Sweetbriar Read online



  “I would but I’m afraid she’d put me to work like them other fools. I outgrowed my courtin’ days long ago, and any time I can escape work, I do.” Doll gave a sideways look to Gaylon.

  Mac walked toward the door. “I think I’ll go outside myself then, get some fresh air and some peace and quiet for a change.”

  “You do that, boy. Better take some nails. I hear tell they’re needin’ nails,” Doll yelled as the door slammed.

  Devon took a length of string from his pocket, smiling at the two old men’s words. It was close to sunset and he’d need game for supper. The thought of supper alone with Linnet broadened his smile.

  Two hours later, Devon held the two rabbits as he stood before Linnet’s door and knocked. She opened it and smiled at him, a smudge of dirt across her cheek.

  “We’ve just finished,” she said as she reached for the rabbits, her hand shaking slightly.

  He pulled them back from her reach, put his hand on her shoulder and guided her to a bench before the fire. “Sit down and rest. I’ll cook these.”

  “Devon, that wasn’t our bargain.”

  “What’d they do? Work you all day, ask you hundreds of questions, then leave you to go home to their own suppers?”

  She gave him a weak smile.

  “Don’t worry. They didn’t mean anythin’. It’s just that ever’body is used to takin’ care of themselves.”

  “Except me. I’m a burden on you always, aren’t I, Devon?”

  “None at all. You’ll make it up. Wait till you try to knock letters in this thick skull.”

  “Oh!” She sat up straighter. “Your reading lesson!”

  “You think I want a teacher as tired as you?”

  “No, look on the mantel.”

  He stood and saw a piece of wood with letters charcoaled on it.

  “It says Devon. At least I think that’s the proper spelling of your name.”

  “You don’t know?” He was incredulous, as if very disappointed in her.

  “There are always several ways to spell a word, especially a name. I can only guess at yours. Do you possibly have a certificate of birth?”

  “A what?” He carefully slipped the wood into his pocket.

  “A piece of paper that the doctor wrote when you were born.”

  He tested the roasting rabbits, the juices dripping into the fire. “’Tweren’t no doctor there when I was born, just Ma and a neighbor woman, but I do have a Bible and it has some writin’ in it.”

  “That could be what we need. Could you bring it tomorrow, that is, if you want to postpone the first lesson?”

  “I’d hate to see you fall asleep right in the middle of Macalister. Now let’s eat some of this rabbit.”

  Linnet stood, yawned slightly and stretched, easing her sore shoulders. Devon looked away as she threatened to pop the buttons down the front of her dress. Sometimes he wondered if she even knew she was a grown woman. “Tell me what you think of Sweetbriar,” he said.

  “Everyone has been so good to me, I’m not sure as to how to repay them. Do you know Worth Jamieson?”

  “Sure.” He bit into a succulent piece of rabbit.

  “Tell me about him.”

  “He stays by himself, quiet, a real hard worker. He come here about two years ago, staked out a claim and works all day, all by hisself. Comes in about once a month to the store, trades for what he needs.” Devon frowned at her. “Why you so interested in him?”

  “Because he asked me to marry him.”

  Devon nearly choked on the mouthful of rabbit. “What!” he sputtered.

  “I said I was interested in Worth Jamieson because he asked me to marry him.”

  Devon clenched his teeth several times. “You just set there, calm as anythin’, lickin’ your fingers, and tell me some boy’s asked you to marry him. You so used to marriage proposals you don’t even notice ’em anymore?”

  “No,” she said seriously. “I don’t think so. There haven’t been too many.”

  “Too many! Well, just what do you call too many?”

  “Only two, really, besides Worth’s, a man in England, but he was very old, and a man on board the ship coming to America. He’s in Boston now, I believe.”

  “Damn! You are somethin’!”

  “The beatinest woman, perhaps?” Linnet asked innocently. They stared at one another and then laughed together.

  “There ain’t many women in Kentucky yet, so I imagine lots a’ men’ll propose.” He gave her an appraising look. “I can tell you’re goin’ t’ set this community upside down. You finished with that? I’ll take the bones outside. I got to be goin’ anyway.” He paused at the door. “What’d you tell Worth?”

  “Thank you.”

  He turned back to face her, his anger returning. “Thank you! That’s all?”

  “It’s an honor for a man to ask you to marry him. It means he is willing to spend his whole life with you.”

  “I don’t want to hear a speech about what marriage is. What answer besides ‘Thank you’ did you give Jamieson?”

  “Do you mean whether I said I’d marry him or not?”

  He glared at her in answer.

  Slowly, she picked a piece of lint from her hair. “I told him I didn’t know him well enough to give him an answer yet.” She smiled up at him. “May I come to your store in the morning and get some cloth? I’d like to return Caroline’s dress.”

  “Sure.” He felt sheepish after his outburst. “Good night, Linnet.”

  “Maybe tomorrow we can discuss going after the children,” she said tiredly.

  His eyes turned angry. “You discuss it. I got more important things to do.” He slammed the door behind him.

  Chapter Four

  “GOOD MORNING, DEVON.”

  He looked up from a ledger to smile at Linnet.

  “That her?” a whisper came from one of two men by the fireplace.

  “Linnet, girl, you come over here,” Gaylon called.

  “You two leave her alone?” Devon said. “She’s got more to do than waste her time with the likes of you.”

  “What’s eatin’ you, boy?” Gaylon asked. “You get up on the wrong side of the bed?”

  Doll leaned over and whispered something to Gaylon that caused both men to lean back in their chairs and bellow with laughter, slapping their thighs.

  Devon scowled at both of them and turned back to Linnet, but she was already walking toward the laughing men.

  “May I introduce myself? I am Linnet Blanche Tyler at your service.” She gave them a deep curtsy.

  They stared for a moment, speechless.

  “Don’t that beat all?” Doll said. “What’s that you jest did?”

  “It’s a curtsy, the deeper the curtsy, the higher the personage. Here,” she demonstrated, “a baron; lower, a duke; and here, a king.”

  “Well, well, that’s real purty. You from England, you say?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “They sure raise ’em purty in England,” Doll said. “No wonder you’re bringin’ all the boys out of the fields.”

  She politely ignored him and studied a carved wooden figure on the mantelpiece. It was about four inches tall, incredibly detailed, a statue of an old man, his shoulders drooped, every line emphasizing his weariness. “Did you carve this?” she asked Gaylon.

  “Naw, that’s Mac’s. He’s the whittler around here.”

  “Devon did this?” She looked across the room to where he was hidden amid several bags of flour.

  “She means Mac,” Gaylon told the man beside him. “It’s his, all right.”

  “It’s beautiful.” She missed the exchanged looks between the men. “Would you excuse me? I need some fabric.” She set the wooden man back on the mantel reluctantly.

  “You through tellin’ them all about England?” Devon said angrily.

  “Devon, I don’t know why, but I always seem to be making you angry.”

  He faced her. “I don’t know why either. Somethin’ just c