A Bride for Keeps (14 page)

A half hour later, the scent of sausage filtered through the front door, along with
the sound of off-key singing. He bumped open the door with the milk-heavy bucket and
mustered a smile.

She quit her song mid-word and shot up from the bed, where she’d been tugging on her
boot. “Why, Everett. I was just about to do that. Did I sleep too late?” She pulled
a strand of hair away from her face. The dark waves he’d fingered last night called
to him like a siren’s song, but she’d braided and piled it on her head sooner than
he wanted. Maybe it was a good thing she kept it up.

He smiled at the picture she made in the hazy sunlight. “No. I figured I could help
you with chores this morning.”

She dropped her button hook, straightened, and gave him a confused look.

He crossed his arm across his midsection and played with
the fabric at his elbow. “I’m going to check the chickens and gather eggs.” He turned
and rushed through the doorway. Biting his cheek, he headed to the coop. He’d been
worse than he thought. She’d acted like he’d taken leave of his senses by merely helping
with an insignificant chore.

He could beat himself up about this all day and then some, surely. But it would be
better to simply give her no cause to bestow such a stymied look upon him again.

When he returned with a handful of eggs, he set them near the stove, where she was
stirring gravy. “I didn’t know if you wanted to use these today.” Close to her, he
could tell she used no special perfumes like Rachel, yet she still smelled feminine.
Her scent even changed the aroma of his cabin. Her presence had effectually changed
his entire life, yet he’d been living like he could keep her at bay.

She frowned at the six eggs. “That’s more than they laid yesterday.”

“In a few more weeks, you’ll probably get a dozen a day.”

He almost laughed at the utter devastation on her face. How was increased egg production
a bad thing? Did she hate eggs?

But she made them every day.

Julia got a bowl and reached for them, not bothering to hide her disgusted sigh.

“I didn’t mean to imply you need to cook them now. I’m sure biscuits and gravy will
be plenty. I just thought you liked them for breakfast.”

She shook her head. “I used to. But I’m so tired of them now.”

“Then why don’t you save these?”

“But why, when they’ll just make more? Soon we’ll be eating eggs for every meal just
to use them up before they go bad.”

“But they’ll last almost a year in the cellar. And you’ll want them come January,
when we’ll hardly get an egg a day.”

She searched his face and her shoulders slumped. “A year? How?”

He resisted smacking his head lest she believe the gesture meant he thought she was
stupid. “I’m sorry, I thought you knew.” He gathered the eggs in the bowl and took
her hand. He pulled on her arm, but she seemed riveted to the spot. “Come, I’ll show
you what to do with them.”

She dragged her feet as he led her to the root cellar, so he let go of her hand. Did
she not want him so near? He’d not been close to her these past weeks out of fear,
but what if she was happy with that arrangement? What if he repulsed her in some way,
and she would detest his attempts to be around her more? His heart sank a little,
but his resolve to do right propelled him toward the underground storeroom.

Lifting the door, he led her into the dank interior. He handed her the bowl and pulled
the lid off the large barrel in the corner. “This is lime and salt water. I’ll teach
you how to make it the next time we need it. You’ll have to get your arm wet, because
you have to gently put the eggs down in the bottom. I keep them in here until I get
around to larding and salting them. Don’t like toting tons of water in here, but I
like to do the packing in lard and salt in big bunches.”

He rolled up his sleeve, grabbed the eggs, and put them in.

She stood with the empty bowl, looking at the crock. “I should be the one doing this.”

Too many things he had taken for granted. Too many things he’d been a fool to assume.
“I’m almost done, and I’ll help you with how to do the packing when the time comes.
Is there anything else you need to know about what ought to go in the cellar?”

“I’m sure there is, but I don’t know enough to ask. The next time Rachel’s over, I’ll
have her show me other things to preserve, so you don’t have to bother. I’m sure she
can show me the larding and salting process as well.”

