An Unexpected Mother (The Colorado Brides Series Book 4) (9 page)

“I accept your apology.” I held out my hand. “I hope we can begin again. I know it’s almost impossible to ignore my behavior, but I wasn’t…in my right mind.”

He shook my hand. “I’ll consider the things you’ve said. I sometimes struggle to remember what His will is, and you’ve reminded me. Thank you.”

“I suppose.” He had yet to let go of my hand, our eyes locking. I found his deep blue irises entrancing; the moment was strangely intimate, as if we were the only people left in the world.

We had forgotten that Jane stood nearby, until she cleared her throat. “Might we go home then? I mean, may we return to Mrs. Weaver’s house?”

The spell had been broken. “Right.” My hand slid from his. “Yes, we’re going home.”

“I’ll walk you out.”

“Thank you.” He followed me, his presence acutely noted, as I sensed his proximity. “Come along, children. Plans have changed. You won’t have to go back and forth after all. You’ll just be with me.”

“Do you think Maria will make another chocolate cake?” Susanna’s eyes were the size of saucers.

“Oh, goodness, I’ve no idea. She knows how fond you are of dessert. I’m sure she’ll make something delicious.”

“I do hope so.”

Jane continued to look dour; her expression rarely changed. I had yet to see her laugh or smile. I would redouble my efforts to find out why she loathed me so. Even Mary appeared to be softening to me; the edges of her mouth tilted upwards, but she forced the grin to disappear when Jane glared at her. These girls were utterly vexing, but this couldn’t go on indefinitely.

Pastor Bailey walked us out, helping Susanna into the wagon. The boys sat with her, while I stepped onto the conveyance, although I felt a touch on my elbow, as he aided my ascent.

“Thank you.”

“Please feel free to speak with me, if you’re struggling.”

“I wish I could take back some of the things I said, sir. I was—”

He held up a hand. “You’re one of the most opinionated women I’ve ever met.” A hint of a smile appeared. “I’m going to think about what you said. I might’ve needed to hear some of it.”

“You’re only being kind. I was beyond rude.”

“Might we go home, Fanny?” asked Peter. “I’ve got to use the privy.”

“Oh, goodness. You’d best do it here. We’ve an hour ride ahead of us.”

“Come with me, son.” Pastor Bailey held out his hand. “I’ll show you where it is.”

Peter sprang from the wagon. “I’ll be back!”

“We’re never going home,” griped Susanna.

“I’m sorry. Today has turned into one big muddle.” I glanced at Jane, who seemed entirely composed. What was she thinking? “Are you upset that you’re not staying with Pastor Bailey for the remainder of the week?”

She seemed to take an inordinate amount of time to respond. “I was looking forward to the quiet. He’s a thoughtful, steady man. His selections of books are to my taste.”

“Is that so? What sorts of books does he have?”

“William Blake, Thoreau, and
Charlotte Brontë among many others.” Her chin lifted a notch, as she seemed to find this declaration important.

“I see.” I wasn’t sure what to think of Jane. She was determined to be difficult and standoffish. “Perhaps you should ask him if he’ll allow you to borrow a book or two? I would like to read Charlotte Brontë myself.”

“Well, there he is. You can ask him yourself.”

Pastor Bailey approached with Peter. “He’s feeling better now.”

The boy climbed into the wagon. “Thank you again, sir. I’m sorry I’ve bothered you.”

“No need to apologize.”

Now I couldn’t help wondering at his relationship with Jane. Did they stay awake late into the night discussing literature and poetry? Did he find her a pleasurable companion? Why did this idea dampen my spirits, leaving me with a disquieting feeling? I'd already overstayed my welcome, having called him names and then collapsing into a fit of tears. Embarrassment propelled me to grasp the reins, calling to the horse.

“Good day, sir.”

“Have a safe trip, Mrs. Hatch.”

How I hated to be addressed by that name. I would never allow myself to grow accustomed to it, especially since I had only been married for a matter of hours before Jason had passed on. “We will.” I felt his particular interest, and, as we drew towards the road, I wanted to glance over my shoulder, but it would be unladylike to do so.

