Gloria watched the Logans wagon disappear over the horizon. As far as she could tell, John William never looked back.
“Have a wonderful day,” she called into the wind. “Don't you worry about me here. All alone. With two babies.”
The far-off lapping of the Umatilla River was her only response.
“Oh, no. I'll be fine, just fine.”
Both Danny and Kate were awake now. Their lusty cries declared breakfast long overdue. She lifted each child down and removed the night's soiled diapers. She wrapped a fresh one around Kate, but allowed Danny to roll around naked on the blanket while he waited his turn.
“I'm feeding your daughter,” Gloria called in the general direction of the long-vanished wagon. “I'm feeding your daughter and I haven't had a bite to eat for myself yet.”
The babble of brooks blended with the babble of babies while Gloria sat, staring and dreaming of doughnuts.
There was no bell tower, no church bell, just a man standing in front of the small whitewashed building, shouting a welcome. John William heard the thin thread of his voice before he could make out any discernible features.
“Good morning! Good morning! God bless us today”
The voice belonged to a tall, gaunt man with a stunningly shiny bald head and gray beard.
“That the preacher?” John William asked.
“Yep," David Logan replied. “Reverend Fuller. Thomas Fuller.”
“Oh, he's a wonderful preacher,” Josephine said. “Of course we've only heard him a few times, but those few times were wonderful. Just wonderful.”
“He talks a long time,” James said. “Sometimes for hours and hours.”
“Now stop that,” his mother said, a warm lilt to her chastisement. “You are exaggerating, and that's as close to lying as 1 ever want you to get.”
“Yes, ma'am,” James said, but he caught John William's eye and made a face of excruciating boredom, crossing his eyes and lolling his head against the wall of the wagon bed.
“You've only heard him a few times?” John William said. “How long have you been settled here?”
“We've been here a while,” David said, without turning around. “But Fuller just started up the church about a year ago. And he don't just stay right here. He goes all over the territory— preaches here once a month.”
“Yes," Josephine said. “It's a pity, too. I do miss having church every Sunday.”
“Guess I was lucky to make camp when I did,” John William said. “Else I might have missed it.”
“Mama says luck is man's word for God's perfect timing,” Eliza said with a heavy lisp.
“I think your mama's right.” John William looked at Eliza and wondered what his own Kate would look like, all grown up with ribbons and shiny shoes. “I think every day we find ourselves right where God wants us to be.”
“Well, today,” David said, pulling his team to a halt and setting the brake, “God wants us to be in church. And if we don't stop all this gabbing, we're going to be late.”
The last flicker of the breakfast fire lost its will to live, and by the time Gloria thought to fan the flames, there was nothing left but a pile of cooling ashes and charred sticks.
Her stomach rumbled as she thought about the little plate of last night's cold beans, the remnants of the morning coffee, yesterday's rock-hard biscuits. Furious and starving, she muttered a furtive curse.
Instinctively she looked up, looked around, awaiting the glare of disapproval. But there was no one to disapprove, just Danny and Kate who were too involved with their little feet to pay her any attention.
Gloria stood straight and cursed out loud.
No sense of reprimand.
She reared her head back and screamed profanity to the vast Oregon sky
No response, although Danny and Kate were jarred enough to tear their attention from their toes and give her a four-eyed blinking stare.
“Do you see?” she said, granting the infants a bitter smile. “They'd never let me in a church.”
Reverend Fuller stood on the step of the little shack-of-a-church house. He spoke to the milling crowd in a voice that proved to be much gentler than the one used to summon his flock.
“Brothers and sisters,” he said, “we have a new member here with us this morning. Please join me in welcoming John William MacGregan to our church.”
Each member of the congregation greeted John William before entering the building. It wasn't an arduous process. There were three other families besides the Logans. The children mixed and mingled so much it was impossible to tell which set of parents each belonged to. And while John William tried to concentrate on names, he found himself distracted having to repeat the story of Gloria, back at their camp, with two small children too young to come this morning. His mind scrambled around the word wife, answering questions with nods rather than statements, careful not to lie outright, hoping his representation of the truth would satisfy even Josephine Logan's intolerance for untruths.
