Mr. Whatever-his-name-was-today hunkered down close beside her. She flinched as he ran a finger down her cheek. "You're filling out. Looks nice on you. Real nice."

Trying to be subtle, Ivy felt for the knife she kept in her belt sheath.

"Hey, thar!" Pa came around the lean-to.

The man slowly rose. "I brought more corn. From the looks of your field, you're ready to harvest now."

"Yup. Gal, I tole you to start round the edges whar the sun ripens the field. Got enough sunlight to pick a bunch."

Glad to have an excuse, Ivy scrambled away.

The stranger led his heavily-laden horse around the lean-to. Pa was urging him to continue bringing more corn and sugar, blaming Ivy's poor farming and complaining that the late start on the crop made for a low yield.

Pa cain lay blame whare'er he wants, so long as he and that feller keep outta my hair. She walked the first row of corn and harvested the ripest ears. Some still needed a few days. Before turning the corner to do the next edge, Ivy tiptoed over and checked on her squirrel pie. She rotated the Dutch oven and replaced the coals on top of it.

Judging the time, Ivy decided she'd best set supper to cooking. The most recent gunnysack of vittles that nice Mr. O'Sullivan had left still had food in it. She kept track and tried to stretch each bit so's they'd have enough to fill 'em and still last awhile. She measured out some black-eyed peas and rice into the only other pot she owned. Ishy liked hoppin' John, so he'd be happy when he got home from work.

The sounds of Pa and his partner drifted toward her every once in awhile. Ivy wished that man would go. About half the time, he'd lollygag round and join Pa in sampling the corn whiskey. He didn't get mean drunk like Pa, but he'd knock back enough to be tipsy. Ivy wished his brother or cousin-whichever he was-had come instead. He just got down to business and left.

After adding more ears of corn to the heap she'd started, Ivy checked on the squirrel pie. It was close to being done, so she thought to take it away from the fire and just let the heat the Dutch oven held finish the job. A hasty glance at the lean-to left her giddy with relief. She popped to her feet and started to sneak away with it.

"Gal!" Pa's voice made her freeze. "Whar d'ya thank yore goin'?"

CHAPTER SEVEN TEEN.

Here. Let me help." Laney hated getting up from the Thanksgiving table. Ever since the day she'd come to make pear butter, Galen had made it a point to have her sit beside him. Today he'd done the same thing. She would gladly stay next to him much longer, but she couldn't allow her hostess to do all of the work. "Please excuse me," she murmured.

Galen rose and moved so she could get to the other side of the bench. "Ladies, everything tasted wonderful."

"Shore did." Ivy started rolling up the sleeves of her new green dress. "'Tis a wonderment the table didn't start beggin' for mercy onc't we started piling all them heavy plates and bowls on it."

"Hilda, why don't you and Mrs. O'Sullivan go rest?" Ruth put her arm around Laney. "We'll clear the table and clean up."

"Really?" Sean asked excitedly.

"Boy-o, don't you be gettin' too excited." Galen gave his little brother a stern look. "Ma told you and Colin that you're to wash the dishes."

Laney tried not to look amused at Sean's crestfallen expression. Galen managed his brothers well. I ought to praise him about that.It can't be easy trying to be both brother and father to them.

"It's pure nonsense, me not helping clean up." Mrs. O'Sullivan's forehead wrinkled as she looked at the table.

"We insist," Laney said.

"Yup. We shore do." Ivy pulled one of Mrs. O'Sullivan's 161 aprons on over her dress.

"At least let me take the rest of the milk and cheese out to the springhouse."

"One trip," Ruth allowed.

Mr. Grubb stayed at the table, and Laney didn't reach for any of the bowls or platters near him. Everyone else had eaten plenty and enjoyed lively conversation. Mr. Grubb had made a few terse comments, but he'd mostly just sat there and continued to eat. And eat. And eat.

After having seen Ishmael and Ivy, Laney had expected Mr. Grubb to be mere skin and bones, but he wasn't. Though lean of limb, he boasted a fairly generous belly. Witnessing how he ate, Laney suspected he took his fill of whatever meager meals Ivy cooked before his children got much.

It seemed rude to be clearing the table, but he hadn't shown a single sign of stopping any time soon. Josh, Ishmael, and Galen stayed at the table to be companionable, but they'd long since given up their plates.

Hilda didn't bat an eye. She set a hand on Josh's shoulder, then leaned over and dragged the turkey platter toward herself. Mr. Grubb glowered at her, and she glowered right back.

