The Hand-Me-Down Family (13 page)

His reading voice was pleasant, strong and authoritative. A bit like the man himself. And he didn't stumble over the words once. It showed a familiarity with the scriptures she hadn't expected.

Afterwards, as Jack carried the Bible back to the stand by the window, Callie rose. “Before you children go to bed, I have a surprise for you. Stay where you are and I'll be right back.”

Callie returned a short time later with four parcels, her insides fluttering. She hoped she had gauged their interests well. “This is the first day of our life together as a family,” she said. “And I thought it would be nice to mark the occasion with something special. So I have a little gift for each of you.”

The children sat up straighter, a gleam of anticipation firing their eyes.

Callie, feeling a bit of anticipation herself, handed the parcels out. She caught the flash of surprise in Jack's expression as she handed him his. Did he think she would leave him out?

Annabeth opened hers. “It's a book.”

“That's right. It's called
The House That Jack Built
and it has some wonderful pictures in it.”

Annabeth giggled. “He has the same name as you, Uncle Jack.” She turned the pages, her eyes sparkling in delight at the illustrations. “Will you read it to me?”

“Of course. But let's save it for when I tuck you in tonight.”

Callie held her breath as Emma slowly unwrapped her parcel. This was the one she'd most looked forward to.

When Emma lifted the lid off the box, her reaction was everything Callie had hoped for.

Her eyes grew round and her mouth formed a little
O
of surprise. “She's beautiful.” The words were breathed more than spoken. Emma lifted the doll gently out of the box, smoothing the dress and golden curls. “What's her name?”

“She doesn't have one yet. She's waiting for you to name her.”

Emma squeezed the doll in a fierce hug. “Then I'll call her Dotty, just like my other doll.”

“That sounds like a perfectly lovely name.”

Annabeth clapped. “Now Tizzy will have a new sister to play with, just like me.”

Emma nodded, then turned to her brother. She gave him a nudge with her shoulder. “Your turn.”

When he didn't move right away, Annabeth offered her own encouragement. “Don't you want to see what's inside? I know I do.”

Simon finally untied the string with a great show of disinterest. Once the paper was removed, he stared at the small wooden box as if uncertain whether or not to open it.

Annabeth prodded him again. “Why do you have to go so slow? Let's see what it is.”

Simon slid the lid off the box to reveal a neatly arranged group of tiles, each decorated with a series of dots.

“It's a set of dominos,” Callie explained. “They're made with real ivory. Have you ever played the game before?”

Simon frowned. “I've only ever seen old men playing it over at the mercantile.”

“Well, it
is
usually played by adults. But I thought, since your Aunt Julia told me what a good student you are, that you might be able to learn it anyway.”

She leaned forward. “But if you don't want it…”

He moved back slightly, fingering one of the smooth tiles. “This is really ivory?”

Callie nodded. “I found it in a little shop that specializes in items brought to this country from all around the world. The box is made from sandalwood, a tree that grows in India.”

She saw the acceptance in his eyes. Deciding not to press the point, she leaned back. “I'm sure your Uncle Jack has played before. He can teach you how.”

Jack nodded. “Anytime you're ready.”

Annabeth turned curious eyes toward the last package. “What about you, Uncle Jack? Aren't you going to open your gift?”

Jack stared at the parcel as if it might blow up in his face. He still hadn't touched it. With a smile that seemed a bit forced to Callie, he slowly opened it.

He stared at the pocket watch nestled inside for a long minute, then looked at Callie. A small muscle at the corner of his mouth jumped.

Her pleasure in the gift-giving deflated. Something about the watch had upset him. “I know it's not brand-new. It belonged to my grandfather. If you don't like it—”

“No, it's a fine piece,” he said quickly. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome.” She'd never heard a less convincing expression of gratitude.

Annabeth popped up from her seat and stood in front of Callie, her lips drawn down in a melodramatic frown. “But we didn't get you anything.”

Callie forced her thoughts away from Jack's disappointing reaction, and smiled at the little girl. “Of course you did,” she said, taking both of her hands.

The child's nose scrunched in confusion. “We did?”

