Chapter Six
The light drizzle had turned into a steady rain, sending rivulets of mud coursing down the hillside, forming pools of sludge at the bottom. Jenny looked down at the brown puddle soaking into the black suede of her best pair of boots. They were ruined, but she didn’t care. Nor did she care that the brim of her hat, unable to withstand the weight of the water saturating it, flopped limply around her face. It mattered not that her usual bouncy curls were drenched and plastered to her neck and shoulders, or that her coat and gown were soaked through to her skin.
With summer having extended weeks into October, fall chose today, of all days, to arrive, but she barely noticed the chill in the air or the slick leaves lying about. The shiver that ran down her spine wasn’t from the cold. It was a tremor of foreboding as she watched her father stagger drunkenly down the hill toward their wagon. He’d shown up intoxicated to his own wife’s funeral. Jenny was humiliated and if Eustace Harper had been in his right mind, he would be too.
Always a good man, he’d been an excellent provider for his family and never had he allowed liquor in their home, but that was before. Before he brought spirits home, two or three bottles at a time, only to head back to town in as many days to restock. Before he cried himself to sleep at night, or whatever time he passed out in a drunken stupor. Before his son had to skip school in order to tend and harvest the crops his father had so painstakingly planted in the spring, which were now at risk of rotting on the vine from his neglect. All of it was before.
It was a new time now, and a new Eustace Harper. He was a man who Jenny didn’t like very much. Sadly, he was beginning to overshadow the memory of the man she’d known and loved all her life. Who she had idolized as a little girl, who’d taught her to fish and to ride, who had read her the same bedtime story night after night because it was her ‘very most favorite.’ That man was beginning to get lost in her memories, stolen from her by a grief so profound it left an unrecognizable shell in his place when his beloved Caroline had passed away.
It was as though his world had ended with her mama’s passing and it seemed there wasn’t enough liquor in the world to drown his sorrows. Starting upon rising every day, which was well after the noontime meal, and not ending until he passed out well beyond midnight, her papa only took comfort in pickling his body with cheap rotgut whiskey.
Jenny was filled with a wealth of emotions. Foremost was anger. She was incensed with her father for giving up. He had an eight-year-old son to raise to a man and a daughter who was grieving just as hard. There was the farm, the livestock, and he had his job at the mill. He hadn’t been there in days and Jenny worried if he didn’t sober up soon, Mr. Peterson would give his job to another. Life goes on, her mama had always said. Papa knew that. Didn’t he see mama wouldn’t have wanted it to be this way?
“Jenny, honey, you’ve got to get out of the rain.”
Turning toward Janelle’s concerned voice, she saw her with Aaron standing tall at her side. Beside them stood Heath, who had his hand on Will’s shoulder as he held an umbrella high for the two of them. Her brother was getting so tall. Already he’d outgrown the new suit Mama had bought him only a few months before. She took in his bedraggled appearance in his sodden, ill-fitting clothes; his red hair, which was identical to her own, had turned dark from the rain and was lying soaked and matted against his scalp. He appeared lost, his eyes haunted.
Before the service, Jenny and Will had stood side by side, hands clasped, stoically waiting while their papa swayed precariously on his feet, occasionally mumbling to himself on the other side of the gravesite. As soon as they’d arrived, the Jacksons had surrounded her and Will. Janelle and Letty had flanked the pair like sentinels, her friend’s welcome hand slipping into her own, while Letty, her mother’s dearest friend, took up Will’s on the other side. The men—Heath, Henry, Luke, and Aaron—stood at their backs the entire time. If not for Heath’s support, his hand at her back, the other clamped firmly on Will’s shoulder, she didn’t think they would have made it through the service, not without crumbling in a heap by their mother’s grave. A wave of fury swept through her. It should have been her father supporting them.
As Will looked up, the raw pain dimming his moss green eyes made Jenny’s heart lurch. Softly, she spoke to him. “Get in the wagon with papa, Will. I need another minute.”
“I can’t, Jenny. Papa left.”
Her eyes flew to where she had last seen her father, and beyond where their wagon had stood. He and their means to get home were nowhere around. He’d left them, so utterly drunk off his hind end that he’d deserted his two children without a word, abandoning them thoughtlessly in the cold rain by his dead wife’s freshly dug grave. Jenny blinked rapidly, the sting of tears burning behind her eyes.
“God damn him,” she whispered, meaning it heartily at that moment in time.
“We’ll see you home, honey,” Janelle assured her in a tear-filled whisper.
