Romancing Olive (4 page)

The other customers and the tellers let out chuckles and Olive heard whispers. She turned her head slowly and met each smiling face till it sobered and then faced the cowboy. “This is my brother James’s son. My nephew. State your business, sir.”

The cowboy shrugged and Olive turned back to the window and completed her transaction. By the time she gathered her purse and the children’s hands she was shaking and furious. Olive nearly dragged the children down the street and when she looked down at them she saw fear and in John’s face, shame. She knelt down on the dusty sidewalk as she had seen Jacob Butler do and addressed them.

“Do not let anyone’s words shame or frighten you. Words can not hurt you.” They nodded together, solemnly, but John would not meet her eye.

Olive stopped at the hotel to fetch her bags before going to the general store. She placed her valise under the seat of the wagon and looked up to find John staring at a man across the street. The disreputable looking character was staring back, his hands on his hips. The stranger pushed back his hat and leaned forward as if to get a better look at her nephew. John’s face was white, as were his lips and his bottom lip trembled. Olive had not time, nor the inclination to deal with another bold, rude person like the cowboy in the bank. She took John’s hand and led him to the general store.

“Afternoon, ma’am,” a round man wearing a white apron said.

“Good afternoon, sir. I have a letter of credit from my bank in Philadelphia. I would like to open an account until my money is transferred,” Olive said. The children turned slowly around, eying all the goods in the store, while the man read her letter from her bank.

“Yes, ma’am, that’ll do,” he said. “What can I get for you today?”

Olive pulled a long list from her purse and the clerk hurried to keep up with her demands. Sugar, flour, salt, vanilla, paper, pencils and the list went on and on and the children’s mouths dropped.

“And now sir, I need you to show me what you have in the way of fabrics,” Olive said.

The storekeeper pulled a stool over to reach the bolts and Olive fingered each one as he laid them on the counter. John and Mary’s clothing was so worn and threadbare that she was surprised they were still in one piece. She unrolled heavy chambray and held it up to John’s body. She twisted and pulled the fabric and counted in her head. John stood, arms out, as Olive measured. Luke and Peg were quiet as they watched John being twirled, plaid fabrics across his arms, denims down his legs. Olive indicated the yardage on each bolt and picked two bright ginghams for Mary. She turned and smiled, done with the task, to the children and watched as Luke and Peg looked down at the floor.

An arrow pierced Olive’s heart as she realized her blunder. “Double the order of denim and flannels, sir. Now, Peg, which cloth would suit you?”

Peg stepped forward, eyes glistening, and peaked over the counter to touch the fabric. Her lips were pursed as her hand went back and forth between two flowered prints. She looked up to Olive and her lip trembled.

“I don’t know,” she said.

“Well, Peg, the dress you’re wearing is blue. What colors are your other dresses?” Olive asked.

Peg yanked hard on Olive’s skirts and she bent down as the girl whispered in her ear. “This is the only one I got.”

Olive’s face flushed and she turned to the clerk. “Sir, will you kindly tell me my balance so far?”

The clerk tallied with a nubbed pencil and looked over his glasses. “Eighteen dollars and sixty three cents.”

“Very reasonable and in that case sir, you will need to cut additional pieces of the gingham and six yards each of these flowered designs. Is that ribbon I see by the bolt, sir? Yes, the blue. I’ll take six yards of that as well.”

Olive watched the children glance from one to the other, with questions in their faces. “Come along children,” she said and they followed her out of the store to watch the shopkeeper and a young boy fill the wagon to overflowing. Olive thanked the man and asked him to watch the wagon for an hour.

“Where we going now?” Luke asked as he trailed along behind her down the sidewalk.

“It will be a good hour ride home and I believe we’ll all be too hungry by that time. We’re going to Hannah’s for our supper,” Olive said.

Luke’s eyes widened and his little jaw fell. “To a place that gives you vittles?”

“Yes, Luke. A restaurant. Now again I must remind you all, to be mindful of your manners.”

The three children sat still as stones once seated at Hannah’s. Olive ordered ham dinners for them all. Luke pushed his hair from his face and Olive watched Peg pick up the cue, straightening her dress. Olive heard the girl’s crossed ankles tap on the chair rung as they swung loosely. John refused to lift his head until Olive instructed them to unfold their napkins and place them on their laps. When the food arrived, Luke and Peg struggled with the silverware, but managed slowly to devour the round, pared potatoes, swimming in butter. John wasted no time with utensils while he guarded his plate.

