Nobody's Angel (14 page)

"You may peel these," she said, setting the basket down on the table with rather more force than was necessary and laying a knife down beside it. "That should not tax you overmuch."

"What the devil are they?" Thwarted in the teasing game he apparently derived so much amusement from, Connelly took another huge bite out of the apple and frowned down at the contents of the basket.

"You're swearing," Susannah pointed out, tight-lipped, as she crossed to the tall cupboard opposite.

" 'The devil' is swearing?"

"Yes, it is." Opening it, she began to search among the jars for the dried herbs she would need.

"And I thought I was being quite mild. See how I try to accommodate myself to your requirements? I'm even prepared to peel your strange vegetables."

"They're turnips."

"Ah." He finished his apple and set the core down on the table.

"You may put that in this bucket. I save scraps in it for the hogs." Susannah pointed to the bucket in question.

Connelly looked mildly revolted but picked up the core and lobbed it through the air. It landed with a dull thump, right on target. Susannah turned back to the cupboard. The jar she sought was on a shelf right in front of her nose, and she was sure she would have seen it much sooner had she not been distracted by Connelly.

"I need the turnips shortly so that they may have time to cook." This pointed reminder made Connelly sit down at the table and pick up a turnip in one hand and the knife in the other.

"What do you want me to do?" He turned the turnip over in his hand, eyeing it with clear misgiving.

"Peel them, as I said. Then cut them in quarters, and put them in here." She banged an iron pot down on the table beside him.

"Yes, ma'am."

Though she hated to leave Connelly alone, lest Mandy or one of the others should change more quickly than was their habit and appear in the kitchen, she needed ham hocks from the smokehouse to cook with the turnips.

"I'll be right back," she said in a tone of grim warning, and hurried off on her errand so fast that she was near winded when she got back. Connelly was alone, she was relieved to see, seated at the table, his head bent over a turnip as he painstakingly wielded the knife on it. He was concentrating so hard that he barely glanced up as she entered.

Pausing just inside the back door to catch her breath, Susannah's eyes widened as she looked at the mound of cut-up turnips in the pot. It was minuscule, yet the basket was more than three-quarters empty.

"What have you done to the turnips?" she asked, mystified.

"Rather you should ask what the turnips have done to me," he said sourly, looking up. "I cut my thumb." He held up the afflicted member as if to provide proof. A small nick on the ball of his thumb was barely beaded with blood. Such a scratch was totally undeserving of sympathy, and he got none.

"Where are the rest of them?" Susannah set the ham hocks down on the corner of the table and came closer to peer inside the pot.

"The rest of what?"

"The turnips!"

"They're all right here. What do you think, they jumped up and ran out the door while you were gone?"

Susannah flashed him a narrow-eyed look for his sarcasm. The heaping basket full of turnips, most of which had been peeled, occupied no more than a quarter of a pot they should have filled to overflowing.

Then she found the reason. Looking from the misshapen white blobs in the pot to the peels on the table, she saw that most of the meat remained on the peels!

"Look what you've done!"

"What?"

"You've peeled away half the turnips!"

Connelly frowned defensively down at the mound of peels. "I did not!"

"There's hardly enough left to provide a spoonful for each of us! Have you never peeled a vegetable before?" Susannah was more aghast than angry. Her hand rested on the back of the chair on which he sat as she shook her head disbelievingly at him. Seated, his head reached clear to her shoulder. She was reminded suddenly of just how large a man he was. He looked up at her, his hair brushing her hand as he tilted his head back so that he could see her expression. The slight contact drew her eyes. Washed and combed, the thick strands were as black and sleek as a starling's wing, with just the faintest hint of curl at the ends. Like his face, his hair was beautiful without being in the least feminine. Disturbed that she should even notice, Susannah quickly removed her hand.

"I must confess that peeling vegetables is not an occupation that has previously come my way," he said.

" 'Tis obvious." Susannah took the knife and deftly peeled the few remaining turnips herself. "See how it's done?" Only the thinnest layer of peel was removed, leaving large, glistening-white turnips, which she dropped into the pot on top of their misshapen brethren. She then salvaged what she could of the vegetables he had mangled and picked up the ham hocks to add them to the pot.

