The Long Road Home. Mary Monroe Alice
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wasn’t that type at all. That she was scared out of her mind.
Pride held her tongue. She knew that to them, she was a pitiful figure. To them, a woman without a man was sad enough, but one trying to make a life for herself alone in the mountains was an object of ridicule.
Nora took a long breath and willed her hands to relax at her sides. “I see,” she replied with a patronizing tone. “Whatever is more convenient for you.”
His blue eyes steamed, and by the way he cleared his throat she sensed that he, too, was swallowing his frustration.
“It’s clear I can’t stay in this house,” he continued in a decidedly polite manner. “I’d appreciate being able to sleep in the cabin.”
A sound of disbelief came from the corner. Esther was whispering furiously in her father’s ear. Seth shrugged and looked away.
“There’s not but a potbelly stove in there,” Esther cried. “No water, no facilities. You’ll freeze your you-know-what off.”
“It’ll do,” he replied, still looking at Nora, “if you’ll agree to let me eat breakfast here, do some laundry, and take a shower or two. I’ll be discreet.”
“Yes, I think that would be fine, Mr. Walker. Until October’s end, that is.”
“I think you’re crazy,” said Esther. “Or just muleheaded.” She scowled. “Shoot, I’ll fix up the cabin for you. But when that frost hits, you’ll be checking to see just what Jack nipped.”
Esther blushed as the men snickered.
“You quit it, you guys,” Esther barked.
C.W. reached out and gave her back a friendly pat. “Thanks, Es. I do believe your temper will keep us all warm this fall.”
Nora was quick to notice the commiserating glance Esther offered him. Once again, C.W. caught Nora staring at him, and a veil of distrust cloaked his features.
“I’ll check on the car,” C.W. called over his shoulder as he headed for the door.
Nora watched his retreating back in silence then glanced from the empty doorway to Seth, to Esther, then back to Seth with her eyebrows raised in question.
“That Charley don’t jaw much,” said Seth. “Keeps to himself. But he’s a good man. Best I ever hired.”
“Where’s he from?” Nora asked.
“The east. Got references from some horse farm. Did some managing, not much handling of sheep. He’s a quick learner, though.”
“It’s true. He’s always got his nose in some sheep or farm book,” added Esther. “I like him. So do Frank and Junior. Thought they’d be jealous, the way C.W.’s taking over and all, but I guess it’s all in the way it’s done.” The look she gave Nora spoke plainly of how poor a showing she’d offered so far.
Seth’s persistent nods and occasional “yeh-ups” confirmed that Mr. Charles Walker had passed the stringent acceptance test of Vermonters. Nora was impressed.
“Seth,” Nora began, looking into the caretaker’s wizened face, “I have to get a handle on the finances of this farm right away. Budgets, expenses, and the lot. When can we meet?”
Seth scratched his head. “Any time, as long as you meet with Charley.”
“Mr. Walker?”
“Yep. Charley’s the man for the numbers.” He jawed his gums a moment then added, “Sure helps me out, I can tell you. Truth is, he’s so good I just let him handle the whole job now. And he’s teachin’ my Frank the tricks, too.” He hitched his pants. “If you got any questions about budget, missus, Charley’s the man to ask.”
Nora did not respond. She faced the unpleasant prospect of having to work closely with the stone-faced, dispassionate, opinionated Mr. Walker.
“Nothin’ worth doin’ around here,” Seth concluded, tugging at his visor. “I’ll be joining C.W. at the barn. Esther, you wait till this Doc Redman shows up.”
“Sure, Pa,” Esther muttered.
Seth left, leaving the two women in an awkward silence. Nora had never known Esther very well. Unlike the other Johnstons, she had always kept her distance. Esther was tall, angular, and with her penetrating green eyes, striking. She wasn’t a big woman, just strong boned, and Esther never hunched her shoulders, as so many other tall women did. The effect was one of confidence, and it was imposing. Nora remembered stories about Esther, the way she’d venture off into the mountains alone.
“I’ll go make you some tea,” said Esther in her husky voice. “Don’t fall asleep, now. You might have a concussion or something.”
“No, I won’t.”
Nora viewed the closing door with relief. Her triumphant return had turned into an embarrassing disaster. Instead of charging in and taking over, here she was, lying in bed with a goose egg on her head. Life just wasn’t fair. Tomorrow, she’d try again, Nora vowed, burrowing under the blankets. Tomorrow, she’d do better.
The mountain of blankets formed a barrier between herself and the rest of the world. She sank deeper into their warmth. Nora turned on her side and watched, transfixed, as a spider carefully spun its web in the dusty corner.
To each creature a home, she thought with hope.
5
IN THE LOWER BARN, C.W. was working up a sweat. He loved to throw hay. It was hard, backbreaking work that brought his muscles to the point of pure pain. C.W. threw at a steady pace, humming a soundless tune in his head, beating the rhythm of his pitches with grunts. Poke, lift, pitch. Down, up, and out. Down, up, and out. Over and over. Faster and faster. His biceps began to tremble, and sweat beaded his brow and pooled under his arms. He needed to work hard now. This was the one way he could blot out the questions that haunted him.
Today, however, the questions kept coming. Why was MacKenzie’s widow here now? He’d thought he found the perfect haven in which to hide while he redirected his life. Seth had confirmed that the MacKenzies never came here. What was she up to? And why was MacKenzie’s widow worried about old Seth’s house budget? He was right about her, he realized with distaste. She’d be cheap with good, honest people and end up using them, just like her husband did.
From the corner of his eye he saw a figure move near the barn’s entry. C.W. groaned, threw a final forkful of hay, and stopped to catch his breath. Standing still now, his muscles throbbed so; he could hear the beat of it in his brain. After wiping his brow with his dusty shirtsleeve he looked over his shoulder toward the figure by the door.
Seth was rubbing his jaw as if he had a bad itch, and when he wasn’t rubbing, he was hitching his pants and clearing his throat. C.W. coughed, set down his pitchfork, and met Seth’s gaze. There was no delaying it. Seth wanted to talk.
“Hey, Seth,” he called, slipping easily into the vernacular. He walked directly over to the old man, his long legs crossing the barn quickly.
“Barn looks good,” Seth said. His smile was brief.
C.W. was always stunned to note how many of Seth’s teeth were missing. “Thanks.”
“Yeh-up. Can’t work a farm when the tools are rusted.”
“Nope,” C.W. replied. He enjoyed giving the short rejoinders as much as Seth did hearing them. Seth started at hitching his pants again.
“Something I can do for you, Seth?”
Seth looked off at the ewes awhile. “You were acting strange up there with the missus,” Seth said at last.
Here we go, thought C.W. “How so?”
“Like you knew her.”
C.W. skipped a beat. “Nope. I never met her.”
Seth