Thing With Feathers (9781616634704) by Anne Sweazy-kulju Page A

they say.” Angus Tjaden elbowed the preacher’s ribs.
    “Yes, I s’pose now’s a good a time as any,” Bowman replied, tucking his scowl away. “Is the work party willing?”
    “Wyatt Marshall says he can make himself available. Will and Sean told me they could be there to help, and me and my three boys will show. Couple o’ the others here today said they’d try to get free for a while.”
    “Well then, I guess I better get to makin’ a barrel of iced-up tea. I’ll supply some fried cush as well to keep the men going,” Bowman said. Cush was a southern tidbit made of well-salted cornmeal and bacon left sit to congeal, then cut into bars and fried in bacon grease. Bowman saw that Angus flinched some, then caught himself at it just a tick later. The man’s cherub cheeks pinked up on the spot. Bowman knew folks hallowed Angus Tjaden as a neighbor and friend, and one of the main reasons was that big round face of his, plain as potatoes, which registered every emotion that swept across his five-gallon noggin. The man was incapable of deceit. I guess talk of such paltry fixin’s amid the fine-smoked salmon and oysters and other delectable dishes present at one’a his barbecues is too vulgar to mention. Bowman burned .
    “Well, that’s good of ya to offer it, Preacher. You bein’ on your own these days an’ all, why not let the womenfolk handle the food? My Signey offered to send some cold fried chicken and slaw.”
    “Nonsense!” Bowman said. “The unwritten rules of a barn-raising dictate the holder to bring the food and drink. I can manage it.” Bowman then softened a tad. Blair was gone and he couldn’t cook much other than eggs and oatmeal for himself, both of which he would be pleased to never eat again. He shot a withering glance in his daughter’s direction. He would not have minded some fried chicken and slaw. “Uh, but if Mrs. Tjaden is so inclined…” he added, noting the relief clearly written on Angus’s face.
    “Speaking of Mrs. Tjaden, is there to be another Mrs. Tjaden added to your clan soon, Angus?” Bowman noticed, and he was certain Sean Marshall had too, that Elrod, the eldest of the Tjaden boys kept buzzing around Rebecca.
    A broad smile broke out across Angus’s face as he followed Bowman’s stare. “Oh, I would not be surprised a bit, not one little bit. Rebecca is a treasure, I tell you. And you, preacher—” Angus stopped himself from asking about Blair’s pregnancy. Emotions were oddly strained between the preacher and his daughter. Angus cleared his throat and resumed, “All’s well with you?”
    Preacher Bowman grunted his reply, but studied Angus Tjaden’s goodly and substantial face in a most unsettling way.

Chapter 22
    May 14, 1928
    Cloverdale, Oregon
    T he afternoon was a beauty; the sky was blue as a jay, a smattering of clouds waltzed with the delicate currents, and the kind-hearted sun kept its rays steady but moderate. Blair jumped up to fetch Wyatt a scoop of tea when she saw him approach.
    “Fine day, Father.” She smiled, one forearm resting upon her slightly bulging waist as she proffered the ladle.
    “Certainly is, daughter. You rest yourself now. We can help ourselves.”
    Smiling, she sat back down on the pile of shake and squinted up at the men at work. It was a high pitch, that roof, and on top of a two-story barn. Wyatt rested with one hand laid on the back of his daughter-in-law’s neck. His son had been correct. She was a might tougher than one would guess. Something dark in her past had made her so. Wyatt reflected on it now and then, certain that it had something to do with her father, the preacher, but not understanding why the two never talked to each other. He knew that Blair still struggled with some auspicious issue, a private matter, but he often saw the young woman’s face change in a flicker at the mere mention of her father. Sometimes the girl’s sudden changes unnerved him. They could come about so quickly and completely.