This tugged a smile out of me.
Instead of questioning me on the particulars of my Banbury tale, she moved toward the hearth. “You could use a cup of tea, I expect. If you boys want to go out and take care of the cattle, I’ll pull together a repast to tide everyone over until morning.”
Rachel took a tentative step forward. “May I help?”
“Yes, please.” Mrs. Gale smiled over her shoulder. “I can always use a helping hand.”
Phineas and Gid strode to the door, the latter gazing around with appreciation and asking a question about the cabin’s size.
I dawdled in the doorway.
Rachel and Mrs. Gale made an inviting picture in the gently lit interior: the younger woman tucking a dusky curl behind her ear before rolling up her sleeves and washing her hands in the basin beside the door, and Mrs. Gale, blond and elegant-featured like her brother, though currently quite round with child, carefully stirring the contents of a pot over the fire.
The scene made me long for Mama, who was probably occupied in a similar fashion back home at this hour. And it made me miss gathering with other girls. Maybe I was simply weary of living outside, working against an evening wind that still carried a good bit of winter. But in that moment, I wanted nothing more than to stay put, feel the warmth of the fire, and join in on the women’s conversation, which, by the very lilt of the female voice, held the power to soothe.
With a sigh, I trudged outside. In the searing sunset, the homestead was a small pool of warm, colorful light encircled by the thick wall of black forest. As we’d traveled down the Ridge, Phineas had shared a few details about his property, and I’d learned that he and his sister’s family had settled in this location two years ago, each taking a little over two hundred acres on adjacent lots. Since Amos Gale’s death seven months ago, Phineas had given up his plan for a separate cabin and focused on improving what his brother-in-law had begun.
Phineas had already cleared a few acres. A rail fence enclosed the land in the front, while a brush fence followed along the sides and the rear. Stumps still dotted the open stretch. In addition, a cleared rectangle of a patch neatly marched along the south side of the house—obviously Mrs. Gale’s kitchen garden, though the season was too new for the ground to sport anything. Phineas had added a stick chimney to the house. Smoke wafted out of it and disappeared into the purpling sky.
Though rugged yet, this new home with its sturdy cottage and hard-won fields already reflected the stoic tenacity of its owners. How lovely this place was, compared to the sordid, careless disaster Mr. Linton had contrived.
Early in our acquaintance, I wouldn’t have pegged Phineas as much of a farmer, so enthusiastically had he delighted in playing the role of the dandy. But since then, I’d revised my impression. Perhaps Phineas didn’t love farming, but I bet he pursued it with grim faithfulness. And for all his tomfoolery, he possessed an honest core. He clearly despised the Lintons and would never permit such slovenly idleness on his land or unconscionable abuses in his household.
I shivered at the thought of Mr. Linton. What a relief to have Rachel here, safe and close to me, and no longer there, in that pit of terror.
*
After the late supper, I slept heavily on the floor without waking until my brother nudged my back and sang, “Rise and shine, Freddy.” He shrugged on his coat and left to see to the animals.
Along with the adults, one of the children had started his day: a small boy currently having a fit of happiness over his uncle’s return. Where he sat at the table, Phineas (not at all like the child hater he professed to be) joked with his nephew and let the boy climb all over him, while Rachel stirred the ash-dusted coals and Mrs. Gale sliced salt pork by a covered barrel. Without turning, the boy’s mother ordered, “Shush, Adam. You’ll wake the others.”
Gid returned to the cabin, lugging a package and glowing with excitement. “What a fair morning. Ready to go, Freddy?”
I groaned. No, I wasn’t. I was sore, sick of the outdoors, and exhausted. “Can we eat first?”
Mrs. Gale pointed at the table with her knife. “Have a seat, Mr. Winter. Your land’s not going anywhere.”
“Marian was never so bossy before she got married,” Phineas mused. “Once she started having children, she turned all the rest of us into her progeny, too, forever snapping, ‘Do this, do that.’” He made a face at his sister’s back.
“Put a plug in it, Phin.”
“See?”
Rachel smiled distractedly. “You heard her. Cork it, mister.”
“Lovely.” Phineas swept a hand in Rachel’s direction. “Yet another mother.”
Gid approached Mrs. Gale. “I wanted to give you and your brother this, in appreciation for your help and hospitality.”
Her eyes widened. “You don’t have to give us presents. Your company’s thanks enough. We’re very happy to have more neighbors.”
He shook his head and held out the package. When she set down the knife and slowly accepted it, she smiled questioningly, and he explained, “It’s flour. Not an exciting gift, I know, but—”
Phineas jumped to his feet. “Flour?”
“Flour,” Mrs. Gale repeated breathlessly. For the first time since I’d met her, she showed a bit of her brother’s turn for the dramatic. Enraptured reverence enlivened both of their faces. She pressed the package to her bosom, blinked away tears, and said huskily, “You won’t come by flour easily or anytime soon in these parts. Are you sure you want to give this away?”
He nodded. Then the two smiled at each other, so warmly a stranger might have mistaken them for long-standing friends.
*
We didn’t linger over our coffee or wait to meet the other children. Gid was practically dancing with impatience. After listening closely to Phineas’s directions, thanking Mrs. Gale, and exchanging a stilted good-bye with Rachel, he strode to the doorway and urged me to hurry.
I said my good-byes more slowly. Pausing by Rachel’s side, I touched her arm and asked quietly, “Do you feel all right, staying here?”
Her hand came up in a weak flap. Without even smiling, she sighed a laugh. “As well as I can, I suppose,” she whispered.
I swallowed. “I’ll be back soon.” We will talk. We will make this better.
She scanned my person and raised her eyebrows.
I nodded. I’ll explain that, too. We clasped hands for a moment. Then, stifling a moan, I followed Gid outside. I had zero desire to rush back into the wilderness.
*
There was a track that went as far as the Five Corners, the place we’d first heard of from the agent at the Holland Land Company. This path wasn’t sufficiently wide to accept a wagon, so, with Fancy trotting at our heels and straying from time to time to investigate a chipmunk or squirrel, Gid and I set out on foot and followed the track in the direction of our property.
We carried provisions on our backs and drove the oxen for the better part of the day. My brother’s first objective was to widen the trail, and we would need the cattle to help us remove the felled trees. Gid’s good spirits lasted until we arrived by the Welds brothers’ small clearing. “We’ll visit them tomorrow,” he promised, frowning at the cabin in the distance.
He was probably vexed with the brothers’ shoddy behavior, how they’d abandoned Rachel in such a ghastly situation. Maybe he also felt that their negligence had inadvertently led to the current rift. Personally, I didn’t think he had anyone but himself to blame for Rachel’s coolness. His reaction to her plight at the Lintons’ had been cruel. Then to try to make up for it with a marriage proposal? Idiocy.
Still, he was my brother, so as I trudged behind him, I asked cautiously, “Do you feel like talking about Rachel?”
He didn’t even turn. “No.” With an edge, he retorted, “Do you want to talk about Daniel?”