Page 22 of Hank and Elsie
“With the babes comes the….” The man made an exaggerated sniff. “You get used to it, ah, ja, you’ll see.”
Hank wasn’t sure he wanted to get used to that odor, much less ever having to change messy diapers. Somehow, forking straw-filled horse manure from a stall into a wheelbarrow wasn’t nearly as bad.
Maybe there are some benefits to remaining a bachelor.
After the churchservice was over, Hank stood outside, covertly examining the lingering crowd for potential wives, while impatiently waiting for Mrs. Norton to be free from what seemed like interminable conversations.
About twenty minutes passed before she was able to wind her way through the dissipating crowd and walk over to him.
Extending her hands, Mrs. Norton took his in hers and squeezed. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Canfield. I did try to make my way over here sooner, but—” She released his hands.
“I understand. Everyone wants to talk to you.”
A flush pinked her wrinkled cheeks. “Perhaps noteveryone.”
“Almost everyone,” he teased.
“I’ve discussed your situation with Reverend Norton. He suggested a few places where there are available women who don’t usually attend church. That is if you’re of a mind togo visiting farther afield. Or, at least, he’spresumingthey’re available.”
“Presuming?”
“At least once a year, my husband tries to make pastoral visits to everyone who doesn’t usually attend church for various reasons—distance, ill health, a reclusive nature, shame for not having nice clothing, feeling they must labor on the Lord’s Day, or those just ornery enough to turn their backs on God. But they do not, thank goodness, turn their backs on Reverend Norton. Maybe because he always brings some of my oatmeal cookies, orwedo, if I’m able to go along.”
Reverend Norton had never paid a pastoral visit to Torin, probably because the minister didn’t know he and Jewel existed. Once again, he wished his friend didn’t feel the need to keep his daughter a secret. But the wounds cause by his wife and parents’ rejection of Jewel and their minister’s support of that decision had penetrated too deep.
Mrs. Norton gave him her gentle smile. “As you can imagine, these people are fairly far-flung, which is why most years Reverend Norton can only manage one visit.”
Hank listened to her flow of words, unsure how he could court a wife who fit into any of the categories she described. “I could hardly drop in on these people, being a stranger and all.”
“Reverend Norton and I have decided that the best place to find several available ladies is the Driscoll ranch.” She gestured to the street, which eventually led out of town.
Hank raised his eyebrows, never having heard of the place. “The Driscoll daughters? Sisters?” he ventured.
“I believe Cai Driscoll’s sister, Aurelia…” She tapped her chin. “She’s around seventeen, which may be a bit too young. Although, I guess that depends on your patience in allowing her to grow up before marrying her. I do believe it’s better ifgirls aren’t married too soon. But young people, and often their parents, don’t always agree.”
“I’m impatient.”
Mrs. Norton laughed, crinkling the wrinkles of her face. “The right woman will be worth waiting for, Mr. Canfield,” she chided.
He shrugged, not convinced. “Then, I’ll set my sights on a woman who’s older.”
“A clan of Swedes—the Andersons—work the Driscoll ranch. Their daughters tend to go east to school, and many marry and remain there. But surely, some must return home. I don’t know any more information, because the Driscoll and Anderson women don’t tend to frequent town much, and they hold their own Sunday services.”
Hank pictured choosing from several pretty, blonde, blue-eyed ladies. “Sounds like a place worth exploring. But I could hardly ride out there and say, ‘Show me your women.’ The guns would come out for sure.”
“I have a much better plan.” Her eyes twinkled. “I’m going to pay a call on the ladies of Driscoll Ranch, and you’ll be my driver. How about on Wednesday? The almanac predicts good weather.”
Hank’s smile grew. “Mrs. Norton, you’ve got yourself a deal.”
Later that day,with his supplies from shopping in town stowed in his house, Hank took the remaining saddlebag and set off for Torin’s place, choosing to stroll along the lake path. Today, no wind rippled the lake, making the sky and a few puffy clouds reflect on the surface. He inhaled a deep breath, smelling the pine and lake water, relieved to be home and away from town.
The clearing to Torin’s house opened up. Unlike he and Brian, with their one-room log cabins, Torin’s log house was three times the size of theirs, with a shed out back that opened on to a small meadow for a cow and calf. The cow supplied plenty of milk, cream, and butter for Torin and Jewel with some left over for Hank and Brian.
Torin and Brian sat in two of the three rockers on the broad front porch. They smiled a greeting at Hank, but both of their expressions seemed strained.
Hank hefted up the saddlebag. “Delivery service.” He looked around. “Where’s Jewel?”
“Napping.” Torin poked a thumb at the house behind them. “She played hard today and was plumb tuckered out.”