Just then, the heavens opened up in a torrent of rain. As suddenly, it stopped pelting her face and a strong arm wrapped around her waist. It was Heath holding an umbrella and protecting her from the icy rain. She wanted to curl into him and surrender to his strength.
They hadn’t spoken since the night he’d brought her home, but she’d seen him from her mother’s sickroom window, tending the horses and livestock since her father was sadly incapacitated. Had it only been a week ago? It seemed so much longer. Seven interminable days had passed since he’d helped her by making the hour-long round trip to his ranch, bringing his mother back with him to see if she could help. Their efforts, although appreciated, fell short.
“Come along, darlin’,” Heath urged softly, “you need to get out of this rain.”
As if handing her off into his capable hands, Janelle’s hand slipped from her grasp. With Aaron’s help, they moved to the gate of the small cemetery. Silently urging her to comply, Heath’s hand tightened at her waist, but her feet seemed frozen in place as she stared at the grave.
“Heath.” His name came out in a raw whisper. “I can’t leave her.” Her words were broken and scratchy in her throat.
A tear overflowed, mixing with the rain on her wet cheeks. It was the first since she’d arrived for the service. In fact, feeling numb and dull inside, she hadn’t shed a single tear in the days since her mother had passed. She’d been stoic through it all, enduring the most difficult time in her life, for Will because there was no else to do it. Now that the service had ended and the past few horrendous days were behind her, the thought of leaving her mother in a cold grave on a dreary, muddy hillside was the last straw. The weight like an anvil was crushing.
“Jenny,” she heard, as his hand rubbed up and down her back. “Let me help you to the buggy. I’m sure your ma wouldn’t like you standing out here in the cold, soaked through and catching your de—uh, risking your health in this rain.”
His face, so close to hers, was dark with worry. Seeing the concern and compassion burning in his warm brown eyes, her resolve snapped and the shield she’d erected to protect herself crumbled.
“She di—didn’t like the d—dark,” she explained brokenly. “She always left a l-lamp burning at night. Papa s-said it was dangerous, but for mama, h-he allowed it. He’d d-do anything for her.”
She sagged into him as a torrent of tears released with a force that eclipsed the pouring rain as she wept out her grief against his sturdy chest. He let her, for how long, she couldn’t be sure but with his arms wrapped around her, his strength enfolding her like a warm blanket, she let the tears flow.
“Jenny.”
His deep voice saying her name penetrated her grief. With a shuddering inhalation, she tried to steady herself. Her hands loosened their grip. Until then, she hadn’t even realized she’d grabbed onto his coat, holding to it like a lifeline with tightly clenched fists. She sniffled and took another deep breath.
“Darlin’, you need to get to someplace warm and dry, as does Will.”
The mention of her brother brought her watery gaze up. It flicked to where he stood beside Aaron. She nodded and let Heath lead her a few steps down the hill until she came alongside of Janelle. Her friend’s arms opened wide and she went into them, leaning heavily against her smaller frame. She was solid, however, and hugged her tight. Jenny wondered aloud, “What am I going to do?”
“You’ll go on, honey, for Will, for yourself, as your mother would have wanted you to do.” Her whispered words shook with her own tears. “Why don’t you and Will come stay with us for a while? Aaron won’t mind and we have plenty of room.”
Jenny glanced up at the big man by her friend’s side and saw him nod his agreement. With Heath at her back, Janelle offering a shoulder to cry on, and the marshal standing tall and strong on the other side, she was surrounded by friendship, love, and support. A brief respite from her father’s persistent drunkenness at home… she was sorely tempted, but shook her head instead, attempting to dry her tears on her rain-soaked sleeve.
“I’ve got chores.” She didn’t mention she had her papa’s chores too, and that she and Will were doing everything in their power to keep the farm going until he snapped out of this.
“Just for tonight,” Janelle urged. “I’m worried about you, Jenny.”
Tears clogged her throat; what she wouldn’t give to take her up on her proposal and escape, but she stubbornly declined. Running away from her problems wouldn’t help, only delay the inevitable. “I appreciate the thoughtfulness, Janelle, but I can’t. I’ve been cooking for papa and Will, not to mention the hands. They’ve got to eat.”
“Surely the men can make do with something cold for one night,” Janelle suggested.
Jenny looked past her to where the rest of the Jackson clan stood no more than ten feet away. No one else was around. The townsfolk who’d come to pay their respects, including the preacher, were gone. She and her brother had no one else, not even their father to depend on. These good people were offering to help. What happened after today, or after tomorrow, and beyond next week? Somehow, they’d have to fend for themselves.
