Bittersweet (8 page)

“I did! Miss Laney bought her!”

Turning his attention onto Josh’s pesky kid sister, Galen scowled. “Just what are you up to, Laney McCain? That shoat weighs as much as you do.”

CHAPTER SIX

T
hat was hardly a flattering comparison, but I’ll ignore it.”

Laney scratched Hortense between the ears, and Hortense let out happy little grunts. “I’ve gone into business. Dale is my partner.” “Yeah! And lookit, Galen! I got a boy pig. I won him in a greased pig chase.” Dale cranked the pig’s head toward him. “Mr. Snout, that’s my brother Galen.”

Galen wrinkled his nose. “What am I smelling?”

Hilda laughed so hard, she snorted.

Laney nudged Hortense, who obligingly trampled off her skirt. “We brought home fricasseed chicken.”

Galen whooped. “Hey, Ishmael! Get over here! They brought us dinner!”

“Who’s Ishmael?” Ma twisted on the seat.

Galen reached up for her. “Our new farmhand.” He helped her down but didn’t turn loose right away. Instead, he gave her a good long hug and whispered to her, “It’s good to have you home.”

Ishmael reached over the wagon and hauled Hortense out. “I reckon you’ll want her over in the sty.”

“I’ll take Mr. Snout,” Galen muttered. He cast a longing look at the pasteboard boxes from the Copper Kettle. “What’s in those?”

“Fricasseed chicken,” Sean told him, and he and Dale burst into giggles as they scrambled down.

“Good thing there’s lots of it. Ishmael and I’ll sluice off at the pump. We’ve built up quite an appetite.”

“It’s not for you, Galen.” Colin swiped Mr. Snout from him.

“Why not?”

Galen glared at his brother—partly because he’d just denied him good food, but mostly because Colin took his excuse for not helping Laney out of the wagon.

“Because,” Laney said as she rested her hands on Galen’s shoulders, “I bought the chicken for the pigs.”

“You bought chicken for the pigs!” He swept her down to the ground.
The lass is daft!

Laney didn’t turn loose of him yet. “I couldn’t buy the pork chops for them.” She smiled and said in a tone that sounded perfectly reasonable, “That would make them cannibals!”

“Ethel cooked it,” Ma said.

“We’re sitting down to dinner anyway.” Galen shot a look over at the sty. “Ishmael’s our new hand. He, his sister, and his da are half starved. You’re all going inside and eating that meal … like it or not.”

“Already know I’m not going to like it,” Hilda grumbled. “Don’t know why I gotta suffer for Laney’s plan going awry.”

“Galen?” Sean tugged on his sleeve. “Why don’t we just send the chicken home with him?”

“Because I like Ishmael,” Galen snapped.

Folding his arms across his chest, Josh crooked a brow. “Thought you and I were friends. Never for a minute thought you’d try to wrangle me into eating Ethel’s food. We just choked down her sandwiches. That’s bad enough. No use adding insult to injury.”

“You’ll be eating again now.” Galen refused to back down. “I won’t slop hogs with better food than my neighbors eat.”

“I suppose I could manage a bite or two.” Laney casually brushed hoof-shaped smudges from her gown.

“I can, too.” Ruth patted Laney’s arm. “And we can count on Josh. Can’t we, dear?”

Josh groaned. “Galen, this is a true test of love and friendship.”

Under other circumstances, Josh’s desperation would tickle Galen. He shoved aside a flash of amusement and summoned his resolve. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you failed to commit to eating a bite.”

“My sister meant well.”

Laney’s but a child, and a cosseted one at that
.

“Galen,” Josh repeated, “Laney meant well.”

“I’ve heard the road to hell is paved with good intentions.” Galen’s jaw jutted out stubbornly.

“Can’t say as I’d know for certain.” Ma threaded her hand through the crook in his arm. “But this much I do know: Good intentions surely paved the road to indigestion this time.”

Laney waited out on the porch so Mrs. O’Sullivan and the boys could enter first. Hilda tutted and pointed at Laney’s skirts. “Brush off that dirt. Kelly’s too busy to have to sweep up extra grime.”

Josh stood there, still holding the door open for Hilda. All four boxes formed an ominous stack in his arms, and Hilda’s eyes narrowed. “Cowboy, there’s times for brawn and times for brain. You got ’em mixed up just now. Instead of holding the door open and balancing those boxes, a smart man woulda arranged an accident and dropped every last one of ’em.”

