The Hand-Me-Down Family

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Once he’d fed and watered the other animals and taken care of the evening milking, Jack headed for the house. As he climbed the porch steps he ran a hand over the familiar support post. The etched image of a rearing horse his father had carved into the wood one rainy summer afternoon was still discernable, even under the layer of new paint.

Family mattered. Shared history mattered. That was something only he could offer those kids.

Jack stepped inside, noting the addition of a new screen door as he passed. He wandered through the first floor, feeling strangely disoriented by the mix of the familiar and the new. Everywhere he looked he could see where Julia and Lanny’s lives together had left a lasting imprint on the Tyler family home. New curtains here, a new chair there. A tin type picture of Julia’s parents now shared space on the mantle with those of the Tyler family. There was also a tintype of Lanny and Julia. Julia held an infant on her lap.

He soon discovered a room had been tacked on to the back of the house. Inside sat a shiny porcelain bathtub and some new-fangled laundry equipment. A hand pump stood against the far wall, sprouting from the back lip of a large metal sink. Next to the sink, a small iron fire box supported a large kettle, ready to heat the water when needed. Large windows set high on three of the four walls would provide ventilation without sacrificing privacy. Someone had even strung a cord below the rafters, no doubt to be used for hanging wet laundry when the weather made it uncomfortable to do so outside.

Not for the first time Jack admired his brother’s ingenuity. He could see how this setup would have been a great convenience for Julia. And it would make his life here with the kids that much easier, too.

Jack climbed the stairs, curious to see the bedchambers.

The first room he stepped into was the one he and Lanny had shared as children. Gone were the rock collections, pouches of marbles and patched overalls that had once marked it as the room of two active boys.

Now, everything was clean and neatly arranged. A number of subtle feminine touches had been added, too, no doubt thanks to Julia.

Still, if one looked close enough, the memories were there, lurking in the shadows. Memories of horseplay and fights, of discussions in the dark long after they were supposed to be asleep, of the big brother he’d adored and resented by turns.

Jack stepped farther into the room, looking for the wooden chests his father had built for them. He and Lanny had used them to store their few personal possessions.

Lanny’s was nowhere in sight but Jack found his tucked below the window sill with a lace doily and a needlework picture of some flowers on top.

Inside were the things he’d treasured growing up, the few items that had been his alone, that had never belonged to Lanny. He lifted out a leather pouch with a grin. It contained exactly twelve marbles—two nice sized aggies and ten immies. Lanny had given him two of these and taught him how to use them, but the rest Jack had won for himself from schoolyard games.

Of course, he’d never beaten Lanny. Lanny had been good at just about everything he tried. Much as Jack loved his brother, growing up in his shadow hadn’t been easy.

Which was one of the reasons he’d left Sweetgum. Only he’d never intended to stay away so long.

Jack shut the lid on the chest and left the room. Too bad he couldn’t shut out his feelings of guilt so easily.

He walked across the hall and opened the door to Nell’s old room. It still had the stamp of a little girl occupant—lace and frills and brightly colored hair ribbons everywhere. This had to be Annabeth’s domain now.

A rag doll lay on the bed. He should bring it to her in the morning, to give her back a little bit of her home.

Jack reached for it, but his fingers curled back into his palm. There was no similar memento he could bring to Nell’s kids. How would they feel as they watched Annabeth enjoy her piece of home?

He turned and left the room empty-handed.

Jack skipped the room next to Annabeth’s and moved instead to the one across from it. This used to be his mother’s domain. Its main function had been as a sewing room, but it had served a multitude of other purposes, too. A pull-down bed had turned it into a guest room when the rare overnight visitor came calling. Spare odds and ends had been stored on shelves that lined two of the walls. And his mother had also hung dried flowers and herbs in bunches from the rafters.

As soon as Jack pushed the door open, he was assaulted by the familiar smells of his childhood. Floral scents mingled with dill, mustard and mint. He could almost imagine his mother working in here, humming in that off-key way she had.

As he looked at the room, he noticed a nearly finished lap quilt attached to the quilting frame, patiently waiting for the seamstress who would never return.