“Most certainly. Don't you remember?” She released Annabeth's hands and gave her tummy a gentle poke. “You and Emma picked that beautiful bouquet of flowers for me to carry during the wedding. And Simon drove the carriage to get me there on time.”

She held up her left hand. “And your Uncle Jack gave me this lovely wedding ring. So you see,” She smiled, determined to end their first evening on a happy note, “I've had plenty of gifts today.”

Only she had hoped the watch would mean as much to Jack as the ring had meant to her.

Apparently she'd failed.

W
hile Callie herded the reluctant children upstairs, Jack stepped out on the front porch.

He pulled out his pocketknife and hefted a thick chuck of wood he'd pilfered earlier from the woodpile for just this purpose.

Sitting on the top step, he placed the pocket watch she'd given him on the porch floor beside him. Then he shaved a long thin curl of wood from the block.

Whittling was something he enjoyed doing at the end of the day, or anytime he just needed to be quiet and think. Sometimes he ended up with a whistle or a crude animal shape, but more often than not, he just ended up with a pile of shavings to use as kindling for the cook fire. In fact, even his better carving efforts usually ended up tossed in the fire.

What use did he have for such trinkets?

Married.

He sliced off a particularly thick chunk as he thought about the woman tucking the children in upstairs. The woman he'd vowed just a few hours earlier to cherish and protect until death should part them. The woman he knew next to nothing about.

Except that she was stubborn enough to stand up to him.

And that she genuinely cared about the kids.

And that she seemed dead set on cramming religion down his throat.

What she didn't understand was that he and God had an understanding of sorts.

For years he'd prayed for all he was worth that God would give him the chance to come into his own, to be something other than Lanny's not-quite-as-good little brother. He'd prayed even more desperately for Julia to say yes when he'd proposed. None of those prayers had been answered.

And he'd finally realized why. It was because he was so full of jealousy and pride that he wasn't good enough even for God. At least not so far as being worth His special attention.

That's when he'd realized that he was the kind of person the adage “God helps those who help themselves” had been penned for.

And it had worked for him so far. He was well-traveled, independent and respected in his field.

Sure, he had a few regrets—not making things right with Lanny was the biggest of them. But there probably wasn't a man alive who didn't have regrets of one sort or another.

Jack leaned back against the porch post.

Speaking of regrets…

He glanced down at the pocket watch and winced. His lack of enthusiasm had hurt Callie's feelings. But trying to explain that accepting a gift she'd selected for Lanny would leave a sour taste in his mouth would have only made matters worse.

Better for both of them that she just think him ungrateful.

Jack ran a thumb over the surface of the wood. He had to hand it to her—passing out those gifts had meant a lot to the kids, especially Nell's.

Seems his new wife had been quicker than him to see that those kids needed things to call their own, things to help them rebuild their sense of belonging.

Jack planed another long curl from the block of wood. He should have been the one to realize that, to take care of their needs.

Mrs. Mayweather had been right. The kids needed a mother, a mother like Callie.

The question was, was he the right man to play the role of their father?

The door opened behind him.

“The children are all settled in for the night.”

And why aren't you?
“Good.” Kicking himself for not putting away the watch, Jack kept his voice even and his attention focused on whittling.

She took a few steps forward, halting just behind him. “I think today was a really good start.”

He glanced over his shoulder and gave her a long, steady look. After a minute, he went back to his whittling. “Today was merely recess. Tomorrow the real work begins.”

“I agree. And I'm ready.”

“Are you now?”

Her sigh conveyed a sense of sorely tried patience. “Mr. Tyler, I—”

“Jack.” He glanced up and saw her confused frown. “We're married. Might as well use first names.”

“Very well. Jack, I know you think I'm too green for farm work, but with you to teach me, and God to help me, I'm certain I can learn what I need to.”

“Then I suggest you turn in. Your lessons start tomorrow, which means you'll need to be up before sunrise in the morning.”

“But tomorrow is Sunday.”

“Lesson number one. The animals don't know what day of the week it is. They still need to be fed, the cows milked, the eggs gathered.” He pointed his block of wood in her general direction. “And that's in addition to fixing breakfast and getting the kids ready for church service.”

