Chapter 8
Abrams shook his head. "Work is prospectin'. I have yet to see you work a lick. If all you wanted was to be a farmer, you shoulda settled somewhere else."
"My family has a grand farm in Oregon. I wanted something more, something different."
"Sure don't look that way," Abrams muttered as he left.
Ian stared down at the bottles. As he'd expected, most of them had once held spirits. Those didn't capture Ian's attention. He stared at the other ones. Braden insisted upon Maggie's taking a daily dose of Dr. Barker's Blood Builder because she'd always been on the delicate side. Fiona used Princess Tonic Hair Restorer. It seemed ludicrous that old Abrams used both of those products, too-but the proof lay there. On occasion, Da used Peptonic Stomach Bitters. Ma insisted that everyone take a teaspoon of Norwegian cod liver oil each morning. Odd, how ordinary gla.s.s bottles would bring back so many memories.
Ian surveyed his claim. Much as he hated to admit it, Abrams had a point. Like a good farmer, Ian had come, built a st.u.r.dy home, seen to a smokehouse, and plowed a field. Did I leave home only to recreate the exact same thing here?
Chapter 9.
The last rays of sunlight dimmed as Meredith hit the edge of Abrams's claim. "See? We made it."
Tucker gave her an exasperated look. "If you say, 'I told you so,' I'll push you in the river."
"No, you wouldn't. I'd push you in first because I've listened to an endless string of grumpy mutterings all day."
"You'd have to fight an army of mosquitoes to get close enough to make good on that threat." He batted away a buzzing insect.
"They are thicker this year." Meredith readjusted a strap on the knapsack she wore. "h.e.l.lo! We're back!"
"It's about time." Old Abrams popped into view. "Rafferty over there's been holdin' off on supper until you took a mind to show up. I'm about to suffer a sinking spell from hunger."
"We can't have that!"
Abrams waited until they came abreast of him. He lowered his voice and leaned closer. "One of you better talk sense into Ian Rafferty. He's whilin' away his time with foolish pursuits. At this rate, come spring of next year, he won't have more'n a pinch of gold dust. He'll have to slink back home with his tail betwixt his legs 'cuz he can't afford grub for the next year."
"He's a grown man," Tucker grumbled. "He can do what he likes."
"Once you see what he's been up to, you'll think nutty old Clemment's downright sane by comparison."
The man on the other side of Ian's claim displayed a wide array of peculiarities. Meredith couldn't imagine what Ian could possibly do to earn such a comparison. Instead of saying anything, she headed for the bridge. Knowing she'd reach the other side of the roiling river without any effort convinced her Ian Rafferty was clever, not crazy.
"Welcome back!" Ian walked over and immediately took the knapsack off her back.
"Careful! I have eggs in the top."
Ian inclined his head to acknowledge her warning. "I'll help Tucker unload everything. Abrams, why don't you dish up supper?"
Weary as she felt, Meredith stepped into her cabin and almost wept with grat.i.tude. Ian had started a fire so the house would be warm-but better still, he'd filled the galvanized tub with water and left it on the hearth. She'd just wash her hands and face now, but as soon as she finished supper, she'd come and spoil herself with a good, long soak.
"Did Bess behave herself?"
"Never thought I'd like a mule," Tucker confessed, "but she was a G.o.dsend."
The men dropped off the knapsacks and went back outside to unload the provisions. It would take at least two more trips to carry in everything they'd need for the next winter-but each bag of beans and every pound of flour testified to G.o.d's faithfulness.
"Sis," Tucker said as he plopped down the last parcel, "don't bother arranging everything. I'm starving, and if we don't hurry over, Abrams is going to drink all of the coffee."
Meredith laughed. "Is it hunger or coffee that's driving you?"
"Both."
Moments later, Meredith knocked on Ian's door. He walked up from behind her. "Go on in. My home's always open to you."
She and Tucker went inside. Four crates surrounded a cot. What had once been the base of a sled lay across the cot, turning it into a table.
Abrams thumped the speckled coffeepot in the center. "Chow's on. Grace better be short, 'cuz I've waited to eat longer than a man ought to."
