скачать книгу бесплатно
“Hello, the wagon!” Their neighbor Charles Fitzhugh’s cheerful voice hailed them.
“Good morning!” Sunny called, checking to see how her husband was taking the arrival of the two men. However, when she glanced toward the men, she froze. A petite, dark-haired woman and two little girls accompanied them. Her breath caught in her throat.
Noah rose and with his free hand gripped first Charles’s and then Martin’s hand. “Morning. Just about done with breakfast.”
“Mrs. Whitmore, this is my wife, Caroline, and our daughters, Mary and Laura,” Charles Fitzhugh said.
Sunny bobbed a polite curtsy, her heart sinking. Her hand went to her hair, which she hadn’t dressed yet. Fear of saying something she shouldn’t tightened her throat. What if she said something a decent woman wouldn’t ever say? Would they know instantly what she was? What she’d been?
“Don’t mind me,” Caroline Fitzhugh said. “I just came for a short visit and then I’ll be going home. I knew it was early to be calling but I just felt like I needed a woman chat this morning.”
Sunny nodded. She quickly smoothed back and twisted her hair into a knot at the base of her neck and shoved pins in to keep her bun secure. A woman chat, oh, yes—she’d longed for one, too. But after weeks of loneliness she must guard her overeager tongue, not let anything that might hint at her past slip out.
I can do this. I just need a touch of help, Lord.
Soon Sunny was washing dishes in the spring with Mrs. Fitzhugh down creek from her. Nearby, Caroline’s little girls played in the shallows. Mrs. Fitzhugh held Dawn and dipped her toes into the water to Dawn’s squeals of delight. Sunny’s heart warmed toward this woman, obviously a good mother. But that sharpened the danger that she would let her guard down and give herself away.
Soon the two women were back at the campfire, sitting on a log and watching the children play with some blocks Mrs. Fitzhugh had brought in a cotton sack. Happy to gnaw on one block, Dawn watched the two toddlers pile the rest on the uneven ground. She squealed as she watched the blocks topple.
“You and Mr. Whitmore been married long?” the neighbor asked, accepting a fresh cup of coffee.
“Not too long,” Sunny hedged vaguely. The sound of the men’s voices and the chopping as they worked on yet another tree suddenly vanished as her heart pounded loudly.
Mrs. Fitzhugh smiled. “I just meant you look almost like newlyweds. It’ll take a few more years to look like you’ve been married forever.”
Sunny didn’t know what to say to this. Was the woman suggesting that she and Noah hadn’t been married long enough to already have a child?
“Where you from?” Mrs. Fitzhugh asked politely.
The woman’s voice remained honest, not accusing or insinuating. Sunny managed to take a breath. “Pennsylvania. My husband came here earlier this year to find us a homestead while I stayed back with my family.” That was true—the Gabriels had told her to consider them her family.
“I’m from eastern Wisconsin. Met Charles there.”
Sunny knew that the woman wasn’t asking her anything out of the way, but each question tightened a belt around her lungs. She looked toward the men and saw Noah send a momentary glance her way, his expression brooding.
“I’m...we’re very grateful for your offer of help.”
Mrs. Fitzhugh waved her hand, dismissing Sunny’s thanks. “It’s too early to plant and Charles isn’t sure he will put in a crop this year. Kansas is calling him.”
“Kansas?” Sunny gazed at the woman with genuine dismay. All the way to Kansas? Sunny thought of all the miles she’d traveled from Idaho to Pennsylvania and then here. “I’m not much of a traveler,” she admitted.
Before Mrs. Fitzhugh could reply, another voice hailed, “Hello, the house!”
“Nancy! Is that you?” Mrs. Fitzhugh called out with obvious pleasure.
Soon another woman sauntered into the clearing—a big blonde woman obviously expecting a child, with a toddler beside her. While Caroline Fitzhugh dressed as neat as could be, this woman appeared disheveled but jolly.
“I was coming over to visit you, Caroline. And then I heard the axes and once in a while, on the breeze, a word that sounded feminine. I hope you don’t mind me stoppin’ in.” She looked to Sunny.
“No. No. You’re very welcome,” Sunny rushed to assure the newcomer though she wasn’t sure she meant it. “Please join us.” She waved the woman to one of the large rocks around the campfire and quickly offered her coffee.
Two women to talk to—a blessing and a trial.
“I’m Nan Osbourne. My man and me live over yonder.” She waved southward. “Glad to see another family come to settle.”
“Mrs. Whitmore and her husband are nearly newlyweds,” Mrs. Fitzhugh said.
“Well, none of us are much more than that.” Mrs. Osbourne gave a broad wink. “You got any family hereabouts, Miz Whitmore?”
“No. No. I have no family...near,” she corrected quickly. She’d just told Caroline that she had stayed with her family. “And Noah’s family is all in Pennsylvania...too.” Picking her words with such care quickened her pulse.
“That’s hard, leaving family,” Mrs. Osbourne said, looking mournful. “I cried and cried to leave my ma.”
