Paradise Falls (7 page)

“I told you I’d be cutting today. And will be, for the rest of the week. Maybe, if Flem doesn’t have to go to town again tomorrow, he could lend a hand. If not with the cutting, then at least with your tomatoes.” Gray deliberately turned his back on his mother to dab at his father’s chin. He kept his tone deceptively soft. “Are you ready for a smoke on the porch, Papa?”

“I am.” With Gray’s help, Broderick got slowly to his feet.

“We haven’t finished supper yet.” Rose’s voice grew shrill. “I made linzer torte.”

“I’ve had enough.” Broderick turned to his oldest son. “How about you, Grayson?”

Gray nodded, and the two men walked away, letting the back door slam behind them.

In the silence that followed, Flem chuckled, causing both women to glance at him.

“I guess that leaves more dessert for me.” He patted his mother’s shoulder as he pushed away from the table and helped himself to the torte cooling on a sideboard.

“I’ll do that.” Rose walked up beside him and began slicing while Flem dipped his spoon in the sweet berry filling and tasted with the eagerness of a little boy. Then he leaned over and kissed his mother’s cheek. “Young VanderSleet might be our new teacher’s hero, but you’re mine.”

“Oh, you.” Rose was blushing as she turned away. When she placed a plate of torte in front of Fiona, the young woman shook her head.

“No, thank you, Mrs. Haydn. I’ve had enough.” Fiona got to her feet. But tonight, instead of taking to her bedroom, she decided to join Gray and his father on the back porch. She was too excited about the thought of the coming school year to settle down just yet.

Broderick was seated in a wooden rocking chair. Gray sat on the top step of the porch, with his back to the rail, whittling on a block of wood. Seeing Fiona he started to get up, but before he could she brushed past him and quickly settled herself on the bottom step, taking care to tuck the hem of her long skirt around her ankles for modesty.

Broderick took the pipe from his mouth. “Does the smell of my tobacco offend you, Miss Downey?”

Fiona gave a firm toss of her head. “I love the smell of it. My da used to smoke a pipe.” She wrapped her arms around her knees. “You’ve a lovely farm, Mr. Haydn. The sight of all those fields is grand, indeed.”

The old man nodded thoughtfully while a cloud of smoke drifted around his head. “There was a time I could plow from sunup to sundown, without a thought to resting. I was always proud of the fact that I could do the work of three men.”

“It seems you’ve taught your son to do the same.”

“One of them.” He drew smoke, exhaled. “Do you have any family? Cousins, aunts, uncles?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know if there are any distant relatives left in Ireland, but here in America, there were just the three of us. My da, my mum, and me.”

“Gray tells me your father passed recently. What of your mother?”

“She’s staying with a sister in Chicago until I earn enough to send for her.” Fiona rested her chin on her knees and closed her eyes against the pain.

Would it ever go away? Would she ever stop the wanting? The missing?

The old man’s tone grew thoughtful. “Losing family is a hard thing. I had a sister. Gerda. Ten years older she was, and more like my mother than my sister. She never married.”

When he fell silent, Fiona lifted her head. “What happened to Gerda?”

He took the pipe from between his teeth and stared at the crows that were flying in to roost on the highest peak of the barn. “She stayed on our parents’ farm some miles from here and nursed them through their old age. Afterward I asked her to come live with us, so she wouldn’t be alone.”

Gray’s head came up. “I didn’t know that. Why didn’t Aunt Gerda come?”

“She said my kitchen wasn’t big enough for two women.” One side of Broderick’s mouth curved in a smile. “She was a wise woman, my sister.”

Fiona brushed at a stray wisp of hair. “Is she still living on the family farm?”

When Broderick fell silent Gray answered for his father. “Aunt Gerda died last winter. Pa and I took a wagonload of supplies to her, and found her out in the barn. It appeared she’d fallen after killing a goose for her holiday supper. The temperature had fallen so low, some said it was the coldest they could ever recall.”

Despite the heat of a late summer evening, Fiona felt a shiver pass through her at the horrible image of what that poor woman must have suffered, knowing she was alone, and that she would surely freeze to death unless help came quickly.