“John, please wipe your hands and pick up your fork,” Olive said. His head swung defiantly and his limp, filthy hair hung in his eyes. “John, pick up your fork and knife. Cut your meat like this,” she instructed.

Olive could have sworn she heard a faint growl when she reached across to help John with his food. The utensils slipped from his hand, slimy from butter and grease. As the fork clattered to the floor, John saw the stares of other diners and the boy slunk back in his seat. Olive wiped the children’s faces and piled the leftover ham onto bread. Peg yawned and her eyes threatened to close while Olive hurried to get the children to the wagon. The sun was setting and she tucked Peg into a soft spot between a bag of flour and the new fabric. Peg’s tiny hand, found its way under her cheek and her eyes closed before Olive snapped the reins. Olive was exhausted herself as she clucked the horses and struggled to keep the two boys against her.

* * *

Where in the hell was that old crow, Jacob scowled. Out with the children, my children, no damn idea where she was going, he thought, as he turned his mare onto the road leading into town. When he saw the wagon approach, not a half-mile from home, he let out an involuntary sigh of gratitude. His horse, Bessie, thankfully, would know her way home in a blizzard and as he stepped down from his own mount, he smiled at the picture he beheld. John was in Miss Wilkins lap; snoring and Luke jostled in his slumber against her arm as she held the reins.

“Where’s Peg?” he asked.

“Oh, Mr. Butler,” Miss Wilkins said.

“Where’s Peg?” he asked again and pulled Luke into his arms.

Miss Wilkins gestured to the back of the wagon. Jacob turned his head and saw the sleeping angel amidst a mountainous pile of supplies.

“If I am to stay awhile at your farm, it is only fair that I contribute to the coffers. You mustn’t have realized your cupboard was nearly bare. I made a list this afternoon,” Miss Wilkins said.

“I can feed my family,” he replied.

“But you’re not expected to feed mine as well,” she said. “I think we had best get the children home now. Don’t you?”

“We’ll talk about this later, Miss Wilkins.”

* * *

Olive’s eyebrow rose in a salute to the thrown gauntlet as she urged the horse quietly to home. She lifted the slumbering Peg, as Mr. Butler carried the boys to the barn. Peg’s breath was warm and wet against her neck as she laid the child down on the small bed. The little pink mouth lay open and Peg let out a sigh of contentment as she curled into a ball. Olive eased the worn shoes from Peg’s feet and unbuttoned her dress. The petticoat underneath was filthy and barely covered the child’s round backside. Olive pulled a worn blanket over Peg’s shoulders and she snuggled down as her thumb came to her mouth.

Olive found her two valises on the porch and the horse and wagon, gone. She should have guessed Jacob Butler was a proud man and he would not view her purchases as a contribution but rather a gift.
Pride goeth before the fall
, she quoted silently.

Olive poured water into a basin and took the pins from her hair. She washed off the dust and dirt from her trip to Spencer, but she could not cleanse from her mind the look on John’s face when the cowboy spoke to him in the bank. The twenty-eight pearl buttons on her nightgown buttoned, she shook her head and rubbed her scalp as she sat down at the kitchen table. It was then she noticed Mary curled in front of the fireplace on a blanket. Olive knelt beside the girl and lifted a stray strand of hair from her cheek. What goes through this child’s head when night falls and dreams stir, Olive wondered. She leaned down and kissed her and Mary scuttled further under the blanket. Olive settled back onto the hard chair to brush her hair the required strokes.

In bed shortly, her head hit the pillow and Olive succumbed to the tiring events of the day. Her eyes were barely open when she turned her itchy nose into the rough fabric of the sheets. Her lids rose and she caught the scent of a man, Jacob Butler. The smell was intoxicating. Earthy and masculine. Olive gave into the guilty pleasure and reassurance the aroma brought and refused to think about the implications of sleeping in a strange man’s bed.