He rubbed on his neck. It’d be too easy to let her run to Rachel for everything. “I
don’t mind showing you.”

She turned to look at him, gnawing on her lower lip.

“Let me.” A strand of hair covered an eye, and he reached out to pull it from her
lashes like he had done last night.

Her eyes widened, and then she turned to run out the cellar door.

Such a simple touch couldn’t have scared her that badly. If she ran at that, knowing
how much her lips distracted him into thinking how they would feel against his own
again would have put a fire under her feet. He peeped out the exit. She was running
at full speed across the yard. Turning this relationship around wouldn’t be easy if
such a little thing scared her off.

Then he smelled biscuits. Burnt biscuits.

He closed the cellar and made his way to the front door.

She bounded out of the cabin, dispersing the smoke rising from the round blackened
mounds by waving her hand.

He stopped chuckling when she glared icy darts at him.

“This is not funny. Now we don’t have breakfast.”

He shrugged and worked hard to keep a smile from forming. “You can toast bread for
the gravy. I’ll wait.”

She flipped the baking sheet over, dumping the charcoaled lumps on the ground, and
huffed back inside.

During breakfast she kept her eyes averted, like she was daydreaming, and he let her.
But when she got up to clean, he grabbed his Bible off the stump and sat back down.

He cleared his throat and pushed the opposite chair away from the table with his foot.
“Come sit, Julia.”

She wrung her hands as she crossed over to take a seat. “I’m sorry that I didn’t know
how to store the eggs. I promise I’ll have Rachel help me figure out what other things
I don’t know. You have better things to do than help me with what a woman already
ought to know.” She swallowed hard. “I’ll do that today if you’d like.”

She looked ready to bolt out the door. Like a frightened rabbit. Though no frightened
rabbit had ever made him feel so terrible. He had no gun leveled at her, but from
her stance, one would think he had. He let her reaction sink in. He’d really messed
up this whole marriage thing. “No, really. I’ll help you. But I thought we ought to
have some reading time.” He fingered the leather front of his Bible. “We ought to
start our day with the Word. I apologize for not doing this sooner.” Her posture hadn’t
changed. “That’s all right with you, yes?”

She shrugged. “If that’s what you want.”

He flipped open to his bookmark. It had been too long since he’d read his Bible daily.
He’d done this whole searching-for-a-wife thing with hardly any communion with God.
No wonder he’d made a mess of it. He sighed.

She sat stiffly while he read James 4 aloud.

“‘Therefore to him that knoweth to do good, and doeth it not, to him it is sin.’”

He grunted and shut the book.

I got it, God. I’m working on it already.

He bowed his head to pray. “Father in heaven—”

Julia’s seat screeched, and he looked up as she returned to her seat and folded her
hands in her lap.

“Thank you for the food and shelter you have provided us. Thank you for providing
me with a wife who works hard. I know I don’t deserve her. Forgive me for how I’ve
treated her and being arrogant enough to think I know how tomorrow
will turn out. Please help me return to relying on you and not myself. I know you
want to help me. And help me to be better about talking to you. Help us to remain
humble, resist sin, and come closer to you. Help us to do as you would have us do
in all areas of our life.”

His heart pounded at the thought of looking at her. Would she believe any of his prayer?
Would she still look like a rabbit ready to skitter off into the woods or more like
she believed him a wolf disguised with flowery words? He deserved the last reaction,
but the thought of seeing it made his palms sweat.

He looked up, but her head was still bowed. “Do you want to add anything, Julia?”

She shook her head vehemently.

“Amen, then.”

“Amen,” she whispered. She caught his eye for a second before standing and grabbing
her apron. “I’d best attend the garden before the sun gets too hot.”

He stood. “I’ll help you.”

“Oh, no need.” She waved him off and disappeared out the door.

He smashed his hat on his head. He was uncomfortable too. She didn’t want him around,
and he couldn’t blame her. Maybe he shouldn’t try to be her shadow on the first day.
He walked past the new house toward the fields. He’d return for lunch and work on
the house afterward. With luck, they’d be able to move in at the end of the month.
Would that make her happy or even more jumpy?