There was an abundance of bachelors—he counted five—in the congregation. Some, he would learn, were homesteaders. Others lived in modest cabins and hired out their labor on neighboring farms. However, there were two women there who seemed to be alone.
The first was a tall woman whose copper-colored hair was arranged in a complicated fashion that made John William think of a massive coiled rope. She had fall lips, tinted to match her hair, and a look that he recognized from his boxing days. It was the look shared equally by hungry opponents and hungry women, both itching for a victorious encounter. In the old days, he would have answered such a look with a grin that said, “You don't stand a chance with me.” But now, facing such a look from this woman in this place, he found himself scrambling for a defense.
“I'm Adele Fuller,” she said, her voice husky with promise. She'd peeled off a glove to offer John William her bare hand. “Reverend Fuller's daughter.”
“Not his wife?” John William said, amazing himself at the stupidity of the statement.
Adele Fuller brought a slim hand up to emphasize a short, coy laugh. “Oh, no, I'm not anybody's wife. You here all alone?”
“No, no. Gloria…she's back at camp, with the babies…” His voice trailed off as he searched within the tiny room for David Logan to come and rescue him.
“Adele Fuller,” came a sweet, bird-like voice from somewhere near his elbow, “you just leave this man alone and take your seat before your father sees you behaving so shamefully.”
Adele gave John William a slow smile. “We don't have many hymn books, so you're welcome to share with me if you want.” She walked past John William, allowing the skirt of her dress to glide against his leg.
John William turned to meet his savior, saw nobody, then looked down and saw a mass of wild gray curls surrounding a soft smiling face.
“You better watch that one,” the tiny woman said, her dancing brown eyes following Adele. “Her mother died about ten years back, and her father's so busy travelin’ he don't have much time to look after her.”
“That so?" John William said.
“I'm Maureen Brewster, and if you're going to share a hymn book with anybody, it'll be with me.”
The basket was oval shaped, nearly four feet long and two feet deep. A gift from Jewell, something she used to haul washing. Gloria remembered when both Danny and Kate seemed to get lost in the vastness of it. John William had attached a handle made of rope, and these days it served as a mobile cradle. Now Kate protested its confines as she rode, jarred and bumped against Gloria's leg, on a trek to the river's bank.
Gloria struggled with the basket in one hand, Danny clutched in the other arm. John William had not set up camp right at the river's edge; there was a brief thicket of trees between the clearing where the wagon rested and the song of the lapping water. Gifted with the rare opportunity of time alone, one thought crossed Gloria's mind.
A bath.
Nestled in with Kate was a blanket, a relatively clean change of clothes for each of the babies, Gloria's cotton sleeping gown, and the only intact linen towel. A small wooden box held the remains of what had been, at the beginning of their journey, a substantial cake of soap. Much of it had been used laundering the endless supply of diapers, stretched across the wagon's cover to dry in the daily sun. But there was a small cake of it left, and Gloria had mixed in with it the last drops of her lavender oil, intending to pamper her and the children with a full all-over bath.
The first bare step into the cold river water sent painful jolts up Gloria's legs. Her breath was stolen by the initial shock, and a sharp squeal accompanied each step toward submersion. Kate remained within the basket on the river's bank; Danny was clutched firmly in Gloria's arms. His sun-warmed soft baby skin felt delicious in contrast to the icy water lapping around her legs. He cooed, his tight, toothless grin creating a face of pure adoration.The expression changed to one of wide-eyed gaping surprise when Gloria brought a palm full of water to dribble down his bare back.
“Is that cold, baby?” she said in response to his swift gasps. “I'm sorry Danny" she continued in a soothing voice. “It'll get better.”
As she lowered herself into the water, Danny's little feet hit the surface, then his chubby knees. Each inch converted his initial shock and discomfort to squealing joy He kicked wildly and slapped at the river's surface with his hands.
“Well, you're a regular little water rat, aren't you, Danny boy?” Gloria said, enthralled with his joy She wondered if her own mother had ever held her like this, exposed together in a moment of pure happiness.