“Thank you, Janelle, but I’d rather be at home tonight in case papa needs me. Maybe you’d see us home, though, marshal?”
“I’ll take you, Jenny,” Heath cut in.
“You’re on horseback, son,” Letty reminded him.
Jenny’s eyes lifted to the older woman who looked on in concern. She’d always been so kind to her and a good friend to her mother.
“I’ll follow then. I planned to come along anyway,” Heath added, “to talk to the hands and see if anything needs seeing to. Don’t worry, Jenny, we’ll pitch in until Eustace is able.”
“That might be a long time, Heath.” Having dealt with it too long already, Jenny’s voice had turned flat and despondent.
“Are you sure you won’t come home with us?” Janelle pressed. “I hate to think of you and Will being alone—”
When she stopped abruptly, Jenny could tell she regretted her slip, but she was right. Even if papa were home, essentially, they’d be alone.
“I’ll be fine, Janelle.” Holding her arm out to her brother, who moved instantly into her embrace, she vowed solemnly, “We both will. We have to be.”
She saw the concern in Janelle’s searching gaze. They hadn’t known each other long, but she was the closest friend she’d ever had. Having offered and been turned down several times, Janelle nodded, moving back to her place at Aaron’s side. Jenny watched with envy as her husband’s arm wrapped around her. If only she had someone like Aaron to depend on, long term. Heath shifted behind her and her heart twisted for another reason.
“I’ll stop by to check on you tomorrow.” Janelle was speaking, her words barely penetrating. “I’ll bring some of my fried chicken and those potatoes you like.”
“Please, don’t go to any trouble.”
“No trouble, Jenny. You’ve got to eat.”
“I’ll bring her by about noon,” Aaron said in a tone that said the discussion was closed. He then nodded to Heath, who wrapped a supportive arm around her waist and assisted her down the muddy hill to where the two covered buggies stood waiting. Once Heath handed her up, he surprised her by climbing in and taking the seat beside her.
“What about your horse?”
“He’s tied to the back. I intend to make sure that you’re settled before heading out.” Like his brother, his intentions stated, his will was firm, although he did give her hand a comforting squeeze.
Letty came up to the side and reached in, giving her cheek a gentle pat. “If you need anything at all, you tell Heath or Aaron. I’ll be by the day after next with one of our sugar-cured hams. Caroline always said it was your papa’s favorite. Maybe we can soothe him with some good home cooking instead of a whiskey bottle.”
Jenny gave her a weak smile, thinking that was highly unlikely.
Once Will had settled on the seat across from her and the marshal had his wife tucked inside out of the rain, he climbed in front and steered the horses toward the west end of town. Forlornly, Jenny stared out the window, noticing that the world carried on around them without pause despite their grief. Heath’s hand was warm and firm in her own. Though she knew she shouldn’t, she clung, taking what brief comfort she could in his strength before going back to the living hell that had become her life.
* * *
Henry drove Letty in the lead buggy on the way to Harpers’ farm. They rode in silence the first half of the trip, stunned by Eustace’s behavior.
“He reeked of whiskey,” Letty stated grimly. “I was some twenty feet away and thought the smell would knock me over.”
“Sloppy drunk and swaying on his feet is what he was. I was half expecting him to fall head first into the open grave.” Henry shook his head. “I understand grief, but the man has completely fallen apart.”
“My heart broke for those poor children. Will didn’t take his eyes off the casket the entire time. He didn’t spare Eustace the smallest glance, as if he was used to seeing him drunk by midday. And Jenny, I’ve been worried about her the most. I’ve been in and out, helping as I can, the past two days. Up until today, she’d been emotionless, tending to Will and to what had to be done, but going through the motions as if she was numb or frozen maybe. Then today, after… it was almost too painful to watch, Henry, seeing her crumble before my eyes, and when she collapsed into Heath’s arms—”
Hearing the tears in his wife’s voice, he reached for her hand. “I know, sweetheart, I was witness too, but what I saw wasn’t someone crumbling. I saw a girl who hides pure steel beneath a soft exterior. She stood strong for young Will, stoic by his side when he needed her. If she’d have wept and wailed these past few days, with Eustace in the shape he is, I imagine the boy would have crumbled too.”
“She turned to Heath though; do you suppose there’s something going on there?”
“After that ugly scene at Aaron’s, I doubt it, but time will tell. Honest truth, I’d be tickled to see that boy with a woman with that much mettle.”