* * *

Jacob stood at the window and watched through the grimy glass as Olive Wilkins kissed Mary and sat down. Her nightgown was buttoned to her neck, but as she stretched and rolled her head, Jacob found himself mesmerized with her slow, calculated movements. The brush pulled through volumes of thick hair, reddish in the firelight. It swayed and moved of its own accord and Jacob watched her face. This is her forbidden pleasure, he realized, as he watched her move through the strokes. She sighed and her eyes dropped to half-mast. When she pushed her chair back abruptly, Jacob jumped from his voyeur’s position into the shadow of the porch. He peered in again to watch this strange woman climb into his bed.

* * *

Morning came all too soon for Olive, but she rose and moved her neck to work out the kinks. Peg slept the sleep of the innocent, mouth parted, strands of hair bathing her face. Olive opened the door, bucket in hand and found a full bucket on the porch in the gray light just before dawn. Mr. Butler must rise early, she thought, as she rinsed her face and hands and dressed. The firewood nearly beat her in a test of wills, but Olive managed to fill the stove and get a blaze going.

Jacob Butler materialized in the doorway and Olive jumped as she felt him approach.

“Good morning,” she whispered. “Where is the bacon and are there eggs to be had?”

He motioned to a small bucket filled with hay on the table. Large brown eggs were nestled amidst the straw.

“I keep the bacon and milk in the fruit cellar under the house. I’ll get it,” he said.

Olive was rooting through dirty pans and filled a pot with the water from her washing when Jacob Butler returned to the kitchen. She filled a second pot with water and turned to the table with a knife to slice the bacon.

“Don’t cut more bacon than Mary and John and you will eat. I’ll make mush for me and the others,” he said.

Olive straightened and stared at him. “You would have Mary and John eat bacon in front of Luke and Peg while they eat mush?”

“I told you yesterday.  I can take care of my family,” he growled in a whisper.

“Your pantry was nearly bare. I know you are very busy, Mr. Butler. And a trip to town is an inconvenience, but I don’t know how you planned on feeding these children and yourself. A jar of beets and beef jerky will only go so far.”

“I have a plowing job for a neighbor. It’ll be finished soon. When I get paid I’ll go to town for supplies,” he said, his voicing raising.

“And what, pray tell,” Olive whispered and sat her fists on her hips, “will you and the children be eating until then?”

Jacob Butler sputtered and narrowed his eyes and Olive was sure he was about to let out a roar when they looked down to find John and Luke, clinging to the table edge. Moments passed and Luke yanked on his father’s sleeve.

“Miss Wilkins bought bacon yesterday, Daddy. We can have that for breakfast,” the little boy said.

Olive looked up to Jacob Butler’s taut face.

“None for me, Miss Wilkins,” he said.

“Mark’s awake,” Mary said as she came from behind the curtain dividing the kitchen from the beds.

Jacob Butler rushed to the crib and Olive’s face reddened as she realized she had forgotten completely about the infant. The man picked up his son and crooned in the babe’s ear, but the child began to moan in an odd fashion.

“Mark needs his diaper changed first thing in the morning. He has a rash,” Mr. Butler said.

Olive watched Jacob Butler’s large tan hands unpin the sopping fabric. The child’s head seemed abnormally large for his body. Mark’s strange cries and inability to meet anyone’s eyes made her wonder if he was blind.

“What is his condition?” Olive asked.

“His diapers’ wet,” Mr. Butler replied as he wiped the baby’s behind.

Olive sensed his reluctance but she could not still her tongue. “I know that, Mr. Butler. He seems to have some other problems as well,” she said quietly.

Olive took an involuntary step back when she met Jacob Butler’s stare. His eyes were dark and glittering and when he spoke the tone made Olive flinch.

“Mark is fine.”

Olive swallowed, knowing she had tread on some sacred subject. “I have wash water on the stove. Leave his diaper off and I’ll bathe him.” She reached down to touch an angry looking rash on the child’s legs and privates. “Do you have any cornstarch?”

“I don’t know. Look in the panty,” Mr. Butler said.

“Mary would you begin to fry the bacon? Luke, John, come here and rinse your face and hands in this water. Good morning, Peg,” Olive said and returned from the pantry with a small cloth bag, marked, cornstarch.

Olive had no idea why she had volunteered to bathe the infant. She had never done it before, never seen it done and was still flushed from seeing her first miniature view of a male’s privates. The keening wail, though, had touched Olive’s heart. Peg stood beside her at the crib, tousled and rubbing the night from her eyes.