She'd placed the wooden box of soap on a large rock jutting from the shore. Now, Gloria moved in slow bobbing steps over to it. She held Danny tight in one arm and with the other hand reached in, scraping off a layer of soap with her fingernails and used it to cleanse the glistening folds of her son's soft skin, then gave him a final rinse with the river's clear water.
After allowing a few more minutes of playful splashing, Gloria brought Danny to shore and dressed him in a clean, sun-warmed shirt. She laid him down on the outspread blanket. She draped the waist of her discarded skirt over the lip of the basket and extended the material out, creating a makeshift tent to protect the babies’ sensitive skin from the sun. The pleasure of the bath met the warmth of the afternoon, and by the time she finished taking Kate through the same process, Danny was fast asleep. Kate, too, succumbed to the ritual, and soon Gloria found herself looking at her son and daughter—no, his daughter— sleeping like angels.
She thought about the Logan children—clean, combed, ribboned—and wondered if she would ever see these two so groomed and proper. Quite the little family. Gloria sat on a river rock, her hands folded demurely in her lap.
“Children, time for church,” she said out loud, trying to capture the soft sweet cadence of Josephine Logan's voice. “Come, Kate, let mother comb your hair. Why, Danny, how handsome you look!”
Gloria pictured the stark comb marks in the Logan children's hair. Such discipline. Such cleanliness. So prim and pure. The product of a lovely perfect mother.
She waded to the depths of the river one more time and plunged beneath the surface, then emerged to claw a handful of soap, work it to a lather, and attack her scalp. She grabbed still more, and soon red tracks marked the passage of her nails across lavender-scented skin. She threw herself backward, allowing her hair to rinse as it dangled in the water.
Gloria wondered what would happen if she fell asleep right now Would she roll over and drown? Maybe the river's current would just take her away, far from Danny and Kate. She pondered, for a second, which would be worse. She realized she really had no idea how long John William and the Logans would be gone. What if that happy little wagon pulled up right now? What a sight she was, the naked water nymph floating on the surface of the sacred Umatilla River. She pictured John William's face, shocked and ashamed. She heard Josephine Logan's voice, softly surprised yet kind.
The thoughts poured through her head as she poured rivulets of water across her stomach, once again flat and firm, all traces of having carried a child lost. Forever.
Gloria righted herself and walked to shore, wringing her sodden hair over her shoulder. She stood on the bank and wrung until no more droplets fell, then ran a wide-toothed wooden comb through the wet tresses before wrapping her head in the towel she'd used to dry the babies. Although the sun felt glorious on her clean dry skin, a nagging bit of propriety insisted that she don her loose-fitting cotton sleeping gown, sleeveless and cut to just below her knees.
Suddenly a nap on the rivers bank seemed irresistible. She stretched herself out on the blanket, her head just parallel to the triangle of shade she'd created for the babies. She took one last look at their sleeping forms—Danny on his tummy with his little face half-smashed against the quilt, and Kate on her back with her arms flung open to the world. Gloria curled on her side, facing them, and closed her eyes.
She was just making her way to the edges of sleep when she heard the buzzing. She brought her hand up to send halfhearted slaps toward the sound, but it wasn't until one of her fingers made contact with something that she actually sat up, fully awake and aware.
Bees.
At least a dozen of them swarmed around her, landing lightly on her skin. She leapt to her feet crying, “Shoo! Go away!" slapping her hands together, successfully crushing two of them between her palms.
She swept the towel off her head and whirled it through the air, feeling little fuzzy bodies make contact. When the bees refused to leave, she grabbed the towel by its corners and furled it into a tight coil which she snapped, whip-like, killing two or three more in midflight.
She had no idea how long she waged battle, but at some point she stopped to catch her breath and realized that the air was clear. The bees were gone, and she was full of an exhilaration she had never felt before. This instinct to protect, this animal-like passion to drive the wolves from the nest made Gloria feel alive and proud. So proud, in fact, that her only regret was that nobody had been there to witness the feat. The very lives she was protecting napped through the valiant display.
Then she saw it. A tiny red welt just beginning to swell on Danny's left cheek.