They had to stop talking as, having reached the rut-ridden muddy lane, they bounced and jounced along the rest of the way. When they arrived at the farmhouse, it seemed the drama would continue. They found Eustace’s horses left standing in the pouring rain, the wagon carelessly parked in one of Caroline’s neglected flowerbeds. Henry turned to tell his wife to stay put while he checked the house, but she’d already climbed down unaided. He found her bending to retrieve something from the muddy ground.
“Caroline would be crushed to find it so neglected,” Letty murmured sadly, wiping it clean with her fingers. “It was her mother’s and she held it dear.”
Stepping closer, Henry saw it was a brooch, a cameo, which Caroline had always worn on her blouse or coat. The same he’d seen clutched in Eustace’s hand at the funeral.
A blur passed by where they stood. They both looked up to see Jenny, face reddened in anger, all but flying toward the house, as the second buggy creaked to a halt behind them. Aaron was scowling as he engaged the brake while Janelle, with her head out the window despite the downpour, gazed after her friend with a worried expression. A grim-faced Heath jumped down and slammed the door, his long-legged strides carrying him quickly to the house in Jenny’s wake.
Unmoving, as if audience to a scene in Greek tragedy, they stared after Heath, who caught up to the girl on the stairs, only because she had to pause to shoo chickens off the porch. They were too far off to hear, but they could read their body language as Heath, with hands on hips, bent his head and appeared to give Jenny an earful. In turn, she fired back a few words of her own, shook her head vehemently, and threw off Heath’s hand before rushing through the front door that had been left wide open. Heath, left on the porch alone, tilted his head back, with eyes closed and lips moving.
“Praying for patience is my guess,” Aaron said as he came alongside his parents, Janelle and Will in tow.
“What’s that all about, son?” Henry asked.
“I imagine Heath took exception to her jumping from the still-moving vehicle in her haste to confront her pa.”
Will, who had stood quietly, taking it all in, answered Henry. “Jenny said for me to wait in the buggy whilst she gave papa a piece of her mind. Mr. Heath cursed, saying something about God’s providence for foolish women and settlin’ Jenny’s hash. But I don’t know what that means,” Will added.
Henry had used both of those phrases with his boys a time or two growing up when they had done something reckless and pushed him to the end of his patience. It usually preceded a good hiding with a stout paddle, but he didn’t tell the boy that, nor did he think his son actually meant to do it, not with an unwed girl on the day of her mama’s funeral. However, on this day, he felt anything could happen.
“We best go see what we can do to calm the waters, son,” Henry suggested, hurrying toward the house, leaving the rest of the dazed group to follow. They did, but slowly as if fearful of what they would find next.
Eustace was easily located, his sobs leading them to the parlor where he lay on the settee, his muddy feet staining the once fine material, a half-empty bottle in his hand. Henry was angry, but Heath seemed downright furious.
“Ma, make coffee,” Heath bade, as he approached Jenny’s pa, “strong, black and lots of it.” He yanked the bottle from Eustace’s hand straight away.
“Hey, thash mine,” Henry’s old friend slurred, “get yer own damn bottle.”
“I think you’ve had more than enough.” Unable to keep silent, Henry’s tone was grave with disappointment, not recognizing the man his friend had become. Heath wasn’t as placid, dragging the half-stuporous man into a sitting position by the lapels of his crumpled suit coat. He shook him once.
“You’re going to sober up and start seeing to your responsibilities,” Heath growled. “I’m going to see to that personally.”
“Eustace, you’ve got to get hold of yourself,” Henry urged. “Caroline wouldn’t have wanted this. You’ve got a son and daughter who need you.”
Eustace didn’t respond, his head lolling forward, resting chin to chest. It took an hour and four cups of coffee before he was lucid enough to speak. He sent tearful, bleary-eyed apologies to both Jenny and Will. The girl didn’t acknowledge them, obviously having heard it before. Once sober, Heath and Henry got his promise to stay that way and see to his farm and family. As Henry rode out with Letty sometime later, it wasn’t lost on him that newly sobered men had plenty of good intentions. Whether they held true from one moment to the next, or withstood the call of another whiskey bottle, was uncertain.
* * *
A few weeks after the funeral, Henry paid a visit to the Harper farm to check on his old friend and his children. Letty and Janelle came along, loaded down with baskets full of food, fresh baked bread, preserves, a ham from Letty’s smokehouse, and a triple chocolate cake Janelle had made, knowing it was Will’s favorite. Henry helped the ladies down and hefted both baskets out of the back of the wagon.
