Chapter 9: Love is a Surprise

1866

"Love is certainly a funny thing," said Seth's mother, steadily snapping beans while she looked out her kitchen window. Rustling leaves now filled the fruit and shade trees and the trumpet vine on the outhouse wandered in glorious bloom. "A very funny thing. Don't you think so, Annie my sweet?"

"I dunno," her daughter said, scratching her shaggy head. "And don't you say anything 'bout Jimmy Willson jus' 'cause he throws acorns at me."

"Right," said her mother, smiling and handing her daughter another pile of string beans as they sat opposite each other at the kitchen table, a dented colander between them. "I was thinking about your brother."

"Seth?" cried Annie, accentuating her exasperation and slumping her shoulders. "Oh poo! Does he have another girl friend? He must have a dozen."

"No, not him, " said Mrs. Williams very quietly, seeing the lean frame of her older son as he came from the barn, scattering chickens, head down as he scuffed the dirt, obviously thinking about something. "No, I meant Robert."

"Did I hear my name?" Robert asked, coming through the open back door.

"You're home early," Mrs. Williams said as her son brushed her cheek in his usual perfunctory kiss, tickling her neck with his whispy beard. "We were talking about love, Annie and I were, woman talk. You wouldn't be interested."

"Which one of you's in love?" Robert asked, sorting though the bowl and picking a very small, brown-spotted apple from last year's meager harvest.

"I was thinking of you," his mother said. "Would you like some supper?"

Robert shook his head. "Ate at Caroline's after I took her home. Almost no business this hot afternoon so we finished early for a change. Whole town's closed it looks like. Guess it's too late for spring fever, eh?"

"Have you seen any other young women, except the French girl I mean, since you got home?" His mother waited, hand on hip, smiling pleasantly as she stood by her stove. She shook down the grate, knowing it did not need it.

"A few," he said. "One or two. I went to that barn dance, remember, and then there was the box picnic we all went to and that church supper."

"And?" asked his mother as Annie squirmed with her knees in the chair, concentrating on snapping beans into the big, tin bowl, occasionally throwing in the ends as well as the pieces.

"And what?" asked Annie, ever alert.

"And I think I am going to marry Caroline French," Robert said, picking a stem out of the beans. "How old is she?"

Annie stopped, a bean in her fingers still unsnapped. She blinked several times, her mouth open.

"That would be nice thing to know," said his mother, taking a deep breath and trying not to look astonished. "She's Seth's age, perhaps six months older. I think her birthday is next month. When did all this happen? Does she know? Does her father? I guess that's more important."

Robert shook his head, aware of his ragged breathing and his whirling emotions, feeling somehow isolated. "No. I just figured it out myself, on my way home." He waved vaguely at their barnyard.

"Caroline!" Annie squealed as the news sank in. She tossed her beans in the air. "Bobert, you can't! Seth's sweet on her, you silly."

"Is he?" Robert said with a frown. "Really? I hadn't noticed."

"They've known each other since they were seven or eight," said Mrs. Williams, forcing a smile to hide her concern. "They're just friends, good friends, chums, from school. You knew that." She paused, thinking. "And there was that business with the soldier."

Robert nodded and bit into the apple carefully, wishing he had more of his own front teeth. "I'll tell him."

Seth was perched on a wobbly stool, steadily milking the family's cow when he became aware of somebody else in the barn. He looked under his arm without missing a pull and saw his brother, a small, half-eaten apple in his hand.

"You're pretty good at that," Robert said, finishing his apple and tossing the core toward the pigpen.

Seth put his head and shoulder against the cow and finished his chore before he stood. "Had a lot of practice while you've been gone."

"Wanted to talk to you," Robert said, feeling unusually nervous but trying to keep it light and friendly, "about your old friend Caroline." He wiped his hands on his britches.

Seth sat back down with the foam-topped pail between his feet and his brother squatted on his haunches before him and pulled a straw from the hay. "You two any more than just acquaintances, friends, pals, whatever you call it?"