"What are those?" He frowned at the pink meat.

"Ham hocks." She put them in the pot and moved away to add water, first to rinse and then to boil.

"Ham hocks? But they look like—pigs' feet."

"They are," Susannah said, glancing back over her shoulder at him.

"We're eating turnips and pigs' feet?" He sounded so revolted that she almost had to smile.

"Yes, we are. They're delicious, you may take my word for it. Only today we'll have to have eggs as well, since you wasted so many of the turnips."

"Eggs I can handle. I like mine soft-boiled."

"Do you indeed?" Susannah hung the pot containing the turnips and ham hocks on the crane over the fire. "I hope you like collecting them as well as eating them. The henhouse is up the hill. You can see it from the back door."

"You want me to collect eggs?" His voice was curiously doubtful, but Susannah scarcely noticed as she frowned over another problem.

"I suppose you'll have to wear Pa's clogs. They're on the back porch. They'll be too small, of course, but they have no backs and I am sure you can squeeze in your toes."

"I'll wear my own shoes, thank you."

"I've sent Ben to town with your shoes, to get you some boots made. Pa's clogs will have to do till the boots are ready. You may take the basket the turnips were in for the eggs. And hurry, if you please. I have any number of things to do besides cook this afternoon."

He pushed his chair back and stood up. "The eggs are in the henhouse, you say?"

"Up the hill." She nodded, busy measuring out flour for the dumplings that would be needed to fill out the meal.

He hesitated the barest second, then without another word picked up the basket and padded out through the door. Moments later, through the kitchen window, she saw him following the well-worn path up the hill, moving a little awkwardly as he worked to keep her father's too- small clogs on his feet. The basket was tucked under his arms, and Brownie waddled along at his feet.

Mandy came into the kitchen, dressed in a sky-blue frock that was never meant to go gardening. A gay smiled curved her lips until, looking about the kitchen, she perceived that Susannah was alone.

"Where is he?"

Susannah added the dumplings to the boiling water and, wiping her hands on a towel, turned to frown at Mandy.

"If you mean Connelly, he has gone to fetch some eggs."

"Oh." She was obviously disappointed but brightened again almost at once. "That shouldn't take long."

Susannah had hoped not to have to warn Mandy off—in her experience, such an action was usually counterproductive—but the gleam in Mandy's eye presaged trouble. It was always possible that a few timely words might make Mandy stop and think before she plunged rashly ahead.

"Amanda. You will remember that he is our bound man. Moreover, he is a convict. As a beau for you, he is not to be considered. You may flirt with Todd Haskins or Hiram Greer or just about anyone else you please, but leave Connelly alone. Do you hear me?"

"But he's gorgeous, Susannah! Whoever would have thought it, as dirty and scruffy as he was when we brought him home?"

"You are not listening to me, Amanda Sue Redmon! I rarely forbid you to do anything, but I am forbidding you now—you are to stay away from Connelly! The man is dangerous!"

"Do you really think so?" Mandy sounded as if she found the idea thrilling.

Susannah gritted her teeth. She should have known better than to say such a thing. Had her wits gone begging lately? "I will make a bargain with you, Mandy. Do you truly wish to go to the Haskinses' party?"

Mandy's eyes widened. "Above all things!"

"If you behave yourself with Connelly—and I will be keeping an eye on you, so do not think to fool me that you are when you are not!—you may go to the party."

"And dance?"

"I would not go that far. You may watch the dancing."

"Oh, very well. If only I may go!"

Pa would be greatly distressed when he discovered that she had given Mandy permission to attend a party where there would be dancing. The teachings of their church severely frowned on such congress between unmarried couples. On the other hand, the alternative was far worse. Connelly could be injurious to far more than Mandy's reputation, though Susannah didn't mean to tell her father that. If Susannah had learned nothing else over the past dozen years, she had learned that it was sometimes necessary to compromise the lofty principles her father adhered to in the face of the reality of raising three lively girls.