“Very well.” He heard the swish of skirts as she turned. “I'll see you in the morning.”

Twenty minutes later, Jack turned down the bedside lamp in his room and plopped onto the mattress, his fingers laced behind his head. It wasn't exactly the cozy marriage bed a man normally slid into on his wedding night.

Not that he wanted it any other way. This whole marriage thing had happened way too fast. This might have been their only option, but he still felt as if he'd been backed into a corner.

He rolled over on his side and punched his pillow into shape. He'd keep up his end of this bargain.

She'd have to be satisfied with that.

 

Callie slipped under the covers in the four poster bed that had been Julia and Leland's. She'd heard Jack come upstairs a few moments ago and she felt guilty enjoying the comfort of this large bedchamber while he made do with the smaller bed in the room across the hall.

But he'd insisted on those arrangements, arguing that in a month or so he planned to be gone anyway, and that the spare room accommodations were a step up from what he was used to while on the job.

Much as he would deny it, the man really did have a kind heart beating somewhere under that gruff exterior of his.

Too bad he didn't let it show more often.

His insistence that she would have a difficult time with the farm chores was worrisome. Surely he was being overly-pessimistic. She could make this work. She had to.

After all, wasn't this where God intended her to be?

Jack had been as good as his word when it came to the family bible reading. Though he'd asked her to pick out the verse, he'd done the reading himself and then asked Simon to lead them in prayer afterward.

Her heart warmed at the thought that God might be using her to help Jack find his way back.

Dear Heavenly Father, help me to be the sort of example You desire me to be.

And with that, she snuggled down into her pillow. But thoughts of Jack's insistence that he'd be moving on in a month or so made it hard for her to find the easy slumber she'd hoped for.

C
allie woke to the sound of someone tapping at her door. Glancing toward the window through slitted lids, she saw a glimmering of gray pushing out the black of night. It was dawn, way too early to—

Dawn! Her sluggish brain suddenly flared to life.

Oh no! She'd overslept. Callie popped upright and tried to untangle herself from the covers. “I'm awake,” she called out.

“Good.” Jack's tone was dry, as if he could see her frantic rush to get out of bed. “Meet me in the barn when you get dressed.”

Finally kicking off the covers, Callie quickly made her morning ablutions and dressed. She was still tying the strings to her bonnet as she hurried down the stairs, determined that their first full day together go as smoothly as possible.

As she passed through the kitchen she noted that the stove had already been stoked. Jack must have been up and about for some time.

Her guilt for oversleeping deepened a notch.

She quickened her pace as soon as she stepped outside, and
fought the urge to pause when she stepped off the back porch. Normally she'd take an extra second or two to appreciate God's exquisite handiwork in the first glimmerings of sunrise. But today she'd have to admire it on the run. Already a blush of color seeped past the horizon, reminding her that time was slipping away.

Lifting her skirts, Callie sprinted across the last few dew-dampened yards toward the barn. She arrived breathless and all but stumbled across the threshold.

Jack sat on a stool, already at work milking one of the cows. He spared the briefest of glances over his shoulder, then went back to work.

“I apologize for oversleeping.” Though how one could call it oversleeping when you were up before sunrise…

He ignored her apology. “I'm almost finished milking Belle.” He nodded toward the other stall. “As soon as I'm done, I'll let you try your hand at milking Clover.”

Feeling duly chastised, Callie nodded. Curious, she moved closer so she could watch Jack at work.

It didn't look so hard. He merely squeezed on the cow's teats and the milk squirted into the bucket. The animal stood placidly eating from a waist-high mounted feed trough while Jack worked. The animal didn't even seem to notice what Jack was doing, much less mind.

A few minutes later Jack stood and patted the cow. “Thanks, girl.” He carefully set the bucket of frothy white liquid on a wooden table next to the barn door, then returned and untied the cow.

Finally, he turned to Callie. “Ready to give it a try?”

She gave a confident nod.

“All right. First, add a bit of grain to her feed trough.” He handed her a large chipped bowl filled with corn and some other type of grain. “Always approach her from the right side.
That's also the side you're going to milk her from.” He set the stool in place. “Cows are creatures of habit and you want to approach her the same way every time.”