Seth shook his head. "She's just a girl. I mean, she's nice and all that, and smart too, but shoot." He shrugged and squinted at his brother who seemed to be studying his toes.

"Well, you know, a couple of summers ago, up at the store, she did save your hide. That's what you told me. Back in '64, that summer."

Seth nodded. "Guess so. Almost like a dream, that day. We've never even talked about, her and me."

"But you're not sweet on her or anything?"

Seth looked puzzled but just shook his head. "Uh uh," he said as his brother waited. "Not me." He snorted and smiled.

"Reason I asked," Robert said, standing and clearing his throat, "is, well, I think I'm in love with her." He tossed the piece of straw away and stared down at his lanky brother.

Seth almost kicked over the pail of milk as he jumped to his feet.

"Now don't get so excited," Robert said. "I just wanted you to know. Didn't want us feuding over the same girl."

Seth's stomach churned. He had assumed in some deep and seldom explored crevice of his mind and heart that he and "old Caroline" might set up housekeeping together, but that dim idea was filed away with other grandiose ambitions like Pacific whaling, Indian fighting, mountain climbing and gold mining. Besides he knew a lot of prettier girls that did not argue with him all the time and were not as tall either. He had even kissed a few, or at least, they had kissed him playing parlor games.

"You, you're gonna get married?" Seth asked as they headed for the house. "I mean to Caroline French?" He shook his head in wonder.

"Not so fast. I haven't asked her," Robert said. "Probably. I think she likes me. One of these days, I hope. Yes. Pretty soon. I hope so. I've been thinking on it."

"I understand," Seth said, nodding but not understanding anything.

"Thought I ought to talk to you first." He looked at his brother slantwise. "I mean before I asked her."

Seth nodded some more, dumbfounded, speechless.

"Thank you," Robert said, patting his back.

Seth felt like his brother had kicked him in the stomach.

Instead of going down to the Bethesda Meetinghouse with his family that Sunday morning for the long, dry Presbyterian services, plus a lecture on abstinence or hell-fire, Robert walked over to the French's home and knocked at the front door, a door he had never before entered. The mile-long walk gave him plenty of time to think and to plan what to say. The cook admitted him with a smile and showed him to the parlor, wiping her hands on her big apron and smelling of fresh-baked bread.

Robert waited, sitting on the front edge of a cane-bottomed straight chair, until Mr. French appeared and slid the doors closed behind him, looking quizzical.

"This is a surprise," the older man said as Robert stood to take the offered hand. "You brought the receipts yesterday. Did you forget something?"

"Yessir, kind of, sir, uh huh, yes. I did," Robert said, resuming his seated position at Mr. French's gesture and trying to quiet his belly. "I wanted to talk to you." He straightened his already straight trousers and swallowed.

"About the store?"

"No. No sir," Robert cleared his throat and noticed that his collar felt a bit tight which was surely unusual. "No sir, about your daughter." He did not know what to do with his hands so he clamped them between his knees. His mouth felt so dry that he doubted her could spit.

Mr. French crossed his legs and leaned back. He locked his fingers together and squinted a bit. "Ah, Caroline?" he said as a quiet question.

Robert nodded. "Yes sir, uh huh, right. I think I'm in love with her." His hands freed themselves and grasped the edges of the chair. He took a deep breath.

"You do? You think you are?" Mr. French removed his glasses and knuckled his eyes and cleared his throat.

"Yes," Robert said, aware that sweat had begun to gather under his arms. "Yes, sir, I'm pretty sure about this. I mean I've never felt this way, so, well."

Mr. French smiled. "I understand, at least I hope I do. How old are you now, Robert?"

"Twenty-two, sir."

Her father touched two fingers to his mouth and then rubbed his upper lip and smoothed his dark beard. His thinning hair was mostly gray but his beard was still brown. He settled his glasses back on his nose and licked his lips.