Carolyn Davidson - A Man for Glory

This Cade McAllister looked to be a different kettle of fish. And yet, she felt a bit warmed by his wanting to look out for her. She prided herself on her ability to tend to things on her own, but maybe it would be nice to have someone around who might seek her comfort once in a while. Harvey had been a good man, but they’d lived in two separate worlds, him in the fields and the outbuildings, her in the house and garden. He’d expected her to hold up her end of the bargain they’d struck that first day, and she had done her best.

Cade spoke then. “I was thinking, if there were a fence around the pasture, it would eliminate a lot of hassle, what with staking the animals,” he suggested.

“Harvey said he wanted to put up a fence, but he was saving up for it,” Glory answered, looking up from the table where she sat, writing sums, a schoolbook in hand.

“Maybe we could do it now, get the fencing from the lumberyard and enough posts to do the job.”

“I haven’t the money for it,” Glory said defensively.

“I have. And I don’t mind doing the work. It’ll be better in the long run if the animals are free to graze the whole pasture.”

“I’d rather you didn’t put a lot of money into the place until we decide …” Her voice trailed off as Glory looked beseechingly at Cade.

He smiled, a look of understanding etching his features. “We’ll talk later, then. And in the meantime, I’ll take a look at what’s out there.” She nodded her agreement.

Cade left the kitchen, stepping down from the porch, ducking to avoid the clothesline as he headed for the barn. In mere moments he’d gone out the back door and come back into view, walking along the fence line of the corral, a hammer hanging from his belt, a sack of what looked to be nails in his hand. He was checking out the wire to see if it was loosened anywhere, she suspected. One look at Cade McAllister and she’d have sworn he wasn’t a farmer, yet there he was out walking the fence line and tending to the stock.

And she was lollygagging around paying mind to him instead of the work that awaited her in the house. She put away the schoolwork she was planning for Essie later on, folding the paper neatly and setting it aside.

She carried her empty basket to the clothesline, her mind busy with thinking of the dinner she was expected to have on the table at noontime. Taking the clothes from the line, she folded them loosely as she went, shaking out wrinkles and smoothing the fabric as she bent over the basket. A bit of care now made the ironing easier, she’d found. And the overalls would do as they were, only the shirts needing the touch of an iron.

The children were waiting for her, their chairs pulled up to the kitchen table, their books and papers neatly sorted. Essie was busy writing on her chalkboard. Buddy’s nose was in a book, for he craved reading.

“I wrote a page of numbers for you to work on, Essie,” she told the girl.

Essie grinned up at her. “I’m about done with them already,” the child answered, finishing up a number nine with a flourish. “I added those you wrote down and did a whole line of take-aways on the bottom, just like you said I should yesterday.”

Glory had a habit of writing out Essie’s numbers to be added and subtracted every day right after breakfast and left them for Essie to work on. Now she bent over the table to check the little girl’s adding and subtracting.

“You did it just right, Essie. I’m proud of you. I’ll have to give you harder ones tomorrow. You’re almost as good as your brother.”

Buddy shot a conspirator’s look at Glory, obviously secure in his advanced knowledge and willing to concede a bit to his little sister. “This here is a good book, Glory. It’s about the country of France and the people rebelling.”

“Is it one the teacher sent?” she asked

“Yes, ma’am. It’s called A Tale of Two Cities. A man named Charles Dickens wrote it.”

“I’m proud of you, Buddy. You’ll be more than caught up with the rest of the children your age when you go to school in town after the harvest. You read as well as I do already. After you finish that book I want you to write a report on it for me.”

His forehead wrinkled. “What sort of report, Glory?”

“We’ll call it a book report. You can decide what you’ve learned from the story and what it meant to you. You’ll have to name the main people in it and tell what happened to them. It’ll help you get ready for writing such things in school. And it’ll be something for us to show the teacher when you start your first day. Kinda let her see what you can do, so she’ll know which grade to put you in.”

He seemed to be agreeable to the idea and turned a page in his book, in moments deeply involved once more in the story he’d been reading. Glory watched for a moment, pride alive in her heart for what this boy had accomplished, satisfaction filling her depths because she had had a part in bringing him to this point. And sadness that she had done all it was possible for her to do for him. He needed schooling, more than she could give him, no matter how hard she tried.

And now, with the presence of Cade McAllister in their lives, perhaps she could find the way to do right by the boy.

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