Chapter 17
CHAPTER 17
W hen the work switched to the Bailey farm, luckily, the Smithson family traveled home before supper, tacitly acknowledging that they wouldn’t be as well fed if they’d stayed. But, at least, that meant everyone wrapped up the work earlier, which left a bit of time to socialize after the meal, before the seven of them went wearily to bed.
Once the womenfolk had washed and dried a multitude of pots, pans, and dishes, Hank and Elsie were allowed to sit outside on a strawbale set against the front of the small barn. The first evening, Hank sensed Elsie was too tired for much conversation, so they’d sat in companionable silence, with only the faint glow from the home’s windows lighting the darkness surrounding them. A cool breeze heralded the approach of autumn.
Today, without having to rise an hour earlier for the drive to the Smithson and go to bed later because of the trip home, Elsie seemed more like her lively self. She tilted back her head and gazed at the inky sky, the moon a mere sliver of crescent and a wash of silver stars pinpricking the black velvet. “I can see stars in town. But somehow, out here, they seem so vast.”
Hank wondered if he dared take Elsie’s hand. He debated for a few minutes and then, as he’d done several times over the summer, decided to wait for a sign she felt more comfortable with him. “It’s the extent of the horizon, I think, as far as our eyes can see. No trees or buildings or mountains.”
“This is the most beautiful part of living on the prairie, although we’re usually indoors at night, not looking toward the stars.” She let out a sigh. “Think we’ll finish tomorrow?”
“I’ll bet if we put our backs to it, we’ll finish up in a day and a half.”
“Good. No more Smithsons.”
“Not the most pleasant people, those neighbors of yours.”
“You’re so lucky with Torin and Jewel and Brian.”
“I’m not so sure about Brian,” he quipped.
“Oh, you.” She nudged his shoulder with hers. “He’s a good man and you know it.”
“A grumpy man.”
“A man carrying a lot of pain.”
Hank looked at her then, straining to make out her face in the darkness, but he could see only shadows. Her perception surprised him. He’d taken several years to come to the same conclusion.
Hank knew Brian had been keeping a skeptical eye on Elsie, searching for signs that she’d, indeed, be the type of woman who upset their peace.
He hoped his friend could see what he did, how Elsie remained cheerful in the midst of hard work. That she spoke to her siblings in kind tones. How she stepped in to help where needed, without being asked. Yes, I believe working here is probably reassuring Brian of her good character.
“Perhaps, instead of calling ourselves ‘The Bachelors of Three Bend Lake,’ we’re ‘The Misfits of Three Bend Lake.’”
“Not misfits,” Elsie said firmly. “Hermits.”
“Aren’t hermits misfits?”
“I’m not going to debate with you, Hank Canfield, she said with playful tartness. “You know what I mean.”
Smiling, he settled back against the wooden wall. “I’ve always felt the three of us were drawn to the place where we were meant to be.”
“I can see that.” She laid her head on his shoulder.
Hank didn’t dare move. Instead, he slowly inhaled and exhaled a feeling of contentment, unlike anything he’d ever felt before.
Elsie hadn’t known how laughter could lighten the burden of the tedious work of digging out potatoes. Nor how having a handsome man facing her only a few feet away would make her self-conscious about being covered with dirt and having glowing skin—Miss Taylor having informed her that ladies didn’t sweat.
Far too often, she raised her eyes to watch Hank deftly pry out a spud and deposit it into his bucket. Then he’d find one with an odd shape and, like a puppet master, begin a fast-talking commentary, voice pitched to mimic whatever character the potato portrayed. Sometimes, he pulled off a glove to drape around the potato as a shawl or skirt or hat or, in case of one with four downward nubs, a horse’s saddle.
Elsie knew they were taking too much time in play. But Hank made her momentarily forget her sore lower limb’s muscles, which, after about fifteen minutes, started protesting her kneeling or squatting positions. Working together, even with stopping for fun, they’d already dug up half the small field, something that would have taken her most of the day alone.
Elsie glanced up to check on Mary, kneeling in the carrot patch, singing softly to herself. Her father and brother, along with Brian Bly scythed hay. The four Smithson men worked in the cornfield. The younger Smithsons labored in the sweet potato patch, and Ma, Mrs. Smithson, and Henrietta cooked in the kitchen. The other women hadn’t come today.
