For his part, Neil was doing everything he could. He worked in the fields until he was ready to drop, ate whatever was put on his plate, remembered to remove his hat indoors, and went to bed whenever he was told.
"Done," Aunt Olivia said, stepping back to look at him. "And a handsomer boy there won't be in the procession. Now go put on that little suit I pressed for you and tell Josie I'm ready for her."
"I doubt that," Uncle Spencer said.
Aunt Olivia laughed, a girlish laugh that surprised and pleased Neil, and bent to clean up the hair clippings on the floor.
"Are you going to cut Uncle Spencer's hair, too?" he asked. Uncle Spencer looked like he was ready to put in a good day in the fields instead of attending the most important religious festivities of the year. He'd skipped services on Sunday, same as he had each Sunday they'd been there, but his aunt had made it clear that while missing Sunday service might be acceptable, the Procession was something else entirely.
Aunt Liv looked at Uncle Spencer over her shoulder and tilted her head. "You could use a trim, Spence. We should have thought of it last week so you could have had it cut in town. You want me to just neaten it up some?"
Uncle Spencer shook his head. It got really quiet in the room, and Neil had the sense that something was going on between his aunt and uncle although neither one was saying anything.
Finally his aunt broke the silence. It seemed to Neil that she was always the one to give in. "Spencer, a farmer of all people has to petition the Virgin for a blessing of abundant crops. A farmer has to give thanks. He has to—"
"Not this farmer, Livvy. This farmer's got fields waiting for him. I gave the Lord Sunday by not working. I'll be damned if I'll give him Monday, too."
"Isn't it more likely you'll be damned if you don't?" she asked him, and her lip twitched as if she might cry, right there in front of him.
His uncle snorted, something Neil was learning he did quite often. It meant that he found something funny that no one else did.
Most especially not his aunt, who went over to the couch where Uncle Spencer was sitting and knelt beside the stuffed and rounded arm. "Please, Spence. I've waited my whole life for this day. I remember so clearly the first time my mother dressed me all in white and placed that veil on my head and those flowers in my hand. ... I remember Father Martin smiling at me in his special robes with the monstrance held up high.-. . . Please, Spence. Don't do this."
Had she asked Neil to raise a barn in that voice, he'd have found a way to do it. But his uncle seemed unmoved and just shook his head at her like a disappointed teacher whose pupil still didn't understand something he had explained a thousand times.
"I'm not stopping you," he said, and for a moment Neil thought his uncle was going to cup his aunt's chin just the way a mother did to a child, but then the hand stopped in midair and the gesture turned into a shrug. "You take them, Livvy. I can manage without the boy for the day. He'd be in school, anyway, if it wasn't for the Rogation."
"Yes, but . . ." she began, almost like she was begging his uncle. Neil wished she would stand up, but she didn't. She just stayed there on her knees and touched Uncle Spencer lightly on the arm. "I wanted it to be all of us, a family, Spencer. You know how I've wanted that."
This time his uncle did cup his aunt's chin, and Neil could see the regret on his uncle's face. "I know," he said, then repeated himself. "I know. But I can't go. You're not the only one with memories. My family's gone, Liv. No one knows that better than you. That you could even ask me . . . Margaret's dress is still up in that little cupboard, all white and ready. I ..."
His aunt rose and nodded. Her bottom lip, which Neil liked because it was so full and soft-looking, not a hard thin line like his father's, was quivering.
"You've got to get dressed, honey," she said when she looked his way and saw that he hadn't made a move toward his freshly pressed Sunday suit. Another lady would probably have been mad at him for standing there and watching her, but it didn't surprise Neil that she wasn't angry with him. She never got angry. She wasn't even mad at his uncle for ruining her day.
"I'm going to stay with Uncle Spencer," he said with more conviction than he felt. Maybe if he said he wouldn't go unless his uncle did, then his uncle might give in and go, as well. "You just take the girls."
"Get dressed, boy," his uncle said in that voice he used that brooked no argument.
"But you're not going," Neil tried. "I'll go if you do." He was thinking maybe his aunt would ask his uncle to set a good example. After all, if his uncle wasn't going, why should he?
"You don't want to make your aunt late. She's been waiting for this day for a long time."
"Will you go?"
His uncle didn't even bother answering him.
