The Hand-Me-Down Family Page 15

  “I’m sure that’s all it is.” Jack rested his arm on his knee. “I would have thought you’d be more worried about the way Simon’s been acting.”

  She smiled sadly. “Simon is just angry at the world right now. No chance of him hiding how he’s feeling. He’ll get it out of his system eventually. He just needs a firm hand until he learns to trust us and feels some sense of security again. And thankfully, a firm hand seems to be your specialty.”

  Before he could respond, she stood. “I guess I’ll turn in.”

  He nodded. “I think I’ll sit out here a spell longer.”

  Once Callie was inside, Jack continued absently shaving on the block of wood.

  So, she thought his parenting methods were something to be thankful for, did she? That was a surprise.

  What was even more of a surprise was the warm feeling of pleasure brought on by simply glimpsing the light of approval in her eyes. He’d never had a woman look at him quite that way before.

  And, in spite of himself, he found he liked it.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The next morning, Callie had already kicked off the covers and swung her feet to the floor when she heard Jack’s rap on her door. “I’ll be out in a minute.” At least he hadn’t caught her still asleep this time.

  “I’ll meet you in the barn.”

  Again, when Callie hurried through the kitchen, she saw the stove had been stoked. Just how early did that man get up, anyway?

  She entered the barn to see Jack already seated beside Belle with several inches of milk in his pail.

  He glanced up. “Think you remember how this works?”

  Callie nodded. So much for morning pleasantries.

  “Good. You’ll find the grain in that sack over there.” He nodded his head toward an empty stall. “Scoop up some for Clover’s trough, but keep an eye out for rats.”

  Callie had her hand halfway in the sack before his warning sunk in and she drew back. “Rats?”

  “That’s right.”

  Was that a hint of amusement she heard in his tone? Maybe he was just teasing.

  “The barn cats do a fair job of keeping them run off,” he elaborated, disabusing her of the notion that rats weren’t a real possibility, “but every once in a while they slip in past the cats. The feed sacks draw them like a candy store does a youngster.”

  She swallowed, trying to work up the courage to stick her hand into the sack.

  The rhythmic pinging of milk squirting into the pail stopped. “Just knock on the side a couple of times with the handle of the hoe or pitchfork and wait a couple of seconds. If there’s one in there, he’ll come scurrying out.”

  Not an altogether reassuring thought. Callie did as she was told, certain he was laughing at her all the while. When nothing stirred, she gingerly scooped up a generous portion of grain and hurried over to Clover’s trough.

  Jack nodded approvingly. “Once she starts eating, you can get to work. Don’t forget to wash her udder and to save some milk for her calf.”

  Callie found the correct rhythm quicker this time, getting the milk to squirt into the pail on her second try.

  Once the milking was done, she set her pail beside Jack’s on the worktable and let Clover’s calf out of his pen.

  She and Jack worked together until they were finished in the barn, Callie filling the silence with a quiet humming. This work was different from what she was used to, but it wasn’t much harder than scrubbing floors or doing piles of laundry, both of which she was intimately familiar with.

  Jack finally dusted his hands on his pants and shot her a challenging look. “So, do you want to try your hand at gathering eggs this morning?”

  “Of course.” That chore had to be easier than milking cows.

  Callie let him lead the way.

  First he scattered grain in the chicken yard. “Just throw this about on the ground and let them scratch for it. Most of them will come out to eat, which makes the egg gathering a lot easier. Of course, a few might stay on the nest.”

  “And what do you do then?”

  “You carefully reach under them and slide the egg out.” He handed her the basket. “But before you reach into a nest, whether a hen is there or not, it’s a good idea to check for snakes or other critters.”

  “Snakes!” First rats and now snakes?

  “For the most part, any snake you find in the nest will be a chicken snake. It might give you a scare, but it won’t hurt you. What it will do is swallow your pin money.”

  “Pin money?”

  “They eat the eggs. Not to mention baby chicks, if you’re trying to hatch some. Eggs aren’t just food for our table. Any extras you have at the end of the week can be taken to town on market day and traded for other things you need.”

  “So what do you do if a snake is in there?” Poisonous or not, there was absolutely nothing that could convince her to touch a snake.

  He must have seen the look on her face. “Don’t worry, it doesn’t happen often. We’ll just cross that bridge when we come to it. So, assuming there’s no snake, if the chicken is still sitting on the nest, you’re gonna have to reach under her to collect the egg. Sometimes they’ll let you do it without much fuss, but other times, they’ll take exception.”

  “How?”

  “You’ll have to watch out for the sharp beaks—I’ve gotten my hands pecked more times than I care to remember. Or they might try to fly into your face, so be ready to duck. Just don’t drop the eggs.”

  Callie swallowed hard. She’d accepted that farm work would be difficult. But she hadn’t realized it could also be hazardous.

  She sent up a quick prayer for courage. She was determined not to embarrass herself in front of Jack

  “Good breakfast.” Jack set his fork down and stood. “Girls, you help your Aunt Callie clean up the kitchen. Simon, you can help me take care of some chores outside.”

  The boy met his glance across the table with a guarded look.

