hand tools? “I don’t mind lending my plow out to folks who treat it with respect. In fact, a neighbor will be over early next week to borrow it. He uses my John Deere plow, and in return he lets me use his McCormick reaper.”

“Don’t mean to boast, but I’m good with a reaper. Come harvest, you’ll find that out.”

Ishmael didn’t take the opening and ask to use the plow, so Galen let the matter go. “If you’re half as good with the reaper as you are with a plow, I’ll be satisfied.”

“I promised I’d work hard for you, and I will. It feels good, turning your soil. It’s rich—mighty rich. Niver saw me such a wiggle of worms whilst turnin’ over the ground.”

“The birds like it, too.” Dozens of sparrows and chickadees dotted the earth, hopping to and fro, feasting on whatever insects and seeds surfaced as Ishmael turned the ground.

“Got a scarecrow handy?”

“Nope. Haven’t gotten around to making one. Ma always has my littlest brother help her with that chore. It’s a family tradition.”
I sure miss them
.

“Your family shore has a heap of traditions.”

Galen nodded and led the horse off. Since Da passed on, something came up nearly every single day that underscored his absence. Silly things that never registered suddenly became important—Ma still hugged and kissed them all good night, but now Galen squeezed Colin’s arm and ruffled Sean and Dale’s hair ere they climbed the ladder to the loft. Da always left the porch humming or whistling. Even though Galen’s heart weighed heavy with grief, he forced himself to whistle just so Ma and the boys wouldn’t be robbed of that tiny thing.

Jesus, the pastor said at Da’s funeral that you lost your earthly father.
Joseph had already taught you carpentry, but you were known as Mary’s son.
You know what it’s like to love and lose your daddy. You carried on and
provided in Joseph’s stead. Even on the cross, you took care of your mother.
Help me meet my family’s needs—those of their bodies, their minds, and their
hearts. I can’t do it on my own. I’ve got to rely on you
.

“Hey, Boss!”

Galen left the horse in a stall and went back outside.

Ishmael pointed. “Somebody’s a-comin’.”

Galen pivoted to the side. He stuck two fingers into his mouth and let out a loud three-toned whistle. The whistle came back with the notes reversed.

“It’s them—my family!”

The group disappeared in a crook in the road, then reappeared. “How come so many are a-comin’? I thought you got yourself a ma and three youngers.”

“The neighbors are with them. My best friend, Josh, gave me his word that he’d keep watch over my family.”

“But they got two wagons.”

Galen laughed as yet another wagon followed the second.

“Josh’s wife, Ruth, is opening a library. It looks like she bought every book in the state of California!”

“Hoo-oo-eee! Lookee thar. They have stuff loaded onto every last wagon!”

Galen shook his head. When Josh McCain stopped the first wagon in the yard, Galen raised one brow in silent query.

“I brought them all home, safe and sound.”

Josh’s housekeeper, Hilda, stopped the second wagon. “Facts are facts, so I’m not boasting. I took first place for the best bucket of lard, and Laney got second for her grape jelly. Your mother could fill a washtub with all the ribbons for her vegetables and preserves and such.”

Colin pulled the third wagon up next to the second. “Guess what we brought back!”

Seated in the bed of that wagon was Laney, holding a picturepretty parasol above her and casting shade on her delicate complexion. The skirts of her traveling dress formed a puddle of sunshine all about her, but the way she held Hortense’s head in her lap and the shoat kept making earthy grunting sounds spoiled the effect.

Galen folded his arms on the edge of the buckboard and addressed his youngest brother. “Dale, you were to sell Hortense.”