The Hand-Me-Down Family
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“It did?” Emma seemed more at ease now that Callie’s bonnet was back in place.
“What kind of things did she say about us?” Simon’s voice held a note of challenge.
“Well, I know you’re eleven years old, that you’re a good student, and that you’re also good at building things.”
Simon seemed surprised by her words, but she noticed his chest puffed out with pride a bit.
Callie turned to Emma. “And as for you, young lady, you are eight years old and your Aunt Julia thought you were a very fine artist. She said you were always drawing her the prettiest pictures. Her favorites were the ones with flowers and rainbows.”
“I like to draw,” Emma acknowledged. She finally met Callie’s gaze. “Why do you call it angel kisses?”
Callie was relieved the girl was comfortable enough to talk about it. As Mrs. Mayweather had said earlier, children were usually much more forthright in confronting the subject than adults.
“I was born with this mark,” she explained. “Sometimes, when your Aunt Julia and I were little girls, she would tell me that she thought it was there because just before God sent me down to be with my parents, one of his angels bent over and kissed me on the cheek.”
Emma studied Callie’s face, as if trying to see past the bonnet. “Does it hurt?”
“Not at all. It’s always been just a part of who I am.” Callie gently touched a spot near the corner of Emma’s mouth. “Just like this little mole right here is a part of you.”
“Oh.” Emma’s hand reached for the spot Callie had touched. “And like my friend Molly’s freckles?”
“That’s right. But I tell you what. I know it’s a little scary right at first. So why don’t I just keep this bonnet on for the time being, at least until we get to know each other better.”
Emma nodded. Then her brow furrowed. “What are we supposed to call you?”
Caught off guard, Callie glanced up at Jack. She had no real claim on Simon and Emma. But, then again, she had been married to their uncle. She turned back to Emma. “Why don’t you just call me Aunt Callie?”
“Aunt Callie.” Emma tried out the name, then nodded approval. “That’s nice.”
“That’s settled then.”
“So you will be living at the farm with us.” Annabeth made the pronouncement with all the confidence of a self-assured four-year-old.
Jack cleared his throat and Simon started to voice another protest.
But Mrs. Mayweather stepped in before either of them got very far. “Children.” With that one word, she claimed everyone’s attention. “Why don’t the three of you go outside and check on Cookie. Simon, there is a bone left over from yesterday’s supper on the kitchen counter that you may take to him.”
Once the children left the room, Jack turned to Mrs. May-weather. “I want to thank you again for taking them in until I could get here.” He rubbed the back of his neck again. “I suppose I should ask them to pack up their things so we can head on over to the farm.”
Callie sat up straighter. No! He was not going to sidestep her claim that easily. Those children needed her. “I don’t believe that is your decision to make, Mr. Tyler.”
He frowned. “We’ve already—”
She cut off his attempt to play the kin card again. “As your brother’s widow, I believe I should have some say as to who will be staying at the farm.”
“Are you saying you want to go out there yourself?”
“I don’t—”
Mrs. Mayweather held up a hand to halt their discussion. “It appears to me that the two of you have some things to work out in respect to the children’s future. After all, you only learned the full extent of the situation a few hours ago.”
“It seems pretty cut and dried to me,” Jack groused.
Mrs. Mayweather drew herself up. “Jackson Garret Tyler, I will thank you to mind your tone when you are in my home.”
Apparently it didn’t matter how old Jack was—he would always be a recalcitrant schoolboy to Mrs. Mayweather. Callie carefully swallowed a grin.
Jack mumbled an apology, chafing under Mrs. Mayweather’s obvious censure.
He wasn’t sure what was wrong with him today. One minute he was breaking out in a cold sweat at the thought of taking sole responsibility for the three kids, and the next he was ready to fight to the death against anyone who’d dare try to take that privilege from him.
Mrs. Mayweather smoothed her skirts and gave them both equally stern looks. “Now, you’ve had a long day, both physically and emotionally. This is probably not the best time for you to make any major decisions.”
Callie nodded. “I agree. It would be best if we spent a little more time seeking guidance in this matter.”