Julia watched Everett walk toward the pasture, making sure he was indeed going somewhere
other than anywhere near her. The Everett she’d seen at the Stantons’ days ago had
stood in front of her this morning. Maybe a bit jittery, but the same affable Everett
who’d played with John, smiled at Ambrose, and teased Dex. Where had he come from
so suddenly? And why did this change make her hands tremble?

He’d apologized in prayer—not to her, but to God—for how he’d treated her. She’d never
prayed anything but the Lord’s Prayer. His prayer was so different, like a conversation.
People should not talk to almighty God like they were friends. It simply wasn’t done.

Did that apology mean he’d stop shunning her? Maybe. He did offer garden help and
instruction afterward. For the first month, he’d worked from dawn to dusk. And after
he finished with crops, he worked on the new house or split wood. When he rolled onto
his pallet after supper, he snored the second his body lay flat. How had he fed himself
and kept his clothes washed during the growing season in years
past? No wonder he’d searched for a spouse—he needed a helper.

Julia kneeled in the dirt. The sprouts in the back rows had gotten big enough to distinguish
the weeds from the plants. Gaps in her lines indicated she hadn’t differentiated so
well earlier in the month. She scraped the tines of her garden fork around the leaves
that weren’t green beans or potatoes. She picked her way through the plants, wincing
a couple of times, unsure if she’d pulled the right thing. If she knew more about
gardening, digging in the dirt might have been enjoyable. But she didn’t want Everett
to have to tell her what she should already know.

Did she need to do something special with the plants before they got ripe? How would
she know if they were ripe?

Her stomach twisted at her ineptitude and lack of knowledge. Why had Father decided
to marry her off instead of allowing her to help in the store? If he hadn’t set her
up with Theodore, she’d not be here meddling with the mysteries of vegetation. And
this was scarier. If she ordered the wrong fabric, no one died. If the garden survived
her clumsy hands, would it produce enough food to get them through the winter? She
laid down her implement and stared at the shack. The months she’d be cooped up inside
with Everett hit her like the ceaseless whack of his maul. Could he keep his distance
when the snow and the winds trapped them indoors, when evenings descended before sleep
beckoned? She’d seen the look in his eye. He found her attractive. But he hadn’t pushed.
In fact, those looks were fleeting, only lasting a second before he turned away and
busied himself.

But when might he cease busying himself with something else?

She threw her handful of weeds over the fence and sat back, hands firmly planted on
her dirty knees. She didn’t want to do this any longer.

But she must. She’d made the choice to make this her home.

She ripped out a dandelion. She’d never understood how much work it took to cook and
keep house. She’d been spoiled by Father’s shop and the restaurant down the street.
Everett must have realized how ignorant and lost she was this morning—not even knowing
eggs should be preserved for winter. What a failure his choice of a wife turned out
to be.

She wiped the tear tickling her nose. Hopefully he wouldn’t ask her to leave. She
only had her looks, a tiny bit of farm experience, and Rachel’s instructions to lean
upon. That wasn’t enough to live on her own out west, or even choose a good situation
for herself.

She sat back and glanced through the wooden railings of the fence sloped around the
tiny garden plot. In the field, Everett wriggled out of his shirt and wiped his face.
He flipped his suspenders back over his shoulders and picked up his hoe. The sight
of his bare chest caused flutterings in her that she pushed away. She wiped at the
perspiration along her brow. She was dirty and sweaty and smelly and sore. And it
was unseemly to sit there gawking at Everett shirtless. It was time for a bath—in
a tub.