A moment later it hit him that it wasn’t a lap quilt but one made for a baby’s bed.

He turned abruptly and left the room, closing the door firmly behind him.

The only room left to visit was the one that his parents had slept in. Except it would now be Lanny’s room, the one he and Julia had shared when she was alive. The one he had, no doubt, been prepared to share with Callie.

Jack decided he’d faced enough ghosts from his past for one night. He took the stairs two at a time and headed straight for the front door. Stepping out on the porch, he took a deep, soul-cleansing breath. Leaning his elbows on the rail, he listened to the night sounds and stared out at the shadowy forms of the landscape.

So many reminders, so many pieces of his family’s history—and dreams for the future—encompassed in this building, this place.

Did it all really belong to Lanny’s widow now? Just because of some quirk of timing that had her married to his older brother for a few short hours before his death?

If a person really decided to press the matter, he could argue that you couldn’t even call it married.

But it seemed mean-spirited to challenge her claim. After all, she’d come out here in good faith, pursuing her own dreams, and none of what had happened had been her fault.

It might be better for all concerned if he offered to buy out her claim on the farm. That way she could either purchase herself a place in town or head on back to where she came from with a nice little nest egg in hand.

As for the guardianship of Annabeth, Callie would come around on that once he talked to her again. Sure, he didn’t know exactly how he was going to handle raising the youngsters on his own, but he’d find a way. After all, there was no arguing that it was his responsibility to take care of Simon and Emma, so it just made sense for him to take Annabeth as well.

How much extra work could one little girl be?

The crux of the matter kept coming down to the fact that he and the kids were blood kin. Even a woman as stubborn as Lanny’s widow was proving herself to be couldn’t deny that they belonged together.

Yes, that was the best way to go.

And hang it all, he still believed someone like her just didn’t fit in here in Sweetgum, especially not all on her own. She’d be as out of place as a canary in a hen house.

Not that the woman lacked spirit. It had taken a lot of gumption for her to make it this far. And she certainly didn’t let the thought of what others might think of that birthmark stand in her way. Yes, all in all, quite a spirited woman.

Too bad she was so all-fired muleheaded.

Jack pushed away from the porch rail and jammed his hands in his pockets.

He’d never met a woman like her. True, it had been a while since he’d spent much time in what his mother used to call “polite company,” but he figured things hadn’t changed all that much. Callie was…well…hang it all, he hadn’t quite figured out what she was, besides being a thorn in his side. And just plain wrong about her rights in regard to Annabeth.

On the other hand, could he really say the kids would be better off with him than with her?

Rather than pursue that thought, he decided to turn in for the night.

Callie gently eased her armload of dirty breakfast dishes down on the counter next to the sink. She started rolling up her sleeves, then paused at the sound of a knock on the back door.

Mrs. Mayweather, who’d just placed a large kettle on the stove, glanced over her shoulder. “Callista, would you see who that is, please?”

Callie had a pretty good idea who was on the other side of the door, and she was certain Mrs. Mayweather did as well, but she dutifully wiped her hands on her borrowed apron. “Of course.”

As expected, she opened the door to find Jack standing there. He had a pail in one hand and a basket in the other.

“Ah, Jackson, there you are.” Mrs. Mayweather waved him in from behind Callie. “We saved you a bit of breakfast.”

“Thanks. It sure does smell good.” He lifted his offerings. “I brought some eggs and fresh milk for your larder.”

Studying his easy smile and friendly manner, Callie decided the man could be something of a charmer when he set his mind to it.

Mrs. Mayweather obviously agreed. She beamed approvingly as she held out her hands. “Wonderful. I’ll take those and put them away. You go on to the sink and wash up.”

She nodded to Callie as she passed. “Would you hand him a plate, please?”

Callie nodded and stepped past Jack, reaching into the cupboard. “Mrs. Mayweather brewed a pot of coffee. Would you like a cup?”

“Yes, thank you.”

There was a formality about their interactions today, a sort of stiff truce. But at least it was a truce.