As they walked to the front door, his eyes scanned the neglected yard. Caroline had always kept well-tended flowerbeds. These were overrun by weeds. The usually pristine porch was littered with fallen leaves and several chickens were loose in the yard. Frowning, he followed the women up the steps and waited as Letty knocked. There was no answer.
Setting down the baskets, Henry said, “Wait here while I check the barn.”
As he strode through the yard, he noted the empty corrals and took in the odd silence. A working farm was full of noise ordinarily. Something was definitely wrong here. Henry’s long-legged stride carried him through the open door, where he found a near-empty barn and Jenny mucking out the stalls.
Standing in the doorway, he watched as she shoveled the filthy straw and horse dung into a wheelbarrow. She stopped after a moment to wipe her brow on her sleeve. Arching her back, her gloved hand rubbed low along her spine as if in pain.
Henry looked on in concern. Everything he’d seen so far bothered him. After the funeral, he and his sons had made daily trips to the farm for two weeks, not letting up until it seemed Eustace was going to keep his word. He realized in that moment that he and his sons had abandoned their vigilance much too soon.
“Jenny,” Henry called softly. Even so, she jumped with fright, dropping her shovel. When she spun to face him, he saw her tear-stained cheeks. Questions filled his head as he walked toward her, almost afraid to get the answers he sought.
“Where’s your pa, honey, or your farmhands? A little thing like you shouldn’t be doing this kind of back-breaking work.”
“I’m fine, Mr. Jackson.” She wiped her cheeks with her sleeve, averting her face. She also avoided his question. “Is there something I can do for you?”
“Letty and Janelle have come to call.” His eyes scanned the barn. There were five empty stalls, the lone horse remaining long past its prime.
Jenny retrieved her shovel and propped it against the wall. She looked worn out. He could see the dark circles beneath her eyes, the fatigue obvious on her pale face. Tugging off her gloves, she ran her hand through her disheveled hair, gathering the loose strands and tucking them back into her braid. “I’ll go say hello.”
He stayed her with a hand on her arm as she made to pass. Surely this young girl wasn’t tending the farm all alone. “Where’s Eustace, honey?”
“It’s a workday, Mr. Jackson. He won’t be home until much later. We had to let a few hands go after he missed so much work when mama was ill, so I’m helping as much as I can.” She wouldn’t meet his eyes as she eased from his grasp and hurried toward the house.
The following day, Henry made another trip to town with one goal in mind: stopping by Peterson’s Mill to have a word with his old friend. If times were tough for Eustace and his family, he wanted to help. His daughter shouldn’t be working herself to a frazzle when he could send a few men over to help until they got back on their feet.
Henry reined in and tied his sorrel and white paint to one of several hitching posts in the foreyard. The gentle sloshing and cyclic creaking of the water wheel in motion drew his attention, as did the sound of several men talking inside. As he approached the double doors, Jacob Peterson shouted a greeting.
“Henry! What brings you by? I thought we took care of your grain a few weeks ago.” The tall, fair-haired man with ruddy cheeks was a friend from way back. As he approached, he offered his hand in welcome.
“You did indeed, Jake, and a fine job you did with the flour. Letty is thrilled, as usual. I came to have a word with Eustace Harper if you can spare him a few minutes. I know this is your busiest time of year.”
“Ya, that is all too true.” Jacob’s Swedish heritage could be heard in his accented words on occasion. “We’re short on help and backed up for at least two weeks, in part because of Harper. He hasn’t been ta work since his wife took a turn. Sorry bit of business. Caroline was still a fairly young woman.”
Henry frowned. “He wasn’t working yesterday?”
“No. He hasn’t been in since before his wife’s passing, which is several weeks now.”
As he suspected, the girl had fibbed, which meant serious trouble at the Harper farm. “I’ve got a few more stops. You and Melinda need to come out for dinner and bridge after you get sorted out with your orders.”
“Mel would love that. She mentioned the other day how she hadn’t seen Letty in a month of Sundays, which in Melinda Peterson terms means at least two weeks.” He chuckled and clapped Henry on the back. “I’ll tell her, and she and Letty can plan something. Gotta get back now, my friend. No rest for the weary when you’re a man down.”
Yes, Henry thought as he rode toward home, that’s why Jenny looked so peaked and worn. Like the mill, they were also a man down on the farm, the same man… Eustace Harper.