“My mother has already passed,” Sunny said, her words prompting a sudden unexpected twinge of grief. Or was it recalling she was all alone in the world? Why would she mourn Mother’s death now, almost seven years after it? Was it because so much was changing? I’m not alone now. I’ve got Dawn and Noah. Gratitude rushed through her. Could this be proof that God was forgiving her? There was so much she didn’t understand about God and sin.
“I got news.” Nan Osbourne grinned. “We got a preacher in town now.”
“Really?” Caroline Fitzhugh brightened with excitement.
Sunny tried to keep her face from falling. A preacher? In the past more than one had shouted Bible verses at her, calling her a harlot and predicting her damnation. The fires of hell licked around her again. She touched Dawn, her treasure, smoothing back her baby fine hair, and the action calmed her.
“The preacher’s goin’ to preach this Sunday right in town. He says around ten o’clock,” Nan announced.
“That’s wonderful. I’ve been missing church.” Caroline sighed.
Sunny tried to appear happy as her peace caved in.
“I think it’s wonderful that he’s goin’ to preach out in the open like a camp meetin’. Then even them who don’t want to hear the gospel will.”
Sunny posed with a stiff, polite smile on her face. Was the woman talking about the people who’d be just waking upstairs at the saloon? Of course she was. Once more Sunny wished so much that she could help another woman get free of that life.
But I can’t. I’ve got to make this new start work for Dawn.
“You’ll be comin’, won’t you, Miz Whitmore? You and your man?” Nan asked.
Crosscurrents slashed through Sunny. I want to go. I want You to know, God, how thankful I am for this second chance. But would the preacher see right through her? Would Noah want to go? Let her go?
A thought came. Should she mention that Noah had been raised Quaker? He’d almost stopped using “thee.” Did that mean he didn’t want to be considered a Quaker anymore?
Both women were gazing at her expectantly.
Sunny breathed in deeply. “I’ll discuss it with him. I know I want to attend. Do you know what kind of preacher he is?”
“I didn’t ask,” Nan said. “Out here on the frontier, preachers are so rare we can’t be choosy about them. He struck me as a good man.”
Sunny nodded, hoping she hadn’t asked the wrong thing. “I’ll speak to Noah. But unless he forbids me, I’ll be there.”
Both women looked startled at this announcement.
Sunny cringed. She’d said the wrong thing, hinting that Noah might not be a Christian. And she couldn’t let that simmer and turn into gossip. She leaned forward to give some explanation. “Noah was raised Quaker. I wasn’t. So I don’t know if he’ll...” Words failed her.
Caroline patted her hand. “I understand.”
“Quakers were against slavery,” Nan said stoutly. “They did a lot of good with helpin’ slaves get free.”
Sunny gave a fleeting smile, tension bubbling inside.
“Nan and I will pray that you get to come to the meeting,” Caroline said in a low voice. Nan nodded vigorously. And Sunny knew she’d made progress on making friends this morning. Her mood lifted—for a moment.
What would Noah say about going to the Sunday meeting? And her telling these friendly strangers that he’d been raised Quaker?
* * *
In the last rays of twilight Noah sat by the fire, his stomach comfortably full. Sunny didn’t know how to cook many things but what she did cook tasted good. Exhausted from felling trees all day, Noah realized he’d discovered a few muscles he hadn’t known about—and they were not happy with him.
He held a narrow block of wood in his hand, whittling it into a new handle for a small ax. During this quiet time Sunny was acting funny—opening her mouth as if to speak, then closing it, and worrying her thumb by picking at it and hiding her hand behind her skirt. Why, he didn’t know. Or want to ask. Last night had been enough honesty.
“How many more logs do we need for a cabin?” his wife asked.
She sat by the fire nursing Dawn who seemed fussier than usual. The firelight highlighted the gold in Sunny’s hair. Once again, he realized he had married a pretty woman. Everything about her was so soft and this world was so hard. He wondered what it might be like to hold her.
“Noah?” she prompted.
“Sorry. My mind was wandering.” He shut his mind to a surprising image of holding Sunny close, a daunting thought. He shaved some more from the wood. “Another day and we should have enough for a cabin. Then Charles and Martin will help me lift the logs into place.”
“I’m so grateful to them.”
His hands were beginning to tremble with fatigue as he whittled. “Who was that other woman who stopped by?”
“Nan Osbourne. She and her husband live nearby. She seems very nice. From her accent, I’d say she was from south of here.”
Noah nodded. Sunny’s continued pensiveness piqued his curiosity. In spite of himself, he asked, “What did she have to say?”
Sunny startled as if caught doing something she shouldn’t. “We just talked about recipes and they told me about the people who live hereabouts.”
Noah examined the handle he was crafting, running his thumb over it. Sunny was definitely holding something back. But he was too tired to risk asking for more. He didn’t have the energy to be irritated by hearing something he might not like. So he hesitated.Sunny also had a way of stirring him. She was now.But he couldn’t act on this. He found it impossible to make a move.
