Romancing Olive Page 6

  Jacob saw some of his friends, other farmers and heard them whisper and look as services ended and the congregation waited between pews to leave the church.

  Jack Steele spoke up. “So, Jacob, first time I’ve seen you in church for awhile.” Bill Williams elbowed Jack but grinned in encouragement. “You know what they say, when a woman gets a man to church, the altar’s not far away.”

  Jacob knew his face colored that his boyhood friends would think that he had set his cap to the dowdy and older Miss Wilkins.

  “She’s Jimmy Wilkins’ sister. Here to take her niece and nephew back to Philadelphia.”

  “Oh,” Bill Williams said and hooked his thumbs in his suspenders. “Where’s she staying?”

  Clearly Bill knew Olive Wilkins was staying at his farm. News in a small town traveled with lightning speed and Jacob was sure he and Miss Wilkins were the focus of much speculation. “With me.”

  Jack Steele cocked his head. “Get’s mighty lonesome sometimes. I’m sure you appreciate the company.”

  * * *

  The minister had droned on and Olive was sure she knew the scriptures better than he. Reverend McGrath confused the Old Testament with the New and he seemed to create disciples’ names as the sermon required. His bulbous red nose may have been the result of illness or liquor, Olive concluded. At the end of the service, she and the children patiently waited in line to greet the minister when she heard a man ask Mr. Butler where she was staying. Olive watched as the men’s wives pinched their arms and pursed their lips.

  “Mr. Butler has kindly allowed me to stay at his home to allow me time to get to know my niece and nephew,” Olive said.

  Olive hated their knowing stares and worse yet she was embarrassed that Mr. Butler was so obviously uncomfortable with the implication of a romance. Olive was well aware of her looks and her age but it did nothing to lessen the pain that Jacob Butler would die a slow death before courting her. She had seen this before in the eyes of men when caught talking to her at a social. They scurried away before anyone tied them to the spinsterish Miss Wilkins.

  Mr. Butler introduced Olive to the men and their wives. Beth Steele and Florence Williams both smiled at Olive and she was jealous suddenly of their age and marital status. The thought of marriage hadn’t crossed Olive’s mind for fifteen years, but she found herself staring at the gold rings on the women’s hands.

  “Nice to meet you,” the pretty plump Beth Steele said.

  “We’re glad you’re here for those children,” Florence Williams said.

  Olive realized she desperately missed conversation with another woman. “Thank you. They have some difficulties to overcome.”

  “I would think so after how they lived,” the Florence said. But then the woman’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say . . . I . . . oh, never mind.”

  “No insult taken, Mrs. Williams. Unfortunately, I was unaware of the circumstances of their home.” Olive noticed the younger children wander past the line of adults to the porch steps. She watched as they met up with other children. “Mary, will you look after them for me?”

  Mary’s shoulders slumped and she faced the open church door as if it were a chasm that she could not cross. She looked up to Olive and hesitantly walked outside.

  “The church social’s next Saturday and we have a quilting bee and a potluck supper and then dancing. Will you be coming, Miss Wilkins?” Beth Steele asked.

  Olive leaped at the chance to talk to other adults, be useful and introduce her niece and nephew to what society Spencer had. “That sounds wonderful,” she replied.

  Suddenly she heard John’s wails and adults shouting. Olive rushed past the minister and the others in line and her eyes widened at what she beheld. Mary was fighting, fist fighting, a boy near her own age.

  “Mary, what are you doing?” Olive shouted and saw that Mary’s hair had come undone and her new dress was dirty and torn. Mr. Butler pulled Mary away from the boy.

  “Nothin’,” the girl said as she looked up at Olive.

  The boy’s mother flew into the milieu and slammed chubby arms onto wide hips. “Bertram, what are you doing?”

  “Fighting will solve nothing. And in front of the church on Sunday morning. Explain yourselves,” Olive said.

  Bertram’s mother had a vice like hold on her son’s ear and she shouted shrilly, “What happened?”

  “Nothing. I was just talking to her and she,” Bertram said and nodded with malice to Mary, “started shoving me.”