“That wouldn’t be honorable.”

Hilda gave Laney a baleful glare. “Someday maybe you can talk some sense into your brother. Sparing women and children from needless suffering is more important than anything else.”

Once their housekeeper huffed into the house, Josh winked at Laney and whispered, “She’s still sore over me getting cherry pie on my shirt.”

Laney flashed a smile at him, then rustled her skirts to dislodge a few tiny particles of dust. “There. Do I look passable now?”

Josh didn’t bother to look at his sister’s clothing. His jaw tightened ever so slightly, and he shut the door. “Laney Lou,” he murmured, “forget it. Galen isn’t interested in you. Don’t make things harder on him. Life here is already tough enough.”

Laney shook her head. “I understand, Josh. Propriety demands a full year of mourning. I can wait for his feelings to develop.”

“They’re not going to.” Her brother tacked on in a lower voice, “Galen’s never done anything to encourage you. Stop coming here to pester the man.”

She stepped closer and whispered, “Hilda refuses to allow Ruth and me to do anything at the Broken P, and you know it. Mrs. O’Sullivan, on the other hand, has patiently taken us under her wing. She’s teaching us all of the practical skills the finishing schools back East ignored. Galen’s little brothers are adorable, and I love each of them. I would come here regardless of my feelings for Galen.”

“This isn’t the time or place, and Galen’s not the right person.” Josh stared at her intently. “Don’t set yourself up for heartache.” Laney didn’t want to respond to his assertion. Instead, she said, “I need to go in and help get the food on the table.” The sigh Josh heaved ought to have blown the door open. Since it didn’t, he obliged.

Laney slipped inside, and her heart lurched when she realized Galen’s mother had gone straight to her husband’s side of the bed. She stood there with her head bowed.

I’m so selfish, thinking of my future when they’re hardly able to make it
through each day
.

Sean slid past Laney and clutched his mother’s hand. “Da’s-not-here-an-ny-more.”

Laney started toward them, but Josh dumped the boxes of food onto the table and held her back.

“He’s not.” Mrs. O’Sullivan pulled Sean closer, and Dale sidled up to her, as well.

Laney closed her eyes to hold back her tears and fished up her sleeve to find a hankie. Rumbling voices and boots on the porch announced Galen, Colin, and another man. Laney opened her eyes and inched to the side.

The trio entered the cabin and Galen took in the scene. He led Colin over to the bed, his arm wrapped around him. “The bed’s as empty as my heart. Havin’ you all home—that softens the hurt.”

Mrs. O’Sullivan turned and burrowed into Galen’s arms. Colin, Sean, and Dale held fast to him, as well, creating a knot of misery.

Laney longed to go over and comfort them, yet she didn’t. Couldn’t. It wasn’t her place. Her heart and mind warred over what to do.

Josh half pushed Laney and Ruth toward the table, ordering in a gruff whisper, “Set the table and serve up the food. The new man and I’ll go fetch the other things from the wagons.”

Laney turned back to her brother and said in the barest whisper, “Bring in sugar and flour.”

He blinked his understanding and left.

Ruth took a stack of plates from the cupboard and pressed them into Laney’s hands. “Keeping busy,” she whispered.

Laney nodded. When Ruth’s mother had died, Mrs. O’Sullivan had claimed staying occupied helped a person through the early months of grieving. They took her advice to heart yet again. Ruth lit a fire in the stove and started coffee.

Josh came back in with two valises balanced atop a full crate. The farmhand trailed in with a twenty-five pound bag of sugar over one shoulder and another one of flour on the other.

“Please set those down by the window,” Laney said to him.

“Yes’m.”

Galen cleared his throat. “Ma, this is Ishmael Grubb. He’ll be coming over two full days and three half days a week. I’m allowing his family to sharecrop the far southern corner of our land, but they’ll keep the crops and we’ll have his labor. Ishmael, this is my ma, Mrs. O’Sullivan.”

“Ma’am.” Ishmael set down the bags and fumbled with what to do with his hands. “I’m shore sorry that man of yourn is dead and gone.”

Mrs. O’Sullivan manufactured a pained smile. “Thank you, Mr. Grubb.”

