A Home Of Her Own. Keli Gwyn
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to college. It must have been wonderful to receive such a fine education. When I was six, Chicago’s first high school opened. I dreamed of going to it one day. I applied every year—until my mother took ill and I began caring for her—but I wasn’t one of the few students granted admission. Even so, I try to learn everything I can on my own.” A faraway look in her eyes bespoke a yearning for what she’d been denied.
“That’s commendable.”
She reached for his empty dessert plate and set it on top of hers. “Why did you decide to become an engineer?”
“When I was young, Papa took me to Sacramento City. I got to meet Theodore Judah. He told me about his dream of building a railroad over the Sierras that would connect the country. I decided then and there that I wanted to work with him. When I finished school, my parents sent me to New York to attend the Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute where Judah had gone.”
“Did you work with him?”
“Not for long. I graduated with my civil engineering degree in ’62. I was only nineteen at the time, but I got a job with Charles Crocker’s company, which was overseeing the construction. Work started the following January. Judah headed for Washington that fall to get backing so he could buy out the owners and do things his way, but he died on that trip.”
He stared out the window at the deepening shadows, the heartache he’d felt upon hearing the news assailing him anew. He’d done his best to go on, but his enthusiasm had waned. And then came the accident that had shattered his dreams. “A part of me died, too.”
Becky laid her hand on his. “I’m sorry.”
He jerked his arm away. “I didn’t mean to go on like that. I need to see to the animals.”
“Yes, of course. I understand.”
Her crestfallen look said otherwise, but he couldn’t spend another minute with her probing into his past. Perhaps if he put enough distance between them, he could forget the pity he’d seen in her pretty blue eyes.
James took his time in the barn, grateful for the warmth of his overcoat. The temperature had dropped steadily all day. Not a good sign, since the trees were in bloom.
When he reached the house, Becky had already retired, as he’d hoped. With a long night ahead of him, sitting up and checking the thermometer mounted on the porch, the last thing he needed was to have her dredging up memories best left buried. He hung his overcoat in the lean-to, threw another log on the fire, settled into his armchair and reached for his well-worn copy of Dickens’s Great Expectations.
Sometime later he was jolted awake by an insistent scratching at the door. He stood, the book in his lap falling to the floor, and stepped onto the porch where a dog sat, its breath creating a misty cloud that hung in the chilly air.
Panic seized James, squeezing so hard he couldn’t breathe. He raced to the thermometer. The mercury had fallen even farther, hovering in the midthirties, far too close to freezing. If it went any lower, he could lose his entire crop.
He had to take action. Now.
* * *
A nudge to the shoulder woke Becky, and she opened her eyes to find a shadowy figure looming above her. A scream lodged in her throat.
“It’s all right. It’s me. James.”
How dare he scare her out of her wits like that? She shoved his arm away, tugged the covers to her chin and whispered, making no attempt to keep the irritation out of her voice. “What are you doing in here?” Her fuzzy head cleared, and reality returned with full force. “Is Mutti—”
He leaned close and spoke beside her ear. “She’s fine, but I need your help. Meet me in the kitchen right away.” He slipped out.
Propelled by a mixture of fear and curiosity, she dressed quickly and hastened to meet him. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s a late frost. I’ve got Quon and Chung setting fires under the trees to keep the buds from freezing. I know your ribs haven’t healed yet, but do you think you could carry wood?”
“Yes.”
“Good. You’d better wear this again.” He shoved his sister’s cloak into Becky’s arms. “I must warn you. It’s coldest just before dawn, so it will be a long night.”
“I understand.” She followed James to the orchard. Quon and Chung had already set two rows of fires, which glowed red beneath the apple trees.
All through the early morning hours they worked. Thick smoke swirled around her, stinging her eyes and burning her lungs as she trudged up and down the rows along with the men. Her ribs ached, but she ignored the pain and carried on.
James had said the entire apple crop could be lost if the buds froze. She couldn’t bear to see him face such a loss when he was already dealing with his mother’s impending death. He was a strong man, but if her efforts could help spare him additional pain, she’d be grateful.
Just before dawn, she stumbled as she moved from one fire to the next, her vision blurry and her legs leaden. She returned to the wheelbarrow, ready to move on, when a cry rang out.
“Stop, Becky! Your skirt!”
She blinked her gritty eyes, glanced at her dress and shrieked.
Her skirt was on fire!
Becky took off running. She had to get the fire out. Now.
“No, Becky! Stop!”
She froze. Where was the water bucket? If she could find it—
James grabbed her and gently lowered her to the ground. “Lie still. I’m going to roll you over.”
She followed his instructions without question, too cold and numb to do anything else. He turned her over twice, stopped and stomped out the last of the flames.
“Oh, Becky.” He plopped down beside her, pulled her into his lap and rocked her. She didn’t have the strength to resist. Not that she wanted to. Having his strong arms around her helped calm her fears, although being cradled to his broad chest did nothing to slow her racing heart. “Are you all right? Did you get burned?”
“Yes. I mean, no. See?” She tugged her ruined dress and scorched petticoats to her knees, revealing stockings that were blackened but not burned. “I’ll be fine. Just give me a minute.”
She drew in a series of deep breaths. Smoke filled her lungs, setting her to coughing. Pain shot through her. She covered her mouth with one hand and clutched her aching midsection with the other.
“What have I done?” His voice came out raspy. “Your ribs haven’t even healed yet. I should never have asked you to help.”
She wanted to protest, but she couldn’t speak. Thankfully the spasms subsided quickly.
“Here, boss. This help her.” Quon held out a pail of water.
“Drink, Becky.” James filled a tin cup and pressed it against her lips, sending the soothing liquid down her parched throat. She drank every drop.
“More?”
She nodded.
He dipped the cup into the pail again and brought it toward her, his hand shaking. She placed hers over his, drawing the cup to her mouth. “Thank you, James.”
Sated, she left the comfort of his arms and stood.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“Back to work.” As soon as she could get her wobbly legs to cooperate.
He jumped to his feet, restraining her with a firm grip on her arm. “Oh, no, you don’t.”
“But