Chapter Eighteen
Kate’s hopes for a walk the next day lessened with each passing hour. Given that it was unseasonably warm, Ann had decided to strip all of the beds in addition to all of the regular laundry, and Kate predicted they would not finish before Sam and the kids returned.
The little group had departed early to make the two-mile walk to a stretch of woods far west of the town.
Sam had lately been bringing back rabbits, as squirrels were harder to find this time of year.
Officially, it was illegal to hunt them out of season, but Sam figured he was above the law in this regard, especially as he had eight children, and now his wife’s sister, to feed. And besides, he knew the game warden.
Kate paused and wiped her brow. Even with the windows open, she was perspiring.
She plucked another shirt out of the gray water in the tub and squeezed out the excess water before feeding it through the ringer.
Her mother changed the water frequently, but when Kate had suggested doing so, Ann had balked at the waste of soap.
“Da’s back!” Jenny called from the back window, where she was folding towels. “Looks like they got something!”
“Already?” Ann said, pursing her lips as she surveyed the laundry mess. “Right, then, let’s get this cleaned up.”
Obediently, Jenny and Vera began dismantling the laundry apparatus.
Vera carried the clean laundry back to the bedrooms, while Jenny and Ann dumped the big tub of dirty water.
Ann quickly gave a final press to one of Billy’s shirts and then set the iron on the table to cool.
She was just folding up the ironing board when Susie burst triumphantly through the door.
“Look what we got!”
She held up the carcass of an animal Kate didn’t recognize, which, having grown up on a farm, was saying a lot. The creature resembled a small beaver . . .
“Muskrats!” Susie said. “Da got three of them!”
Kate swallowed hard. Muskrat? Growing up on a farm, Kate had of course partaken of many meals in which the main course was some type of game—rabbit, squirrel, grouse, deer—but never in her life had the Kerwyns resorted to eating what they considered to be large rats, even in the darkest days of the Depression.
Sam tramped in then and tossed two more carcasses on the table, knocking over the iron.
“Muskrat, eh?” Ann said, looking them over. “Haven’t had that in a while. No rabbits?”
“Didn’t see a one, did we, Charlie?”
“Nah,” Charlie said as he set his gun behind the door. “Saw a few squirrels, but we missed.”
“Got any coffee, woman?” Sam barked as he threw himself onto the sofa. “Jenny, get these boots off! Charlie, you start cleanin’ the guns, and Petey, you carry those down the back.” He nodded at the stiff bodies on the table, which was now smeared with blood, and held out a foot to Jenny.
“Hold your pants on!” Ann shouted, pouring a cup of coffee. “Marie, you go down and get started skinnin’.”
Still appalled, Kate wanted to protest, but she realized how pretentious,
not to mention ungrateful, it would sound. She had never skinned a muskrat, though she assumed it was the same as any other wild animal . . .
“Mind you, don’t throw away the tails,” Sam called as she picked up a couple of knives and a large enamel bowl. “That’s where the best meat is.”
“The tails ain’t no good!” corrected Ann. “All bone and grizzle.”
“Well, I like ‘em!” Sam grumbled.
“I’ll be down in a minute,” Ann said, though Kate suspected it would be far longer than “a minute” before Ann appeared to help.
Kate trudged down the stairs and walked around to the back of the tavern, which abutted a scraggly lot consisting of half gravel and half weeds.
The back door of the Tap was dented where someone had tried to kick it in, and the windows were barred, though one was broken and had a rag stuffed in the hole to stop the cold air.
Nearby, a plank of wood sat atop two barrels upon which Petey had hefted the creatures.
Whether this makeshift structure had been constructed by the Prices or by the owner of the tavern was unknown, but both the Prices and the staff of Gordon’s used it for a variety of purposes.
Kate stepped over a broken whiskey bottle and surveyed the muskrats.
“Want me to help?” Petey asked eagerly.
“If you want to,” Kate said gratefully, holding out a knife. “If you know what you’re doing, that is,” she added, not wanting to incite Sam’s wrath by incorrectly dissecting his trophies.
Together they worked for almost an hour, with Kate periodically checking Petey’s progress.
She was impressed with his skill, especially given that he was only eight.
When they were finally finished, Kate tossed the grizzled chunks of meat into the bowl and carried it upstairs while Petey disposed of the hides and entrails.
Ann had a pot of water already boiling and was finishing up kneading dough for bread. Sam’s snores reverberated from the couch, his boots lying haphazardly on the floor. Ann took the bowl and tossed the meat into the pot of boiling water. Jenny silently plopped several onions in after it.
“Helps with the musky taste,” Ann confided.
“I thought you would bake it. Or maybe batter and fry it?” Kate peered into the pot.