Too hungry and tired to be sociable, Meredith and Tucker sank onto the crates. They listened as Ian thanked the Lord for granting them traveling mercies and providing for the meal, then started eating. Very little conversation flowed. Once the meal ended and the coffeepot was emptied, Ian looked at Abrams. "Ready?"
"Sure." Abrams rose from the table and carried the lamp out the door, leaving them with the light of a single candle.
Ian waited a moment, then urged, "Turn around."
Meredith's skirts tangled and snagged on the rough crate. She carefully disentangled herself and pivoted. Her breath caught in her throat.
"It's beautiful!"
The lamp Abrams held outside filtered through an a.s.sortment of bottles.
"That," Tucker's tone echoed with wry disbelief,
"Stained gla.s.s. You made a stained-gla.s.s window." Meredith could scarcely speak in more than a reverent whisper. She walked toward it. Her forefinger hovering a mere inch above the open bottles' mouths, she traced the dark cross that deep brown bottles formed in the center.
"Well?" Abrams hollered. "Do they like it?"
"My sister is captivated." Tucker started talking to Ian about heat loss.
Ian answered back about thick mortar between the bottles and the air trapped inside them.
The precise content of their conversation didn't matter to Meredith. Her cabin had one window just large enough for them to squeeze out of in case of a fire or something blocking the door. All winter long, shutters and a tightly nailed length of leather closed off that window. The notion of having a sliver of light or color enthralled her.
The light behind the window faded. Abrams stomped back in. "It's purdier from the outside. Leastways, it is after dark. Makes me regret not keeping them bottles for myself."
Meredith took in the pattern of color Ian used: green, blue, and brown bottles alternated around the outside, amber ones formed the next row all the way around, then the entire center was clear with the exception of rectangular and square brown bottles that formed the cross. "Just imagine waking to this."
"Had I known how much you'd like it, I would have made mine half that size so you could have one, too." Ian motioned toward a few odd bottles lined up on the floor directly beneath the window. "You're welcome to have those as a start."
Meredith stooped down and frowned. "Oh, Mr. Abrams. I recognize this bottle. It's Positive Rheumatic Cure. My mother, bless her soul, used it."
"Folks don't know how bad the rheumatiz gets. 'Specially in the winter. I'm gonna have to load up on the cure. Ran out last month."
"We would have brought back a bottle for you."
The old man patted her cheek. "Darlin', you put me in mind of my daughter. Violet's got that same streak of kindness."
"You have a daughter?" Tucker blurted out.
"Yup. I'm gonna go back home to her soon as I strike it rich." He shuffled uncomfortably. "Well, I'm going on over to my cabin now."
"Tomorrow is Sunday." Ian leaned against the wall right next to the window. "Will you be wors.h.i.+pping with us?"
"And having Sunday supper?" Meredith tacked on.
"Nah. Gotta make up for lost time."
Ian and Tucker didn't say anything, but they each took an oil lamp and stood by the riverbank as Abrams crossed the bridge. They knew he couldn't swim and was too proud to confess he was afraid of falling in. Meredith watched as they stood like sentinels, keeping watch-two strong men who wouldn't have hesitated a heartbeat about jumping into the frigid, fast-moving current to rescue a peculiar, grumpy old man. The sight didn't frighten her in the least. She had every confidence in them and believed that G.o.d would let no ill befall them.
Waves of weariness washed over her as the men turned and approached her. Meredith didn't want to confess how exhausted she'd grown from the muddy ten-mile trek from town. Instead, she went back into Ian's cabin and started clearing the table.
"Leave that," he ordered. "I have one last thing to show you ere you go home."
Meredith and Tucker accompanied him around the cabin, past the plowed field, and toward the stand of trees. She kept looking down, trying to avoid tripping over a stone or a rut.
"Well?" Ian sounded jubilant. "What do you think?"
Tucker started laughing.
Delighted, Meredith looked at her twin. Twice now, Ian had gotten him to laugh. Tucker reached over and turned her head to the side so she could see what tickled him.
Ian swept his hand in a gesture that would do a snake-oil charlatan proud. "Only the best for those who want the comforts of home."
Meredith's jaw dropped.
Chapter 10.
