A Hopeful Heart (10 page)

10

Hattie’s heart panged as Abel’s expression turned uneasy, but she wouldn’t mislead him. She hadn’t come for a social call, and it was best he knew the truth straightaway.

He pushed away from the table. “Maybe we should go outside an’ talk.”

“Don’tcha wanna eat first?” She hoped he would. He might not be hungry after she’d spoke her piece.

But he shook his head. “Nah. Rather find out what you need.” He turned on the worn heel of his boot and headed for the front of the house.

Hattie flashed a smile at the three hired hands seated around the table. “Don’t you fret now, just enjoy that stew an’ those biscuits. Lots of fresh-churned butter in them biscuits, so you won’t even need jam to flavor ’em.” She waited long enough to see the three men reach for biscuits before trotting after Abel.

He was pacing on the front porch, his hands in his pockets. When she closed the door behind her, he whirled on her. “All right, Aunt Hattie, what’s wrong?”

Hattie folded her arms over her chest and raised her chin. “What’s wrong is I got two upset pupils at my house, one sayin’ one thing an’ one sayin’ another. I come to get your side o’ the story so’s maybe I can set things to right.”

Releasing a groan, Abel sank down on the rough-hewn bench that stretched across one end of the narrow porch. “It’s not what it looked like, Aunt Hattie. Miss Tressa an’ me weren’t doin’ anything indecent.”

Hattie sat beside Abel and smoothed her rumpled apron over her knees. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?” She resolved to ask questions only if she needed something clarified. Both Luella’s and Tressa’s claims hung heavy in her mind. Abel would confirm one story as truth if she just let him talk.

“Miss Tressa cut her arm on some barbed wire from the back of my wagon when she was taking out the box of gloves Hank sent from the Feed an’ Seed.” He grimaced. “I should’ve took the box out myself, but I was in a hurry, so I let her do it. An’ she got cut. I felt real bad about it, so I doctored her arm.” Abel shifted in the seat and faced Hattie. “Her sleeve got stuck above the bandage, so I helped her roll it down. I was just tryin’ to hook that little button on the cuff of her sleeve when the other girls come in an’ saw us. That’s all that happened.”

Hattie nodded, heaving a sigh of relief. Abel’s story matched Tressa’s, which was what she’d expected. Still, it lifted her spirits to hear it from his lips. “I believe you, Abel. I know you was raised to be an honest man. I just needed to hear it from you so I could sort things out.”

“Well then, I’m glad that’s settled.” He started to rise.

Hattie caught his sleeve. “Hold up there, Abel. Somethin’ else I need to say.”

He plunked his hindquarters hard on the bench, wariness in his eyes. “What?”

“Miss Luella . . . she’s a strong-willed girl. An’ she’s taken a dislike to Miss Tressa. No sound reason for it that I can see—seems some people just need somebody to bully or they’re not happy, an’ Luella’s chosen to torment Tressa.”

“I don’t see that I can help with—”

Hattie waved her hand. “Not lookin’ for your help, Abel, just need you to understand somethin’. When I go back to the ranch an’ tell Luella that you upheld Tressa’s story ’stead o’ hers, she’s not gonna be happy. She’s one who likes to talk—she’s been a-yammerin’ about this, that, an’ the other thing ever since she arrived. An’ if she yammers about this an’ folks in town get wind, it could cause trouble. For Tressa, for me, an’ for you.”

“Me?” Abel jabbed his chest with his thumb. “How’d I get tangled up in this?”

“You got tangled up by bein’ a man an’ payin’ attention to someone besides Luella.” Hattie formed a knowing expression. “That girl’s got one purpose for bein’ here: snaggin’ a man. Never saw a woman so bent on snaggin’ a man. I’ve put off teachin’ her to lasso for fear she’ll aim the loop at a two-legged critter instead of a four-legged one.” Shaking her head, she mused aloud, “Makes me wonder what kind o’ upbringin’ she had.”

Hattie had clearly indicated in her advertisement that only women of good moral reputation should apply to attend her herdsman school. According to a letter of recommendation from a former employer, Luella fit the requirement, but Hattie found the girl’s behavior troubling. She suspected that Luella thought so little of herself she needed attention to feel important and wanted. Hattie vowed to keep praying for her.