Jack bit back a retort. There she went with that “seeking guidance” talk again. Didn’t the woman know how to make a decision on her own? Or did she think her delaying tactics would give her some sort of advantage in their tug-of-war?
Mrs. Mayweather, however, didn’t give him an opportunity to voice his objections. “Quite sensible. I insist the children stay here with me another night or two, while you two get everything worked out. It would be criminal to uproot them again before there is some certainty as to where they will live and with whom.” She looked from Callie to Jack. “Are we agreed?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Callie’s response was quick and confident.
No surprise there. It was exactly what she wanted—time to build her case. But he couldn’t come up with an argument that didn’t sound petty, so, under Mrs. Mayweather’s stern gaze, he had no choice but to follow suit. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Very well. Jackson, you are welcome to stay for supper. The more time you and Callista spend in the children’s company, the better for everyone. Afterward, I suggest you spend the night at the farm. It will relieve Virgil of the responsibility of taking care of the chores in the morning. You may use my horse and buggy to get there.”
She rose as if the matter were settled. Which he supposed it was.
His brother’s widow stood uncertainly. “I suppose I should get a room at the hotel.”
Mrs. Mayweather frowned. “Nonsense. You’ll stay here with me and the children.”
She held up a hand, halting any protest Callie might make. “This is no time to stand on ceremony. Your presence has already made such a difference to Annabeth. She’s spoken more in these past few minutes than she has the last four days.”
Jack frowned at this point in Callie’s favor in their battle for guardianship of the children.
“Besides,” Mrs. Mayweather continued, “you can help me with some of the extra chores that have resulted from the presence of the children.”
That seemed to seal the deal for Callie. “Of course. Thank you.”
There was a feeling of feminine conspiracy to this. Not that the arrangement didn’t make sense from a strictly logistical standpoint. The only problem was, it let his sister-in-law have free rein with the kids while he was exiled to the farm. Which gave her a leg up in winning the children’s favor.
He’d have to find a way to level the field.
Callie had mixed emotions that evening as she watched Jack walk out Mrs. Mayweather’s kitchen door.
Just as when he’d started to walk away from her beside the stagecoach this afternoon, she felt as if a lifeline was slipping away from her, leaving her stranded in unfamiliar territory.
Strange. As stubborn as the man was, she felt they’d formed a connection of sorts. After all, when he wasn’t being so pig-headedly combative over the matter of the children, he was actually nice. And even in that matter, one had to admire a man who was willing to take his perceived responsibilities so much to heart.
Callie turned away from the door with a tired sigh.
So much had happened today. It had begun with her looking forward to starting life as a wife and a mother, and ended with the discovery that she was a widow who would have to fight to maintain her claim on her stepchild. What a welcome to Texas. Her father would—
Oh, no! She raised a hand to her mouth and spun around to face her hostess.
“My goodness, dear, you look as if you just burned Sunday dinner and the preacher’s at the door. Whatever is it?”
“I promised my family I’d send a telegraph when I arrived so they would know I was safe. It slipped my mind until just now.” She grimaced. “I hate to impose, but would you have a piece of paper and a pen I could use?” Silly of her to feel this sense of urgency since she wouldn’t be able to send the telegram until tomorrow. But doing this would provide a small bit of normalcy to a day that had spun out of control.
A few minutes later, Callie sat at a small desk tucked in the parlor. She dipped the pen in the inkwell, then paused.
What would she say? How much should she say?
Her family worried about her so. No good would be served by adding to their concerns. After all, she had confidence that God would see her through this.
But she couldn’t lie to them.
Best to keep it short and non-committal for the moment. Nodding to herself, she quickly jotted down three sentences.
Have arrived safely in Sweetgum. Already made new friends who have welcomed me warmly. Will send a letter with further news soon.
As she set the pen down, Callie’s thoughts turned to resuming her battle of wits with Jackson Garret Tyler in the morning.
Surprisingly, her feeling about this was not dread—but anticipation.