She brushed away an annoying fly and looked at the sky in all directions, seeing only vivid blue. Even though the almanac promised dry weather for another two weeks, the booklet was wrong almost as much as the predictions were right. Any approaching storm clouds would mean all hands racing to the hay fields to bring as much as possible into the barn before the rain ruined the crop. Unless they had deep snow, the root vegetables could weather a storm just fine.
She took in a breath of relief, inhaling the dark earthy smell of the dug up ground and dirty potatoes and her lower limb muscles gave another twinge. When the pain became almost too much to bear, she’d switch to picking the sheaves of corn, which she could do standing.
She wondered if Hank also felt his muscles protesting. Do men struggle with pain like women do? Pa never complained. But now that she thought about it, she sometimes saw him moving stiffly, as if achy.
Ricky was enough like their father to take after him, although he did complain a bit—at least, to her.
Even with Hank’s levity to lighten the labor, Elsie knew without a doubt that she never wanted to be a farm wife. She might always have to help her family during the harvest. But the rest of the time, she belonged in town. The thought made her feel a little guilty but not enough to change her mind. I’m a town girl, not a country girl.
Finally, finally finished, they’d finished the backbreaking labor of bringing in the harvest. Hank supposed in other places, someone would bring out a fiddle and there’d be feasting and dancing, with lots of joking and laughter. But the Baileys continued with the same type of simple meal they’d had all week, accompanied by the same weary quiet. The only difference was tonight, they ate outside around a bonfire.
Only a careful observer would see small changes. How the lines on Mr. Bailey’s forehead had smoothed out, and he offered more smiles to a family member or Hank and Brian than he had their entire time combined. He saw Mrs. Bailey rest a hand on her husband’s shoulder for a few seconds and squeeze or brush tendrils of hair from the face of one of her daughters. Even Brian’s expression relaxed.
While Elsie…. Without the cares for the success of the harvest weighing her down, he could only think that she fluttered like a butterfly—light and joyful and unbelievably beautiful.
He looked across the fire at Mr. Bailey, wondering if the man noticed and appreciated the changes in his daughter. As if he knew what Hank was thinking, Elsie’s father gave him a searching glance and then jerked his head in an indication to leave their grouping and talk.
This is it. Hank’s stomach tightened, and his mouth dried. He set his plate on the ground, but kept his mug, as if he was about to head to the pump for a refill, and casually walked away from the firelight’s warmth. To lend truth to his movements, he stopped at the pump to put a splash of water into his cup and drank to wet his throat, before catching up with his host.
Mr. Bailey stopped out of earshot of the others, gazing into the darkness in the direction of his shorn fields. For a few seconds, he didn’t turn to acknowledge Hank. “You and Mr. Bly have been a godsend this week. I don’t know how to thank you. But I’ve seen how you look at my Elsie, and I think offering you her hand in marriage?—”
Sudden anger flared in Hank. “Offer! This is 1896! Women aren’t, aren’t chattel .”
Mr. Bailey held up a hand in acknowledgement. “I misspoke…. I meant, I could accept help from a future son-in-law and his friend that in other circumstances would only make me feel indebted.”
Hank breathed in a long breath and wished he could tell the man not to be so stiff-necked with foolish pride. “Brian, our neighbor, Torin, and I are so used to helping each other, that extending aid just comes naturally.”
“Perhaps it would be easier for me to admit—” Mr. Bailey sighed and rubbed a hand over his head “—if I had more congenial neighbors.”
Hank chuckled. “Not sure I’d call Brian congenial , as you’ve seen for yourself, for all he’s a good man and a fine neighbor.” He nerved himself up to bring the topic back to Elsie. “I would like permission to court your daughter.”
With the biggest grin he’d seen on the man’s face, Mr. Bailey clapped a hand on Hank’s shoulder. “Say no more. I’ve seen the way Elsie looks at you, like you’ve hung the moon. I’ve appreciated your help this week, not just because of the difference you and Bly made. But, also, because I had the chance to assess your character.”
“I figured.”
“I don’t think Mrs. Bailey and I could ask for a better husband for our girl. She’s special, our Elsie. We thought she’d have to settle for….” He swallowed, his haunted expression that of a proud, inarticulate man struggling to put hard truths into words. “We prayed, her mother and I, that she’d find a good man, one who would guide her high spirits, as we’ve tried to do for her own good—keep her dreaming reasonable.”
The idea of Elsie’s effervescence crushed for her own good made his chest heat. He bit back harsh words that, if let out, would cause damage and possible estrangement. The man was trying to help Hank understand the realities of their poverty-stricken life.
“But we didn’t want her dreams completely extinguished.”
