Their Frontier Family. Lyn Cote

her name?” Sunny asked, waving the men toward the fire. She soon was pouring them cups of coffee.

      Noah ground his teeth. Maybe it was time he made things clear to Sunny about not being overly friendly. He hadn’t thought it necessary, based on her difficult past. He’d assumed she’d want to keep to herself as much as he did. Clearly he had much to learn about his wife.

      Charles complimented Sunny on the coffee and then turned to Noah. “I’m helping Martin get his cabin up. Why don’t we join forces and work together? Three men can get a cabin up in days. Since you’ve a wife and child, we’ll come and help you first and then we can help Martin out. Get him married off sooner than later.”

      Martin face turned a darker red.

      Noah nearly choked, his reluctance shooting up into his throat. “I—”

      “Oh, how wonderful!” Sunny crowed. “So neighborly.” And she wrung each man’s hands in turn. “Isn’t that wonderful, Noah?” She turned, beaming toward him.

      Noah wanted to object, to tell them he didn’t want their help. But the words wouldn’t come. Quakers—not even his father—wouldn’t rudely rebuff any offer of help.

      He nodded and folded his arms over his chest.

      “I already told my wife that we were coming down to stay the day and get a load of work done.” Charles grinned, apparently oblivious to Noah’s reluctance. He and Martin handed Sunny their empty cups.

      “I’ll have lunch enough for all of us,” Sunny promised. She quickly glanced at Noah. “I’ll warn you though, I’m not much of a cook.”

      Noah turned away and the men followed him, discussing which tree to cut down next. Martin said he was good at squaring off and produced his adze, stripping bark from the already-downed trees.

      Soon Noah and Charles were chopping the maple as a team. With each stroke of the his ax, Noah swallowed down his annoyance. Why couldn’t people leave him alone?

      Sunny must be made to understand exactly how he wanted the two of them to live. He needed to make that clear. Once and for all.

      * * *

      By the cook fire Sunny and Noah sat on logs across from each other. Supper eaten, she eyed him in the lowering sunlight, her nerves tightening by the moment. The instant their neighbors had appeared, she’d noted her husband withdrawing. No one else had noticed. But it had been obvious to her. Now he was clenching and unclenching his hands around his last cup of coffee, frowning into the fire. Why didn’t he like such kind neighbors coming to help?

      Rattled, she didn’t know what to do in the face of his displeasure—whether to speak or keep silent. She couldn’t imagine Noah lifting a hand to her but in the past men had. One—in a drunk rage—had broken her hand.

      Fighting the old fear, she nursed Dawn and then put her down for the night in the little hammock in the wagon. Then she stood in the lengthening shadows by the wagon, unable to stop chafing her poor thumb. As she watched her angry husband, she felt her nerves give way to aggravation. Nothing had happened that should make any man upset.

      Finally she recalled one of Constance Gabriel’s few words of advice: “Do not let the sun go down upon your wrath.” These words from the Bible must be right. But could she do it? Could she confront this man who’d only been her husband for a period of weeks?

      A memory slipped into her thoughts. Constance and Adam Gabriel had been alone in the kitchen, talking in undertones. She’d overheard Constance say, “Adam, this must be decided.”

      So wives did confront husbands. Sunny took a deep breath.

      “Noah,” she said, “what’s wrong?”

      “I don’t want people hanging around,” he muttered darkly.

      “Why not?” she insisted, leaning forward to hear him.

      He sat silent, his chest heaving and his face a mask of troubled emotions.

      “What is wrong, Noah? The men just came to help us.”

      “I don’t want their help. I want to be left alone. I don’t want us getting thick with people hereabout. I picked this homesite far from town to steer clear of people. I’ve had enough of people to last me a lifetime. In the future, we will keep to ourselves.”

      His words were hammers. “Keep to ourselves?” she gasped. The happy image of Dawn in her white pinafore shifted to a shy, downcast Dawn hanging back from the other children who looked at her, their expressions jeering as tears fell down her cheeks.

      “No.” Sunny said, firing up in defense. “No.” She came around to face him. “Why did you marry me if you wanted to be alone?”

      Noah rose. They were toe-to-toe. His eyes had opened wide.

      “Why don’t you want to be neighborly?” she demanded, shaking.

      He took a step backward. “I...I...”

      “What if I get sick? Who will you call for help? If I get with child, will you deliver it alone? We have no family here. How can we manage without our neighbors?”

      They stared at each other. Sunny shook with outrage at his unreasonable demand.

      Noah breathed rapidly, too, as if he’d just finished a race. Finally he shook his head as if coming awake. “I don’t want people here all the time,” he said. “I just want peace and quiet.”

      “People have their own work to do.” She clamped her hands together, feeling blood where she’d chafed her thumb. “Once the cabins are built, Charles and Martin will be busy with their own work.”

      He let out a rush of air and raked his hands through his hair. “All right. Just remember I don’t want people here all the time.”

      She wanted to argue, but sensed much more was going on here than was being said. “I will keep your wish in mind,” she said, scanning his face for clues as to what was happening inside him.

      He stood, staring at her for a moment as if seeing her for the first time. “I’m going to clean up at the creek.” He grabbed a towel from the clothesline she’d strung earlier in the day and stomped off.

      Sunny slumped against the wagon, calming herself, consciously shedding the fear and anger. He didn’t want people around him. Maybe he didn’t want her around him? Maybe he’d only brought her here to cook and clean. That would explain why he showed no interest in getting closer to her.

      The thought made her angry all over again.

      Climbing into the wagon, she checked on Dawn who slept peacefully in her little hammock. She’d be safe here. Sunny climbed down, grabbed another towel from the line and headed toward the creek, too. The unusual high temperature and humidity combined with the argument had left her ruffled and heated. Earlier she’d noticed a bend in the creek that was shielded by bushes where she could discreetly cool off.

      Noah already splashed in the wide part of the creek, deep with spring runoff. In the long shadows she skirted around, barely glancing toward him. Within the shelter of the bushes, she slipped off her shoes and tiptoed over the pebbles into the cool water. She shivered, but in a good way. Soon ankle-deep, she was bending and splashing water up onto her face and neck, washing away the grime and stickiness.

      The cool water soothed her, the sound of its rippling over the rocks calmed her nerves like a balm. She sighed as the last of her indignation drifted away on the current. She waded out onto the mossy bank and dried off.

      At the sound of her name she turned and found Noah walking toward her. Night had come; moonlight glimmered around them. She braced herself, waiting for him to reach her. Had he come to start the argument anew?

      He paused a foot from her. “I’m sorry, Sunny.” The soft words spoke volumes of anguish.

      She gazed at him, uncertain. Their disagreement had been over nothing—or