“Oh God,” she said, calling out a plea that surprised her. She fell to her knees and gathered her son into her arms, bringing him close to put her lips on the red, hot flesh. “Danny Danny, I'm so sorry, baby. I'm so sorry.”
Still holding Danny close, she scanned every exposed inch of Kate's sleeping body and was relieved to see that her flesh was milky white and unmarked.
“1 could never let any harm come to you, Kate,” she whispered as she gently ran a finger down Kate's soft cheek. “If I did…he wouldn't need me any more.”
The voice of Reverend Thomas Fuller filled the tiny church. True, any voice would fill the space—barely four hundred square feet—but Reverend Fuller seemed to attempt to reach every corner without overwhelming the congregation.
John William sat on a bench at the back of the church. The wood was smooth and varnished to a gleam. Maureen Brewster sat next to him.
Early in the service, Reverend Fuller led them in songs of worship. Adele had been right about the sparse number of hymnals: there were exactly five. But the reverend led them through songs the congregation knew by heart, and John William felt months of spiritual reserve chipping away as he raised his strong baritone to join the others. Maureen's voice, as diminutive as her body, quavered somewhere around his elbow, and often during a song he looked down and she looked up as they shared both a note and a smile.
Now the sermon was in full swing, and John William was thrilled to hear God's Word spoken by a man who'd studied it and knew its full meaning.
“We are all newcomers here,” he was saying, his hands gesturing to encompass both the congregation and the outlying countryside. “We are all strangers in a strange land, and we will determine whether or not this will be a land for God.”
John William thought about the places he'd lived, places he'd seen. Wild towns built on gold and promises, fueled by whiskey. Men driven by a quest for fortune. Women…
“So we must commit our lives to this land just as we commit our lives to our God. We must take root and grow a society that will be pleasing to His nature.”
Living in fancy hotels or tents. Or four-walled shacks that let the winter snows blow right in. No place for a family. No place for a daughter. Or a son.
“And so 1 have decided to make Middleton my permanent home.”
A unanimous gasp went up from the congregation followed by whispered joy.
“I will be sharing my itinerant duties with a minister in Centerville, and will hold church services here the first and third Sunday of every month.”
The elation of the people expanded into applause. The excitement of Maureen beside him made John William feel comfortable to join in the celebration of these strangers. It wasn't until the ruckus died down that he noticed the intent gaze of Adele Fuller, turned fully around in her front seat, fixed on him. He returned a polite smile, but was so startled by the boldness of her expression that he didn't hear what Maureen said.
“What was that?” he asked, bending his large frame to better hear her.
“I said, if we're going to have a proper church, maybe I'll stay after all.”
John William wanted to inquire further, but Reverend Fuller was leading them in a prayer of dismissal.
The sky was full of horses and pantaloons. At least that's what the clouds looked like. Gloria sat on the little campstool gazing at them, having gathered the children up and brought them back to the wagon site to finish their nap. Now awake, Danny and Kate inched their way around the blanket spread on the ground at her feet, periodically being scooped up and brought back to safety when they came to near the blanket's edge.
She had dabbed Danny's face with cool river water, and the swelling was down considerably, but the area was still red with a tight raised bump at its center. She held him now, and he rooted against her, hungrily searching out her breast.
“You know, son, I haven't eaten anything today yet, either,” she said. “Guess it's beans, beans, beans.”
Gloria, still in her nightgown, set Danny back on the blanket, stood up, and wallowed in a luxurious stretch and gratifying scratch before wandering over to the wagon's larder. One bowl of beans. Cold. She knew John William would be able to do wonders with these, given just a slice of salt pork and half an onion, but neither of those was available now. Not that she would know what to do with them. She knew even the smallest fire would return them to a more palatable temperature, but the thoughts of gathering wood and assembling kindling and striking a match seemed a bit overwhelming on such a warm, lazy summer day. So she took the bowl, grabbed a fork, and returned to the blanket.
“Now this," she said out loud, gesturing with the fork, “is what that Sabbath commandment is all about.” She stretched one leg out to caress Kate's soft cheek with a toe. “Who needs church?” She allowed a bean to linger in her mouth, warm up a little, before sending it to join the others.