She watched him heap a pile of eggs and two biscuits onto his plate, then he took a seat at the long kitchen table. Simon was still picking at his own breakfast but the girls had finished theirs.

Annabeth immediately moved to Jack’s side. “Did you see Cinnamon and Taffy and Pepper last night?” she asked before he’d even settled in.

“Cinnamon, Taffy and Pepper.” Jack drawled the words as he smeared jam on his biscuit. “Some of my favorite flavors. But I’m afraid I didn’t look in the pantry.”

Annabeth giggled. “They don’t live in the pantry, silly.”

“They don’t?”

Callie smiled at the teasing tone in Jack’s voice. Perhaps she’d been wrong about his ability to relate to the children. Maybe she should just step back and let him—

The memory of his declaration that he wasn’t “the praying kind” interrupted her move toward retreat and stiffened her resolve. It just plain didn’t matter how charming he could be, these children needed her in their lives, too.

But for now, she’d give him his share of time to create a connection with his nieces and nephew.

“They’re animals, not food,” Annabeth explained with exaggerated patience. She began to tick them off on her fingers. “Cinnamon is my pony and Taffy is the big yellow cat who lives in the barn and Pepper is our dog.”

“Oh!” Jack did a good job of sounding surprised. “Well, in that case, yes, I saw all three of them.”

The child twirled a curl with one pudgy finger. “Do you think they miss me?”

“I’m certain they do.”

Emma set her elbows on the table next to Simon. “I have a dog, too.”

Jack turned his attention to his other niece. “Do you?”

She nodded her head. “He’s a beagle and his name is Cookie.”

“Now, would he by any chance be that fine looking animal I saw outside next to Mrs. Mayweather’s carriage house?”

Emma beamed at the compliment. “Uh-huh. And I had a bird, too. Mr. Peepers. But he…” Her lower lip began to tremble.

Callie caught the panicked look on Jack’s face and quickly stepped in. “Emma, would you please bring me the empty platter from the stove?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Jack gave her a small nod and she felt a warm glow at this ever-so-slight sign of gratitude. Maybe he was finally beginning to see how she could help with the children. Perhaps they could work this whole matter out amicably after all.

A few moments later he carried his dishes to the sink. Then, without so much as a glance her way, he turned back to the children. “I plan to head back out to the farm to take care of some chores. Why don’t you all come with me? Annabeth, you can visit with your animals. And Emma and Simon, you can take Cookie along and let him run as far and as long as he wants to.”

Callie stiffened, the glow quickly evaporating. Was he actually planning to take the children and not her?

Annabeth clapped her hands in excitement. “Oh, yes! Do you think Mrs. Mayweather will let me bring some of her sugar cubes for Cinnamon?”

“We’ll ask her,” Jack answered. “But I’m sure it’ll be all right.”

“And Aunt Callie can come, too, can’t she?”

Bless Annabeth’s innocent little heart.

Jack cut her a quick glance, that stiff formality firmly back in place. “Yes, of course. That is, if she wants to?”

Was it her imagination, or did it sound as if he’d rather she declined the invitation?

She lifted her chin and smiled sweetly. “I need to make a stop at the telegraph office first, but I can’t think of any place I’d rather be.”

Chapter Eight

“Here we are.”

Callie breathed a small sigh of relief, glad that she would finally be able to escape the confines of the buggy. The only men she’d been in such close proximity to before were her father and her sisters’ husbands. Jack was a different sort of man altogether, and she wasn’t exactly certain how to talk to him.

Not that he’d seemed to want to talk. The only conversation during the entire carriage ride had been among and with the children. The two adults had barely said three words to each other.

She certainly hoped the children hadn’t picked up on the tension between her and Jack. They had enough to deal with at the moment without this added burden.

She leaned forward as Jack brought the carriage to a stop, forgetting her discomfort in her eagerness to view the homeplace Julia had written about in such loving detail over the years. The house, fronted by rosebushes and shaded on the left by a venerable oak, was as charming as she’d imagined it to be. An oversized swing hung from one end of the roomy front porch, and Callie could picture Julia sitting there with Annabeth beside her, reading stories or doing a bit of needlework.