Now Neil really didn't even want to go himself. His aunt would think he was just going because he was being forced to, instead of because he wanted so much to see the smile return to her pretty face. She'd have to be annoyed with him, and all because of his uncle.
"I don't want to go if you don't," Neil argued. "Why can't I just stay here with you?"
His uncle rose to his full height, so that Neil came only to his chest. Muscles from hard work strained his shirt. Even leaning back, Neil couldn't make out the expression on his uncle's face. "Because you'll disappoint your aunt," he said simply. "You don't want to do that, do you?"
Aunt Livvy stood by the kitchen table, a brush in her hand, trying to convince Josie's curls to accept the veil she was attaching to her hair. But her eyes were on Uncle Spencer and Neil.
"What about you?" Neil asked. "Aren't you disappointing her?"
His uncle nodded and scratched at his chin as if he thought he needed a shave. "I do it all the time," he said quietly. He crossed the room, only the sound of his heavy boots echoing around them. "Don't I?" he asked, but opened the door and left before Aunt Livvy could answer him.
Chapter Nine
He'd had two weeks to get used to the idea, and now Spencer thought that maybe Olivia's plan to go to Milwaukee wasn't all that crazy, after all. Sure, it would mean some extra work for him and Remy, but two grown men ought to be able to take care of two farms for one night, especially with the help of Louisa, who would be only too happy to prove herself an adult. Really, what was it Livvy did besides cook, which she promised to do in advance, clean, which she said could wait, milk the cows and feed the livestock, which Neil offered to take care of, and look after the children, who insisted they could look after themselves and each other?
So fine. Let her go. He could use a little break from her constant chatter and fussing over him. He could use some time to stretch out to full size in his own bed without risking bumping into her. It would be a relief to go to sleep without that expectant face staring at him, a pleasure to wake up without that damn smile greeting him and wishing him a good morning. Hey, she could go a lot farther than Milwaukee and it would be just fine with him.
He had to admit, though, that he was relieved that she wouldn't be there alone. Not that she needed Bess to look after her, but she wasn't exactly wise to city ways and some unscrupulous man, taken with her fresh farm looks, might have ideas she didn't even understand. Who knew the trouble she could get into in a city the size of Milwaukee, a girl as pretty as she was?
Not that he found her pretty, but surely there were those that would. After all, she did have a very womanly figure without an extra ounce on her. Standing next to Bess, as she would be, she'd look even more attractive. And that hair. Of course, when it was bunned there was no telling how long or how silky it really was.
Not that it mattered, anyway. Let her have her fun. He'd even give her a little spending money in case she saw something extra special that couldn't be had in Maple Stand. That shouldn't be too hard.
"Spencer? You almost done?" Livvy shouted from the porch. A dog barked and he wondered if he owned one of those now, too.
"No, I'm not done," he shouted back.
I'm not done 'cause I've been standing here thinking when I should have been digging.
"Ground's harder than I expected," he lied.
"Really?" she said, sashaying toward him with a furrowed brow. "But it's been raining for three days, on and off. I was hoping to get those berries in before I left for Milwaukee."
"You're not going for long, Olivia. A day or two won't make a difference."
"No," she said, and sighed as if he had said something profound. "I suppose it won't make any difference at all."
"Got another hour or so's work," he said, pushing the pitchfork into the soft earth and turning it with greater effort than it required.
"You want me to bring you out something to drink?" she offered. Josie came wandering up behind her and she lifted the child to her hip and ruffled her hair. "You done feeding the chickens?" she asked the child, who sat happily enough playing with the locks of hair that had escaped his wife's bun and were teasing her neck.
When had that happened? He thought Josie hated Liv, but there they stood, blowing at each other's hair and laughing.
"I suppose there'll be seed all over the barn," he said, picturing the mess one three-year-old could make.
Josie shook her head solemnly. "One at a time," she said with great seriousness.
"Huh?"
"I gave her a little cupful and told her to give them just one seed at a time to make it last longer. Is that what you did?" she asked the child, who nodded and wiggled to get down.
"You don't think she really gave them one at a time, do you?" he asked, amazed she hadn't learned anything from having the tireless little girl around.
"Spencer," she said, "it wouldn't be the first time there was seed in the barn. If those chicks haven't finished off whatever she spilled, I'll clean it myself. One seed at a time."
"Humph!" seemed to be the only appropriate response, and so that was what he said to her retreating back as she went after josie, the skip in her step making her look a lot younger than her twenty-eight, years.