Julia went inside to splash water on her face, retied her bonnet, and packed a small
bag before heading to the barn. After hooking up Dimple and Curly, she drove the team
over to Everett, the sculpted muscles in his upper back constricted under a sheen
of moisture as he pulled off his hat and swiped the streams of sweat off his temples.
She didn’t feel like talking to him in his state of undress, but she’d promised not
to go anywhere without letting him know. Was he wrong to think
she’d run away one day soon? She’d do almost anything to avoid talking to him now,
even though it was not inappropriate for a wife to talk to a shirtless husband. Would
he be relieved if she left?

He turned around in a circle, agitatedly searching for something.

“If you’re looking for your shirt, don’t bother, I’m about to leave. Just wanted to
let you know I was going into town.”

He swallowed hard, but he didn’t ask the question written on his face.

She couldn’t leave him thinking the worst. “I’ll be back.”

He nodded, but the fear and panic still expressed themselves in his widened eyes and
his tense muscles. As if he let himself relax, he’d somehow release whatever it was
that held her to him.

“I know you thought I’d leave that first day without a good-bye, but I won’t. Even
if I decided it would be best to leave, I wouldn’t just disappear—I wouldn’t leave
you wondering.”

“I’m sorry for thinking you might, but it wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened
around here.” He swiped his sweaty forehead and glanced off at the horizon to the
north. “Silas Jonesey’s bride left without leaving a note.”

“Well, that was Mrs. Jonesey, and I’m Mrs. Cline.”

A bit of his rigidness disappeared, but she could tell he wasn’t quite certain. But
then, if a woman really had done that to a friend of his, she could see his worry.
He’d just have to find out in time that she was better at keeping her word than his
friend’s wife was.

“I’m going to check on the tub that the Hampdens ordered.” A drive into town to check
something. She gripped the reins. A foolish amount of time on an insignificant errand,
but she was already geared up to go, and more important,
she had to get away from her failing garden and tauntingly sparse root cellar, even
if it was only for a day.

“Carl said it wouldn’t be in until next month.”

She took out a lace handkerchief and wiped at her neck, more because she needed something
to do instead of look at him. “A girl can hope.” She licked her dry lips. “I do believe
I’ll stop at the boardinghouse and bathe before returning.” Would he balk at the time
and cost of this trip when they had a creek to bathe in, even though it was almost
dry and had foamy film gathering in its stagnant crooks?

“If that would make you happy.”

If only a bath were all she needed to be content. But it would help. Maybe. “I’ll
be back before nightfall.” She crammed her handkerchief back up her sleeve and gathered
the reins.

“Julia?”

She stopped, but didn’t look at him.

“I’ll be waiting for you.”

She swallowed and nodded, but shouted giddyap without answering. She was pretty certain
he had that look in his eye again, and she didn’t want to see it.

The breeze in her hair as she drove to town blew a tiny bit of relief upon her clammy
skin, but not enough to turn her around from this pointless trip. It was impractical
to spend all day traveling to take a bath, only to get dusty and sweaty on the way
home. Though she hadn’t made a list, she could at least attempt to purchase the things
they were low on. Maybe she could delay their monthly trip into town by buying enough.
But if she could bring home a tub, she wouldn’t feel silly at all. Should she bathe
or shop first? Maybe if the tub was in, she’d just take it home and bathe there.

She stopped the team in front of the mercantile in time to
hear the door’s bell tinkle and see Mrs. Hampden shut the door and turn over the open
sign.

She scrambled down the wagon wheel and rushed to the door. She couldn’t have driven
all the way into town on a day they closed early. She couldn’t return without even
inquiring about the bathtub.

She knocked several times. Mrs. Hampden couldn’t have waddled far enough from the
door not to hear.

The closed sign moved a bit, but she couldn’t see in because of the sun. A key jiggled
in the lock, and Mrs. Hampden opened the door. Her face appeared peaked and sweaty.

Julia frowned. She’d thought she’d been miserable with this heat, but she couldn’t
imagine being pregnant and swollen during summer. “I know you’re closed, but I won’t
take up much time. All I wanted to do was inquire about our tub.”

Mrs. Hampden nodded, but her eyes turned glassy as she stared out into the street.

