The Unplowed Sky (15 page)

His face was as open and innocent as Jackie's. It was hard to believe his mild blue eyes had glittered with fury that morning.

“Of course you're not in the way, Henry.” Hallie smiled at him and the pages accumulating under the tablet edge. “Anna will be thrilled to get such a nice long letter.”

“I wrote her longer letters when I was in prison.”

“Prison?” Hallie echoed. She couldn't believe her ears. Of all the crew, this bashful unworldly young man seemed the least likely to do anything to deserve jailing.

“My people do not believe in making war. I could not serve in the army.” His clear, candid gaze searched her face. “Do you think I was a coward?”

“No.” She had been only thirteen when the war ended, but she remembered the frenzied suspicion directed at Germans, even though their families might have settled in Kansas two generations ago. Anyone accused of hampering the war effort was feared and hated, “slackers” or “yellow-bellies” most of all. “I think it took more courage not to serve. But I thought men whose religion forbade fighting were given noncombatant duties.”

“Some were. But is not driving a munitions truck helping make war? Cooking for soldiers? Writing out their paychecks? Even nursing them if they will return to the front?”

“Oh. That
does
make it complicated.”

“I could not put on a uniform. So I was court-martialed and imprisoned at Fort Leavenworth. So were several hundred other Mennonites, Quakers, and Hutterites.”

“Were you there long?”

“It seemed long. I was sentenced to twenty years, but was let go after the war ended.” Henry stared out at a locust branch soughing in the breeze. “I was luckier than the Hofer brothers. They were Hutterites who were sent to Alcatraz and locked in solitary underground cells. They were beaten, starved, forced to sleep on the bare, damp concrete and got only half a cup of water a day. After five days, they were finally given a meal and allowed an hour's outdoor exercise once a week.”

Hallie stared in shock. “Are you sure?”

“Too sure. After four months in Alcatraz, they were sent in chains to Leavenworth. Michael and Joseph were so sick, they died in a few days in spite of all we could do for them. David—well, when he was stronger, he was given a discharge and sent home to his parents in South Dakota. The Hutterites were persecuted so badly there that most of them moved to Canada.”

“That's terrible!”

Henry gave a faint smile. “You have to remember that Theodore Roosevelt said we should be sent to dig trenches at the most dangerous front lines or be put on mine sweepers. He said we shouldn't be American citizens. Besides, we speak German in our homes and churches. That was the language of the enemy. And though we gave heavily to relief work and the Red Cross, we wouldn't buy war bonds.”

“All the same—”

“If there is another war ever, which God forbid, it will be better. Our elders and those of the Quakers and other conscientious objectors kept going to Washington to try to work out an answer. In the summer of 1918, the Adjutant General ordered that objectors could be assigned to nursing soldiers who would not be fighting anymore. And other kinds of service were agreed upon.” He nodded. “Yes. It will be better.”

“You fought your own war,” Hallie said. “I respect you for going to prison for your beliefs. But I do think a country must defend itself.”

“We have always believed war—any killing—is wrong. That is why our people came from Russia, because the czar would no longer excuse us from military service. And we went to Russia in the first place because Catherine the Great promised that we would not have to be soldiers.”

“You don't believe in fighting no matter what the reason?”

Henry grinned sheepishly. “I don't believe in it—but sometimes, like this morning, the Devil seizes me. The more shame because I had just read the Scriptures and prayed. I will study my Bible and pray more this afternoon. Next time I am tempted, I hope, with the Lord's grace to be able to resist. I should have admonished Cotton with love, not my fists.”

The blond young giant meant it! Hallie frowned as she bore down on the iron to erase a stubborn wrinkle in Jackie's denim playsuit. “I don't think that would have done much good.”

Henry ducked his head. “I provoked him to attempt murder. He might have killed or been killed. His soul is poisoned with hatred. No. I did a bad thing.”

“It might have been worse if Cotton picked a fight with Rusty's brother-in-law.”

Henry cheered up at that. “I am glad that Garth will hire an Indian. But, after all, he hired me, and he knew I wouldn't fight in that war in which he was wounded.”

“Wounded?”

“Shrapnel is still buried in his shoulder.”