“And I'm saying that because I know,” she continued, giving her heavy, damp hair a shake off her shoulders. “I've been to church before.”
What she didn't say out loud was that the minute she'd walked through the doors, the minister pointed at her and shouted that a whore such as this had no place in the house of God.
“I even talked with the minister once.” The previous evening when she'd refused to perform the favors he demanded. “So I know what we're missing,” she said to the babies, who were now each propped up on their little elbows, staring at her intently. “And we're not missing much.”
Because the church met so infrequently, the better part of the day was devoted to worship, fellowship, and teaching. After the ini-tial time of song and sermon, the congregation split into Sunday schools. The children were grouped together for classes: the girls led by Adele Fuller and the boys by Reverend Fuller. The women gathered to discuss the focal passage among themselves, as did the men. John William soon learned, though, that the Middleton men's Sunday school class would not be a great source of Bible study. Almost immediately the conversation turned to crops, weather, and farming.
“I'm telling you, MacGregan,” David Logan said, “you've never seen land like this for growing things. Looks like I'll be harvesting near twice what I did last year.”
“Yep," said another Middleton neighbor, Phil Jasper. John William learned that everybody called him Big Phil, and his imposing girth gave the obvious explanation why “I got a quarter section of corn coming in, wheat looks good. This is God's country for sure.”
“I can see that,” John William said. “And a town startin’ and a church. I think we can make a life here.”
“You might want to talk to Maureen Brewster,” David said. “Her husband died last spring, just after getting the crop in. She's been wanting to sell and move back East.”
“Now why would he want to do that?” Big Phil said. “He can get himself his acres from the government for free.” He turned to face John William. “One square mile, six hundred forty acres, and the same for your wife if you don't mind havin’ it in her name.”
“Well, yeah,” David said, “but the Brewsters was one of the first families to settle these parts. If he buys her place, he gets land that's been cleared, house built. Buying the Brewster place'd be like buying ten years worth of labor.”
“Gentlemen, gentlemen please,” John William said, laughing and laying a hand on each shoulder. “Let me have some say in the matter. Besides, just during church she said she might not leave at all.”
“I wouldn't wait too long to make a decision if I were you,” Big Phil said. “Mrs. Brewster's a land-owning single woman. If she don't leave, shell be married.off before the wheat sprouts.”
John William looked over at the crowd of women gathered in earnest conversation. Maureen Brewster was one of the oldest there, her gray frizzled hair hardly the markings of an object of desire.
“You sure about that?” John William said.
“Listen here,” David said, “women here are scarce. Men can't be too particular about age and beauty and such.”
Just then Adele Fuller turned slightly and gave the men a stunning smile before returning to her conversation.
“Then how come that Adele Fuller ain't married yet?” John William asked.
“Aw, she can afford to be particular.” This from a slick-looking young hand named Lonnie. “She could have herself any man she wants. And she don't want a farmer.”
“Judging by the way she's looking at you,” Big Phil said to John William, “you'd better get yourself & farm as soon as you can.”
“I'll talk with Mrs. Brewster when I get a chance.”
“No better time than now,” David said. “It's time for the dinner.”
There was a bustle of activity as boxes and baskets were unloaded from the wagons parked around the church building. It was a tradition of the congregation to share a generous potluck dinner, each family contributing what it could. The fresh doughnuts brought by the Logans were just the tip of their contribution. Mrs. Logan also had two-dozen corn muffins, sausage links, ajar of pickled beets, and cold potato cakes.
Planks were laid across the wagons creating long tables loaded with dishes, bowls, pots, and plates. The bachelors of the congregation brought kegs of fresh water and cider. There were kettles of baked beans, cooked overnight and wrapped in towels to keep warm. One family brought a smoked ham from a pig that had to be slaughtered early another a huge pot of venison stew. There were jars of pickles, cans of oysters, loaves of bread, dozens of biscuits. Apple, cream, and fresh berry pies were lined up and guarded closely. But the greatest treasure of all was isolated and revered: Adele Fuller's chocolate cake.
John William stared, openmouthed. He'd never seen such bounty in his life. He felt a plate being placed in his hand and looked down to see the now familiar face of Maureen Brewster.
