Romancing Olive (9 page)

The doctor snorted a reply. “Took it hard? My God, I never saw a man grieve and cry the way he did. I worried he’d not be fit to take care of the other children. I found him outside beating the trunk of a tree until his hands were bloody.”

Olive pictured the tall, proud Jacob Butler and could not imagine him losing control so completely. “Is there anything I can do for Mark?”

The doctor eyed her wearily. “No, but Jacob is determined to treat him as though he has no problems. I’d say you should follow his lead.”

Olive thanked the doctor, gathered John’s hand and led him outside. She found the post office, mailed the letter to Theda and headed home. John sat close on the ride home and Olive bent down to kiss the silent boy’s head.

Chapter Four

Olive found her days melting one into the other. Hard work, uncertainty about her effect on the children and the profound change of habits made Olive wonder and pray as she wearily lay down each night. Only then did she give into the anger eating at her heart. How could James lose sight of everything he’d been taught? Did her father know how James’ family had lived? Would his killer ever be brought to justice? Would these children ever escape the horrors they’d seen? She saw subtle changes in the children though, and was convinced routine had brought them. Olive would be the steadying influence in their lives from now on. She would make the decisions, set the example and raise them.

Saturday arrived before Olive realized and she was glad she remembered how to make her mother’s peach cobbler as an offering to the picnic. The simplest of recipes was often the best but Olive wished she had her mother’s painted crockery to hold the dessert. Olive struggled and hurried with the children and looked down at herself as she picked a spot of crust from the front of her brown dress. What a mess I must be, she thought. Olive opened the second valise, still unpacked and withdrew a chestnut colored dress. Although plain, the fabric was fine and stiffly shining and revealed a pattern in it’s weaving. A slightly scooped neck, more appropriate for evening than day puzzled Olive but she harrumphed and wondered if any one in this town would notice. Probably not. Very little respect for propriety, Olive thought considering whom she had met thus far. Peg and Mary watched Olive pull the dress over her head and Peg touched the fabric and oohed.

“It’s so pretty,” Peg said and watched Olive pull her hair back into its tight bun. “Wear your hair like mine,” Peg added with a smile.

“I’m far too old to wear a pony tail, Peg,”

“Yeah, but it would be pretty pulled up with your black ribbon,” Mary said and twisted the silk in her hand.

“Do you think it would look nice, Mary?” Olive asked.

“I could fix it,” Mary said.

Olive smiled and Mary shrugged. She conceded to the girls’ ministrations and could have fallen asleep as they brushed through her hair. Mary pulled the top back and braided a thick knot with Olive’s hair. Peg ran to do Mary’s bidding, fetching combs and ties and the two girls seemed to enjoy themselves so much, Olive knew she would have worn a bee hive on her head to make them this happy. When she looked in her small mirror, it was all Olive could do to not groan audibly.  She looked like a woman she knew back in Philadelphia, long past her prime, always wearing young fashions and styles and to she and Theda’s opinion, made herself look ridiculous in the process. Mary had pulled her hair loosely back and the rest lay in curly heaps on her shoulders and arms.

“You look beautiful,” Peg said, hands clasped below her chin.

“Thank you Peg, Mary. You’ve both done a fine job,” Olive said with a smile.

Olive gathered her bag and heard the door open. “Come on,” Luke cried. “We’re goin’ to be late.”

When she turned, Olive met Mr. Butler’s eyes. He was staring at her in the strangest fashion and it brought goose bumps to Olive’s neck. She rolled her eyes uncomfortably, wondering if he thought her a dolt in an evening dress and her hair down.

“Are we late?” she asked.

“You look so pretty,” Luke said and smiled his father’s rarely seen smile.

John walked slowly to her and took her hand to escort her from the kitchen.

Olive could not resist glowing in the attention, even though her admirers wore short pants. She accepted John’s hand and held her head high as she passed Mr. Butler.

“Doesn’t Aunt Olive look pretty, Daddy?” Peg asked.

“Miss Wilkins looks nice,” Mr. Butler replied.

Olive raised a brow, as her hopes oddly had, that he would think she looked pretty or beautiful or attractive, but not just nice. And she fought a lump in her throat and wondered if and when her own niece and nephew would ever call her Aunt. They all climbed in the creaky wagon and set off. Near the picnic grove, Jacob Butler slowed the animals and turned in his seat.