Henry turned back to his letter. Betrayed into a rush of sympathy for Garth, Hallie concentrated on her ironing. How much like closed books the lives of other people were! And Garth seemed determined to keep his locked.

Had he loved his wife so much? Did he see her constantly in Meg, so the wound couldn't heal? When Hallie felt that sweet lightning flash between them, did he experience it, too, or was it only her heart that raced, her bones that melted?

Garth haunted her thoughts that day though now and then she had an ugly flash of Cotton's distorted face as he moved toward Henry with the razor. She fervently hoped he was on a freight train headed far away; but, like Pat O'Malley, he might try to work for Raford.

Raford. What was he willing to do to punish Garth for not knuckling under to him? Refusing to let him thresh Raford's fields and those he had bought from bankrupt farmers would seriously cut Garth's profits. But what if Raford set up a rival outfit, as he had threatened?

The thought chilled her. Raford apparently had enough money to do just about anything he decided to try. In Shaft's words, Garth was trying to pay off “a two-bits-a-bushel mortgage with ten-cents-a-bushel fees.”

By taking a job with him while rejecting Raford's proposition, Hallie had undoubtedly magnified Raford's grudge. This made her feel a certain responsibility for the result, though there was no way she could work for Raford once he made his intentions clear.

She burned with humiliation. How could he have thought she'd accept? Jackie, of course. Did Garth believe that, too—that the little boy was hers? Still, it was small wonder that people had trouble believing that Jack's mother had abandoned him. Especially as she grew closer to the vulnerable child, Hallie could scarcely credit it herself.

Well, she wasn't going to get a copy of Jackie's birth certificate to wave at people. Garth seemed to want excuses to think ill of her. As for Raford, if he gave Sophie that “position” at the hotel, he might be so occupied with her that he would forget what could only be a whim.

Jackie was so happily exhausted after his “swim” that Hallie set up her cot for him between the shack and the locust trees. He devoured a thick slice of bread and butter and went to sleep with Lambie tucked against his cheek. His pale skin was starting to tan, and he had a few scratches, but he still looked like a small, dark-haired angel.

How,
how
, had Felicity been able to leave him? And how lucky he and Hallie were to have a place where he could be near her while she worked and have the company of Shaft and the other men, as well as Smoky to stroke and Laird to play with! Hallie shivered to remember Raford's hard, hungry mouth on hers.

A good thing he'd been blunt. Had he been kind to Jackie, had he pretended sympathy, been tender and patient—Overwhelmed by the sudden need to care for Jackie, still grieving for her father, her guilt at having treated him coldly mixed with anger that he had put Felicity in her mother's place, Hallie might have been an easy conquest for an experienced man who used the right tactics.

Yes, indeed! Thank goodness his cynicism led him into a frontal attack. Hallie glanced out to where Garth was working with Meg on the pump of the water wagon. Strange that what were probably similar assumptions about Jackie provoked Raford's advances but seemed to stifle Garth's. If ever he kissed her—For just an instant, Hallie let herself imagine what it would be like in his arms, feeling and hearing the sound of his heart, able to caress the strong muscles at the back of his neck, meeting his downcurved lips with hers …

No! She mustn't let herself dream, make herself miserable because he was cold. Such foolishness could ruin this haven, this safety, she had found for herself and Jackie. But if this were the way her fancies betrayed her when she wasn't concentrating all thought and energy on getting the crew fed, then she was glad Sunday came only once a week.

Through the day, the hungry helped themselves to cold food. Toward sundown, Shaft sliced a platter of ham and began surrounding it with beet pickles, dill pickles, sweet pickles, green tomato relish, corn relish, chowchow, and piccalilli.

“I know I don't have to,” he told Hallie as he set the coffee on. “But the boys'll be hungry when they trail in. Anyhow, it's prob'ly less trouble to set the grub out than clean up after they've rampaged through everything.”

“What can I do?” Hallie asked.

“Open up some pork and beans and a gallon of some kind of fruit.” Slicing bread, Shaft bent to peer through the window. “Drat and dog-gone! If Garth hasn't cleaned out that confounded boiler after he spent the rest of the livelong day workin' on the separator! There he is, helpin' Meg fill the pea-pickin' blue-eyed boiler while His Lordship frolics!”