Chapter Seven
Jack clicked his tongue, encouraging the horse to pick up the pace as the sun edged lower on the horizon. Not that he needed daylight to find his way. Even after eleven years, the road was as familiar to him as his own face.
He’d already made a quick stop at Virgil’s place to let him know he wouldn’t need to worry about handling the chores at the Tyler farm any longer. Luckily he’d caught Virgil out in the barn so he hadn’t had to spend time on pleasantries with his friend’s family. There’d be time enough for neighborly visits in the days to come.
Jack didn’t really consider himself a sentimental man, so the little kick of expectation that hit him when he turned the buggy onto the familiar drive surprised him.
As soon as the house came into full view, he tugged on the reins, halting the horse and buggy. The sight that greeted him was at once soul-deep familiar and strangely foreign.
The same two-story gabled structure sat on the lawn like a fat hen guarding her nest.
The same large oak tree spread its made-for-climbing branches over the left side of the lawn.
The same red barn pointed its cupola to the sky.
But Lanny and Julia, not to mention Father Time, had made noticeable changes. There was now a roomy swing on one end of the wraparound front porch. The oak tree was several feet taller and its branches shaded a much larger patch of ground than Jack remembered. And the gray-and-black speckled dog that came bounding from behind the barn was nothing like ole Clem.
With another flick of the reins, Jack directed the horse around the house and into the barn.
There were several changes in here as well. The old buggy had been replaced with a roomier one and it seemed Lanny had invested in some interesting-looking tools and equipment. It might be worth his while to do a little exploring in here when he had some time.
But for now he had to take care of bedding down the animals while there was still light enough to see by. He gave the energetic dog a bit of attention, then unhitched the horse and patted the animal as it moved past him toward the water trough.
As he worked at the chores that had once been second nature, his mind wondered over the day’s happenings.
Callie was a puzzle to him. Her intentions and determination were admirable, but he didn’t believe she understood what she was up against. Such an obviously sheltered city girl would have a hard time adjusting to life in a place like this. Especially now that she didn’t have a husband to smooth the way for her.
Still, there was something about the woman, something about the way she faced a fracas head-on rather than shying away that he found intriguing.
Had her life back in Ohio been so terrible that even with what had happened, she—
Jack gave his head a shake. He’d let her get under his skin. He had to remember that her personal problems were no concern of his. She wanted to challenge his claim to Annabeth, and that made her his opponent.
He gave the carriage horse one last brush with the currycomb then patted her again, sending her into an empty stall.
Once he’d fed and watered the other animals and taken care of the evening milking, Jack headed for the house. As he climbed the porch steps he ran a hand over the familiar support post. The etched image of a rearing horse his father had carved into the wood one rainy summer afternoon was still discernable, even under the layer of new paint.
Family mattered. Shared history mattered. That was something only he could offer those kids.
Jack stepped inside, noting the addition of a new screen door as he passed. He wandered through the first floor, feeling strangely disoriented by the mix of the familiar and the new. Everywhere he looked he could see where Julia and Lanny’s lives together had left a lasting imprint on the Tyler family home. New curtains here, a new chair there. A tin type picture of Julia’s parents now shared space on the mantle with those of the Tyler family. There was also a tintype of Lanny and Julia. Julia held an infant on her lap.
He soon discovered a room had been tacked on to the back of the house. Inside sat a shiny porcelain bathtub and some new-fangled laundry equipment. A hand pump stood against the far wall, sprouting from the back lip of a large metal sink. Next to the sink, a small iron fire box supported a large kettle, ready to heat the water when needed. Large windows set high on three of the four walls would provide ventilation without sacrificing privacy. Someone had even strung a cord below the rafters, no doubt to be used for hanging wet laundry when the weather made it uncomfortable to do so outside.
Not for the first time Jack admired his brother’s ingenuity. He could see how this setup would have been a great convenience for Julia. And it would make his life here with the kids that much easier, too.
Jack climbed the stairs, curious to see the bedchambers.
The first room he stepped into was the one he and Lanny had shared as children. Gone were the rock collections, pouches of marbles and patched overalls that had once marked it as the room of two active boys.