“Now remember what I told you.” The children nodded. He addressed them all but held Mary’s gaze. “Stay out of trouble, don’t go far without each other and if anyone gives you lip, like Bertram did, you get me.”

The children nodded their assent and Olive stood in the wagon to view the gathering. Tables were covered with gingham checks to hold food and blankets were spread on the ground for picnicking. Olive smiled and turned to the children, telling them she had never really eaten a meal outside.

“What?” Luke cried. “Never been on a picnic?”

“No,” Olive laughed. Peg shook her head and bit her lip and John offered his hand to Olive.

“I’ll help your Aunt down, John,” Jacob Butler said.

Olive’s eyes opened wide as she for the first time was offered help from the wagon, or a chair or anything by the stone faced giant. She laid her hand in his and lifted her skirts an inch or two to see where she was stepping. Once on the ground, she looked up to his face and blinked. They stood inches apart and his eyes were boring into hers. She could smell his shaving soap and see where he had cut himself that morning. It was dreadfully intimate. And unnerving.  “Thank you, Mr. Butler,” she said finally.

* * *

Jesus, Mary and Joseph. Who would have thought this woman had all this beautiful hair. Pulled back, soft, not severe like usual, and laying thick and rich across her shoulders. Even those silly spectacles of hers don’t look so bad, Jacob thought. And a dress to match that hair, scooped just enough to reveal soft valleys above what Jacob supposed was a good handful of bosom.

“You may release my hand,” Olive Wilkins said.

Jacob jumped and realized he had been drifting. He turned quickly and reached to take Mark from Mary as the girl climbed down. From the minute he and John and Luke had walked in the door of the house, Luke screaming about being late, Jacob had not been able to clear his head. Olive Wilkins wasn’t pretty. When she smiled at John as he escorted her to the wagon, Jacob realized something he’d just as well not thought of. Olive Wilkins was beautiful.

* * *

Olive carried her dessert to the table and cringed when she saw all the fine dishes the women had prepared. “We must look a bit weak in the cooking department,” she whispered to Mary. The girl nodded, but eyed all the goodies before her. Olive watched as Beth Steele and Florence Williams approached.

“Olive, so happy you came. What did you make?” Beth asked.

Olive and Mary exchanged glances. “The peach cobbler.”

The two women turned to the table and Florence asked, “Did Jacob still have peaches put up?”

“No, I bought them canned at the mercantile,” Olive replied.

Florence’s eyes widened. “You bought canned peaches? They must have been dear.”

Olive shrugged.

“If you’re still here in the fall you come over to my house and we’ll do our canning together.”

Olive smiled but said nothing.

“Have you ever canned before?” Florence tilted her head and asked.

“Well . . . no . . . I never did and I wouldn’t have the foggiest idea where to begin,” Olive said and laughed.

The two women regarded her wide eyed and then laughed as well. They led Olive to a well-worn quilt and sat down to chat and observe the party. Mary stood shyly against the tree near the blanket.

Florence looked up. “Come sit down Mary. You’re old enough to sit with the women. Come on.” Florence patted an empty space and Mary gingerly sat down. “When my Sue comes back, you can wander around with her for awhile.”

Olive was grateful to the women, readily accepting Mary and they talked until Florence’s daughter joined them.

“Sue, this is Mary. Why don’t you two go see what games they have set up for the youngins’?” Florence said.

Sue chattered a mile a minute and soon Mary was following her. Olive listened to the fast friends as they talked women talk. Children, husbands, work, worries. Olive knew her face colored as Florence described her husband Bill chasing her around the kitchen table once the children were asleep. Beth giggled and covered her mouth.

“Oh my,” Florence said suddenly. “I didn’t mean to make you uneasy, Olive. You not being married and all.”

A rousing round of male laughter brought the three women’s heads around and Olive saw Mr. Butler talking to the women’s husbands while he held Mark.

“Hmm,” sighed Beth. “That man is mighty good looking, even if he doesn’t smile so much anymore.”

“I’m thinking he has all his parts and some to spare,” Florence added and stared.

Olive’s eyes widened and she let her gaze dip uncharacteristically to Jacob’s crotch. One would certainly think he did have all those parts, Olive mused. He also had a magnetism that was hard to deny. Jacob Butler was the embodiment of masculinity.  “What was his wife Margaret like?” she asked.