“Nah, they’ll go further as a stew. Be ready in a few hours. Charlie, aren’t you done cleaning those guns yet? Get a move on. Susie, you can wipe that table. Get the blood off.”
***
Several hours later, the pungent aroma of muskrat stew filled the tiny place.
Ann had added a few potatoes and carrots and had likewise roasted the tails, which were for Sam alone.
Though the thought of eating muskrat initially nauseated her, Kate’s stomach was growling.
She had had only a slice of bread early this morning.
Ann was giving the grayish mass a final stir when a sharp knock sounded on the door.
“Who the hell would that be on a Sunday afternoon?” Sam barked from the sofa, his eyes suddenly popping open.
“Well, how would I know?” Ann wiped her hands on her apron. “It’s probably Randy,” she muttered, referring to Sam’s bachelor friend from the railroad. “If it is, don’t ask him to eat with us. There ain’t enough.”
“I’ll invite who I like, woman!” Sam shouted, pulling himself up.
He shuffled over in his stocking feet and threw open the door.
Kate turned from where she was slicing bread and nearly dropped the knife she was holding when he saw that it was not the mysterious Randy in the doorway, but Henry Crawford holding a large bouquet.
All the color drained from Kate’s face.
Henry shot her a tiny wink and then addressed Sam. “Mr. Price?” he asked smoothly.
“Whatever it is yer sellin’, Sonny, we ain’t buyin’!” he snapped and began to shut the door.
“No, wait! I’m . . . I’m not selling anything. I’m . . . my name is Henry Crawford.” He nodded toward Kate. “I’m here to call on Kate. If I may. If I’m not interrupting.”
“Kate?” Sam was momentarily puzzled. “Oh, you mean Marie? Marie!” he said, stepping back a pace. “Someone here for ya. How come you didn’t tell us you had a fancy man?”
Kate gritted her teeth. How dare Henry follow her here! “He isn’t my fancy man,” she said bitterly, but moved slowly toward the door and stood beside Sam.
Henry’s face was one of outrageous delight. “Kate!” he gushed. “It’s wonderful to see you! You have no idea how worried we’ve been.”
Kate wondered who he meant by “we.” Angrily, she pushed away a stray image of Edmund.
He held out the bouquet. “Here, this is for you.”
Kate’s eyes traveled to the bouquet. It was, she had to admit, stunning. It contained tulips, daffodils, hyacinths and even some lilies of the valley. It must have cost a fortune. Still, she refused to take it. He continued to awkwardly hold it out, his arm beginning to waver slightly.
“Take it, girl,” Sam barked. “Don’t leave a man hangin’ that way!”
Kate roughly took the flowers and without even so much as a passing whiff, handed them to Ann, who was hovering near.
“Ain’t these pretty!” Ann declared.
“May I come in?” Henry asked.
Sam gave a small shrug and stepped aside, waving his hand in an exaggerated gesture of welcome.
As Henry stepped tentatively inside, he flashed Kate a smile.
He was dressed in an argyle sweater-vest with blue and yellow diamonds, a navy-blue herringbone jacket, and sported a light blue tie with thin yellow stripes.
He looked so completely out of place that Kate was tempted to laugh.
Wickedly, she wondered what Mary was wearing today. A matching herringbone cap?
With a nod to Ann, Henry removed his herringbone cap.
“Well, ain’t ya gonna’ tell us who this is?” Ann asked. “Must be your beau, I’m thinkin’. Susie, find a jar for these flowers.”
“Aw! Why me? I want to hear! You always make me do everything!”
“Alright, then, little Miss Nosey. You get it, Jenny.”
Jenny silently retreated.
Kate pressed her lips together tightly. “Henry Crawford, this is my sister, Ann, and her husband, Sam Price.”
Henry, whose eyes had been surreptitiously observing the interior, held out his hand to Sam.
“And he’s not my beau,” Kate added quickly. “He’s from Merriweather. He’s a friend . . . of my sister’s.” Kate said with exaggerated relish and enjoyed watching his smugness temporarily vanish.
“Friend, is it?” Ann asked, one eyebrow raised disbelievingly.
“Kate is correct, Mrs. Price, with one small exception. I’m actually from Chicago. I’m just in Merriweather temporarily for work.”
“Oh, yeah?” Sam scratched his head. “What kinda work?”
“I’m an architect.”
“Golly. You rich?” Petey asked excitedly.
“Peter Price!” Ann scolded. “Don’t pay him any mind, Mr. Crawford.”
Henry gave a false little chuckle. “Not at all. And please do call me Henry.”
“Alright then, Henry,” Ann said, plopping the flowers into the jar Jenny had fetched. “Why don’t you come on in and join us for supper? Got a real nice muskrat stew.”