Chapter Nine

Having accepted my fate, I threw myself into getting to know my children, although whenever I thought of the Hatch brood in such a way, it left me with a strange, yet endearing impression. During the next two weeks, I made many attempts to befriend Jane, who continued to respond coldly. Mary was in my corner now, especially since I had discovered how much she adored sewing. Her stitch was divine, straight and precisely executed. I had indulged her by letting her buy fabric at the mercantile, which she was assembling into a blouse. Every minute of her free time was occupied by this task, while she sat on the sofa and worked the material, her head bent diligently over the project.

Susanna and her brothers managed the animals, milking the cow twice daily and feeding George and the cat, Cottonball. The feline was aloof and unresponsive to all of us—except Jane. The white and gray cat slept with her, curling up at her side most nights. Although I was in the same bed, Cottonball would have nothing to do with me. Besides her brothers and sisters, the cat was the only other living thing in the house Jane was fond of, clearly finding my sister and I unacceptable. I attributed this to the conversation she had overheard, and I had wanted to discuss it with her, but her demeanor seemed to kill any dialogue before it even began. To compound matters, the closer Mary and I became, the more reclusive Jane was.

After church one Sunday, I took her aside. “We really should talk. Something’s bothering you, Jane. I wish you would confide in me. I’m not the enemy.”

“I don’t know what you mean, Mrs. Hatch. I’m perfectly fine.”

We stood outside the church, while my parents spoke with my sister Paulina. “Jane, please.” I gazed into her eyes, but her expression was guarded. “I know you’ve been through a great deal over the last year. I’m sorry for your loss. I’m sorry you’re stuck with me. I know you hate me. I want you to know that I don’t hate you at all. I really wish we could be friends. I’m not trying to be your mother. We’re far too close in age for that. Can’t we be friends?”

“I…” Her glacial features faltered for a moment, but then the coldness was firmly in place again. “I shall do whatever you require of me.”

I sighed. “Oh, for goodness sakes.”

Pastor Bailey approached us; his look was relaxed and amiable. “Good day, Jane and Fanny.”

Since our last meeting, the tension and animosity that had been between us seemed to have lessened. “Hello.”

It was strange how my stomach flipped over in pleasurable little tingles whenever he was near. I’d enjoyed his sermon today. He spoke from Matthew 16:26, directing his attention towards the miners and their desire for gold. There had been several instances of violence lately as a result of greed. It was a good reminder for everyone that we shouldn’t lose sight of the things that were truly important to us, such as faith, kindness, and family.

“How are you?” He had directed this question towards Jane.

“I’m fine, and you?” She smiled brightly, which I found disquieting.

“Well.” His attention was on me. “How have they been?”

“We’re adjusting. Every day is an improvement.”

“You seem…composed.”

“It’s rare that I behave with civility.” I felt a moment of embarrassment for my past behavior, but a smile stole across my face. “I have yet to insult you, sir.”

“Well, the day is quite young.” He was teasing. I had never seen this side of him before, and it was refreshing.

“That’s true. There’s still hope for a row yet.” Our eyes met, as the air suddenly seemed charged with energy.

Jane’s countenance had grown stony. “Pastor Bailey, might I borrow a book or two from you?”

She had effectively broken the spell. “Why, yes, of course.”

“There’s nothing at all decent to read at the Weaver’s, unless you’re fond of books about Indians and shipwrecks.” She was referring to “The Swiss Family Robinson” and “The Last of the Mohicans”, which Peter and Connor loved. “My tastes run more towards realism than fantastical romance.”

Appreciation shone in his smile. “I might have a few books to accommodate you.”

“I know you do. I’ve seen what’s on your bookshelf.”

“Then stop by before you leave town. My housekeeper will let you in.”

Glancing between them, I couldn’t help wondering if Jane harbored a crush on Pastor Bailey. Her smile was as open and unrestrained as I had ever witnessed it. I watched him carefully, feeling a twinge of envy; the possibility existed that he might find her charming and attractive. She was young, but many girls married at this age. His demeanor remained polite, his posture relaxed. It was when he looked at me that I began to buzz with pleasure. The feeling was astonishing, especially considering how dreadful our first two meetings had been.

