Standing in the sun with one foot on her porch steps and her bare children at his feet, he vowed he’d do his best by her or die trying. 'And as far as marrying goes, we’ll put that off till you feel comfortable. And if it’s never, well, fine. I’ll be happy in the barn. How’s that?'
'Fine,' she agreed, flashing him a brief, nervous smile. He wondered if her insides were stirring like his. He might never have known had she not at that very moment dropped her gaze and fussily checked the hair at the back of her neck.
Chapter 6
That first week Will Parker was there Eleanor hardly saw him except at mealtimes. He worked. And worked and worked. Sunup to sunrise, he never stopped. Their first morning had established a routine which they kept by tacit agreement. Will chopped wood, carried it in and made a fire, then filled the water pail and left to do the milking, giving her privacy in the kitchen. She’d be dressed by the time he returned, and would start breakfast while he washed up and shaved. After they’d eaten, he fed the pigs, then disappeared to do whatever tasks he’d set for himself that day.
The first two things he did were to make a slatted wooden grid for beneath the pump and to fix the ladder to his hayloft. He cleaned the barn better than Eleanor ever recalled seeing it-cobwebs, windows and all-hauled the manure out to the orchard and spread the gutters with lime. Next he attacked the hen house, mucking it out completely, fixing some of the broken roosts, putting new screen on the door and the windows, then sinking posts to make an adjacent pen for the chickens. When it was done, he announced that he could use a little help herding the birds inside. They spent an amusing hour trying to do so. At least, Eleanor found it amusing. Will found it exasperating. He flapped his cowboy hat and cursed when a stubborn hen refused to go where he wanted her to. Eleanor made clucking noises and coaxed the hens with corn. Sometimes she imitated their strut and made up tales about how the hens came to walk that way, the most inventive one about a stubborn black cricket that refused to slither down a hen’s throat after it was swallowed. Chickens weren’t Will’s favorite animal. Goddamn stupid clucks is what he called them. But by the time they got the last one into the hen house, Eleanor had teased a reluctant smile out of him.
Will got along well with the mule, though. Her name was Madam, and Will liked her the moment he saw her wide hairy nose poking around the barn door while he was doing the evening milking. Madam smelled no better than the barn, so as soon as it was clean, Will decided she should be, too. He tethered her by the well and washed her down with Ivory Snow, scrubbing her with a brush and rinsing her with a bucket and rag.
'What the devil are you doing down there?' Eleanor called from the porch.
'Giving Madam a bath.'
'What in blazes for?'
'She needs one.'
Eleanor had never heard of an animal being scrubbed with Ivory Snow! But it was the durndest thing-Glendon had never been able to do a thing with that stubborn old cuss, but after her bath, Madam did anything Will wanted her to. She followed him around like a trained puppy. Sometimes Eleanor would catch Will looking into Madam’s eye and whispering to her, as if the two of them shared secrets.
One evening Will surprised everyone by showing up at the back porch with Madam on a hackamore.
'What’s this?' Eleanor stepped to the door, followed by Donald Wade and Baby Thomas.
Will grinned and hoped he wasn’t about to make a fool of himself. 'Madam and me… well, we’re goin’ to Atlanta and we’ll take any passengers who want to come along.'
'Atlanta!' Eleanor panicked. Atlanta was forty miles away. What did he want in Atlanta? Then she saw the grin on his lips.
'She said she wanted to see a Claudette Colbert movie,' Will explained.
Suddenly Eleanor understood. She released a peal of laughter while Will rubbed Madam’s nose. Foolery wasn’t easy for him-it was apparent-so she appreciated it all the more. She stood in the doorway with a hand on Donald Wade’s head, inquiring, 'Anybody want a ride on Madam?' Then, to Will, 'You sure she’s safe?'
'As a lamb.'
From the porch Eleanor watched as Will led the smiling boys around the yard on Madam’s back, that back so broad their legs protruded parallel with the earth. Donald Wade rode behind Thomas with his arms folded around the baby’s stomach. Surprisingly, Baby Thomas wasn’t frightened. He clutched Madam’s mane and gurgled in delight.
In the days following that ride, Donald Wade took to trailing after Will just as Madam did. He pitched a fit if Eleanor said, no, it was time for a nap, or no, Will would be doing something that might be dangerous. Nearly always, though, Will would interject, 'Let the boy come. He’s no trouble.'
One morning while she was mixing up a spice cake the pair showed up at the back porch with saws, nails and lumber.
'What’re you two up to now?' Eleanor asked, stepping to the screen door, stirring, a bowl against her stomach.
'Will and me are gonna fix the porch floor!' Donald Wade announced proudly. 'Ain’t we, Will?'
'Sure are, short stuff.' Will glanced up at Eleanor. 'I could use a piece of wool rag if you got one.'
She fetched the rag, then watched while Will patiently sat on the step and showed Donald Wade how to clean a rusty sawblade with steel wool and oil and a piece of soft wool. The saw, she noticed, was miniature. Where he’d found it she didn’t know, but it became Donald Wade’s. Will had another larger one he’d cleaned and sharpened days ago. When the smaller saw was clean, Will clamped the blade between his knees, took a metal file from his back pocket and showed Donald Wade how a blade is sharpened.
'You ready now?' he asked the boy.
'Yup.'
'Then let’s get started.'
Donald Wade was nothing but a nuisance, getting in Will’s way most of the time. But Will’s patience with the boy was inexhaustible. He set him up with his own piece of wood on the milking stool, showed him how to anchor it with a knee and get started, then set to work himself, sawing lumber to replace the porch floor. When Donald Wade’s saw refused to comply, Will interrupted his work and curled himself over the boy, gripping his small hand, pumping it until a piece of wood fell free. Eleanor felt her heart expand as Donald Wade giggled and looked up with hero-worship in his eyes. 'We done it, Will!'
'Yup. Sure did. Now come over here and hand me a few nails.'
The nails, Eleanor noticed, were rusty, and the wood slightly warped. But within hours he had the porch looking sturdy again. They christened it by sitting on the new steps in the sun and eating spice cake topped with Herbert’s whipped cream.
'You know'-Eleanor smiled at Will-'I sure like the sound of the hammer and saw around the place again.'
'And I like the smell of spice cake bakin’ while I work.'
The following day they painted the entire porch-floor in brick red, and posts in white.
At the 'New Porch Party' she served gingerbread and whipped cream. He ate enough for two men and she loved watching him. He put away three pieces, then rubbed his stomach and sighed. 'That was mighty good gingerbread, ma’am.' He never failed to show appreciation, though never wordily. 'Fine dinner, ma’am,' or 'Much obliged for supper, ma’am.' But his thanks made her efforts seem worthwhile and filled her with a sense of accomplishment she’d never known before.
He loved his sweets and couldn’t seem to get enough of them. One day when she hadn’t fixed dessert he looked let-down, but made no remarks. An hour after the noon meal she found a bucket of ripe quince sitting on the porch step.
The pie-she’d forgotten. She smiled at his reminder and glanced across the yard. He was nowhere to be seen as she picked up the bucket and headed inside and began to mix up a piecrust.
For Will Parker those first couple of weeks at Eleanor Dinsmore’s place were unadulterated heaven. The