Abel’s jaw thrust out. “Still don’t see how that brings trouble on me.
I
didn’t do nothin’ wrong.”

Giving his knee a pat, Hattie chuckled. “Now, Abel, you didn’t get this far in life without knowin’ how a rumor can cause problems even if it holds no truth.” She frowned, fighting back a wave of worry. She wanted her school to be a success—wanted to build something that would last. She’d been so certain bringing girls from the East to match up with western men would be of benefit to the community— and give her some much-needed companionship. But a trumped-up story could cast aspersions on the entire operation and bring things to a halt before she even had a chance to get started.

Abel’s eyes narrowed. “You sayin’ this girl’ll spread lies about me an’ Miss Tressa?”

“I’m sayin’ she
might
. An’ if she does, it’ll take some doin’ to set the record straight. Barnett’s peopled with good folks, but somehow even good folks lose their reasonin’ abilities when they’re chewin’ on a meaty piece o’ gossip.”

Abel shot from the bench and clumped to the edge of the porch. A frustrated huff of breath exploded from his lips. “As if I’d be interested in someone like Miss Tressa.”

Hattie’s hackles rose at his derogatory tone. Wasn’t it enough that the other girls in the school made Tressa feel like a misfit? What did Abel hold against the girl? She stomped to his side and gave his shirt sleeve a good yank. “An’ just what’s that s’posed to mean?”

“Aw, c’mon, Aunt Hattie, you have to know that girl’s not all she appears to be.”

Balling her hands on her hips, Hattie fixed Abel with a fierce glare. “Son, you’re treadin’ on dangerous ground right now. You’d best explain yourself, an’ make it quick. Why’re you speakin’ ill of Miss Tressa?”

He folded his arms across his chest. “Here she is attendin’ your school, dressed in homespun, makin’ out like she’s a workin’ girl lookin’ to better herself. But she’s no workin’ girl. She’s high society—I’d bet my bottom dollar on it.”

“And you’d lose it. ’Cause I know what you mean when you say ‘high society,’ an’ you’re not meanin’ to be complimentary.”

“Yep. Won’t argue.”

“But you’re wrong about Miss Tressa.”

He raised his eyebrows in a look of skepticism.

Hattie pointed her finger at Abel’s nose. “You need to do some soul searchin’, Abel Samms. You’re lettin’ what happened with Amanda make you bitter an’ distrustful.”

Red streaked his suntanned neck. “This has nothin’ to do with Amanda. It’s those girls out at your ranch who’re causin’ problems for me.”

She chose to counter his belligerent tone with gentleness. “Like it or not, Abel, Amanda’s still got a hold on you. An’ you makin’ Miss Tressa accountable for Amanda’s choice is just as wrong as Luella makin’ Tressa the scapegoat for her troubles.” She placed her hand on Abel’s forearm. His muscles felt like knotted rope beneath her palm. She gave his arm a slight squeeze. “Maybe nothin’ll come of it—I’m prayin’ Luella’ll let things drop. But I’d rather know up front what I might be facin’ so I can be prepared. Figured you’d prefer that, too.”

Abel relaxed, sliding his thumbs into the front pockets of his trousers. “Thanks, Aunt Hattie. I do appreciate your warnin’. An’ . . .” He hung his head, drawing in a deep breath and then letting it out between puckered lips. “I’m sorry I got cranky with you. I just got a lot on my mind.”

She glanced at the rolls of barbed wire in the back of Abel’s wagon. “An’ a big job waitin’. I know you said you intended to put up some fence, but . . . you plannin’ to string all o’ that?”

“Don’t see as how I have much choice.” Abel’s tone turned hard. “Lost four calves last night. Somebody took ’em right out of the holdin’ pen next to the barn.”

Hattie’s knees nearly gave way. “Oh, Abel . . .”

“So I got bigger problems than rumors.”

She shook her head. “Well, I’ll keep prayin’ this thievin’ ends. Just ain’t right . . .”

The front door burst open and Abel’s hired hands thumped onto the porch. Cole slapped his hat onto his head and shot Hattie a wide grin. “Thanks for bringin’ that lunch to us, Aunt Hattie.”

“Good as always, Hattie.” Vince nodded his graying head in a gentlemanly fashion.