How much worse it must be for her brother, to know he could have eased her suffering, if only he’d found her in time.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Haydn.”

The old man barely acknowledged her sympathy, and she realized he’d gone somewhere in his mind.

She turned her attention to the wood in Gray’s hand. Under his knife it was beginning to take shape. “Is that a dog?”

“Not yet. But soon enough it will be Chester here.” At the sound of his name the hound padded over to rest his head on his master’s knees.

“Where did you learn such a wonderful thing?”

Gray shrugged. “I’ve always seen shapes in wood. Papa says my grandfather did the same. It passes the time when my chores are finished.”

Overcome with weariness, Fiona stood and shook down her skirts. “I’d best get to bed now. I like to write a few pages each night to my mum before I go to sleep.”

Gray lumbered to his feet. “I’ll string that line in your room first.” Setting aside the wood and knife, he picked up a length of rope and a hammer and nails that were lying beside his father’s rocker.

As he followed Fiona inside, Flem and Rose were seated at the kitchen table, laughing together. At the sight of Fiona and Gray, their laughter faded.

“What’s this? Are you walking the teacher to her door?” Flem saw the color rise to Fiona’s cheeks at the same moment that his brother’s eyes frosted over. Seeing that Gray had risen to the bait, he couldn’t resist adding, “I think she can manage to find her way without your help. Don’t you, Gray?”

When Gray didn’t bother to answer, Rose shoved back her chair and closed a hand over her older son’s sleeve. “Where are you going?”

He paused to stare at the offending hand, then up at her mouth, pursed into a tight frown. “I’m stringing a rope so our houseguest has a place to hang her clothes.”

To his retreating back Rose called, “Just so you know—it’s my responsibility to say who can set foot in her room and who can’t.”

With her arms folded over her chest she watched as Fiona opened the door and stood aside for Gray. Satisfied that they would leave the door open until Gray had finished his chore, Rose returned to the table.

Seeing the way Flem was grinning she lowered her voice. “I expect a certain behavior from anyone who comes here to teach our young. After all, what do we really know about this woman?”

He caught her hands in his and lifted them to his lips. “I know this. She can’t hold a candle to you, Ma.”

“Oh, you.” Laughing, she nodded toward the last of the torte cooling on the windowsill. “You may as well have another piece. It’ll be stale by morning.”

“If you insist.” He waited until his mother crossed the room before getting up from the table to see for himself. From the doorway of the kitchen he could make out his brother standing on a stool, threading a rope from one side of the room to the other, while Fiona stood watching.

Flem quickly dismissed the little twinge of annoyance. It would have been a fine thing to impress the teacher. Still, if he were the one doing that chore, he’d have found a way to use it to his advantage. A peek at her underwear in that pile of clothing, for instance. Or some naughty joke that would bring another flush to her cheeks. But poor, dumb Gray would no doubt just string the rope and run away like a scared rabbit.

“Here you are.”

When Rose set down the slice of torte, Flem tore himself from the doorway and settled down at the table.

In her bedroom, Fiona watched as Gray easily pounded in the nails, then secured the rope until it was taut enough to hold her clothes without sagging in the middle.

“Would you like me to help you hang those?” He pointed to the pile of clothing that littered her bed.

“That isn’t necessary, Gray. You’ve already put in a long day.”

“So have you.”

“I don’t mind.” As he started away she touched a hand lightly to his arm. “Thank you.”

“You’re...” He stared down at her hand, then caught it in his and turned it over, palm up. “What’s this?”

“Nothing. Really.” Embarrassed, she tried to snatch her hand away, but he held it fast and lifted the other, as well, studying the raw, red blisters that covered both palms.

“You did too much today. Your hands weren’t made for such work.”

“My hands are too soft.” She could feel the heat rising to her cheeks. That knowledge only made it worse. Now her face was flaming. “It’s time they toughened up.”

“I’ve something that will help.” He stalked away.

The moment he was gone, Fiona forced herself to breathe. What was it about this silent, solemn man? When he’d taken hold of her hands, she’d been so startled, she’d forgotten how to take air into her lungs.

Within minutes Gray returned with a jar of salve.

“This will sting for a little while.” He began to smooth thick, yellow ointment over her skin, taking care to rub it into the open blisters.