Twice more, Hilda and Mr. Grubb went through a silent battle. Hilda won those, too. Laney, Ivy, and Ruth all stood off to the side, gaping at the war. Mr. Grubb's bushy eyebrows beetled, and the left side of his unkempt mustache raised in a soundless snarl as Hilda hooked her thumb inside the rim of the bowl of mashed sweet potatoes.

Then Hilda surprised them all. She pushed the bowl straight in front of him, bumping his sopped-clean plate to the side. "Seeing as how you're appreciating those, you go on ahead and eat your fill." She gave him a toothy smile. "Would you like a little more brown sugar on them?"

"Don't mind if I do." As Hilda added brown sugar, he motioned for her to keep spooning in more and more.

My gracious! There have to be almost two cups of sweet potatoes there, and he's going to eat them all straight from the serving bowl!

A moment later, Hilda stood back and rested her hands on her hips. "Does my heart good, seeing a man who's unafraid to eat."

Mr. Grubb shot a dark look at Ivy. "Ain't often I getta et anything decent. The gal ain't got a scrap of talent for cookin'. Made squirrel pie yesternoon that set like an anvil in my belly."

He has that big tummy from eating her food. How can he complain? He's dreadfully mean. Laney reverted to what Mama and Miss Genevieve taught her to do when her expression would transmit her opinion: she dipped her head and lowered her eyes.

"The squirrel pie come from Ma's recipe." Ishmael's shoulder hitched in a tight shrug. "Sis always did what Ma showed her-to make it and let it sit overnight so's the flavor comes up."

The muscles in Ivy's jaw twitched.

She baked that for today. He ruined it just to spite her. What a dreadful man. Laney shot Galen a pleading look.

"The hopping John that Ivy brought tasted wonderful," Galen countered. Laney watched how he folded his arms on the table and leaned forward a little. "As a matter of fact, if I hadn't seen her bring it in, I would have said Ma made it."

Josh forced a chuckle, "And I would have said Hilda had. They've probably swapped recipes."

Galen slapped his hand on the table for emphasis. "That's among the grandest compliments I can give a woman-that her cooking is as fine as Ma's. Isn't that right, Laney?"

"Definitely." Laney turned to Ivy. "Remember how you sug-gested fixing up oatmeal by adding dried apple bits along with cinnamon? We tried it. It's delicious."

The scraping of his spoon against the bowl didn't cover Mr. Grubb's rude snort.

"We all have different tastes." Hilda's tone sounded too hearty. Laney stepped back and watched as her housekeeper bobbed her head. "Yeah, different tastes. Mr. Grubb, there-he's a meat-and-'taters man. Isn't that so?"

Mr. Grubb nodded as he shoveled the last bite into his mouth. He pushed the bowl away, rubbed his belly, and let out a loud belch.

"All full up?" Hilda asked.

"Uh-huh." A self-satisfied smile flashed across his face. "Couldn't wedge another bite in sidewise."

"I suspected as much," Hilda said. "That's maturity showing."

"Maturity?" Mrs. O'Sullivan gave them all a puzzled look as she came in the door.

Hilda picked up the bowl and tilted it. "Mr. Grubb finished off your mashed sweet potatoes."

"Did he now?" Surprise and shock mingled in Mrs. O'Sullivan's expression.

"Every last little bit," Hilda declared as she pushed the bowl into Colin's hands. "Good, healthy food. A mature man appreciates it."

Laney couldn't keep from gawking. Hilda was being downright chatty. Once or twice when a ranch hand had dared to burp in her presence, she'd walloped him upside his head and singed his ears with her opinion of his manners. But Hilda was nattering along and praising Mr. Grubb like a woman who fancied a man to be her beau!

"These young fellows," Hilda said, scanning the men, "they're still children at heart. I know exactly what they've been thinking and planning." She folded her arms across her chest and gave Galen, Ishmael, and Josh an assessing look. "You've been waiting to have something sweet."

Josh leaned back and gave her a scandalized look. "Hilda, you would have been offended if I didn't save room for some of your pie!"

"Pie?" Mr. Grubb's eyes widened. "I don't see no pie."

Hilda swished her hand at him. "They're in the pie safe. Laney and Galen carried them in earlier. Don't feel bad about already being full. I'm sure Kelly feels like I do, glad that you were so satisfied with the supper we made. We're not offended; you've paid us quite a compliment."

"Absolutely," Mrs. O'Sullivan said as she bustled around. "Ivy, your father seems a bit disappointed. If you could come help me tomorrow, perhaps we could send you home with a pie."

