Amanda's Beau (23 page)

Amanda felt a quiver of terror in the pit of her stomach as she contemplated how close she'd come to being bitten by the rabid skunk. Her muscles seemed locked and weak with trembling. Sitting next to Gil on the wagon seat, her hands clasped together tightly on her lap, she said a silent but fervent prayer of thanksgiving.

"Are you sure you're all right?" Gil asked with earnest concern. He spoke louder than usual so he could be heard above the whine of the wind.

She nodded, regarding him with unshed tears in her eyes. She swallowed back a lump in her throat as Gil reached out to cover her hands with one of his own. He had such warm, strong hands. Capable hands. Amanda's heart felt like bursting. As she sat there shaking as though she had a fever, her thoughts focused on Bonita again. After her frightening experience with the skunk, every panicky instinct had been aroused. She made up her mind to do something about the dog immediately and planned to discuss the matter with Ella as soon they could find a private moment to do so. Perhaps she should ask Gil's opinion too. They simply couldn't put the baby — or anyone else — at risk any longer. The afternoon's encounter with the rabid skunk forced her to recognize the potential danger of living with a crazed dog.

Still, she shrank from the idea of actually having to kill Bonita. It would break Rex's young heart, particularly as he'd so recently suffered the loss of his father. But some action needed to be taken. Amanda glanced over her shoulder at the boy huddled behind her in the wagon bed. He had one arm propped on top of the bucket of dirty potsherds. With his other, he was trying to keep his cap from flying off his head.

Turning around on the wagon seat, she touched him on the shoulder and hollered, "Rex, don't tell your mama about the skunk when we get home. Promise me, okay? I'll tell her later."

Rex responded with a jerk of his chin.

They were nearly at the house when the temperature dropped noticeably, and it began to spit rain. Soon it began to hail. "Cover your heads," Gil warned them both.

Amanda slipped her arms out of Randall's old flannel coat and pulled it up over her head like the hood of a cape. Rex did the same with his own short coat. Tiny white balls of ice bounced every which way as they hit the ground, the wagon, and even Amanda's lap. Several hailstones pinged off the wagon rims, pelting the surprised horse. Old Toby nickered with displeasure. With an urgent flick of the reins, Gil drove the wagon toward the barn. The shower of hail became a deluge.

"Make a run for the house!" Gil ordered as he brought the wagon to a halt.

"What about you?" Amanda shouted back.

"Go!" he demanded. "I'll join you shortly. I've got to get the horse inside."

"The potsherds!" Rex exclaimed. "The bucket's too heavy for me to lift."

"I'll get it," Gil promised. "Now go!"

Amanda scrambled out of the wagon. Lifting her skirt with one hand and holding the coat over her head with the other, she made a dash for the house. Rex, who easily outpaced her, cried, ‘Ouch' each time a hailstone popped against his arm or leg.

As they pounded up the porch steps, Amanda noticed Ella's pale face peering through the kitchen window. She knew her sister must be sick with worry by now.

"Aunt Mandy! The chickens!" Rex paused underneath the shelter of the porch roof to point to the fenced chicken yard. Dozens of helpless hens, pelted by the hail, staggered around within the enclosure. Others had had their long wing feathers lifted by the wind and had flipped over. They looked like fluffy umbrellas turned inside out. Others lay still and lifeless on the ground, pummeled to death by the shower of hailstones.

"There's nothing we can do for them now, Rex. I'm sorry. We've got to get into the house." Amanda gave him a shove toward the door.

With a shawl draped around her shoulders, Ella stood inside waiting, the baby shelved on one hip. Her eyes appeared unnaturally wide and hollow with dread. She'd been crying. "Oh, thank goodness you're safe!" she declared. She snatched at Rex with one hand and pulled him close. To Amanda she said, "What took you so long?" Her voice sounded tight with strain.

"I'll tell you later," Amanda promised. She slipped a comforting arm around her sister's shoulders. "Gil Gladney brought us home. He'll be coming in any minute now."

She glanced around the kitchen, noticing the kerosene lamps had been lit, even though it was still only mid-afternoon. Bonita wriggled nervously. She barked as the sound of hailstones battering the roof and pinging against the windowpanes became louder. Frightened by the noise, Minnie opened her little mouth and let out a wail, but Amanda could barely hear her.