“I couldn't,” he said. “I didn't bring anythin'.”
“Nonsense," Maureen said. “There's plenty here. Now fill your plate and come sit with me.”
“Yes, ma'am. You're just the person I want to talk to.”
Mae had given her the magazine just as Gloria was loading her things into the wagon before leaving Silver Peak. “Just a little something to pass the time,” she'd said, and Gloria had spent many hours flipping through its pages, largely ignoring the pages of elusive text.
But she did enjoy the pictures, especially the styles that John William told her the magazine heralded as “the latest from Paris.” Four of the pages were devoted to hairstyles—complicated labyrinths of braids and loops. For Gloria, who had never done much more than restrain her curls in a single thick braid, they presented the challenge of civilization and sophistication.
Still wearing the sleeping gown she'd put on after her bath, Gloria sat in fierce determination to achieve success. The magazine lay open beside her, a small rock anchoring the pages against the slight afternoon breeze. John William's shaving mirror was propped up on an overturned crate, and next to it a small dish contained every hairpin Gloria owned. Seven. It was hardly enough to recreate the crowning glory from the picture, so she improvised using strips of cloth to anchor sections, tucking and hiding the ends within the mass of hair.
Three thick sections were wrenched into a twist along the back of her head. The hair remaining loose at the side of her face was divided, plaited into twelve tiny ropes—six on each side— which were meant to crisscross over the large twist and create a profile not unlike the prow of an ancient ship.
After what she estimated to be an hour's worth of hard labor, Gloria had a sheen of sweat across her face, aching arms, and a disaster on her head. Up close, the shaving mirror allowed her to see only a quarter of her face and head at a time. Each step she took away from the mirror gave a fuller view. When she finally had a chance to see the complete picture, the only resemblance to the reflection in the mirror and the picture in the magazine was that both depicted a woman with hair.
“1 think that's a better use for that hairbrush,” Gloria said, looking at baby Kate chomping hungry little gums on the brush's wooden handle. “It certainly didn't do me much good here.”
Kate took the brush out of her mouth long enough to emit a gurgty giggle-
“And what about you, young man?” Gloria said, turning to Danny. “What do you think?”
But Danny was absorbed in the creation of spit bubbles. Gloria couldn't even get him to look at her.
“Men," Gloria said. “Women torture themselves trying to look beautiful for them, and they don't even notice.” Not that she had any man to look beautiful for, of course. John William always took extra pains not to look at her at all.
Unfortunately, the undoing of the creation proved to be just as unsuccessful as the style itself, and soon she was left with a mass of half braids, tangles, and wild, frizzed tresses.
Perhaps it was the flurry of activity around her ears, perhaps it was the mumbled cursing that accompanied her task—whatever the reason, Gloria failed to hear the approach of the Logan's wagon. She was, in fact, quite unaware of their presence until she heard John William say, “Gloria?”
She whipped herself around, brought one arm up to cover her uncorsetted breasts and the other to unsuccessfully cover her hair.
“You're back,” she said. “I…1 didn't hear you.”
John William's face was a mixture of concern and amusement. David Logan turned beet red and quickly averted his gaze. Josephine looked like a woman who had just discovered a wounded puppy in a rosebush.
“Can I help you with that, dear?” she asked in that sweet voice Gloria found enviable and annoying.
“No, no, it's fine,” Gloria said, frantically trying to pat the mess down.
“Nonsense," Josephine said. “These styles are nearly impossible, especially without a proper vanity table or mirror.” Within seconds she was out of the wagon and at Gloria's side. She cleared the shaving mirror off the crate and guided Gloria to sit on it. “Let's just see what we have here,” she said, stooping to take the brush from baby Kate's grip.
“Come on, MacGregan," Logan said. “Let's leave the women to their talk.”
The men jumped down from the wagon and walked toward the river.
Gloria submitted herself to Josephine's ministrations. She felt gentle tugs on her scalp as Josephine loosened the anchored braids.
“The children are asleep in the back of the wagon,” Josephine said. “These Sundays just wear them out.”
“1 can imagine,” Gloria said.
