“He's mad.” Celeste wet her lips, pasted a smile on her face, and tossed blonde curls off her shoulder.
Ray Townsend, looking like a thunderstorm about to let loose, marched straight up to his daughter. “What are you doing here, young lady? I told you to stay away from these people.”
“Laurel invited me. She's my best friend. I wanted to come.”
Ray glared at Laurel. “Colonists are not your friends.” He shifted his cold gaze to Will. “Keep your daughter away from mine.”
“Laurel's a grown woman. She has her own mind,” Will said evenly.
“What you really mean is, she's out of control. If she were my daughter, I'd do something about it.”
“She's not your daughter, and she's not out of control. She's a fine woman, and I'm proud of her.” He cast Laurel a quick smile. “Laurel makes up her own mind about things. She's not a child, and I won't treat her like one. Fact is, she's nearly a married woman. Soon she'll be running her own house.”
“And I suppose producing more colonist brats,” Ray spat.
“Daddy! Please! Don't!”
“I think you've said enough,” Will stated, his tone sharp.
Ray studied the outsider. “You're the leader of this group, someone people look up to. Right?”
“This group has no leader. We all make our own decisions.”
“But you might consider yourself a voice of reason?”
“Maybe. Me and others.”
“Well, think about this. You and the rest of this lot aren't wanted in this valley. You're all nothin' but a bunch of government moochers. All you do is whine about what you don't have. I doubt any of you can wipe your own noses.” He took a step closer to Will. “If I were you, I'd tell them all to pack up and move on. Life here ain't fit for the weak or timid.”
“I told you, we're here and we're staying,” Will said evenly. “We've got crops in the ground, and we'll be selling vegetables by the end of summer. This valley needs more than trappers and hunters. A whole territory needs produce, and we plan to be the ones to grow it for them.”
“Try and sell your vegetables. None of us are buyin' them. We don't need nothin' you grow,” Ray said through clenched teeth.
Will relaxed his stance. “We're having a little party here. Why don't you simmer down and join us?” He managed to smile. “We plan on staying in this valley. It would be best if we could be friends, work together.” He extended a hand.
Ray stared at it.
Jessie joined Will, standing beside him. “Come on, Ray. These are good folks, and they'd much rather be a friend than an enemy. Most of the settlers have accepted them already. Why can't you? I've known you for a good many years, and you're better than this.”
“Stay out of it, Jessie.” Ray grabbed Celeste by the arm. “C'mon, we're going.”
“Daddy!” Celeste yanked her arm free. “What's wrong with you? Why are you acting like this? If Mom could see you, she'd be ashamed.” Eyes brimming with tears, Celeste stared at her father.
Without another word, Ray Townsend turned and walked away.
Celeste watched him go. Laurel joined her friend, placing an arm around her shoulders. When Mr. Townsend was out of sight, Celeste let the tears fall. “I don't know what's wrong with him. He never used to be like this. This is the worst it's been since Mom died. I'm afraid for him.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
LAUREL PLUCKED ANOTHER WEED, THEN LEANING BACK ON HER HEELS, SHE closed her eyes, enjoying the sun's heat. Using the back of dirtencrusted hands, she wiped sweat from her forehead and gazed at a row of cabbages.
Inhaling deeply the musky smell of loam and pungent aroma of damp vegetables, she smiled. Robert's right. Farming gets inside you. Laurel didn't understand the why of it; she simply knew it was true. No matter how much her muscles ached, no matter how badly her hands hurt, no matter how many crops were lost to insects or to frost, it was part of her.
Her eyes moved past the young cabbages to rows of peas. Small pods weighted the branches. The sweet vegetables were nearly ready for picking. A picture of warm afternoons spent on the porch shelling peas came to mind. Some of the best times had been spent on that porch. She would shell peas or snap beans and listen to her mother and grandmother tell family stories or share local gossip. Those had been gentle days.
“Laurel! Laurel!” Brian called. Holding a long stick with a sharp point above his head, he ran between rows, jumping over plants and kicking up dirt. “Mama needs you at the house,” he said, running up to his sister.
Laurel stood. “Is everything all right?”
“Yep. She just wants to take lunch to Daddy. She says you need to keep an eye on me and Susie.” He compressed his lips. “I'm not a baby anymore. I can stay by myself.”
“Yes, but what about Susie?”
“I could watch her.”
“I know, but you wouldn't be able to play then.”
“Mama and Daddy are having a picnic at the creek. Mama said I couldn't go.” He pouted, then lifted the stick over his head again. “Hey, watch this,” he said, flinging the makeshift spear. It flew straight. The point plunged into the soil. It wobbled a moment, then stood like a skinny post. “Good, huh?” Brian said, running to retrieve it.
“Very good. One day you might throw a javelin in the Olympics.”
“What's a javelin? And what's the Olympics?”
Laurel chuckled. “A javelin is a fancy spear. And the Olympics is a big contest where people from all over the world compete in sporting events. They run races, see who can jump the farthest, and throw the javelin to see who can throw it the farthest.”
“Oh. Can I go and throw a jav … a … lin?”
Laurel smiled. “You're not old enough now, but maybe one day.” Laurel pressed her hands against the small of her back and stretched from side to side. “The Olympic Games are going to happen soon. They're being held in Germany.”