"This is kind of exciting, isn't it, Mama?" Rex exclaimed, looking at her, his face pale and small. "In a scary sort of way, I mean."

Before Ella could answer him, Gil burst through the kitchen door, wet and windblown. His eyes appeared wide and alert. When hail battered the kitchen window, cracking the pane, he grabbed the kerosene lamp from the center of the kitchen table and told them, "We need to get away from the windows. Quickly." With masterful efficiency, he herded them into the hall corridor.

Prompted by a sharp sense of danger, Amanda pushed her sister forward. "Ella, your bedroom." Once inside the bedroom, she yanked back the quilts from the bed and told Ella to lie down with the crying baby.

Ella shook her head vigorously. "No, not me. Rex. Crawl in, son, and hold the baby," she ordered, her voice beyond distress.

"Take off your coat and shoes first," Amanda advised.

Rex obeyed quickly. As he curled up on his side with Minnie cradled in the crook of his arm, Amanda and Ella covered them with the quilts from foot to head.

The house creaked and groaned, as though under siege. Amanda heard a sound like marbles rolling across the roof. As the storm crescendoed, Bonita stopped barking. Instead, the frightened dog cowered beside the bed where the children lay hidden beneath the quilts. Ella, quivering, clung to Amanda as they huddled together in the corner near the headboard. She wondered if her sister was fearful or merely fatigued. Or both.

Amanda glanced at Gil on the opposite side of the bed. His handsome face appeared calm but grave. Her hand went to her throat. Oh, how she loved him. She longed to cup his face in her hands, to kiss his wind-chapped cheeks. She ached to feel his strong arms around her. Her heart overflowed with gratitude and relief for his presence here. Despite the storm raging outside, she felt strangely comforted just having him near — now and always. Gil caught her studying him. His slow smile was sweet and tender. The emotion glowing in his eyes sent a thrilling shiver up her spine and caused her to feel even more grateful than she had just seconds before.

Ella felt the trembling shiver. "You poor girl!" she cried, instant and warm. "You're wet. You must be freezing." She removed her shawl and placed it around Amanda's shoulders.

Before Amanda could thank her, they heard the shatter of glass in the kitchen. A blast of cold air whirled through the house. Then it grew quiet. Everything became still. The storm had moved on. Amanda heaved a ragged sigh of relief and clutched the headboard with a firm grip.

"Is it over now?" Rex asked, peeking above the edge of the quilt.

"Mr. Gladney?" Ella asked, turning to him, taut and attentive.

"I think so," Gil ventured. He promptly left the bedroom. Amanda guessed he would make his way to the kitchen first to assess the damage.

Ella flung back the covers and scooped up Minnie, who had cried herself to sleep. After urging Ella to be seated on the edge of the bed, Amanda made her way to the kitchen too. She discovered Gil squatting near a table leg, picking up bits of glass the wind had blown from the shattered window onto the floor.

"Watch where you step," he warned. "There's glass everywhere."

Amanda sucked in a gasp as she surveyed the dreary scene. Not only had the window been shattered and blown from its frame, but the floor, sink, table, and stove were covered with water and hailstones. The loaves of bread and the molasses pound cake she'd baked earlier in the morning were nothing more than a disintegrating mass of soggy dough. The red-checked tablecloth was soaking wet. A ricocheting hailstone had cracked the lid of the sugar bowl.

Ella stepped up behind her, the sleeping baby cradled in her arms. She surveyed the kitchen dazedly and slumped against the doorframe. "Oh what a mess," she said, swallowing bleakly.

"Too bad about the cake," Rex piped in as he peered around his mother's shoulder.

"Rex, take your mama in the sitting room, and get the fire going again," Amanda ordered. "Ella, I want you to sit in the rocker and relax. Gil and I will handle the clean up. You've had a long, tiring day, and I don't want you getting sick."

"Let me get this glass cleaned up, and then I'm going to find some boards to cover up the broken window," Gil said. "I'll need a hammer."

Amanda nodded, grateful Gil was here to take control. She was also thankful they were all safe. That's all that mattered. Anything broken or damaged could be replaced eventually, even the dead chickens. But it had been a long, stressful day for her too, and she could feel both her spirits and her shoulders drooping. Tears of fatigue were not far away.