Meredith slipped from the outhouse early the next morning, unsure whether to be sheepish or delighted. A lady didn't discuss such topics, but she couldn't help wanting to thank Ian again. And again. And again.
Just to keep from flinging her arms around Ian in thanks last night, she'd clung to Tucker's arm and babbled in delight. She'd probably made a complete fool of herself, but Ian was far too polite to say so. She'd finally stammered something and run back home to soak in the bath. She didn't take as long as she wanted to. Tucker had to be tired, too, and she wanted him to enjoy hot water. She'd no more than lain down when she heard him come into the cabin. A mere breath later, she'd fallen fast asleep.
"Ian wants to know if you want to wors.h.i.+p here or over at his place."
"Do you mind if it's at his place? The light s.h.i.+ning through that window would be perfect."
"Okay. Ian invited Abrams again, but that ornery old man won't come. I'm going to go see if Mr. Clemment is interested."
Tucker coaxed Mr. Clemment to come over and wors.h.i.+p with them. Mr. Clemment arrived in overalls that he wore backward. He looked slightly confused and grew wary as Tucker introduced him to Ian.
Ian slowly extended his right hand. "I'm glad to meet the neighbor on the other side of that fine bramble that separates our claims."
"G.o.d never made a better bramble!" Suddenly, Mr. Clemment warmed up to Ian and started telling him all of the varieties of birds that would peck the berries.
Ian listened and asked a few questions. Treating the odd man with respect, he managed to steer him into the house and seated him beside Meredith. " 'Tis grand to have neighbors wors.h.i.+p together, isn't it?"
Meredith patted Mr. Clemment's hand. "We're glad you came."
Ian reached over and took his Bible from the table. Meredith watched her twin. When they'd gone to the mercantile, she'd seen Tucker longingly running his fingers over the cover of a Bible. He'd not picked it up, though. Since Ian shared his Bible, they could do without buying one for themselves. Even though that was the case, Meredith knew her brother missed having a complete Bible every bit as much as she did.
"Tucker, here." Ian handed his Bible to Tucker. "Why don't you read to us from the Word of G.o.d today?"
Tucker accepted the Bible, sat down, and reverently rested his hand atop the leather cover for a long moment before opening the pages.
Meredith looked from her brother's hands to Ian as he sat on a crate. Ian's kindness and generosity and Tucker's reverence stirred her heart.
After Tucker read from the Psalms, each of them took turns speaking of the Lord's goodness. Ian ended with a prayer. Although an altogether simple service, observing the Lord's Day still felt good.
Tired as she'd been from travel, Meredith decided beans would make for an easy and filling meal-especially since she had eggs. One precious egg allowed her to make a pan of corn bread.
After Sunday supper, Mr. Clemment paced around the garden plot. "I like sunflower seeds. Are you planting sunflowers?"
"No, they don't have sufficient season to grow up here." Ian proceeded to explain the crops they planned.
"Oh!" Meredith perked up. "Socks is going to send to Sitka for free seeds for us. They ought to come in a week. The only seeds he had were for parsnips, so I took a packet."
"Been a long, long while since I had parsnip soup." Mr. Clemment scratched his side. "Don't suppose you've got a recipe for it."
"I do. Once we have a nice crop of parsnips, I'll be sure to make soup for Sunday supper especially for you."
"Hold on, Sis." Tucker gave her a warning look. "You can't go counting your chickens before they hatch."
"Chickens are fine birds," Clemment said.
Meredith didn't want to be rude, so she nodded acknowledgment to Mr. Clemment. "Tucker, we live by faith."
"Not by faith alone. You have to face facts, too. Life brings hards.h.i.+ps and trials. No matter how hard you and Ian work in that garden, you can't count on anything coming of it."
"Just like prospecting," Clemment agreed. "You can work your fingers to the bone and hardly get a thing for all your efforts."
"Don't be faulting the la.s.s for her bright outlook. Naysayers never get anything started and done. Her cheerful att.i.tude is a wondrous thing." A slow smile tugged at the corner of Ian's mouth. "I'm thinking your mother named you well. A merrier woman I'll never meet."
"Mama called me Merry when I was small."