“We’ll get those books, Jane,” I said. “You shouldn’t have to suffer through the horrors of inferior literature.” There was sarcasm in my tone, with a hint of humor, but it was lost on her.

“Thank you.”

Pastor Bailey’s grin revealed that he knew I was teasing. “I’ve some books in my office as well. They’re slightly more religious, but some of the tales are entertaining.”

Mother approached. “Darlings, we’re about to go. Hello, Pastor Bailey. It was a lovely sermon.”

“Good day, Mrs. Hoffman.”

“Will you come to brunch? Paulina’s house isn’t that far away.”

“I can’t, but thank you for inviting me.”

“Perhaps next Sunday?”

“Yes, I’ll mark it on my calendar.”

“Excellent.”

Father had brought the wagon around, the conveyance stopping several feet from where we were. They boys and Susanna were already seated in the back, while Jane and my mother were handed up. He held my elbow, while I took the first step. Our eyes met, while his hand shifted, the fingers grazing each of mine briefly. The contact left me trembling peculiarly and I yearned for more. Once I was seated, father called to the horse, the animal moving forward, while the wheels began to turn. It was unfortunate that Pastor Bailey would not be joining us at my sister’s house. The disappointment I felt was acute, and I had to wonder what business kept him in town, or if he had just declined out of politeness or perhaps shyness.

“We mustn’t forget to stop by his residence,” said Jane.

I glanced at father. “I’ll show you where he lives.”

“Where who lives?”

“Pastor Bailey. Jane wants to borrow a few books.”

“I think I can manage that.”

The building in question was located near the bank. The two-story structure was built of wood, the lower level was a bakery, and the aroma of freshly baked bread lingered around us. Jane and I entered, finding several people inside. The children had stayed with Pastor Bailey for several weeks, while their uncle had traveled to Fort Laramie to marry me. Jane knew which doors to take, a set of stairs leading to the second floor. She stopped before a door knocking, waiting for the housekeeper to let us in.

“Yes?” A woman appeared, dressed in an apron.

“Hello, Mrs. Henderson,” said Jane. “I’ve come to get a few books. Pastor Bailey knows I’m here.”

Her smile was expansive. “Come in, Jane. How have you been?”

“I’m well, Lola, thank you. How are you?”

“Good. I hope you’re enjoying staying at the Weaver’s.”

“It’s tolerable.”

I would ignore that response. “Hello, I’m Fanny Hoffman…um…Mrs. Hatch.”

“How do you do?”

“Well, thank you.”

We stood in a surprisingly neat-looking room, which was sparsely furnished with a sofa and a rocking chair and several bookcases filled with leather bound volumes. Jane made a beeline for them, while I lingered, wandering over to a desk. There were stacks of papers, an inkwell, quill, and envelopes. There was a portrait of a woman in a gilded frame. The photograph revealed a sober-looking woman, who wore a darkly colored dress with a lace collar.

“This must be his mother,” I said.

Jane glanced over her shoulder. “Yes, it was.”

“Oh.” She knew far more about the preacher than I did, and I felt a ping of envy yet again.

She slid a book out, glancing at the title. “I’ll probably take this one.”

There was a door a few feet away, and I moved towards it, seeing it opened slightly. Peering into the room, there was a bed, which had been meticulously made, and a dresser. A mirror stood upon the furniture with a porcelain bowl and a pitcher of water. Shaving items were nearby with tweezers and other grooming paraphernalia. A coat hung behind a chair, while a pair of shoes lay in a small wooden box. The blanket on the bed was knitted, the colors ranging from whites to blues and greens. Sheer curtains hung before the window, while the breeze caught the material.

It was strange to stand in the space where he slept. I stared at the bed; the size was not substantial, and it would only hold one person comfortably. The pillow had a dark blue cover. Knowing that he slept here, in this very room, left me oddly disconcerted. He seemed to prefer an orderly, uncluttered environment; his things had all been neatly put away. When the children had been here, it must have been chaotic. How they had all managed in only two rooms was beyond me. I hadn’t even seen a kitchen. It was for the best that they were with me now; I had to admit this.