  “Have you ever chopped firewood before?” Jack asked.

  Simon sat up straighter. “No, sir.”

  “Ever handled an ax at all?”

  Simon shook his head again.

  “Then I’d say your education has a few holes in it. It’s high time we fixed that.”

  “Yes, sir.” Simon stood and gathered up his dishes. Obviously the idea of wielding an ax sounded better than kitchen chores.

  Jack saw the protest forming on Callie’s lips and gave her a look that silenced whatever she’d been about to say. Last night she’d said she appreciated his firm hand with the kids. She’d just have to remember that and trust him to know what they could and couldn’t handle. These three had to learn to take some responsibility, especially if she was to have any chance of making a go of things here once he left.

  She certainly couldn’t do it all on her own, and there were lots of things the kids could handle with the right kind of training.

  Jack carried his empty plate to the sink. “Why, by the time your Uncle Lanny and I were your age,” he told Simon, “we were chopping firewood, milking cows and helping with the plowing.”

  Callie turned to the girls. “All right, ladies. Annabeth, you finish clearing the table. Emma, you can wash the dishes. I’ll dry and put them away.” She handed Emma a clean apron, then fetched hers and tied it around her waist.

  “It’s laundry day,” she continued, “so I’m going to the washroom to set the water to boiling while you two get started in here.”

  Jack raised a brow. How about that—Callie was actually taking his cue on something. Maybe he’d been wrong about her teachability after all?

  Jack hefted his sledgehammer as he watched Simon. The boy hit a chunk of wood dead center, splitting it into two nearly equal pieces. They’d been at it for almost thirty minutes now and both of them were sweaty and tired. But Jack finally felt that his nephew was getting the hang of it.

  He clapped Simon on the shoulder. “That’s probably enough for today. Good job.”<
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  Simon added his contribution to the woodpile and wiped his brow. “You’re planning to go back to work with the railroad, aren’t you?” The boy leaned on the ax handle and gave Jack a dark look.

  Jack’s temper rose in response, then he remembered what Callie had said last night about the likely cause of Simon’s orneriness. “Eventually,” he said as matter-of-factly as he could. Then he led the way to the barn.

  Simon hefted the ax and marched along behind him. “And you’re going to just leave us stuck out here on this hayseed farm.”

  “I’ll be coming back for visits every few months. And it’s not such a bad place to be, Simon, if you just give it a chance.”

  “If you think it’s so great, why’d you leave Sweetgum as soon as you could?”

  Jack put away the wedge and sledgehammer. Remember, he’s just a confused kid. “That was different. I was a grown man and your Uncle Lanny and Aunt Julia were moving in here to help my mother after my pa died.” He held out a hand for the ax. “It was time for me to strike out on my own.”

  “Momma said you wanted to get away from here ever since you were a kid.”

  “True. But I don’t regret growing up here or learning all the skills my daddy taught me.” At least not now when he looked back on it. “I still use a lot of what I learned back then.”

  “Well, that’s where we’re different. My pa taught me town skills ’cause that where my home is.”

  What in Tom’s back forty were town skills? “I’m sorry, son, but it’s time for you to accept that that place doesn’t exist any more.”

  Simon’s expression darkened. “Don’t call me that. I’m not your son.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Besides, the land the café and our house was built on is still there. And it belongs to Emma and me. We can rebuild it.”

  “Maybe. But then what? You and Emma can’t live there by yourselves. And your Aunt Callie and Annabeth will need your help whenever I’m away.”

  Simon’s hands clenched at his sides. “That’s not fair.”

  Jack shrugged. “Maybe not. But that’s the way it is.”

  Simon wasn’t giving up. “Then they could live with Emma and me.”

  Jack folded his arms. His patience was growing thin. “And do what? How would you live? At least here there’s fresh milk and eggs. There’s a vegetable garden out back and meat in the smokehouse.”

  “I could get a job.” Simon met Jack’s gaze head on. “I’ll bet Mr. Pearson down at the hotel would hire me to run errands.”

  The boy didn’t know when to cut bait. “It wouldn’t be enough to support all of you.” He placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder, trying a different approach. “Simon, when I’m not here, you’re going to be the man of the house. I need to know that I can count on you to take care of the womenfolk and always think about what’s best for the family, not just for yourself.”

  Simon shook off Jack’s hand and stepped back. “And is that what you’re doing when you think about leaving?”

  “That’s different.” Was he really trying to justify his actions to an eleven-year-old? “Look, I need to return to my old job. It’s important work, I’m good at it, and my crew and my customers depend on me. And like I said, I’m not abandoning you. I’ll come back to visit on a regular basis and I’ll be sending money to help Aunt Callie with the expenses.”

  “So that makes it all okay?”

  “Yes, it does,” Jack snapped.

  He watched as Simon spun on his heel and stalked away.

  Jack raked a hand through his hair. So much for holding on to his temper. But confound it, what was it going to take to make that boy see reason?

  Chapter Twenty

  Jack sat on the top step of the porch, listening to the familiar night sounds while he mulled over an idea that had been taking shape in his mind for the last few hours. It seemed one good thing had come out of his discussion with Simon this morning after all. The boy’s idea about rebuilding on that plot of land in town had given him the backup plan he needed.