"Oh," she shouted over her shoulder as she picked up her pace to catch up to the running little girl. "Remy's coming over before the meeting. Said he needs to talk to you."
"What meeting?" he shouted back, but she was already inside the barn, and if she heard him she didn't stick her head back out to answer.
"Jeez," he muttered to himself, and buried the pitchfork several inches into the muddy soil. He had better things to do than turn the soil in a garden patch. He stalked out to the field to check on the damage from all the rain.
Neil always wanted to please his Aunt Liv. Let him get the soil turned.
Giggles pealed from the barn and floated on the wind up to where he knelt by the seedlings. From the look of things, Josie was pretending to be a chicken and Olivia was a fox trying to catch her. He watched his wife, a woman whose dignity was unassailable, crawl after the little girl on all fours, her apron tied around her soft fanny so that it acted as a tail.
Josie squealed when she was caught and scooped up in his wife's arms. For a moment his breath caught as the little girl's hand flew out, but instead of smacking Livvy's nose, she wound the arm around Livvy's neck and appeared to kiss her.
Spencer stretched to his full height, but the two disappeared behind the barn door. It was hard to believe that his wife had nothing better to do than fritter away the day playing children's games. He certainly had better things to do than watch them, anyway.
The ground was wet, not merely damp, and without some good strong sunshine, mildew would get his whole crop. When was he going to give in and plant cherry and apple trees like at Sacotte Farm? He didn't know how many times he had considered the idea and then discarded it, knowing he didn't have the time to wait for trees to come to maturity before producing crops big enough to support his mortgage.
Fool that he was, he'd borrowed the money to furnish the house just the way Kirsten had wanted it. And he was still paying for chairs she'd never sit in again. All the things she'd wanted just so, and she'd hardly had the chance to enjoy them. Was Livvy enjoying them? he wondered. He wasn't sure she even noticed them at all.
Peaches whinnied, that peculiar whinny she always made as she came out into the fresh air, and, surprised that she was out of the barn, Spencer looked up. Livvy had the mare lead on her and upon her bare back sat Josie, her hands buried in the horse's mane, shrieking at Peaches to "go."
He swallowed hard, but the lump in his throat refused to go away. Josie looked nothing like Margaret, whose blond curly cap had glowed nearly white in the sunshine and who'd sat frozen with fear on Curly George's big rump. This little one was full of life and guts and if anyone was terrorized, it was Peaches, who tried to keep the child balanced on her back as if she were well aware of her precious cargo.
So if she looked nothing like his daughter, why was it that Margaret falling from Curly George's rump was all that he could see as he came tearing down from the rise at the threesome making its way slowly around the corral. Memories. The bane of his existence.
Without a word, for he knew if he stopped gritting his teeth out would come things that should never be said, he yanked the child off the horse and thrust her at Olivia. Then he smacked Peaches's rump so hard the horse galloped to the far end of the confines of the pen and turned to stare at him.
That made three sets of wide eyes that all seemed stunned by his actions, as if a man had never taken a child off a horse before.
"She's in heat, dammit," he said as if that explained everything.
"Are you, too?" Olivia asked him pointedly.
Now who was crazy? he wondered, taken aback by Olivia's sudden sassiness.
"You're acting very oddly," she said as if that somehow explained her remark. "Even for you."
His niece clung to his wife's leg, more afraid of him than she was of the horse. He took two steps backward, trying to ease the little girl's fear and at the same time move out of the path of the warm breeze that carried Livvy's lilac scent past his nostrils and into a brain that no longer seemed able to function within his head.
They stood staring at him as if they were waiting for him to do something, and he supposed they would have continued to watch him for signs of dementia for the rest of the hot and dusty afternoon if the clomping of horses' hooves and the accompanying rattling of tackle hadn't announced the arrival of his brother-in-law.
"There's Remy," he said. "We've got more important things to talk about."
He stalked off toward the oncoming wagon with more purpose than he felt. He couldn't even remember why it was she said Remy was coming over. Lately it was hard to remember anything except how good Olivia smelled and how silky her skin was when he made the mistake of touching it.
"Remy," he said in greeting. "Bess. Good to see you two."
Remy nodded and put the brake on the buckboard. "You just wait up here, honeybuhch. I'll only be a minute. No reason for you to get down just to get back up."