“Yes’m. Thank you.” Ethan supplied his thanks when his father bumped him with his elbow.

Hattie flapped both hands at the men. “Oh, now, don’t give me the credit.” She flicked a quick glance at Abel. “Miss Tressa’s on cookin’ duty this week, so she’s the one who made that stew an’ the buttery biscuits, too—she asked me to bring ’em over here as a way o’ sayin’ thanks.” She sent Abel a meaningful look. By his splotchy cheeks, she knew he understood.

Tressa set the last plate in the cupboard and closed the door. Turning from the cupboard, she lifted the wash pan from the dry sink. The evening breeze wafting through the open back door caressed her face, and she moved eagerly into the opening for a deeper draw of the scented air before heaving the wash pan’s cloudy contents onto the ground. A swish with a length of toweling removed the remaining drops of water and tiny bubbles of soapy foam from the speckled pan. That task complete, she placed the pan upside-down on the dry sink and headed to the pantry to retrieve a pair of tin pails.

She swung the empty pails as she crossed the uneven ground beneath a dusky pink sky. After placing the pails on the ground beside the well’s rock wall, she turned the crank, grunting a bit as she brought the bucket from the depths of the well. In New York, water came right into the house thanks to piping and a brass spigot. Her tasks would be simpler if Mrs. Wyatt possessed indoor plumbing, but she chose not to complain.

The sides of the wooden bucket were slick and cool from laying in the water. She gripped the bucket tightly between her hands and filled both of her pails, then she tossed the bucket back into the well. After wiping her wet hands on her apron, she lifted the full pails and turned toward the house.

A sense of pride washed over her as she carried both pails. When she had first been assigned to kitchen duty three weeks ago, she could only carry one bucket at a time. But now she could carry two. Her strength was increasing by the day, giving her confidence that, regardless of Luella’s disparaging remarks, she could become a herdsman and successfully live on the plains.

In spite of the sun’s low-hung position and the light breeze, sweat beaded across her upper lip. When she entered the kitchen, she scooped a dipperful of cool water and took a drink before emptying the pails into the stove’s reservoir. Then she returned the empty pails to their spot on the pantry shelf. As she exited the pantry, Isabella trotted from the dining room in her typical high-tailed fashion.

Tressa swept the cat into her arms and nuzzled her neck. “There you are! You didn’t keep me company while I washed dishes tonight. It was lonely without you.” She carried Isabella to the work table and sat, holding the cat in her lap while she examined every inch of the kitchen.

Not so much as a crumb dotted the floor or an errant drop of water stained the sink, but the toweling she’d used to dry the dishes lay rumpled on the edge of the dry sink. “Oops! Excuse me, kitty.” She transferred Isabella to the chair and skipped across the wood floor, snatched up the towel, and hung it neatly over a bar attached to the wall beside the window. Satisfied with the appearance of the kitchen, she untied her apron and dropped it into the washbasket that rested near the back door. Isabella dashed across the floor and batted at the apron tie that dangled over the edge of the basket.

Giggling, Tressa knelt and stroked the cat while Isabella continued to attack the strip of flowered cloth. “Izzy-B, I have my chores finished, so it’s time for me to turn in.” She raised her face to the ceiling. Through the floor joists, she could hear the creak of footsteps and the soft mutter of voices. Mrs. Wyatt had turned in early, complaining of a headache, so Tressa surmised the other girls were moving around upstairs. Her chest constricted. The others were no doubt gathered in Luella’s room, sharing a few minutes of conversation and relaxation before heading to bed. They’d assembled on numerous occasions, but Tressa had never been invited.

Even though she’d proven herself capable of performing the necessary duties in the house and garden, the other girls continued to view her with disdain, following Luella’s lead. And especially since Mrs. Wyatt had believed Tressa over Luella, the other girl had been particularly spiteful. Luella never engaged in mistreatment in the presence of their teacher, but she was sly. One night, Tressa had slipped into bed only to discover that her pillow was littered with cockleburs. As a result, she’d had to snip away a few curls of her hair. Another time she’d found several dead crickets in her underclothes drawer. Neither of the pranks were harmful—clothes could be washed and hair would grow back—but they were clear messages that Luella was angry and would have her retribution.