Now, everything was clean and neatly arranged. A number of subtle feminine touches had been added, too, no doubt thanks to Julia.
Still, if one looked close enough, the memories were there, lurking in the shadows. Memories of horseplay and fights, of discussions in the dark long after they were supposed to be asleep, of the big brother he’d adored and resented by turns.
Jack stepped farther into the room, looking for the wooden chests his father had built for them. He and Lanny had used them to store their few personal possessions.
Lanny’s was nowhere in sight but Jack found his tucked below the window sill with a lace doily and a needlework picture of some flowers on top.
Inside were the things he’d treasured growing up, the few items that had been his alone, that had never belonged to Lanny. He lifted out a leather pouch with a grin. It contained exactly twelve marbles—two nice sized aggies and ten immies. Lanny had given him two of these and taught him how to use them, but the rest Jack had won for himself from schoolyard games.
Of course, he’d never beaten Lanny. Lanny had been good at just about everything he tried. Much as Jack loved his brother, growing up in his shadow hadn’t been easy.
Which was one of the reasons he’d left Sweetgum. Only he’d never intended to stay away so long.
Jack shut the lid on the chest and left the room. Too bad he couldn’t shut out his feelings of guilt so easily.
He walked across the hall and opened the door to Nell’s old room. It still had the stamp of a little girl occupant—lace and frills and brightly colored hair ribbons everywhere. This had to be Annabeth’s domain now.
A rag doll lay on the bed. He should bring it to her in the morning, to give her back a little bit of her home.
Jack reached for it, but his fingers curled back into his palm. There was no similar memento he could bring to Nell’s kids. How would they feel as they watched Annabeth enjoy her piece of home?
He turned and left the room empty-handed.
Jack skipped the room next to Annabeth’s and moved instead to the one across from it. This used to be his mother’s domain. Its main function had been as a sewing room, but it had served a multitude of other purposes, too. A pull-down bed had turned it into a guest room when the rare overnight visitor came calling. Spare odds and ends had been stored on shelves that lined two of the walls. And his mother had also hung dried flowers and herbs in bunches from the rafters.
As soon as Jack pushed the door open, he was assaulted by the familiar smells of his childhood. Floral scents mingled with dill, mustard and mint. He could almost imagine his mother working in here, humming in that off-key way she had.
As he looked at the room, he noticed a nearly finished lap quilt attached to the quilting frame, patiently waiting for the seamstress who would never return.
A moment later it hit him that it wasn’t a lap quilt but one made for a baby’s bed.
He turned abruptly and left the room, closing the door firmly behind him.
The only room left to visit was the one that his parents had slept in. Except it would now be Lanny’s room, the one he and Julia had shared when she was alive. The one he had, no doubt, been prepared to share with Callie.
Jack decided he’d faced enough ghosts from his past for one night. He took the stairs two at a time and headed straight for the front door. Stepping out on the porch, he took a deep, soul-cleansing breath. Leaning his elbows on the rail, he listened to the night sounds and stared out at the shadowy forms of the landscape.
So many reminders, so many pieces of his family’s history—and dreams for the future—encompassed in this building, this place.
Did it all really belong to Lanny’s widow now? Just because of some quirk of timing that had her married to his older brother for a few short hours before his death?
If a person really decided to press the matter, he could argue that you couldn’t even call it married.
But it seemed mean-spirited to challenge her claim. After all, she’d come out here in good faith, pursuing her own dreams, and none of what had happened had been her fault.
It might be better for all concerned if he offered to buy out her claim on the farm. That way she could either purchase herself a place in town or head on back to where she came from with a nice little nest egg in hand.
As for the guardianship of Annabeth, Callie would come around on that once he talked to her again. Sure, he didn’t know exactly how he was going to handle raising the youngsters on his own, but he’d find a way. After all, there was no arguing that it was his responsibility to take care of Simon and Emma, so it just made sense for him to take Annabeth as well.
How much extra work could one little girl be?
The crux of the matter kept coming down to the fact that he and the kids were blood kin. Even a woman as stubborn as Lanny’s widow was proving herself to be couldn’t deny that they belonged together.