Bess looked annoyed, but he planted a big wet kiss on her cheek and coaxed a smile out of her before jumping down from the wagon. By then Livvy was standing beside the wagon with the baby on her hip.
"She's too big to be carried all over the place," Spencer said to her. "You shouldn't carry her so much."
Olivia put Josie down reluctantly > obviously not happy to give up the closeness they were just developing.
"Are you coming to the meeting?" Bess asked Livvy as Remy tugged at Spencer's sleeve and motioned for him to come up on the porch.
"The railroad assembly? With Emma Zephin telling us more about her beau?" Livvy's laughter tinkled like pieces of glass hitting each other in the wind, and she said she thought she just might, or something like that. It was hard for Spencer to hear her as they moved farther from the women.
"I need the book back," Remy said in a whisper. "The one I loaned you."
Spencer laughed. "Forget how it's done?"
Remy shook his head. "It's not a laughing matter. Doc says Bess can't have any more children or it might kill her. And I'm so randy, if I have to stay away from her much longer I don't know what I'll do." His voice cracked. "Spencer, you don't know what it's like. I'm going crazy. This morning I gave Thom-Tom the back of my hand for spilling his milk. Imagine me doing something like that.
"If I don't touch her, I'm hurting her feelings. If I do, I'm not sure I'll be able to stop. I'm going out of my mind. We're hoping that doctor in Milwaukee'll have some answers."
Spencer had all the answers Remy needed. And he knew firsthand that none of them really worked. He didn't know what good Remy expected Dr. Napheys's book to do, but he agreed to get it. The book certainly hadn't done him any good, with its suggestion of abstinence. It was an easy thing for Dr. Napheys to suggest. His wife probably resembled his horse. But let the good doctor spend a few nights in the same bed as Olivia, let her hair trail across
his
chest or her scent invade
his
nostrils, and then let him see how easy abstinence was.
Spencer opened the bottom drawer and dug beneath his winter underwear. He took out his Balbriggan undershorts. He threw his merino drawers on the floor and lifted out the whole stack of undershirts. The book wasn't there.
He'd read it just two nights ago, hoping against hope he'd missed some secret to end his agony. He tried the other bottom drawer, figuring that in his disappointment perhaps he had been careless. With some embarrassment he rifled through Olivia's underthings, all frilly whites with lace and ribbons and bows and while he found a corset he didn't even know she owned, he didn't find the book.
Livvy! She must have found it and been shocked. Dr. Napheys was a very candid man. He called the water wet and the sand scratchy, and was no less accurate about anatomy. And now Spencer was going to have to ask her what she'd done with it. Well, if she was scandalized, it was her own fault. No one asked her to read the book, though Lord knew she might have made a better wife from their wedding night if she had. . . . Still, she'd sought out the book, which had been well hidden, and read it of her own accord.
The idea both angered and frightened him. Dr. Napheys's book was graphic enough for even Livvy to grasp what had and hadn't occurred between them.
"Jeez," he muttered, stuffing back their underthings into the drawers. He didn't know whether to be outraged or to run for the hills.
And yet she hadn't changed her attitude toward him. She was still treating him the way she always had. A woman like Livvy, had she known what he'd been doing, wouldn't just smile and offer him a drink in the garden. A woman like Livvy would . . . he cringed just thinking about it.
So maybe she had taJcen the book, but she hadn't read it ' yet. He lit from the room as if at that very moment she had it in her hands and if he just hurried he could stop her from getting to the part that concerned their marriage.
"Olivia," he yelled from the doorway and waved, motioning her to come in. "I need to see you."
She said something to Bess and Remy, who had joined his wife in the wagon, and then walked slowly toward him, her eyebrows drawn in question.
"Is something wrong?" she asked when she reached him and got a good look at his face.
"I—I," he stammered. "There was a book," he tried again. "Remy's book. And he wants it back."
Olivia turned red as a beet. The apples in Bess's orchard weren't as bright as Livvy's cheeks.
He felt his own warm and he wondered if he was painted as guilty as she. "Then you have it?"
"Have it?" She couldn't even look him in the eye.
"Livvy, I can see by the color of your face you've been in it, so there's no use playing coy. We can talk about you reading such a book later, but right now Remy wants it back."
She folded her hands modestly over her chest and looked at the floor, shrugging. "So give it back."'