“Your little ones seem wide awake. Did they just wake up?”
“A while ago.”
The women lapsed back into silence as Josephine worked with Gloria's hair.
“Let me know if I'm hurting you,” Josephine said.
“You're not.”
As each section came free, Josephine spread the hair across her palm and smoothed the tresses with the brush.
“Thank you,” Gloria said.
“Of course,” Josephine said. “What are friends for?”
Gloria looked up at her with questioning eyes.
“At least,” Josephine said, “1 hope we'll be friends.”
“Me, too," Gloria said. She thought about her late night talks with Sadie and the other girls. What in the world would she talk to Josephine Logan about?
Josephine gathered all of Glorias hair into one hand and brushed the lot of it. The women were silent, lulled by the whoosh of the bristles.
“You have beautiful hair,” Josephine said. “The curls, the color. It's just beautiful.”
“Thank you,” Gloria said.
“Would you like me to braid it for you?”
“No, no thank you,” Gloria said. “You should probably be going.”
“Of course.” Josephine set the brush down on the crate and cupped a hand to her mouth. “David!” she called. “It's time to go!” Then she stooped to give each of the babies a tickle on the tummy before climbing into the wagon to wait for her husband.
As the Logans drove out of sight, John William turned to Gloria and offered her a big smile.
“You seem to have enjoyed your day,” he said, looking her up and down with amusement.
“We went to the river, took a bath, came back. Ate beans.”
“And the hair?”
“Don't ask. Boredom makes you do crazy things.”
She'd taken the time to pull a skirt and blouse over the sleeping gown, but her hair remained full and loose and clean.
“How ‘bout you, big fella,” John William said, bending to pick up Danny He hoisted the boy up into his arms, took one look at the child's face, then turned to Gloria with a concerned look. “What happened?”
“He got stung. By a bee.”
“What about Kate?” His voice was full of panic, even though the obviously healthy child rolled around at his feet, the only immediate danger being his own boots.
“She's fine. See?”
“Thank God,” John William said. “But this poor little one—”
Gloria bristled. “Is fine, too.”
“How could you let this happen?” By now he was on his knees, having set Danny back down, and lifted Kate into his arms. He held her aloft, looking over every inch of her, bringing her little feet up close to his eyes and lifting her gown to check the skin underneath.
“I told you she's fine. I handled it.”
John William brought his daughter close to his face, inhaled, made a face, and brought her close again. “What is that smell?”
“I haven't had a chance to change her.”
“That's not what I mean.” He sniffed the child again. “She smells like… flowers?”
“It's lavender. I mixed some of my lavender oil with the soap. Otherwise, it's just so—”
“What were you thinkin'?” John William stood to his full height, still clutching Kate protectively. “Turnin’ my daughter into one big flower, then layin’ her out in a field! Of course the bees came swarmin'. You're lucky they didn't eat her alive.”
“Oh, no," Gloria said. “I didn't even think—I'm so sorry!” Gloria reached out to touch baby Kate's cheek, but John William brusquely turned, taking her out of reach.
“You just have to be careful,” he said, his voice softening a little. “It could have been bears.”
“I would have fought them, you know.”
John William turned to look at her again and, to her immense relief, a smile tugged at his eyes.
“You know, I believe you would have.”
Gloria reached for the dishtowel hanging on a hook on the side of the wagon. “You should've seen me with those bees,” she said, whirling the towel into a rat's-tail whip. “They never stood a chance.”
“Really?”
“Yep. I snapped them.” She punctuated the word with a flick of the towel. “Killed them in midflight.”
“So bath, beans, and bee-killin'? You have had a busy day.
Well, I had a busy day; too. I'll tell you about it over supper.”
“Supper?”
“Yes. My surprise.”
Gloria hadn't paid any attention to the basket John William brought out of the wagon, but now she eyed it with curiosity “What's in there?”
“It is…" John William whisked the large cloth napkin off the top of the basket, “a feast!”
Gloria peered inside. “Is that chicken?”
“It is indeed. There's a family here, the Jaspers, that brought two or three fried chickens and a chopped egg and vinegar salad.”