Callie nodded and dutifully poured the grain into the feed trough.

“When you're ready, take a minute to pat her side and talk to her so she knows you're there.”

What did one say to a cow? She decided to pretend Clover was just a big dog. “Hi there, girl.” She patted the animal's side. “I'm Callie and I hope you're going to take it easy on me this morning.”

The cow turned her head, looking at Callie with big, soulful brown eyes as if to reassure her. Callie smiled. So far this didn't seem so difficult.

“All right,” Jack said. “Now take these two pails.” He handed her an empty pail and one with fresh water and a rag.

“Scoot your stool up next to her, then sit at a right angle.” He watched carefully as she complied. “You might want to lean your head or shoulder against her flank, just to keep the two of you anchored to each other.”

Callie gave him a startled look. Was he serious? But then she remembered that he'd been sitting that way earlier. She leaned forward, her shoulder touching the cow.

“Now take this bucket,” he said, pointing to the one filled with water, “and wash down her udder. That'll make sure you don't get any dirt in the milk.”

Callie did as she was told, all the while feeling Jack's assessing eye on her.

“That's good. Take the milk pail and place it directly under the udder. Okay. Now you'll want to use your left hand to hold the pail steady. These two cows seem pretty tame, but you never know when one of them will have a bad day. You don't want them stepping in the pail or kicking it over.”

“Kicking?”

He shrugged. “It happens. Hurts like h—” he cleared his throat “—like fire if you get in the way. Just keep your eyes open.”

Callie shifted uneasily.

He stooped down beside her. “Watch me, then you try it. What you need to do is take one of the teats into the palm of your hand, like this. Starting at the top, squeeze with your thumb and forefinger. Then squeeze with your next finger, then the next, until your entire hand is curled around it. Then you release and do it all over again.”

Sounded simple enough.

He straightened. “Think you have it?”

She nodded.

“Then give it a shot.”

Callie took a deep breath, then reached up and positioned her hand as he'd instructed. She mentally reviewed his directions as she squeezed.

Nothing happened.

“Let's go over it again.” He repeated the instructions, then crossed his arms and waited for her to follow through.

Feeling slightly less confident, Callie tried again.

Still nothing.

Jack stooped down until his head was level with hers. “One more time.”

She did, with the same dismal results.

“I think I see what your problem is. Here, let me show you.”

Jack shifted forward until they were shoulder to shoulder. He wrapped his hand around hers, encompassing it in a firm yet not unpleasant hold.

Callie was startled by his nearness, by the solid warmth of his hands on hers. She'd felt it before when he held her
hand—that something protective in his touch, strong and gentle at the same time.

It took her a few seconds to realize he was speaking again.

“…need to apply a bit more pressure and make your movements smoother, firmer.” He used his fingers to manipulate hers and like magic the milk pinged into the bucket. “Do you feel the difference?”

“Y-yes.” She cleared her throat, clearing her head at the same time. “That was very helpful. Thank you.”

With a nod he released her hand and glanced up. For a moment their gazes locked and she saw something flicker to life in his eyes. Whatever it was, though, it was gone almost as quickly as it had come.

“Well then,” he sat back on his heels and broke eye contact, “let's see you give it a go on your own.”

“Of course.”

To her immense relief, the milk spurted into the pail with a satisfactory splish.

Jack stood. “Better. Now, you just keep that up until nothing more comes out. Then you move on to the next one. Clover's calf needs to be fed so you'll just milk out two teats. The calf will get the rest.”

Callie nodded as she continued to work. There was a rhythm to this and she'd almost found it. It helped if she concentrated on what she was doing rather than on Jack.

It took her nearly twenty minutes to complete the task, but Callie felt an immense sense of satisfaction when she'd finished. She turned to share her accomplishment with Jack, only to find him busy spreading fresh hay in the vacated stalls.

Looking around, she realized he'd turned out Belle and filled the water troughs already. And probably a few other things she wasn't yet trained to notice.

And here she'd been feeling so smug about having milked a cow in that time, and only halfway at that.