The bottomless well of sorrow and dark things roiled up within. Sunny made him long to feel normal again. But he’d seen too much, done too much that was unforgivable. Repressing this, he rose while he still could stand. “I’m going to go to bed now. I’m worn out.”
“I’ll bank the fire. You go ahead, Noah. I should have seen how tired you were.” She rose and briefly touched his arm. “Go on.”
Her innocent touch made him ache with loneliness. He moved away, obeying her. Noah shucked off his boots and then hoisted himself onto the hard wagon bed and rolled into his blankets. His last thought as he fell asleep was that Sunny deserved better than him.
* * *
A few days later Sunny stepped inside their new cabin. She hadn’t anticipated how it would make her feel. This is my home, our home. She’d never lived in a real house, never dreamed she would. She wanted to hug the walls and do a jig on the half-log floor that Noah had insisted on laying. A dirt floor might be all right in the summer but not in the winter, he’d said. Dawn whimpered in her arms and struggled to be put down. Sunny bent and set her on the floor.
“I’m glad this is done,” Noah said from behind her.
She turned around and nearly hugged him, but his expression held her off. “Me, too. It’s a wonderful home.” During this bright moment the way Noah always held himself apart chafed her. Would it always be this way?
“Hello, the house!” Caroline Fitzhugh called out. “We came to see your new home.”
Whisking Dawn up into her arms, Sunny stepped outside to see that Caroline and her family and the Osbournes had come to celebrate. Charles Fitzhugh carried a fiddle and the women each carried a covered dish.
“Oh, I have nothing prepared!” Sunny exclaimed.
“We’re makin’ this party!” Nan called out cheerfully. “We won’t stay long, just wanted to see your fine new cabin and congratulate you.”
Sunny said all that was proper but when she turned to Noah, it was as if he’d slammed all the shutters and locked the door against their company. She gave him an understanding smile but he stood like a tree, not responding by even a flicker of an eyelid. She went up on tiptoe and acted as though she were kissing his cheek in order to whisper, “They won’t stay long. Don’t spoil their happiness.”
He glanced down at her, stony-eyed. Dawn began to cry and Sunny jiggled her in her arms.
Then he gave Sunny a tight-lipped nod. “Welcome to our new home.” Sunny sighed silently with relief. “Come right in.”
Nan had brought her husband, a tall lanky man with curly blond hair. He, along with the other guests, admired the large cabin with its roomy loft and lean-to for the animals.
Sunny was a bit embarrassed because Dawn continued to fuss. She tried to distract their company by talking about future plans. “Noah is going to dig me a root cellar. And build a spring house,” Sunny said, caught up in the flush of showing her new home. She tried to check herself, knowing that Noah was scrutinizing, gauging each word.
“You’re going to have a right nice place here all right,” Nan said. “You must be plannin’ to stay here.”
“I plan to stay longer than five years to get title to the land,” Noah said. “I traveled all over northern Illinois, eastern Iowa and southern Minnesota. I decided this land was the best I’d seen.”
His loquaciousness shocked Sunny. Maybe Noah was feeling a bit of pride and happiness. Remaining cautious, she kept her mouth shut and let Noah do the talking.
“Well, you haven’t tried to plow yet,” Mr. Osbourne said wryly. “You’ll find that Wisconsin’s best crop is rocks.”
“As long as they don’t sprout and grow new ones, I’ll do fine,” Noah responded.
His voice was pleasant enough but Sunny sensed his disdain for a man put off by rocks. Dawn chewed on her hand and whimpered.
Mr. Fitzhugh drew his bow over his fiddle. “I’ll play one song and then we all got to get back to our own work.”
“And we’ll help carry stuff from your wagon to your door,” Nan said. “That’ll lighten your load.”
Before Sunny could speak, Mr. Fitzhugh began to play a merry tune, the kind that beckoned clapping. Sunny hadn’t heard music for so long. She had loved to dance in the saloon—it was the only fun she’d ever had there—and she was a good dancer. But Quakers didn’t dance.
Dawn again wriggled to be put down. Sunny obliged and then tapped her toe to the cadence and couldn’t stop her smile from widening.
Dawn stared at the violin, distracted from her fussing. Noah bent down and swung her up into his arms and Sunny’s heart skipped a beat. Noah held Dawn by her waist and swung her gently back and forth to the tune. Dawn squealed with laughter. Then Sunny reached over and showed Dawn how to clap her hands. The three of them together, like a happy family. It was like a moment sent from Heaven.
But of course the song ended. Everyone clapped for Charles’s fiddling, shook hands and the two couples started to leave. Just as Sunny was relaxing her guard, Nan turned and asked, “Have you and the mister decided whether you’re comin’ to meetin’ this Sunday?”
Sunny’s breath caught in her throat. “I’ve been meaning to discuss that with Noah,” she managed to say.
“Meeting?” Noah looked askance.
“Yes, we got a preacher, a real nice old one who’s come to live with his son’s family in his declining years,” Nan explained. “He’s preachin’ at ten o’clock in front of the general store.”