“I’d never do that!” The very idea made Hank indignant.
“To see my daughter have a chance to live out some of those dreams of hers—wasn’t something I thought possible. But, beyond a dream, it’s more important to secure her future.”
“Of course, that’s important. But?—”
Bailey grabbed Hank’s elbow and pulled him around, towing him in the direction of the firepit. The man only released him when they reached the group in order to bring his hands together in a loud clap for attention. “I have wonderful news to announce, the betrothal of Elsie and Hank.”
What? Hank stepped back.
“What?” Elsie echoed Hank’s thought, jumping to her feet.
Her father gave her a paternal smile. “Hank has asked me for your hand in marriage.”
Too stunned by the man’s abrupt leap from courtship to pronouncement, he couldn’t speak, all Hank could do was helplessly watch the horror and then betrayal play over Elsie’s face.
With painfilled eyes, she glanced at him, and then back at her father.
“Elsie, let me explain,” he said desperately.
Firming her jaw, she raised her chin. “I’m not getting married.” She shot the words at her father. “Not to Hank. Not to anyone .”
Hank opened his mouth to tell her that he’d intended a long courtship, that her father had jumped the gun. But the angry look she speared at him pierced his heart so deeply, he couldn’t think, much less speak.
Mr. Bailey frowned. “I’ve seen the way you look at the man. I thought you’d be happy.”
She glared at her father. “I’m perfectly happy with my life as it is . I have no desire to change anything .”
“Spending the summer learning dressmaking skills and earning some money—” he glanced down at the new boots he’d donned for tonight and tapped a toe “—although much appreciated, isn’t about your future. You need a husband to provide for you and your children.”
“I’m too young to have children,” she stuttered out the words, staring at her mother in appeal. “We discussed the wisdom of waiting.”
Mrs. Bailey didn’t quite meet her daughter’s eyes. “Your father knows best.”
Elsie crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not getting married. I’m going back to my home at Miss Taylor’s and will continue to work for her.”
With a stern look, Mr. Bailey held up a finger in admonishment. “You’ll do no such thing,” he thundered. “If you won’t take this fine man up on his offer, then you are coming home where you belong. Obviously, living in town has given you the wrong ideas.”
Elsie lifted her chin. The expression of stubbornness on her face matched her father’s. “I won’t. I’m staying in town!” She cast Hank a defiant glance. “With Miss Taylor!”
“You’re not of age, Daughter. You must obey me.”
“No! And you can’t make me. Even if you kidnap me.”
Mrs. Bailey gasped. “Elsie Anne Bailey!”
She stared daggers at her mother, and then her father. “If you drag me here, then I’ll run back to town.”
“You’re underage,” her father scoffed. “I wouldn’t need to resort to kidnapping. I’ll have the sheriff haul you back.”
Elsie let out a bitter laugh. “Do you really think Sheriff Granger would do that? Do you, Pa? Really ?”
Underage or not, Hank was sure the sheriff would side with Elsie.
For a moment, her shoulders bowed, before she took a breath and straightened.
Hank couldn’t bear watching Elsie defend her position—part valiant warrior, part cornered, wounded animal. Even if he broke his own heart, he had to set her free. “I withdraw my offer of—” he gazed at Elsie, hoping she’d see the truth in his eyes. “ Courtship .”
That night, Elsie tossed and turned on the hard pallet on the floor, too upset to fall asleep, but doing her best to not disturb Mary’s rest. She kept replaying the evening, in turns feeling the betrayal and hurt caused by her family and Hank and how trapped and isolated she felt.
From time to time, she wiped away tears and quietly blew her nose, hating how pain and anger made her cry. Her handkerchief was so soaked as to be almost useless. I was so happy. Now, Hank’s ruined everything.
But sometimes, too, in the middle of her bitter ruminations, she remembered the stunned look on Hank’s face after her father’s announcement. How his expression changed to hurt, followed by blanking out any emotion when he rescinded his proposal.
Elsie thrust the image aside. It’s his own fault he’s hurt.
She must have dozed at some point, for the pearly gray light of dawn seeped through the windows. Her parents would be up soon. If she wanted to avoid Hank before he and Brian left and any more efforts on her parents’ part to force her acquiescence, she needed to be far enough away from the house for her not to be seen nor hear them calling. Thank goodness the men are sleeping in the barn tonight.
Silently, she slipped from underneath the covers and began to dress.
Mary stirred and opened her eyes.
