“You’ve got the right idea.” He turned and gazed gloomily into the woods.
That’s it? I had been hoping for a personal tutorial, a little flirtation, perhaps some subtle adjustments to my hold. “What’s wrong?”
He shrugged. “Just disheartening, spending day after day tearing down a beautiful forest.”
I suppressed an impulse to smile at his sweetness. “You’re sad about the trees.”
“And the songbirds.” Sighing, he hefted his ax. “Keep an eye out for flying branches. Some of the men here are reckless.”
I looked past Daniel’s departing back. My eyes widened. And fast on their way to drunkenness. Near the stream, a handful of farmers were tapping bottles and guzzling.
Toward the end of the logging bee, more people than not were imbibing. The whiskey inspired foolish acts. Several men turned the felling into a competition, rushing to chop down the most trees, boasting in shouts, and drinking toasts to every round’s victor.
Eventually, I drew closer to my friends, nervous that one of the children or my dog would wander into the path of a crashing limb. Our menfolk, I was happy to see, were more sensible than the rest. Daniel stood apart from the displays of sloppy wrangling and merely shook his head, Phineas observed the antics with a disdainful expression, and Gid chewed on his lower lip and mumbled a prayer that no one die on his new farm.
After our cold supper, we sober ones formed a dumbfounded audience. The light was failing, and we kept our distance from the revelries, but we were close enough to witness Ed Welds demonstrate a headstand from a branch of a maple, as his brother stumbled his way with a bottle in one hand and an ax in the other.
Phineas blew a low whistle. “Surviving the fever only to die from stupidity.”
Rachel dispassionately considered her cousins. “Women also gather to help one another, but you won’t find their sewing or spinning turned into silly, boozy affairs.”
“Or contests,” I muttered. What was it with men and competition? Did everything have to turn into a race?
Marian grinned. “Actually, it’d be fun to see what a quilting would look like if we refreshed ourselves with rum instead of tea.”
Rachel’s lips trembled. “Do you think we might start wrestling and broad-jumping the sides of the frame?”
The idea tickled the two women into laughter.
Phineas elbowed Gid in the side. “I’d pay to see that event.” He smiled at Rachel.
“Me, too.” My brother nodded slowly. His eyes, however, were not fastened on his former love interest.
He was watching Marian Gale. And his expression was stunned.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
If I’d secretly believed returning to Gid’s land would afford Daniel and me time to gaze into each other’s eyes and recite poetry, the morning after the logging bee corrected any such assumption.
Gid was not a strict chaperone as much as he was an ambitious young farmer. He wanted to work hard and finish things fast. Spring plowing ought to happen in a couple of weeks! The Indian corn had to get planted! And most pressing: We didn’t even have a house yet!
Daniel being Daniel meant Gid found a willing accomplice. I was a more grudging one. I didn’t mind the labor; I just didn’t understand why a little time for relaxation (otherwise known as courtship) couldn’t be spared.
At first light, Tuesday began with Gid promptly setting out to work all three of us to exhaustion. Since he and Daniel had widened the trail, my brother had been able to collect his wagon. He was thrilled to be fully reunited with all his tools and anxious to put them to use. He put me to use, too. I spent hours hacking at downed trees and dragging limbs to a burn pile.
And there were still meals to prepare. While Daniel finished maneuvering a massive rock onto the stoneboat in the field, Gid stood by the campfire, ate a piece of bread (too busy to sit and eat his supper like a decent Christian), and said amid rapid chewing, “I can’t imagine what this enterprise would have been like if you hadn’t joined me, Freddy. Or if Daniel hadn’t shown up. What a worker! He’s worth a dozen men.” He flashed me a smile, swiped the crumbs from his shirt, and added, already turning back to the field, “I’m glad he’s still sweet on you, because he never would have come all this way if he weren’t.”
I grunted. A lot of good Daniel’s being sweet on me did. The only intimate knowledge of my beau I’d gathered since joining the men was an interesting detail from this morning: how Daniel’s hair kinked up after it dried from its cleansing dunk in the stream, a curliness he clearly regretted, given his grimace and the ruthless way he combed it out. After that, through the smoke of my burn pile, I only caught glimpses of him. He might have been a rare species of animal, a secretive, beautiful, uncommon creature I was only allowed to admire from afar. It wasn’t that he avoided me, exactly, only that he didn’t take advantage of our proximity. Not even Gid’s tyrannical chore delegating prevented every encounter.
That night in the covered wagon, as I stared wearily at the darkness, I mulled over this strange self-restraint. Was it born of respect for my brother? Deference to me? He had to know how much I’d enjoyed that blissful, if brief, tryst on the way to Phin’s.
The truth hit me like a thunderbolt. Daniel Long isn’t just reserved. He’s shy.
Then: What are we going to do about that?
*
On Wednesday morning, when I stumbled, half-asleep and sore, out of the wagon, I discovered the taciturn suitor sipping a cup of coffee by the fire.
“Morning.” He rose quickly. “Ready to build a house?”
I rubbed my eyes and took in the camp. In the fog hanging between the trees, Gid was by the stream, tending to the cattle. I brought my sleepy gaze back to Daniel. “House building. Is that your idea of courtship?”
He frowned.
“Forget it.” I yawned and stretched, too tired to address our relationship difficulties. “Let’s build the damn house.”
Which is precisely what we didn’t do.
After the previous day’s frenzied branch burning, log rolling, rock heaving, and stump digging, Daniel and Gid commenced house building at the pouring pace of old honey crusted on the bottom of the honeypot. They trod around the clearing, measuring off paces, squinting at the sky, pointing in one direction, murmuring about another.
I finally yanked off my gloves and got to work skinning and cutting up the rabbit Gid had snared. The boys would probably want their nooning early to give them sufficient strength to point and putter.
Gid smiled at my exasperation. “You can’t just stick a house anywhere.”
Daniel was actually on his stomach now, apparently considering the ground’s grade. From this undignified position, he said, “We’ll have to think about the disposition of the land, the prevailing winds, the arc of the sun—plan the steepest pitch of the roof toward the winter wind, and face the living area to the south.”
“Then there’s the water supply,” Gid said. “Be nice to eventually connect a gravity spring to trickle water into the house.”
Daniel got to his feet and dusted his hands. “And the outbuildings, particularly the privy and barn, ought to go where the summer winds can carry the stink away.” At my grimace, he shrugged. “No one wants to smell the privy in August. Better to situate the honeysuckle and herb garden close to the house, straight in the wind’s path. Makes for a sweeter living space.”
“Well.” I tossed the rabbit legs in the pot. “Just tell me when you’re ready.” I headed to the stream to wash the wild leek I’d dug up. This place was riddled with onions. Mama would be in cold-cure heaven.
Once Daniel and Gid finished plotting, the three of us worked together efficiently and quickly. The cabin’s logs had already been set aside, chosen for their uniform length and width. It would be a small, primitive structure, though Daniel assured my brother it’d be easy to expand should life reward him with a wife and children.