A Home Of Her Own. Keli Gwyn
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was so grateful to the older man that she fought the urge to give him a daughterly hug. “Oh, Quon, I can’t thank you enough, but I don’t want you to get in trouble.”
He smiled. “It no trouble, Miss Becky. You wait. Boss will let dog stay.”
“I want to believe that, but when James makes up his mind about something, it’s hard to change it.” If she’d learned one thing the past week, it was that he had his way of doing things and didn’t take kindly to anyone questioning him.
Quon rose. “You go to garden. I send dog off and come soon. Tomato plant here. We finish work.”
Becky stood, too. “The plants are here? That’s wonderful.” She smiled. “You’ve taught me so much. I feel like a real gardener now.”
“You good student.” He tapped his head. “Smart. Learn fast.”
“My brother always said I was slow.”
“Brother not nice.” Quon frowned. “He hurt you?”
Becky’s hands went to her cheeks before she could stop them. The bruises were gone, but the pain in her ribs lingered. “He said hurtful things sometimes, but I’m sure all brothers do that. Doesn’t Chung?”
Quon laughed, and his dark eyes twinkled. “Chung smart. He know big brother is boss. He not—how you say?—pick fight.”
She did her best to shove aside the painful memories of Dillon accusing her of setting fire to the factory where they’d both worked and striking her when she’d protested. “I’m glad you get along. It must be wonderful to have a brother who’s your friend. I never had many friends.”
“You have friend now.” Quon jabbed a thumb at his chest. “I your friend.”
When she’d left Chicago, she never would have imagined that she’d make friends with someone from a culture so different from hers, but Quon was right. He was her friend. The kindhearted man had even been keeping her secret. “Well, my friend, I’d better get back to the garden. I’ll be waiting for you.”
True to his word, Quon met her a few minutes later with the flat of tomato plants. Their neighbor Mr. Stratton had given them to James as a token of appreciation for his work repairing the broken water pipe. Becky and Quon spent the next hour getting the leafy plants in the ground.
She’d seen no sign of James since breakfast. The past week he’d spoken to her only when necessary. Considering the number of times she’d thought of him since that memorable morning milking the cow and admiring the trees afterward, his absence was probably a good thing.
Even though he’d been keeping his distance from her, he showed Mutti kindness, noting her needs and helping her without being asked, and that was what mattered. The tender kiss on the cheek he gave her each evening before she headed to bed showed how much he loved her.
Watching his mother’s decline was hard on him. Just yesterday Becky had caught him blinking rapidly after he’d given Mutti her nightly buss.
If only he didn’t feel the need to shoulder his burden alone, but he’d rebuffed Becky’s offers of sympathy. She wanted to help ease his pain, but finding ways to do so would be a challenge.
She removed her work gloves and admired the large plot. “It will be a wonderful garden. I can’t wait to see everything come up. Thanks again for all your help, Quon.”
He grinned. “I only talk. You do all the work.”
“It wasn’t work. It was fun.” She couldn’t remember the last time she’d enjoyed herself that much. Quon had spent hours wielding a hoe as he taught her. He loved learning as much as she did and had encouraged her to tell him about her life back East. She did, reminiscing about her parents but saying little about her bully of a brother.
“I have more work. Must go. Goodbye.” Quon pressed his palms together and bowed.
Becky returned the gesture and strolled back to the house. She opened the front door as quietly as she could so she wouldn’t wake Mutti, but the kindly woman sat in her rocking chair, working on her embroidery.
“I didn’t expect to see you up already. Did you have a good nap?”
“It was all right, but it’s hard to get comfortable. I feel every lump and bump these days. It never used to be like that. William used to say I could sleep through anything. But enough of my complaints.” She patted the seat of Kate’s puffy purple chair. “Tell me about the garden. What did you plant today?”
Becky sat and filled Mutti in on the morning’s activity, minus any mention of the dog.
“I’m not surprised you like Quon. He’s a good man. He’s definitely more outgoing than his brother. Chung tends to be more reserved, like you, but he’s just as eager to please.” Mutti laid her embroidery in her lap. “What does surprise me is how much my boy intimidates you. When James is around, you say very little.”
“He doesn’t intimidate me. I just don’t know what to make of him. Sometimes he— No, I shouldn’t say any more. He’s your son, and I know how much you love him.”
“He’s my son, yes, but he’s not perfect. Go ahead. Tell me what you were going to say. Keeping the lid on a pot can cause it to boil over.”
Becky twirled a piece of embroidery floss around her finger. “He can be thoughtful one moment but ignore me the next. Sometimes he even appears to be upset with me. I’m doing my best not to annoy him.”
“You don’t like him ignoring you, but it seems to me you’re doing the same thing. If you’ll give him a chance, you’ll see he’s not the ogre you seem to think he is. You’ll try to get along with him, won’t you? It hurts me to see you two at odds.”
She would do almost anything for Mutti, but that was asking a great deal. James was the one making things difficult. If he weren’t so gruff, Becky would welcome his company. In the meantime, she’d have to make an effort to be sociable—at least when Mutti was around.
* * *
James shoveled in the last bite of his cheesecake. If he had room, he would seriously consider having another slice. Becky turned out mighty tasty desserts.
She’d kept her focus on her plate ever since returning from helping Mutti to bed. He might as well be alone for all the conversation he was getting out of her.
Although she’d shuddered in his arms during the milking lesson, understandably repulsed by him, he was curious what filled her thoughts. “You’ve been awfully quiet.”
“I’m not very ludicrous.”
She rested her fork on her plate, smiling as though pleased with herself for pronouncing the last word correctly.
Her disjointed reply took him aback. Although she hadn’t intended it to be, her misuse of the word was amusing. “No, you’re not very talkative. I’m not loquacious myself, but I wondered what you’ve been thinking.”
She groaned in a most unladylike fashion and smacked a palm to her forehead. “Loquacious. Yes. That’s what I meant.” She lifted her head and actually looked at him for a change. With the bruises almost gone, the dusting of freckles on her round cheeks was more visible. “I was thinking about the trip here.”
“You said that was your first train ride. Did you enjoy it?”
“Very much. I had no idea how big our country is. I saw mountains and valleys, plains and deserts.” She laughed, a light, airy sound free of her earlier self-condemnation. “Why am I telling you? Since you drove trains, you know that.”
“Drove trains? Where did you get that idea? I never did that.”
Her forehead furrowed. “But Dr. Wright said in the telegram that you were a railroad engineer before you became a fruit grower.”
James hid a smile behind his napkin.