"All right, then. You may attend the Haskinses' party, on the condition that you behave yourself with Connelly. Do we have a bargain?"

Mandy hesitated, then nodded, her beaming smile breaking out. "Oh, Susannah, may I really go to the party? I had not thought—I am so excited!"

"Yes, I can see you are. Don't chatter of it to all and sundry, now. Some of the parishioners will think it scandalous." But Susannah had to smile, despite her various misgivings, in the face of her sister's incandescent joy.

"You are so good to me, Susannah! Will there be time for you to make me a new dress, do you think? That green silk I bought in town the other day will be perfect!" Amanda twirled around the kitchen, stopping only to hug her sister enthusiastically.

"If you are going, I suppose you must have a new dress." Susannah returned Mandy's hug, only to have her twirl about the room again when she released her. Susannah watched Mandy with wry indulgence. What must it feel like to be that young?

"I must tell Em and Sarah Jane. Might they go, too?"

"Emily is too young, and Sarah Jane will not wish to, I think."

But Mandy had already flown from the room to share news of her good fortune with her siblings. Susannah looked after her for a moment, smiling. Mandy had been more work to raise than the other two put together, and there didn't seem to be any prospect of that changing very soon. But even if she could, Susannah realized that she would not alter so much as a hair on her sister's head. Susannah thought that over for a minute, then amended it, rather ruefully. There were a few things she might consider changing about Mandy, but not many, and Mandy's warm-hearted exuberance more than made up for her faults.

Only then did Susannah realize that Mandy was gone, and the vegetables were still unfetched. She opened her mouth to summon her sister back, then closed it again. It would be easier, and quicker, just to fetch the vegetables herself.

Picking up a basket, she went out the back door and across the porch. She had no more than set foot on the grass when a burst of wild barking from Brownie caused her to glance up the hill from whence it came.

She was just in time to see Connelly burst through the henhouse doorway, his arms raised to cover his head and an enraged red hen flapping and screeching behind him as it clung with its claws to the back of his shirt.

14

"Bloody damned creature! Get it off me!" Connelly ducked and twisted, trying to dislodge the angry bird as Susannah rushed up the hill to his rescue.

"You're frightening her! Stop flailing about!"

"Frightening
her!
What do you raise here, killer chickens?"

Finally Connelly succeeded in knocking the hen to the ground. She landed, squawking and flapping her wings. Brownie, barking hysterically, darted at her, while some half dozen other screeching hens flew through the open henhouse door, passing not more than a foot above Connelly's head. Connelly ducked, cursing and throwing up a protective arm. The downed hen took wing to join them, chased by Brownie, who had not seen so much excitement in years. The entire flock landed clumsily in a nearby tree, while Brownie made excited, noisy leaps halfway up its trunk. Susannah, who had rushed to the rescue only to arrive seconds after Connelly rid himself of his attacker, burst out laughing.

She laughed so long and so hard her sides ached when she at last straightened up again. Never could she remember having seen anything so funny as Connelly on the run from her favorite hen.

"Hilarious, is it?" He had straightened to his full height now and had both arms crossed over his chest as he regarded her with disfavor.

"Yes." Susannah wiped streaming eyes. "Her name is Elise. She's ten years old, and she's a dear."

"If you are referring to that chicken, she bit the hell out of my hand!"

"You're swearing."

"So I am."

"Well," conceded Susannah with a chuckle that threatened to dissolve into a full-blown laugh at any second, "perhaps this time you have cause. Did she really bite you? No, of course she didn't. Hens don't have any teeth. They can't bite. She merely pecked you."

"Oh, is that all? It hurt like he—like the dickens, let me tell you."

"What did you do to her?"

"I couldn't find any eggs, and the old biddies were all sitting around staring at me and clucking. I thought they might be hiding them, so I tried to shoo them off their nests. That one attacked me."

"Oh, dear," said Susannah unsteadily, and started laughing again. She could just picture him, all six-feet- plus of menacing man, being made uneasy by the bright gazes of a roomful of nesting hens. Judging from his expression, he didn't much appreciate her amusement at his expense, so after a moment or so she heroically swallowed her chortles.