  Olive heard the distinct sound of hand hitting cheek as Bertram’s mother shook his shoulder with her other arm. The woman’s fat cheeks jiggled and her girlish twists of curls bounced with her tremors.

  “If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, stay away from that white trash,” the woman shouted.

  Olive’s eyes widened and her chin dropped and she stood in awe of the woman’s reasoning. “Pardon me?”

  The woman swirled in a fury. “Everyone knows the Wilkins’ are trash. Low born and common. I don’t want my Bertram near them even if he was giving her the thrashing she deserved.”

  “Now, wait a second, Luella. This girl’s been living with me and I don’t take kindly to anyone talking that way about her,” Jacob Butler said. “That’s all I’m going to allow on that subject.”

  He held Mary by the arms tight against him and Olive watched as the girl turned her head into his stomach. The giant arms encircled her and rubbed Mary’s back in an unconscious motion.

  “Mary, tell me what happened,” Olive asked.

  The girl’s eyes would not rise from the ground and she slowly shook her head.

  Bill Williams turned to Luella. “It’s all over now. Sometimes youngsters fight. Let’s forget it and go home.”

  Luella looked around Bill Williams to Jacob Butler. “And to think you brought this wild thing to church and made good Christian folk sit beside her.”

  “That’s enough, Luella,” Jacob said. “I said once I won’t allow anymore talk like that and I mean it.”

  Olive’s heart was pounding in her chest and she felt angry tears building behind her eyes. “This ‘wild thing’ is my niece and ‘good Christian folk’ don’t cast the first stone,” she said.

  “Humph,” Luella replied and hauled her son down the walk by the ear.

  Olive noticed Luke and Peg buried in her skirts on one side and John trembling and crying on the other.

  “Let’s go,” Mr. Butler said, as he put his arm around Mary to lead her to the wagon.

  Florence Williams laid her hand on Olive’s arm. “Luella Grimm is a loud mouth gossip. Don’t pay her no mind.”

  Olive’s head swung around on the notion of dismissing the woman’s cruel words but Beth Steele joined in. “Florence is right. Everyone knows how Luella is.”

  Olive excused herself and followed Mr. Butler to the wagon. John climbed in the back and snuggled up tight to his sister. Olive didn’t recall the ride home, only the silence in the wagon. Mark began to cry in her arms and she realized she was holding him too tight. She loosened her grip and rocked the child, swaying in her seat. Luella’s words, ‘low born and common’ rang through her head and for once Olive was glad her parents were gone. To hear her family name referred to as ‘trash’ would have been more than her parents could have borne. Once home, Mary jumped from the wagon and ran to the fields. Olive called to her but Mr. Butler shook his head.

  “Let her be a bit,” he said.

  Olive slumped at the kitchen table and recalled the dreadful scene at church. She had no experience in teaching a young woman that fist fighting was inappropriate. Where would she have leaned that lesson, Olive thought, with a grim smile. She and Theda would have no more engaged in fisticuffs than danced naked in the streets. The only redeeming moment on the steps of the church that morning came when Jacob Butler defended Mary to that odious woman.

  What a picture he made standing tall, holding Mary close and comforting her, while setting the
boundaries for his make shift family. He was without a doubt the most handsome man she’d ever met. And, more importantly, she believed Jacob Butler was as loving a father as her own father had been. Olive prepared dinner and scowled and talked under her breath until she noticed the children staring.

  “We didn’t do anything wrong,” Luke said softly.

  Olive’s shoulders dropped. “I know children. I’m sorry. I am not angry at you.”

  Olive sat down and the three children approached her cautiously.

  “Mary let him have it,” Luke said nodding, wide eyed.

  Olive noticed John’s head drop. “What started the argument children?” she asked.

  Luke and Peg looked first at each other and then to John’s bowed head. Luke shook his head softly at his sister, but Peg turned to Olive anyway. “He said something mean.”

  “Who said something mean, Peg?” Olive asked.

  “That boy,” she whispered and scrunched her face into a scowl.