  He wasn’t at all surprised when the door opened behind him. In fact, he’d been waiting for her.

  “They’re all tucked in.”

  “Good.” He glanced up and frowned at her bonnet, pointing his knife at it.

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

  He watched the play of emotion on her face. She obviously thought he was being unreasonable. And maybe he was. But he just didn’t like to see her constantly imprisoning herself in those uncomfortable-looking headwraps.

  Callie moved closer, leaning against one of the support posts that flanked the steps. The one with his father’s carving.

  With slow, deliberate movements, she removed the bonnet. It was strangely mesmerizing to watch her unveil in the silvery moonlight.

  When she was done, she raised her face to the stars and shook her head, as if to make the most of her newfound freedom. But he noticed she had positioned herself so that her “good” profile was presented to him.

  He decided not to press her on that point. Not tonight.

  “I dug out all of Julia and Leland’s old clothes this afternoon,” she said. “I was wondering if you wanted any of Leland’s things. For your own use, I mean.”

  Just what he didn’t need—more of Leland’s hand-me-downs. He shaved a thick curl of wood from the block in a sharp movement. “No, thank you. I’m sure you can find some other use for them.”

  “Actually, I already have.”

  He glanced up, intrigued.

  “Emma and Simon’s wardrobes are sadly lacking,” she said, her voice rushing over the words. “I’d like to take the cloth from these garments and fashion them some new things.”

  One step above a hand-me-down. Would the kids mind?

  “Wouldn’t it be a lot easier to just buy some new fabric and start from scratch?”

  “Maybe. But that would be so wasteful when this cloth is readily available. And I can fashion the clothes so that they look like new, made for children their age. I told you, my father is a tailor. I learned quite a bit from him.”

  A practical-minded woman. And once again she’d recognized a need that had slipped right by him.

  He rubbed his chin, not sure if he felt admiration, jealousy or some combination of the two.

  “Suit yourself,” he said, then changed the subject. “Don’t forget, I plan to work on clearing out the rubble from the fire tomorrow. I’ll probably be gone most of the day.”

  “I’ll make sure I get up earlier.”

  Did she think he planned to leave without taking care of things here first? “Don’t worry. I won’t head out until the morning chores are done.”

  “That wasn’t what I meant.” She turned to face him fully, possibly forgetting she’d removed her bonnet. “What you’re planning to do in town is important. And it’ll be hard work. I just don’t want to hold you back or add to your work.”

  “Don’t worry, you won’t.” He rested an elbow on his thigh. Time to mention the new plan. “I’m thinking, once I get the place cleared, I might build something new there.”

  “Oh?” Her unspoken question hung in the air between them.

  “Yes. Simon reminded me earlier that that bit of property is his and Emma’s legacy. I was thinking, if I put up a new structure, it would give you and the kids a place to go if you decided life out here was too hard.”

  She crossed her arms. “That won’t happen.”

  “Maybe not.” He didn’t want to argue with her over this. He was going to provide a safety net for her and the kids, whether she wanted one or not. Yep, by August he could head back to his old life with a clear conscience and the confidence that he’d done his duty.

  But right now he’d soothe her ruffled feathers. “Even if you do decide to stay here, we could always rent the place out and have another source of income.”

  She relaxed, letting her arms drop to her sides. “That makes sense. But how will Simon and Emma react to having someone else live
in what they think of as their place?”

  “It might be hard for them to get used to at first, especially Simon. But I’ll make sure it doesn’t look anything like the old place. And as long as we lease it, it’ll still be there for them to do whatever they please with once they get old enough.”

  She brushed a stray lock of hair off her forehead. “Building a new place will be a lot of work.”

  “Most things worth doing are.”

  “I agree. But won’t it delay your departure?”

  Was she disappointed or glad? He caught himself—the answer to that question was irrelevant. “It might delay things a bit. But I think in the long run this will be better for all of us.”

  It would give him a clearer conscience when he left, that was certain.

  Jack arrived in town the next morning to find three youths lined up in front of what was once his sister’s home and work-place. He gave them an assessing look as he set the brake on the wagon. One of them was a big lad, probably seventeen or eighteen, and obviously used to hard work. The second was not quite as big or as old, but he still looked like a worker. The third hopeful was slimmer and not near as muscled. But if the kid was willing to work, he could probably still get some use out—

  He frowned, taking a second, closer look as he neared the trio. Unless he was mistaken, the third youth was a girl dressed in boy’s overalls.

  Now who in tarnation had let their daughter out like that?

  He stopped in front of his would-be work crew and folded his arms. “So you all want to earn a bit of money, do you?”

  Three heads bobbed in unison. “Yes, sir.”

  “What’re your names?”

  The biggest of the three spoke up first. “Calvin Lufkin.”

  “You Walter Lufkin’s boy?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Walter Lufkin was a farmer with a big place and an even bigger brood of children. The man was as honest as the day was long and knew the meaning of hard work. Chances were, he’d passed those traits on to his son. “You’ll do.”