Elsie leaned close to her sister. “I’m going for a walk,” she whispered. “I’ll be back after Hank and Brian leave.”
Nodding, Mary reached for Elsie’s hand and squeezed.
At the supportive gesture, tears pricked Elsie’s eyes. Sniffing, she released her sister’s hand, stood, and silently let herself out of the house. She used the outhouse and had a drink at the well before striking out, striding as fast as she could to get away before someone saw her and called her back.
She kept to the dirt path between the house and the fields, not needing much light to tread the familiar path and walking as fast as she could. Only after a few minutes, her huffing and puffing reminded her of the stamina she’d lost by living in town, and she forced herself to slow. Still, in her misery, she spared a grateful thought to be without the restrictive corset.
Once past the fields, with the sky lightening to expose her silhouette , another French word she’d learned from Miss Taylor, she set off to an old buffalo hollow, where she could rest out of sight from anyone searching for her.
At the bottom of the grassy hollow, she waited and waited and waited, sometimes sitting and staring blankly at the opposite side, sometimes rising and pacing in an angry circle, stewing about her parents and Hank pressuring her to marry. Finally, her stomach cramped with hunger and, sure Hank and Brian would have left by now, she climbed out and started back, her pace dragging.
But when she reached the house, with dismay, she saw both horses saddled and tied to the small corral outside the barn. Just as she was about to retreat, Hank came out of the house.
He saw her and stopped. “Elsie,” he said softly, holding out a hand as if trying to calm a skittish horse to keep it from running off. Yet, he remained in place, not moving forward to crowd her.
She made a slashing motion. “Don’t you dare talk to me, Hank Canfield. I have nothing to say to you.”
“But will you listen, Elsie? Please let me explain…before I leave?”
She summoned her anger to burn away the pain and shook her head. Instead of heading inside, and facing the recriminations from her parents, she whirled and marched to the back of the chicken coop, where no one would see her from the house or think to look for her.
Pressing her back against the wood, Elsie slid to a sitting position, drawing her knees to her chest. Wrapping her arms around her legs, she lowered her head until her forehead rested on her knees and burst into tears.
On the ride back to town, Hank and Brian remained silent. Not the comfortable silence that usually lay between them, but one thick with unspoken thoughts.
Hank wanted nothing so much as to get home and shut himself inside his cabin and away from the world. I’ll never leave Three Bend Lake again. Whether he likes it or not, Brian will have to become the errand boy, fetching supplies from now on.
After an hour or so, Brian sent him an oblique glance. “Your Elsie had me coming around to the idea of a woman living at Three Bend Lake.”
“She’s not my Elsie,” he ground out.
“I don’t know about that,” Brian said in a matter-of-fact tone. “I, too, saw the way she looked at you. Like her father said, she’s sweet on you.”
Hank had thought so too.
“Quite a muck up, though. Not like you to be so ham-fisted.”
“Elsie flat-out told me that she wanted to continue her life as it is for a few years, at least until she’s twenty. I made my peace with her timing because she seemed open to the idea of our courtship.”
“Guess her pa heard the word court and jumped to a wedding like a dog after a bone.”
“Sank his teeth into my arm and pulled me right along. If I’d had known what was about to come out of his mouth, I’d have tugged him back and made him listen to my plan.”
“Did you tell Elsie that?”
“She refused to talk to me.” He was afraid she never would. If I could explain, surely, she’d understand.
“You givin’ up?”
“What else can I do?”
They rode along in silence for a while.
Brian slid him a sly glance. “Not like you to give up.”
Despondent, Hank just shrugged. He didn’t even have the energy to say more. He could only despair at the thought of not having Elsie, the light of his heart, by his side for the rest of his life. My life will be gray, indeed.
“Seems to me, your best bet is to lay all your cards out for Miss Taylor. Once she knows you’re not about to snatch away her assistant and that you truly love Elsie, she can encourage her to talk to you.”
Hank remained silent, thinking through Brian’s suggestion. Miss Taylor did seem to approve of him and, with Dr. Angus courting her after their own rough start, surely, she’d understand and be supportive.
Whether Miss Taylor’s encouragement would be enough to budge Elsie from her hurt and stubborn stance….
At least, he could feel some hope. “I’ll talk to Miss Taylor when we reach town.”
Hank spent the rest of the way thinking about what he needed to say to Elsie’s employer and mentally rehearsing his speech. He barely noticed when they reached the outskirts of town and then rode through the familiar streets, ignoring the passersby.