“I need to say something.” Laney let out a shaky breath. “Cullen O’Sullivan is gone, and knowing he’s with the Lord is great consolation. But—” she looked at the O’Sullivans, her gaze resting on Galen last—“he’s still here in the best of ways. Cullen O’Sullivan lives on through Galen, Colin, Sean, and Dale. They’re his legacy, and as long as we remember him and his sons carry on the family name with the same honor, a very special part of Mr. O’Sullivan is still with us.”

Galen didn’t say a word, but the grooves bracketing his mouth eased.

“Ooch, now Laney, if that’s not just like you. You’ve said a very beautiful mouthful, you have.” Mrs. O’Sullivan looked at each one of her sons in turn. “I’ve still the present to live in and a future to look forward to.”

“And friends to share it with,” Ruth added.

“Doesn’t feel very friendly to me, dishing this up.” Hilda had lifted the lid on one of the boxes and was staring at the contents with undisguised dismay.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Galen said.

Hilda snorted and turned the box upside down over a plate. Everyone watched, but nothing happened. Suddenly,
thump
! A huge wad of mashed potatoes plopped onto the plate. Grayish bits of the pasteboard box formed unappetizing scabs here and there.

Ruth upended the next box over a serving platter. About two dozen pebble-sized hunks of brown chicken rained down. “I think the rest are stuck to the box.”

Mrs. O’Sullivan reached for her apron. “You men give us twenty minutes, and we’ll have a fine meal ready.”

“What—” Galen surveyed the remaining boxes, and Laney marveled they didn’t burst into flames from the angry spark in his eyes. He turned that gaze on her and asked in a deep, nail-in-thecoffin tone, “—is in the other two boxes?”

“One is chocolate applesauce cake.” Laney tried to act downright cheerful even though the combination sounded utterly revolting. After all, Galen had demanded they eat Ethel’s food, and she’d do her best to support his vile plan.

Ruth opened the last box. “Half is chicken. The other half is potatoes.”

“Let’s set that one off to the side.” Mrs. O’Sullivan turned to Hilda. “Some seasoning and eggs, and those mashed potatoes will turn into delicious potato pancakes. I’ll whip up some white gravy. Laney, boil noodles. Ruth, be a dear and grate some cheese for me.”

Ishmael began to back away toward the door. Mrs. O’Sullivan wagged her finger at him. “If you’re sneaking away, I’ll still expect you back for lunch. Aye, I will, Ishmael Grubb. And whilst you escape, take those bags you toted in along with you. The sugar and flour are for the Broken P.”

“Kelly,” Hilda said to Mrs. O’Sullivan, “Laney brought three flour and three sugar. Altogether, I don’t have storage at the Broken P for more than four sacks. You’ve got to keep those two sugar.”

“Lester sold every last jar of jelly and jam I took in to the mercantile, Ma,” Galen said. “Could you use the sugar to put up some pear butter?”

“Why, yes.”

Laney smiled.
Everything’s going just as I hoped it would!
“Ruth and I will be happy to come help.”

“Me, too,” Hilda tacked on.

“You ladies have done so much for us already.” Galen shook his head.

He started out with a word of praise, but that stubborn look on his face
and the way he’s shaking his head …
Laney blurted out, “Your mother has been exceptionally gracious, Galen. She’s taught Ruth and me so much. We’re both very grateful.”

Galen turned away from Laney and said to his mother, “I’m thinking Ishmael’s twin sister could help you.”

Laney couldn’t move. Galen’s words and action tore at her.

“Wow!” Dale stared up at Ishmael. “You got a twin?”

“They can’t be twins if she’s a girl.” Sean wrinkled his nose.

“Twins gotta both be boys or gotta both be girls.”

Ishmael hunkered down in front of the boys. “Now that ain’t quite the truth. Twins cain be a matched set, or they cain jist be two borned at the same time.”

“Like when Gertie farrowed. Hortense and Peasley and—” “Sorta like that.”

“Dale!” Mrs. O’Sullivan sounded as if she couldn’t decide whether she was shocked or amused. “Mrs. Grubb isn’t a sow. Please don’t take any offense, Mr. Grubb.”

Ishmael grinned. “After seein’ jist what a fine shoat Hortense is, and with Mr. O’Sullivan saying how Dale dotes on her, I’d say he was payin’ a compliment. I reckon if ’n my ma was still alive, she’d be tickled.”