“Are you all right?” She almost reached out to touch her brow to check for a fever.

Mrs. Hampden shook her head.

Julia slipped her arm under the lady’s shoulder and walked her back into the stuffy
interior and stopped. Maybe it would be better if she sat outside. At least there
was a breeze. “Let’s get you some fresh air.”

“No. Lock the door if you would. Help me get up—” Mrs. Hampden squeezed her arm hard,
the muscles in her face bunching into tight bundles.

Julia’s heart tripped. “Oh no, you’re in labor.”

“Yes,” she hissed.

“I need to get Rachel.” She took a step back, but Mrs. Hampden squeezed even harder,
her nails gouging into her flesh.

She let out a steady stream of air, followed by a calmer breath, and straightened.
“These pains are coming so fast. I don’t want to be alone through another one.”

“Where’s Mr. Hampden?”

“I don’t know. He should have been back hours ago.”

“I’ll go find him.”

“Did you come in with Everett?”

“No.”

“In his wagon then?”

“Yes.”

“Parked in front of the mercantile?”

What did that have to do with anything? But she wasn’t going to argue with a laboring
woman. “Nearby.”

“Then as soon as Carl sees Everett’s team, he’ll rush over.” She gave a faint smile
that turned into a twist as she tensed again. She clamped down hard, almost collapsing
them both to the floor.

Julia bore the woman’s weight until Mrs. Hampden could speak again.

“Please get me upstairs before I have this baby in the middle of the store.”

Anchoring the slightly taller woman’s arm around her shoulder, she half shuffled,
half walked Mrs. Hampden to the back of the store and up the stairs, pausing twice
as Mrs. Hampden stopped breathing while her whole body tensed.

“You ought to try to breathe, Mrs. Hampden.” The silence grew longer, and Mrs. Hampden
grew paler. Julia jiggled her. “You’ll turn blue. Breathe in.”

Mrs. Hampden sucked in a breath and blinked. “Call me Kathleen.”

“Well, Kathleen, you need to breathe—otherwise you’re
going to faint, and I don’t think I can carry you up the rest of these stairs.”

“That would be a funny picture.” Kathleen giggled, and thankfully her flesh regained
the pink color it had lost so quickly.

Now was the time to move, not laugh. “Let’s go.” She rushed her as quickly as the
woman could waddle, stopping only once at the top of the stairs to shout at her to
breathe and to keep her on her feet. Kathleen seemed intent on doubling over and falling
to the floor.

“The bedroom is to the right.”

Julia helped her onto the lovely thick mattress, envy stealing in for a second before
Kathleen’s snarl of pain and contorted face chased away every ounce of jealousy.

She could not stay here. “I have to get Rachel.”

Kathleen snagged her by the arm. “Rachel told me you’d help.”

“I can’t help, not all by myself.”

“Carl will be here any minute now. He can go for Rach—” Her breath stuck and her eyes
turned flat.

Her mother hadn’t had this many pains this close together until the end. But she had
vocalized much more than this. “How long have these pains been coming?”

Kathleen hissed, then relaxed. “Three hours, but Rachel said this would take all day.”

“I don’t think you have all day.” She stood, but Kathleen wrenched her closer.

“You will stay with me.” She narrowed her eyes and growled when another contraction
hit.

Julia placed her trembling hand on her shoulder until the woman’s rumblings died away.
She wadded up the quilts
behind Kathleen and ran to look out the window. Not a single person walked down the
sunbaked street.

A mewling moan escaped Kathleen’s chapped lips.

“Kathleen?” A male’s voice boomed down below. “Everett?”

Kathleen sat up in bed and scrunched her face. “Everett wouldn’t be up here helping
me birth your baby, you ninny!”

Clomping footsteps hit the stairs at a run.

“When are you going to get over worrying about him? What I need is a man who’ll—”
A screech like that of a mountain lion staunched her words as she drew up in a ball.