Yes, that was the best way to go.
And hang it all, he still believed someone like her just didn’t fit in here in Sweetgum, especially not all on her own. She’d be as out of place as a canary in a hen house.
Not that the woman lacked spirit. It had taken a lot of gumption for her to make it this far. And she certainly didn’t let the thought of what others might think of that birthmark stand in her way. Yes, all in all, quite a spirited woman.
Too bad she was so all-fired muleheaded.
Jack pushed away from the porch rail and jammed his hands in his pockets.
He’d never met a woman like her. True, it had been a while since he’d spent much time in what his mother used to call “polite company,” but he figured things hadn’t changed all that much. Callie was…well…hang it all, he hadn’t quite figured out what she was, besides being a thorn in his side. And just plain wrong about her rights in regard to Annabeth.
On the other hand, could he really say the kids would be better off with him than with her?
Rather than pursue that thought, he decided to turn in for the night.
Callie gently eased her armload of dirty breakfast dishes down on the counter next to the sink. She started rolling up her sleeves, then paused at the sound of a knock on the back door.
Mrs. Mayweather, who’d just placed a large kettle on the stove, glanced over her shoulder. “Callista, would you see who that is, please?”
Callie had a pretty good idea who was on the other side of the door, and she was certain Mrs. Mayweather did as well, but she dutifully wiped her hands on her borrowed apron. “Of course.”
As expected, she opened the door to find Jack standing there. He had a pail in one hand and a basket in the other.
“Ah, Jackson, there you are.” Mrs. Mayweather waved him in from behind Callie. “We saved you a bit of breakfast.”
“Thanks. It sure does smell good.” He lifted his offerings. “I brought some eggs and fresh milk for your larder.”
Studying his easy smile and friendly manner, Callie decided the man could be something of a charmer when he set his mind to it.
Mrs. Mayweather obviously agreed. She beamed approvingly as she held out her hands. “Wonderful. I’ll take those and put them away. You go on to the sink and wash up.”
She nodded to Callie as she passed. “Would you hand him a plate, please?”
Callie nodded and stepped past Jack, reaching into the cupboard. “Mrs. Mayweather brewed a pot of coffee. Would you like a cup?”
“Yes, thank you.”
There was a formality about their interactions today, a sort of stiff truce. But at least it was a truce.
She watched him heap a pile of eggs and two biscuits onto his plate, then he took a seat at the long kitchen table. Simon was still picking at his own breakfast but the girls had finished theirs.
Annabeth immediately moved to Jack’s side. “Did you see Cinnamon and Taffy and Pepper last night?” she asked before he’d even settled in.
“Cinnamon, Taffy and Pepper.” Jack drawled the words as he smeared jam on his biscuit. “Some of my favorite flavors. But I’m afraid I didn’t look in the pantry.”
Annabeth giggled. “They don’t live in the pantry, silly.”
“They don’t?”
Callie smiled at the teasing tone in Jack’s voice. Perhaps she’d been wrong about his ability to relate to the children. Maybe she should just step back and let him—
The memory of his declaration that he wasn’t “the praying kind” interrupted her move toward retreat and stiffened her resolve. It just plain didn’t matter how charming he could be, these children needed her in their lives, too.
But for now, she’d give him his share of time to create a connection with his nieces and nephew.
“They’re animals, not food,” Annabeth explained with exaggerated patience. She began to tick them off on her fingers. “Cinnamon is my pony and Taffy is the big yellow cat who lives in the barn and Pepper is our dog.”
“Oh!” Jack did a good job of sounding surprised. “Well, in that case, yes, I saw all three of them.”
The child twirled a curl with one pudgy finger. “Do you think they miss me?”
“I’m certain they do.”
Emma set her elbows on the table next to Simon. “I have a dog, too.”
Jack turned his attention to his other niece. “Do you?”
She nodded her head. “He’s a beagle and his name is Cookie.”
“Now, would he by any chance be that fine looking animal I saw outside next to Mrs. Mayweather’s carriage house?”