Beth Steele’s head dropped. “She was my best friend growing up. I still miss her.”

Florence patted Beth’s hand. “Beautiful is the first thing to come to mind, I’d say. Dark haired and small and a good wife and mother.”

Beth lifted her head. “Everyone I know, including me, was after Jacob and who could blame them? But I can’t say I was jealous. Margaret and Jacob were a perfect match. Just perfect.”

“Everyone thought Jacob would take a wife soon after Margaret died, three children and all, but Beth and I both think that man will never find anyone he loves as much. Or could love him as much as Margaret did,” Florence said.

The women sat silently for a while watching the men until Florence spoke up again. “If my Bill’s any measure, that man’s got to be mighty itchy by now.”

“Itchy?” Olive asked.

Beth frowned and Florence shrugged. “Oh, don’t look at me like that Beth Sinclair Steele. How long would Jack last without some loving?”

Beth pursed her lips, but then a smile slowly lit her face. “He usually doesn’t last till bed. I swear that man gets itchier by the day.”

Florence laughed and Olive was shocked by the conversation. What happened between men and women was never, ever brought up in conversation. It was private. Sacred. And these women, Olive could swear, acted as if a wife’s duty was . . . well, enjoyable. Since she had not married, Olive’s mother, to her obvious relief, had completely ignored the subject.

Jacob approached the blanket, holding a sleeping Mark and Olive knew her face colored.

“Can I lay him down here for a nap?” Jacob asked.

“Yes, of course.”

“Are you having a nice time, Olive?”

She nodded and realized that this was the first time Jacob Butler had ever addressed her by her first name. “And I think the children are having a grand time.”

“They sure do look nice in the new outfits you made.” Jacob knelt down on his haunches. “Did I ever thank you?”

“You made those outfits? I declare. You sew a fine stitch. I thought Peg and Mary’s dresses were store bought,” Florence said.

“I can never get a piece of ruffle to lay like that. Will you teach me?” Beth asked.

“I’d love to,” Olive said and smiled.

“Jacob, we told Olive we’d show her how to can in the fall but what if she’s not here in the fall,” Florence said. “Talk her into staying and then she can teach us to sew.”

Olive was embarrassed and stared at her hands folded in the lap of her dress. She looked up to find Jacob regarding her.

“She can stay as long as she likes or needs to. I already told her that,” he said.

Their eyes met and held, for a moment only, but Olive thought the skin would peel from her arms from the brief connection between them. “That’s very kind of you, Mr. Butler. Jacob. I am hoping though, I can convince Mary and John to return with me soon. We’ve imposed too long.”

“Luke and Peg will miss them. But I think Peg, especially, will miss you more,” he said.

The thought, up until now, of leaving Peg and Luke and Mark had not occurred to Olive. She looked down to the sleeping boy and wondered how in so few days, had these children wormed their way into her heart. Leaving them would hurt for a long, long while.

“I will miss them desperately,” Olive said.

Jacob nodded grimly and stood to return to the men.

“That’s more than that man’s said in six months,” Beth commented to Florence’s nods.

* * *

“So how is life with the Spinster Wilkins, Jacob?” Bill Williams asked.

His friend’s indirect insult stung. “Miss Wilkins is doing fine. She loves those children of Jimmy’s and she’s been working like a mule,” Jacob said.

“Working like a mule, huh. Anywhere’s near your bed?” Bill asked.

Jacob knew he meant no offense, not really. Just the way men talked about women. But he narrowed his eyes all the same and gave Bill a glare that instantly drew quiet.

“Miss Wilkins is a lady. And I treat her like one. Best not to imply anything else.”

“We didn’t mean nothing,” Jack said quickly.

The men turned then to look at their wives and Olive. “She sure does look different with her hair down. Kind of pretty,” Bill said.

It bothered Jacob to no end that he had felt the same. She looked beautiful today. And he wasn’t in the mind to hear the men make comments about her. She deserved respect. She had earned it. Olive deserved a home, children and the return of the love she lavishly gave. He hoped for her sake that she found it. But he wondered about whom, the stern, moral, thirty-five year old woman, could find that would appreciate her intelligence and compassion. Jacob shook his head to clear his mind of such thoughts. Worrying about another person would accomplish nothing and he had his own long row to hoe, as did Olive.