She stood, stretching her back and flexing her sore hand muscles.

Jack leaned on the pitchfork, giving her an almost sympathetic smile. “Harder than it looks, isn't it?”

“I imagine it'll get easier with practice.” She set her pail on the table next to his. “What's next?”

“You take this milk on up to the house.” He cocked his head to one side. “That is, if your hands aren't too sore to handle the pails.”

She wasn't going to let him see how cramped her hands and arms felt. “I'm fine.”

“Good.” He wiped his brow. “Morning's getting on. If we're going to get everyone fed and ready for church, you need to get breakfast started and see to the kids. I'll finish up in here and take care of gathering the eggs.”

He took a firmer hold of the pitchfork, then paused again. “And don't forget to strain the milk. There ought to be some cheesecloth in the kitchen or laundry room.”

She nodded and grabbed the pails.

“Don't worry,” he said cheerfully, “tomorrow you'll get a real taste of what farm life is all about.”

 

Jack rubbed the back of his neck as he watched Callie trudge through the barn door with the pails of milk. What was it about holding hands with this woman? There'd been a moment earlier when—

He tamped that thought down and focused instead on what they'd accomplished this morning.

Callie might have more than her fair share of determination, but now she'd gotten a small taste of what she'd be up against. How would she feel about things after a few more
days of this? Would her resolve to stay out here waver? If it did, could he really, in good conscience, leave her and the kids here on their own?

He let the calf out of its pen and it immediately trotted over to its mother and began suckling.

He snatched the cloth-lined wicker basket from the workbench and trudged toward the hen house.

As he methodically reached into each nest and plucked out the still warm eggs, Jack began pondering alternatives. Like it or not, these four were his responsibility and leaving them in the lurch was not an option. But neither was his staying here in Sweetgum. So what could he do to make certain both their interests and his were taken care of? Surely he was resourceful enough to come up with something.

Because he was as determined as ever to return to his former life as soon as possible.

 

Callie set the milk pails on the kitchen counter and went to the washroom to clean up and fetch the cheesecloth. The day was barely started and already she was sore. And Jack implied he'd gone easy on her! Could she really do this?

Father, give me the strength I'll need to see this through. I desperately want to stay here in this place, but help me to not let my selfish desires blind me to what is best for the family as a whole
.

It took more time to prepare breakfast and get the children ready than Callie had expected, but finally they were all dressed in their Sunday best and seated in the buggy. She'd have to do something about Emma and Simon's clothing. With the exception of what they'd been wearing the day of the fire, everything had been destroyed. Mrs. Mayweather had found them a few extra items to wear, but they needed more.

Jack flicked the reins and set the wagon in motion. Callie
faced the road with a smile of satisfaction. She'd made it through the first morning without any notable disasters. And with any luck they would make it into town before the church service started.

The silence drew out. This wouldn't do at all.

Callie turned to face the children. “Have any of you ever played the Endless Story game?”

Three sets of eyes stared at her blankly.

“It's a game my sisters and I used to play for hours at a time,” Callie said.

“You have sisters?” Annabeth's eyes were round with surprise.

“Yes, four of them, actually.”

“I like stories,” Emma offered.

“Then you'll enjoy this.”

Annabeth propped her arms and chin against the back of the front seat. “How do you play?”

“Well, one person starts telling a story.” Callie waved a hand. “It can be about anything at all. But at the end of two minutes they must stop, even if they are in the middle of a sentence. Then the next person picks up the story where the first person left off, taking it in any direction they want. After two minutes, they stop and the next person starts, and so on.”

Annabeth clapped her hands. “Ooh, let's play.”

Callie looked at the other two. “How about you? Do you want to give it a try?”

Emma nodded somewhat hesitantly. Simon merely shrugged.

“All right, then, I'll start.” She turned to Jack. “Can we borrow your pocket watch?”

He hesitated a fraction of a second, then slowly pulled his watch out of his pocket and handed it to her.

She stared at it. It wasn't the one she'd given him.

She did her best to ignore the stab of rejection. Perhaps this one had some sentimental value to him, had come from someone who mattered.