"I don't want you to worry about anything, Amanda, all right?" With a blazingly intent look, Gil made his way to her side and pulled her close. He lowered his voice, saying in her ear, "You've had a shock today too. I think both you and your sister should sit in front of the fire and rest a bit. Rex and I can handle the cleaning up."

"But I need to get supper started." Wearily, she regarded the sopping remains of the day's baking. She didn't feel a bit like cooking or eating either. But Ella needed to eat to keep her strength up and so did Rex, and the least she could do for Gil, considering all he'd done for them today, was feed him a decent meal.

"Can we have flapjacks, Aunt Mandy?" Rex asked from the doorway.

Startled, Amanda stepped away from Gil. She hadn't heard the boy come up behind her. If Rex had been astonished to see his aunt and teacher embracing one another and whispering together, he didn't let on.

Amanda gave him a weak smile. "Sure. Flapjacks. I can make those." To Gil, she added, "I need to stay busy. I'll rest later."

"And bacon too?" Rex asked, grinning at her and Gil.

"All right. Flapjacks and bacon it is."

Rex beamed with satisfaction. "I need to bring in more wood and check on the chickens."

"Good man," Gil said, tousling Rex's hair. "But first bring me a hammer. Amanda, before you start supper, take the broom and sweep the hailstones out of the kitchen."

Amanda nodded. She didn't even want to think about the dead hens or what sort of damage there might be to the roof of the house. She set her mind to the task of cleaning up. When the last puddle had been wiped up off the kitchen floor and the hailstones swept out the door and off the porch into the yard, she paused to watch the faint golden tinge of sunlight glowing on the horizon. It seemed as if the sun was going to make one last feeble attempt to shine before sunset. The air, now crisp and damp, smelled clean and fresh, like newly washed laundry. Patches of clustered hailstones dotted the withered grass.

Mindful of the time, Amanda slipped into her room to wash her face and hands. She studied her reflection in the small mirror. Her eyes were shadowed and her face streaked with dried tears. She was tired, so tired. Gil had seen her like this — at her worst. She was glad. It mattered, somehow. She quickly brushed and braided her hair and changed into a clean, dry skirt of blue serge and a fresh shirtwaist. Her spirits renewed, Amanda considered how being clean and tidy could make one feel more able to conquer those things needing to be dealt with.

She returned to the kitchen to mix up a bowl of batter for flapjacks and cut some bacon. Next, she warmed a bottle for the baby. When Amanda peeked into the sitting room to check on Ella, she found her sister and the baby sound asleep in front of the crackling fire. She decided to let them sleep. She also made up her mind to check on Nate Phillips' artifacts before getting supper on the stove.

Walking briskly past the barn, Amanda uttered a prayer the relics would prove to be safe and the old chicken house undamaged by the storm. She feared Nate might hold her responsible if they weren't. He might even blame Rex or Gil. What if he demanded his money back — the money she'd already paid toward Ella's bank debts? A quick upward glance convinced her the old roof had held, at least. Feeling some relief, she entered the open door and discovered Gil poking around the old shed, lifting tarps and peering into open crates. The thick window glass had cracked in a few places, but had not shattered.

"Don't worry about those windows. We'll get the panes replaced as soon as possible," Gil promised, following her frowning gaze.

Amanda nodded as she folded her arms across her chest. Thankfully, there seemed to be no other apparent damage.

"Amanda, sweetheart, I don't want you to worry about a thing." Gil's face grew tender as he made his way toward her.

She blinked wonderingly into his face as he reached for her with both hands. The next instant she was in his arms, her cheek pressed against his broad chest.

"Do you know how often I've dreamed of holding you like this?" he murmured.

Amanda let all her worries slip away with her sigh. For this brief and precious moment, all she wanted to think about was Gil's love and how delightful it felt to be wrapped in his embrace. He kissed her until she was breathless. Gasping, Amanda stared up at him, her heart soaring, her strength renewed. She didn't know why a kiss should make such a difference, but it had. Dismissing the nagging worries of unpaid bills, dead chickens, and broken glass, Amanda felt certain she could get through anything now. Nothing mattered except Gil Gladney and his newly revealed love for her. It was the most marvelous feeling in the world.