Gloria felt her mouth water as the contents of the basket were unloaded onto the overturned crate. Slices of ham, sweet potatoes, fried onions, beans.
“I'm afraid it's all cold,” John William said. “If you like, I'll build up a fire so you can heat it up.”
“No, no, it's fine,” Gloria said, her mouth already full. “I'm starving.”
“Can't you say a blessing first?”
“Oh, all right, go ahead.”
“Thank you, God,” he prayed, “for the generosity of our new neighbors. Bless this food. Bless our new home. Amen.”
Gloria was staring at him when he opened his eyes from prayer.
“New home?”
She worked her way through the contents of the basket while John William told her about his conversation with Maureen Brewster.
“She's a wonderful woman,” John William said. “Very sweet. Her husband died about three months ago. She's ready to sell and move back East.”
“Is that what you want to do?” Gloria asked.
“It just seems like God's perfect timing. She needs to sell, we need to buy The land already has a house, a crop.”
“What is she asking?”
“We didn't discuss price today,” he said. “We're going over tomorrow to talk in detail. 1 need you to—”
“Be on my best behavior?” She used her sleeve to wipe the stream of bean juice that dribbled down her chin.
“After today, I'll be happy if you'll just comb your hair.”
“I'll do better than that,” Gloria said. “If she offers me tea, 111 lift my pinkie like this.” She clutched a biscuit delicately, littlest finger extended, before shoving half of it into her mouth.
“What more could I ask?” John William said with mock appreciation.
Gloria finished off the biscuit and licked her fingers one by one. “That was the best meal I have ever had in my life.” The last word was lost in a very unladylike belch.
“Didn't save room for dessert?” he asked.
“Oh, don't tease like that.” Gloria leaned back against the wagon's wheel. “I couldn't eat another bite.”
“Really? Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“Because I have another bite,” he said in a playful tone.
She sat up straight.
“It's not much, you know, just a little somethin'…”
He reached one hand behind his back and brought it back holding a small plate. The sun was nearly set and the little camp was bathed in shadows, so Gloria couldn't see exactly what it was. He held the plate in front of her face, moving it back and forth slowly, causing her head to follow its movement.
“Chocolate?” she said in a tiny, hopeful voice.
“Cake.”
“For me?”
“Well, I don't know. After all, it was a church dinner, and really only the people who go to church ought to get to eat.”
“But you let me eat all that other food,” Gloria said, not caring that she sounded whiny and weak.
“That's because you were starvin’ and pathetic. Now you're full. I'm not sure you deserve this.”
He picked up the slice of cake and brought it slowly toward his mouth.
“Please!” Gloria called out. “Just a bite. I don't need the whole thing, but I haven't had chocolate since Virginia City. Just a bite? Please?”
“This cake was made by the preacher's daughter herself. What kind of person would I be if I gave it to some person who doesn't even have the decency to listen to her father's sermon?”
“Just a bite and I'll go to church next time.”
“Yes, but what about the time after that?” John William had returned the cake to its plate. “How about this? You go to church for every bite you get.”
“All right,” she said. “One visit to church for every bite. Now give it.”
She reached for the plate, but John William snagged it away from her. Holding the plate in one hand, he used the other to pinch off a corner of the cake. Gloria marveled at how such huge hands could maneuver such a tiny morsel from the plate to her open, waiting mouth without dropping so much as a crumb.
“That's one week,” he said, smiling.
“Now wait a minute.” Gloria's protest was silenced by yet another pinch of chocolate.
John William laughed at how her eyes crossed as his hand approached, so she closed them and kept them closed. Bite after bite, she tried to focus on the flavor, but could only feel the texture of his fingers as they brushed against her lips. The delicious morsels may as well have been sawdust. She clamped her lips shut and opened her eyes.
John William was ready, staring right into them. Yet another pinch from the half-eaten cake was held suspended between them.
“How many was that?” she asked.
“I lost count.”
“It doesn't matter.” She opened her eyes and took the remaining piece from the plate and plopped it, whole, into her mouth. “I'll go as long as I'm here with you.”
John William studied the pinch of cake he held in his fingers before popping it into his mouth.
“That's all I ask.”