Fiona’s skin felt as if she’d held it to the fire.

Hearing her little hiss of pain, Gray looked up to see her blink back tears. His tone softened to a whisper. “Only for a minute more, I promise. Then it will start to feel better.”

For the space of several minutes he continued holding her hand.

Fiona didn’t know what was worse, the burning ointment, or the rush of heat from his touch. Her throat felt so tight, she feared she might never swallow again.

When at last he heard her sigh, he asked, “Feeling better?”

Unable to find her voice, she merely nodded.

“Good.” The smile came slowly to his eyes, then to his lips. “I’ll leave this salve with you. Use it if the pain wakes you during the night. By morning those blisters should feel some better, and in a few days your hands will be good as new.”

“Thank you, Gray. For the clothesline, for the ointment. And for all the help with the school house.”

He eyed the pile of clothing littering her bed. “Are you sure you can manage all this?”

“I’m sure.”

“All right, then.” He turned away. As he started out of her room he paused in the doorway. “If you’d like to sleep late, you could always have Flem take you over to the school tomorrow.”

She was quick to refuse. “I’ll be ready when you are.” He ducked his head and walked away.

Minutes later Fiona heard the door slam. Then the voices and laughter began once more in the kitchen.

She closed her door and drew the curtains before hanging her clothes. When everything was tidy, she slipped out of her day clothes and pulled on a soft cotton gown for sleeping. She eyed the letter to her mother she’d begun the previous night. The ointment would make it impossible to finish. She would have to write twice as much tomorrow.

After turning back the covers she blew out the lantern. Instead of climbing into bed, she walked to the window and lifted the curtain to stare at the night sky.

“Are you looking at that same moon, Mum? Do the stars seem as close in Chicago?”

In the silence that followed she folded her hands and whispered a prayer. Suddenly overcome with a wave of homesickness, she let go of the curtain and climbed into bed. Curled into a tight ball, she choked back tears until sleep claimed her.

* * *

Fiona lay in her bed, wondering what had awakened her from sleep. At first the only thing she could hear was the silence of the big farmhouse. But as she grew accustomed to the sounds of the night, she could hear, above the chirr of crickets and the hoot of an owl, the sound of the backdoor closing. Instead of footsteps heading toward the outhouse, these seemed to be heading toward the barn.

Intrigued, she slid from her bed and moved aside an edge of the curtain in time to see Flem leading a horse. Instead of riding, he continued walking until he’d crossed the distance that separated the barn from the house, and from there to the road. Once he was far enough away to go undetected, he pulled himself into the saddle and turned the horse toward town at a fast clip.

Where could Flem possibly go at this late hour? And why?

Not my business
, Fiona thought as she returned to her bed. Perhaps there was a girl in town who’d snagged Flem’s heart. But what sort of girl would meet a young man in the small hours of the night?

She didn’t know. Nor did she care. What Flem did with his time was his own business. Of one thing she was certain: he was the most handsome man she’d ever seen. With that golden hair and those laughing eyes, he would have no trouble finding dozens of young women who would willingly lose their hearts to him.

Within minutes she’d put Flem and his secretive midnight wanderings out of her mind completely as she drifted back to sleep.

“W
hat’s this?” Gray swung down from the seat of the wagon and crossed the schoolyard to examine the brand new outhouse, where Will was just setting the door on its hinges. “You’re finished?”

Will flushed in embarrassment. “I didn’t want Miss Downey to have to wait any longer. Flem said I should have done this first.”

“No need to worry about what Flem thinks, Will. You’re doing a fine job here.” Gray noted the freshly sanded bench positioned across one side, with three graduated holes smoothly cut into the wood.

The boy looked pleased. “Miss Downey likes it, too.”

“Where is she?”

“Inside.” Will nodded toward the schoolhouse.

Gray gave one last glance around the tidy shed before turning away.

He found Fiona standing beside her desk, running her hand lightly across the scarred wood.

As always, he felt a jolt at the sight of her. To cover his nerves he frowned. “It would seem you’re ready for your first day of school.”

Her head came up, before a look of wariness came into her eyes. “I hope I am.”