"I'm done scraping the plates into the bucket," Dale announced. "Miss Laney, are you going to come with me to feed the hogs?"

"Ya ha ha ha!" Mr. Grubb slapped his thigh as if he'd heard a 164 hilarious joke.

"Of course I will, Dale." Laney turned her back on the rude boor. "It's been a whole week since I've seen Hortense and Mr. Snout. How are they doing?"

"Miss Laney, I've been takin' real good care of 'em. You'll see how big they are now!" When they reached the sty, Dale tugged on her hand. "Well?"

"Hmm?" Laney blinked at him.

"You said you'd help me. The bucket's too heavy for me to lift all by myself."

"Mercy me! I didn't think about how heavy it must be with all of those Thanksgiving scraps. You must be very strong or you wouldn't have been able to carry that bucket out here all by yourself!"

Glowing from her praise, Dale nodded. "I'm getting big muscles."

"Of course you are, but I'll help you now. After all, we're partners." Careful to stand over by the side where Galen had thoughtfully placed a sheet of tin so the slop wouldn't splash on her, Laney helped Dale raise the swill up over a fence slat.

"Now wait a minute!" Dale turned loose, climbed up on one of the lower slats, and hollered, "Soooo-eeee!"

Laney let out a rueful laugh. "Dale, Hortense and Mr. Snout are already here."

"I know. But I do that cuz it lets everybody know I'm doing my job." He helped her tilt the bucket into the trough.

"One look at them and it's clear you've been doing a fine job. Look how fat they are!"

Wiggling with glee on the fence slat, Dale laughed. "See? Hortense is almost as big as Gertie."

"How can that be? Wasn't Gertie Hortense's mama?"

"Yup!" Dale finally hopped down. "But I told you I've been taking good care of her! Just yesterday, Ma said Hortense is so big we're gonna have to call her a gilt instead of a shoat!"

"You're quite a farmer, Dale. I'm very impressed."

"I'm gonna grow big and fat, too." He patted his stomach. "I left room for two pieces of pie!"

Laney couldn't keep her laughter from escaping. Joy surged through her. Today, of all days, is a day to be thankful to the Lord.

"They won't eat the pie without us, will they?"

"I wouldn't think so."

Dale started to trot. "We'd best hurry, Miss Laney. That man said he's full, but he could change his mind!"

Laney lengthened her stride and matched pace with him, laughing with glee.

"We're back!" Dale announced as they entered the cabin.

The men had moved the benches over by the window to catch the late autumn sunlight. Galen and Josh rose at once. Ishmael copied them, but Mr. Grubb didn't budge. Silverware clinked and water splashed as Colin and Sean washed the dishes.

Laney rested her hand on Dale's shoulder. "This young man is doing a marvelous job."

"Aye, he's conscientious," Mrs. O'Sullivan agreed from the side of her bed, where she and Hilda sat knitting.

Laney continued to look at Galen. The odd feeling that she'd interrupted something washed over her.

"I've been reading the parable of the Good Samaritan."

"Oh!" Laney finally stopped staring at Galen's handsome blue eyes and glanced down to see he held his Bible.

"Miss Laney, come have a sit down." Ishmael pointed at the end of the bench where he'd been seated. "Mr. O'Sullivan's sharin' a fine tale from the Bible."

"Thank you."

Galen scooted over. "There's room here by me." Warmth filled Laney. Galen wanted her by his side. She gathered her skirts and sat down between him and Ivy. Galen looked into her eyes. A long, slow smile lifted the corners of his mouth. "'Tis good to have you here."

He couldn't have said anything to make her happier. "It's been a wonderful day. I'm glad you're reading from the Word."

"'Tain't jest one word. 'Tis a story made up of lotsa words." Ivy elbowed her. "'Tis a dreadful good tale. A feller was a walkin' somewhar and thieves done beat him up sommat fierce. Nobody wants to holp him now. I cain hardly wait to hear how it turns out."

Of all the people he could go to, Dale leaned against Laney, and she lifted him onto her lap. "Please go on, Galen."

"*But a certain Samaritan," he started, "as he journeyed, came where he was: and when he saw him, he had compassion on him, And went to him, and bound up his wounds, pouring in oil and wine, and set him on his own beast, and brought him to an inn, and took care of him. And on the morrow when he departed, he took out two pence, and gave them to the host, and said unto him, Take care of him; and whatsoever thou spendest more, when I come again, I will repay thee."'