“That may be why he cleaned the boiler,” Hallie ventured. “Since it's empty, it'll take a while to pump it full. Garth couldn't want Meg to be doing that when she's tired and sleepy.”

“Reckon not.” Shaft appeared to gnash his teeth on his pipestem. “And Rory's a good lad, just thoughtless. Why should he think when he's got big brother to do the worryin'?”

Sure enough, as Buford drove up in the twilight, Rory was out of the flivver before it stopped, yelling at Garth. “I was going to clean the darn boiler! You didn't have to barge ahead and do it!”

“Sure!” Garth didn't shout, but the wind carried his voice. “You'd be banging around with lanterns when everyone's trying to sleep and expect Meg to stay up till all hours to pump that boiler full.”

“If she can't do the job, she shouldn't have it!”

“That's what some might say about you.”

“Is that what
you
say?”

“Oh, hush, Uncle Rory!” Meg's clear, thin tones rose above the deep ones of the men. “The boiler's clean and full, all ready to go in the morning. Let's eat.”

Rory made a muffled retort, but before the wrangling could continue, another vehicle chugged up. “Hey, boss!” Rusty's hail was exuberant. “I've got a good hand for you. Meet my wife's kid brother, Luke Rogers.”

“Any kin to Roy?” someone joked.

“'Way far back,” drawled a soft voice. “Sorry, but I can't do rope tricks, and I don't know any jokes fit to tell around a young lady.”

He had to be referring to Meg. Hallie and Shaft grinned at each other. “Oh boy, oh boy, howdy!” Shaft murmured. “Get ready for Meg's first crush!”

The floor of the cookshack protested as the men poured inside. A slender young man with dark hair and green eyes held back to let Meg precede him. She swept him an astonished glance that changed to a look of wonder.

“Th-thanks, Mr. Rogers,” she said.

“I'm just Luke, miss.”

“Oh, I'm not a miss! I'm just Meg.”

His smile was slow, sweet, and showed teeth that looked even whiter than they were because of his smooth skin. It wasn't rose, it wasn't gold, it wasn't brown, but a blend of all of these. He was—Hallie stopped at the word, but it came anyway.

He was beautiful. Could he do the grueling work of a pitcher? He must be able to or Rusty wouldn't have brought him. Rusty's affectionate pride in the younger man made Hallie wonder if his wife, in her woman's way, were as striking as her brother. If so, it was no wonder Rusty had crossed the racial line to marry her. As she was introduced to Luke and made a welcoming remark, Hallie was glad that Cotton Harris was gone. The washed-out pale-eyed Texan with his perpetually peeling skin would have hated Luke on sight.

With any luck, Cotton was bound far away. Hallie forced him out of her mind and poured coffee all around before she filled her plate and perched on the steps beside Shaft and Jackie. Rory followed, jumped to the ground, and went over to Buford's Ford.

“Miss Hallie, Cotton might have carved me up real artistically if you hadn't hit him with your mop. Here's a little thank-you.”

“Little!” Hallie stared at the beribboned gilt box. “That's three pounds of French chocolates! It's too much, Rory.”

“Not by the time you pass 'em around a few times,” Shaft said. “Why, I could eat half that box myself just lookin' for my favorite kind.”

“What's that?”

“Almond pecan raspberry caramel fudge.”

“I've never tasted one of those.”

“Me, neither. But don't it sound larrupin' delicious?”

Shaft looked so yearningly at the box that Hallie said to Rory in her demurest voice, “It's very kind of you, Rory. I'm sure the whole crew will thank you for the treat.”

He looked dashed for the briefest moment, then threw back his golden head and laughed. “Just pass it to me first so I can pick out the toffees.” He handed Jackie a small bag. “And here, lad, is something for you.
Two
somethings.”

“For me?” Jackie squealed. He plunged eager fingers inside. “A likrish pipe! And a real one!”

“It's a corncob,” Rory agreed, “but it's not Prince Albert. A little soap and water and you can blow the prettiest most perfect rainbow bubbles, clouds and clouds of them.”

“I like to blow bubbles,” Jackie said. His face clouded. “I—I had a bubble pipe but I couldn't keep it. Mama said I could keep just one thing—there wasn't room for more in my suitcase—so I chose Lambie.”