The Tarnished Necklace. Trish Inc. DuffinЧитать онлайн книгу.
will come back to church. Don’t worry, I haven’t rejected God, but I wasn’t going to put Chenoa through the ordeal of attending church again. Now that I am on my own though...,” his voice trailed off. They sat in silence for a while. Grace was quietly perched in the back and singing a quiet song with Joy. “How about I go tomorrow?” asked Peter.
“Where?” replied Maria
“To church.”
Maria thought about it and tried to put herself in his shoes. “Come when you ready, not before.”
Peter turned to her, gave a big sigh and said, “I’ll come tomorrow. I think I am getting ready to face society again. Can I come with your family though? I would appreciate the support.”
“Yes, certainly. Oh, turn here.” They had arrived at the turning for Joy’s home and Joy’s mother was in the yard sweeping. She looked up and gave a wave as they arrived and went around the back of the wagon to help her little girl. Maria and Peter laughed. Elizabeth had gone to sleep. Joy was so excited about the day her mother had difficulty stopping her talking long enough to express her gratitude to Peter and Maria.
For the rest of the ride Grace sat between Peter and Maria and chattered away while Elizabeth slept. The tree shadows flickered over their faces as the horses plodded their dusty way over to Elizabeth’s house. Peter scooped up the still sleeping Elizabeth and took her into her home. Her father was out in the fields and, by all appearances, Elizabeth was about to become a big sister any day. Her mother was in no shape to carry her. He came back to find Grace now curled up in Maria’s arms. She was looking a little sleepy and her head rested on Maria’s shoulder. It had been a big exciting day and by the time they got back home Grace’s face was flushed with sleep. She barely stirred when Peter scooped up his second sleeping child for the day, carried her in and climbed the ladder up to her attic bedroom before gently laying her on her bed. Maria followed him up the ladder and passed Daisy, her crib and her three horses over to him. He came back downstairs to find Susan preparing the evening meal and he was pleased to be invited to stay. This had been one of the most pleasurable days he had experienced for weeks, and he wasn’t keen for it to end.
While the meal was being prepared he slipped outside to unharness the horses and give them a groom. Once that job was done he grabbed the axe and started splitting wood. It was one of those simple necessary jobs that he enjoyed doing. He loved feeling the flex of his muscle as he swung the axe overhead and the crack of the wood as it splintered in two. Alice came over with her little axe and reduced some of the wood to kindling. He carried the wood in when the call came for dinner, Joanne was sent to fetch her father. Before Peter could eat though he had to sit and have Maria remove three splinters from his fingers. Her smooth hands deftly flicked them out before she thrust a cool flannel in his hands. He was aware of his damp shirt sticking to his back as he tackled the light dinner laid before him. Glancing at the horizon he realised he better head off, a light chill was settling and the first hint of autumn was in the air. After carrying some dishes over to the wash up area he reluctantly said goodbye to his friends, collected up his hat and left. The ten minute walk gave him time to muse over the day. To his consternation he found that one of the most pleasurable parts of the day had been the ride with Maria as they took the children home. He told himself it was because he was missing Chenoa, but that didn’t explain why he enjoyed simply looking at her face, her curly brown hair and bright happy eyes. He shook his head and got onto his chores, firmly shoving the picture of Maria out of his mind. Goodness, he had only buried his wife last month. This must be grief, it certainly wasn’t rational.
Just before he went to bed he penned a letter to his father and enclosed his address.
Back at the Scott farm Maria was also feeling a little disconcerted. She sat on the verandah looking over into the sunset. It had been a long day with preparing the food and activities and playing the games with the children, alongside all the other things her parents depended on her doing. The most enjoyable part of the day though had been the ride with Peter, and that worried her. He was still Chenoa’s husband as far as she was concerned, even if she was now buried. He was a neighbour and a widower having lost a son and wife. He was five years older than her and born in another land with a totally different upbringing from hers. Yet she had felt drawn to him as he told her the tiniest bit about himself. She thought back to when he spoke today. His face was invariably kind, apart from that brief flash of anger she glimpsed today. She could see the anger wasn’t for how he was treated, but how his wife was treated. She saw that he was a man who cared deeply. Also, to be honest, he was very good looking. A few of her friends had been rude enough to express disgust over his having an Indian for a wife. “What a pity,” they would say, “he’s so handsome.” Maria had always distanced herself from such gossip, and there was plenty of that nature when they had first arrived. Those malicious girls had never got to know Chenoa and see their happy marriage. That was the other thing. She had seen him as a husband, seen how he spoke to Chenoa, seen the way he looked at her and how he moved around her. She had even glimpsed the odd sweet kiss. She had quickly realised she was fortunate to be friends with such a nice couple and that was where her difficulty lay. She still saw him as a married man, yet he no longer was. He was now single.
Maria sighed, unaware that at the same time Peter was facing a losing battle by trying not to think about her. Both of them went to bed that night arguing with themselves over the entire situation.
Chapter 6 Sunday Morning
Sunday morning started with the first rays of sunshine spreading down the side of the house and into the window. Peter lay there for a few minutes, collecting his thoughts and coming up with his plans for the day. It was near harvest time which meant he needed to start tackling things. Then he remembered it was also Sunday and he had promised to attend the church service. He grimaced for a second, recollecting the one other time he had gone and how his wife was spurned by the majority of people. Since Chenoa’s death he had encountered most of them either on the road or in the store when he went to fetch his supplies. Some people had been decent enough to express sympathy over his loss. This was the first time though, that he was to face everyone en masse.
After breakfast he got ready for church by pulling on his one good shirt. He had put the rest of his shirts in a bucket to soak. He was fastening the buttons when one popped off, rolled under the bed and promptly fell through the crack in the floor. Peter sighed and headed out the door. Darn, he was going to cut this fine. The next ten minutes were spent under the house crawling through the dust, trying to find the one single button, which was eventually recovered. He re-emerged, the button tucked in his pocket, his bare back and chest now finely covered in dust and cobwebs. His trousers were filthy. Then came the hunt for Chenoa’s sewing gear. Well, he thought she had some. Darn! Perhaps Chenoa had always used Susan’s. Now what? Another glance at the clock confirmed he better make his mind up soon. So he quickly grabbed a clean pair of trousers and bridled his horse before riding bareback and shirtless over to the Scott’s place. He arrived within minutes and frantically knocked on the door. Maria opened it and started laughing. Peter stood there in the door frame, shirt and clean trousers in hand and his body covered in cobwebs and dust. The knees of his pants looked like he had been crawling through dirt and his normally dark hair was peppered with cobwebs.
Susan came to the door, wondering what the laughter was about then ushered him into the kitchen. He sat down, meekly held up his button and muttered, “You don’t want to know,” while eyeing up Maria who was chortling away to herself over at the table.
Susan turned to her. “Maria, once you’ve finished embarrassing our guest fetch some water, then get the soap.”
Maria, immediately chagrined, said, “Yes Ma,” and glanced over to Peter. He quickly stuck his tongue out, causing her to immediately respond in kind.
“Maria!” snapped Susan, shocked that her daughter would be so rude. Maria snapped her mouth shut and glared at Peter who sat in the chair innocently looking over to her. Maria bustled around doing her mother’s bidding. She bit the sides of her cheeks and tried not to look at Peter. He wasn’t helping by attempting to catch her eye and make her laugh again. Honestly, the man was trouble, no wonder he got caned at school. She could well imagine the toad story was true.