  “Bertram?”

  John ran to the door and Luke made a face at his sister and followed. Peg’s shoulders dropped and she looked up to Olive obviously battling where her loyalties lay. Her eyes darted and she eventually ran to the door to follow the boys. Olive wondered what Bertram had said to throw Mary into such a fit. But knowing the attitude of Bertram’s mother made Olive cringe at what offense the boy may have offered.

  * * *

  That evening as Olive continued the story she had begun to read the night before, Mary crept into the house. Olive started to stand, but a look from Mr. Butler sat her back in her chair. She finished reading early, amidst protests of the children, but she found she could not concentrate on the story as she watched Mary curl into a ball in front of the fire. Olive lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling and listened to the quiet of the house and her heart beating as she replayed the scene in front of the church in her head. She jumped as she felt the blanket lift and Peg snuggled close to her. The child pushed Olive’s hair away and she felt Peg’s warm breath on her ear.

  “That boy called John a bad name,” the little girl said.

  Olive turned her head in the dark and whispered, “What did he say, Peg?”

  “That boy says John don’t talk on account of he’s a dummy. That John’s an Indian.”

  Olive narrowed her eyes. “An Indian?”

  “Yeah, that John’s caught something from Mark to make him an Indian.”

  Olive whispered softly, “An idiot? Did Bertram call John an idiot?” Olive watched the shadow of Peg’s head nod. “John is not an idiot, Peg. Do you understand?”

  Peg nodded again in the dark and lay her head on Olive’s shoulder. When Olive thought the child slept, she heard Peg’s terrified words. “Am I goin’ to catched something from Mark?”

  Olive’s eyes closed and she pulled Peg tight against her. “No, Peg. Mark’s problems are not something one catches. He is not an idiot and neither is John.”

  Peg yawned softly and relaxed. But Olive could not. Mary fought to defend herself and her brother and Mark. Tears of regret formed in Olive’s eyes as she thought of her foregone conclusions concerning her niece. I condemned her as well. Olive had never faced the kind of viciousness that Mary had and she found herself wishing she had gotten a shot in at the boy as Mr. Butler’s friend held him. What an unOlive like thought. Words were how disagreements were settled in her world. But here, faced with harshness, what words would she have to solve the prejudice and hate spilling out of Bertram’s mouth.

  * * *

  “Good morning Mary,” Olive said and smiled as the morning sun poured through the windows. Mary looked grim and wiped her face with a rag. “Where is the dress you wore to church yesterday? We need to wash and repair it.”

  Mary eyed Olive’s cheerful face and pulled the dress from the pile it lay in. She threw it on the table and looked dubiously to her aunt.

  Olive picked up the dress and smoothed it flat. She retrieved her sewing supplies and began to thread a needle.

  “I ain’t sayin’ I’m sorry,” Mary said.

  “I’m not saying I’m sorry.”

  Mary ran her tongue over her teeth and fidgeted as she stood. “Well, I ain’t”

  “Mary can you get me the small piece of white fabric laying there? I think it will be enough to fix the hole in the collar,” Olive asked.

  Mary handed Olive the cloth. They sat in silence with just the soft snores of Peg and Mark breaking the spell. Olive watched from the corner of her eye as Mary began to speak and stopped. Olive waited patiently and hoped and prayed her niece would confide in her.

  “I don’t care what folks say about me, but I won’t let them talk about John or Mark,” Mary said finally.

  “I’m sure you wouldn’t,” Olive said and continued her stitch.

  “It ain’t right.”

  “No, it’s not, Mary,” Olive agreed lifting her head to meet her niece’s stern face.

  Mary stroked the edge of her dress, looking into her lap and out the window.

  “Mary? Do you know why John won’t speak? I’m going to take him to the doctor’s today and I thought you may be able to give me some information before I do,” Olive said and laid her stitching in her lap. “Or maybe your grandparents already took John to see the doctor?”

  “My grandparents? You mean Ma’s Pa and Ma? Fat chance of that happening. They don’t do nothing for nobody if’n it don’t get them something,” Mary said.