Brian pulled up in front of the mercantile. “I’m picking up a few things. Want me to wait for you?”
Hank glanced at the sun to check the approximate time. “Nah. Don’t know how long I’ll be.”
Brian flashed one of his rare grins. “Think Miss Taylor will wash her hands of you?”
Thinking of the friendship he’d built over the summer with her and Dr. Angus, he shrugged.
“Good luck.” Brian touched the brim of his Stetson in a salute.
With a smile that probably looked more like a grimace, Hank turned Chipper in the direction of the Gordon Building. Once there, he dismounted, gave the horse a short drink in a nearby trough, and tied him to a hitching post. Entering the large wooden doors of the building, he looked down at his dusty clothes and shuddered at the idea of stepping into Miss Taylor’s pristine and feminine shop.
Her door was canted, so he removed his Stetson, stuck his head inside, and looked around. To his relief, he saw no customers. The dressmaker wasn’t in sight, but he heard the whir of the sewing machine through the open door of the back room. “Miss Taylor!” he called. “It’s Hank Canfield.”
The sound stopped, and the woman walked into the main room, smiling. “Good to see you, Hank. Is the harvest finished? Seems faster than the Baileys anticipated.”
“Brian Bly came with me, so we helped cut short a couple of days. As far as I know, Elsie plans to return to town on Sunday.”
“Wonderful. The place is so quiet without her vivacious energy. I’ve really missed her.” She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. “What’s wrong?”
I’m that obvious? “Elsie’s angry with me.”
“Elsie angry? Our Miss Sunshine? Difficult to imagine.”
He thought of the implacable look in her eyes as she spurned him. “I supposed when pushed hard enough, like anyone else, Elsie has a temper.”
Miss Taylor glanced around. “Let’s go upstairs, and you can tell me everything.”
He looked down at his dirty clothes. “I’m not fit.”
With a reassuring smile and a pat to his shoulder, she tilted up her head toward the stairs. “I’ll just lock up down here.”
In her apartment, he hung his hat on a decorative hook by the door and took a seat in the wooden chair at the small table. His shoulders slumped.
She bustled around making tea, setting the table, and laying out some cookies, before sitting across from him. “Tell me.”
The story poured out of him, from the talk with Elsie’s father, to her refusal to discuss the issue. When he finished, he slumped, deflated and afraid to look into Miss Taylor’s face.
“Drink your tea, Hank.”
“Miss Taylor, I?—”
She held up a hand. “I should have told you weeks ago to call me Constance. I guess, it’s been a while since you’ve addressed me by name, and I forgot we haven’t had that conversation.”
Startled by her unexpected response, he looked up and met her gaze.
She motioned to his teacup.
Obediently, he picked up the cup and sipped the fragrant beverage. “I promise you, I didn’t intend to propose to Elsie. Well, not yet, at least.”
“Of course not. You’ve wisely been conducting a patient courtship, waiting until Elsie let you know she was ready for a more serious relationship.”
“I was aiming for three or more years.”
“A wise man, indeed. After all, we working women don’t need to jump into marriage from desperation. Angus is showing the same patience with me, although we haven’t discussed a specific length of time before we wed. Just that we both want to be more established. But I’m older than Elsie and have had my chance to experience some of the wider world.”
“I don’t want to take her work from her, even when she’s ready.” He let out a slow breath, not sure how much he wanted to reveal about his circumstances before he had a chance to discuss them with Elsie. But Constance needed to know some information, at least. “I have access to more financial resources than what would seem from my present circumstances. I moved here wanting to prove I could make a living on my own, without my family’s money.”
She picked up her cup, holding it as if for warmth, and then took a sip. “That’s very resourceful of you and speaks well for your character.”
“I can well afford a nice house in town, so Elsie can keep working with you. A housekeeper. A nanny for our children.”
Constance held up a hand. “Say no more. I can see the idea of town life pains you. Yet you love Elsie enough to make this huge change. I think I can help you smooth out your courtship path.”
For the first time since last night, Hank felt the tightness in his chest ease.
“Stay home this Sunday, so you won’t run afoul of Elsie and her family. Then, come to town, either during the week or next Sunday. I think I can convince Elsie to at least hear you out. The rest is up to you.”
“Monday.” He couldn’t bear the thought of waiting a minute longer than he had to. “Barring rain, you can count on seeing me Monday.”
Constance nodded, her expression approving. “Monday, it is.” She flashed him a mischievous look. “Oh, and Hank, the Camerons might be willing to spare you some of their roses.”