  “Mary,” Olive said. “That’s disrespectful. I’m sure your mother’s parents love you and John and want the best for you. They wrote to me, didn’t they? I gathered from their letter they just didn’t have the room for you at their home.”

  “Yeah, right,” Mary said with a scowl. “Just didn’t want to bother is all it was. They’ll be wanting us back come harvest.”

  “Hardly, Mary,” Olive said as she stretched out Mary’s dress and straightened the torn hem. “I’ve been meaning to call on them. It’s only proper and I’ve put it off too long already. Would you like to ride along when I go?”

  Mary jumped from her chair in a hurry. “Don’t do it, Olive. Don’t make me go. I won’t go. I’m telling you I won’t. And I won’t let you take John neither.”

  If Mary’s expression was to be believed, she was mortally afraid to visit her grandparents. The girl was wide eyed and panicked. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want, Mary. I’ll not make you,” Olive said in a calm voice.

  Mary sat down, wide-eyed, staring out the window, her foot tapping of the floor.

  “Maybe when I get home from taking John to the doctor’s, we can begin on another dress for you,” Olive said and looked out the window where Mary was staring. “It’s near time Mr. Butler was up.”

  Mary swallowed, stood and hurried to the sink to begin the makings of coffee. Without turning from the stove she asked, “Do you want hot water for tea?”

  Olive smiled at the girl’s back and replied, “Yes, Mary, that would be nice. Will you have some with me?”

  * * *

  Before noon, Olive asked Jacob to hitch the wagon and if he needed anything from town. He gave her a look she knew meant that she was to bring nothing more in the way of supplies.

  “I’m going to take John to see the doctor. Peg told me last night that Bertram called John and Mark, idiots. That’s why Mary was fighting,” Olive said. Mr. Butler’s face grew crimson and he swore. “I can’t blame the girl now for her reasoning, although, I did.”

  While Jacob hitched the wagon, Olive called to John. He came meekly and Olive smiled at him. “Come on John. I have some things to do in town today and I would like you to help me.” Olive watched as he glanced to Luke and slowly began to climb into the wagon.

  Olive checked her purse and straightened her dress once seated. The boy sat quietly beside her and she let herself enjoy the ride to town. The sun was shining and the world looked new. She touched her bag again to check on the letter she had written to Theda. She smiled to hersel
f as she imagined Theda reading the contents. Her dearest friend would be shocked at the state she had found Mary and John in, but Olive feared the woman would faint dead away when Olive revealed she was living with Jacob Butler and that she had driven a wagon to a town an hour away. What a different perception a week had brought her.

  Olive herself, days ago, would not have believed what she had seen and done. She was nearly a different person than the woman who came on the train that short time ago. And Olive knew in her heart of hearts that she would never, ever be that woman again. She had wept at her brother’s grave, wept for her brother’s children and put aside all she knew to be right and proper to care for those children. Olive glanced down at the stern, worried face of her nephew. Her throat tightened and she knew that she would do all in her power to see this little carbon of her brother past whatever demons haunted him. And Olive felt more alive, more focused than she had ever before in her life. To hide on Church Street seemed foreign to Olive. Because that’s what she had done these past thirty-five years. Hide from life and it’s problems and therefore condemning herself to never feel triumph. No, she would never allow herself to hide again.

  Olive held John’s hand as they began down the street past the sheriff’s office.

  “Miss Wilkins?” she heard from behind.

  “Oh, good morning, Sheriff Bentley,” Olive said as she turned.

  “Morning, ma’am. John,” the sheriff said. “May I speak to you in my office?”

  “Certainly,” she said and followed him into the small, cool building. John stopped to stare at large wooden case with a glass front, holding guns of all sizes. The sheriff took her by the elbow and led her near the jail cells.

  “Miss Wilkins. Jeb Davis was making some ugly noise about these children and you in the saloon last night,” the sheriff whispered.

  “Jeb Davis? I don’t believe I’m acquainted with a Jeb Davis,” Olive replied.