Deeply Devoted (25 page)

When Peter returned, he seemed tired but in a better mood, and he squeezed Catharine’s shoulder affectionately. Maybe he’d seen her note. She and Anna had long since finished in the kitchen and were sitting on the front porch, relaxing. Anna was at the other end of the porch, sketching with her colored pencils. Peter plopped down in a rocker, stretching his long legs out, and leaned his head back against the chair. “Did Greta leave with Bryan?”

The weariness in his face and voice troubled her, but Catharine was helpless to make it all better. How she wished she could. “They went for a walk along the creek. It’s a nice night for a walk. Seems to have cooled down, which is fine by me.” She hesitated and murmured under her breath, “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Peter lifted his head and studied her. “No. I just have to think this through. Don’t you go worrying, you hear? I figure I can plant winter wheat again in September, if I don’t decide to raise cattle instead,” he said with humor in his voice.

Catharine wasn’t sure if he was serious or not.

“It’s a possibility worth considering.”

“But I thought you told me last year that a lot of cattlemen gave up after that terrible blizzard and left the territory.”

“They did, but the ones who stayed behind are starting to get their herds back in operation now.” He paused, running his hand through his thick hair. “I’m about ready to drop. Think I’ll go to bed.”

Anna got up from the swing, shoving her art supplies aside. “Wait, Peter. I have something for you.” She held out a heavy piece of paper.

The look of surprise on his face turned into a smile. “Anna, when did you do this? It’s wonderful.” He stood, holding the paper at arm’s length to study it better.

“I did it right after I sat down tonight. I didn’t get to take my time before you got back, but I thought it might cheer you up.”

Peter showed the drawing to Catharine. It was a beautiful field with golden wheat stalks, their ripe seed heads nodding in the prairie breeze against a bright, cloudless sky. At the bottom was written, “There’s always hope,” followed by a Scripture:
“Let both grow together until the harvest: and in the time of harvest I will say to the reapers, Gather ye together first the tares, and bind them in bundles to burn them: but gather the wheat into my barn.” Matthew 13:30.

The drawing took Catharine’s breath away and brought tears to her eyes. “My goodness! This is beautiful, Anna!”

Peter wrapped his arms around Anna’s slender shoulders. “Thank you. What a precious reminder that God will provide. I’ll treasure this, Anna.” His eyes filled with tears and he coughed. He took the drawing from Catharine. “I’m off to bed now,” he said, shuffling toward the screen door. “Are you coming?”

“I’ll be in directly. I want to enjoy the cooler night air we’ve been blessed with,” Catharine answered.

No sooner had the door closed behind Peter than they saw Greta and Bryan walking back up the drive as they held hands, but Greta’s eyes were red-rimmed. What now? She had been all smiles when they left.

Catharine watched as Greta stood by Bryan and he gave her a long kiss, then mounted his horse. He gave her one last look, tipped his hat, and then was gone, cantering away without looking back.

“What’s wrong? You’ve been crying.” Anna approached Greta on the steps. Greta opened her mouth to speak but burst into uncontrollable sobs.

Catharine turned to Anna. “Gather your things and go on in and get ready for bed.”

“But—” Anna started to protest, but Catharine gave her a gentle push, indicating she needed to be alone with Greta. Anna reluctantly plodded back to the other end of the porch to gather her art supplies, glancing one last time at them.

Catharine laid an arm across Greta’s shoulder and pulled her to a chair next to hers. “Greta. Whatever is wrong?” It hurt Catharine to see her sister this way.

Greta hiccuped, and Catharine reached inside her pocket for a handkerchief. Greta blew her nose but continued to cry softly, not meeting Catharine’s eyes.

“Whatever it is, do you want to talk about it?” Catharine asked.

Greta finally faced her sister. “Bryan has been reassigned from Fort Russell to Fort Bridger. He came to tell me goodbye.” More tears fell as Greta fingered the locket around her neck. “We love each other, but what can we do? He leaves in the morning at dawn.” Greta’s eyes searched Catharine’s for answers.

Would it never end? Just when she thought things were going to get better, now she had a brokenhearted Greta on her hands. “For how long? Did he say he’d come back for you?”

“At this point it’s permanent. No, he didn’t say he was coming back for me, just that we could write to each other, and that if he got leave, he may be able to come see me.” Greta’s face crumpled again, and Catharine held her hand and let her cry it out.

“I’m so sorry, Greta. But if it’s meant to be and he loves you as much as you say he does, then he’ll be back or send for you.”

Greta’s eyes glistened through swollen eyelids. “You really think so?”

“Yes, I do. And you can write him every day.” Catharine hoped she was right. She knew Greta’s heart was shattered, but Bryan had never said he wanted to marry her—at least, she wasn’t aware of it.

Anna tiptoed over, her art box stuck under one arm, and reached over to pat Greta on the shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “It’s his loss, you know.”

Greta turned in her chair, her face twisted in a frown. “He didn’t
want
to leave me, Anna. The army is making him!”

Anna clamped her mouth shut and backed away, then reached for the screen door. “Sorry. Good night.”

Anna never ceased to amaze Catharine with her keen sense of intuition. She hoped she and Anna were wrong in this instance. Time would tell. She reached down and pulled Greta up by the hand. “Let’s go inside now. Go get your nightgown on and hop into bed, and I’ll fix you a nice cup of chamomile tea. Tomorrow you’ll feel better, after a good night’s sleep. Things won’t always look so bad.”

Catharine led Greta to her room, then returned moments later to find her in her gown sitting on the bed. She was thankful that Anna was still downstairs cleaning her paintbrushes so she could speak with Greta alone. Greta’s eyes were swollen and her face blotchy from crying as she idly braided her hair.

“I’ve brought you a good cup of tea. The chamomile should help you sleep.” Catharine handed her the Blue Willow cup and saucer.

Greta murmured her thanks and took a few sips. “Thank you, Cath. I’m acting like such a baby, aren’t I? It’s not anything like your own trials. It’s hard to imagine how you must have felt about Karl after what you went through.”

“Each person’s problems are not insignificant. Even though someone else might have had a worse situation, yours is still real and important to you . . . and to me.” She took a seat on the edge of the bed, not wanting to think about the past.

“You are the most understanding person. I think that must be your gift.” Greta sniffed into her hanky, then gazed at her sister. “You know, Cath, I feel terrible thinking only of myself. You’ve been more distracted and tired lately—and I don’t mean since the grasshoppers descended on us. Are you feeling well?”

Catharine sucked in a deep breath.
Might as well tell her, I’ve already told Angelina.
“I’m going to have a baby.”

“
What?
” Greta squealed. “And you haven’t told me or Anna? Does Peter know?” Greta jolted up from where she leaned against the headboard, nearly spilling her tea. “That explains why you’ve looked a little peaked lately.”

“There was just so much going on. I wasn’t certain until your birthday and didn’t want to take away from your day. Then the grasshoppers came, and Peter’s been so down . . .” She stared down at her hands and rubbed them together.

“This is wonderful news, especially for you. I can hardly wait!” She leaned forward and hugged Catharine. “But you must tell Peter.”

“I intend to. I just wanted to give him a little time to absorb what’s happened to the crop. The grasshoppers didn’t leave much that was green around here.”

“But this will make him so happy.” Greta swallowed the last sip of tea and set the empty cup on the nightstand. “God has blessed you again, and that’s a precious thing.”

“I’m not sure if Peter will be happy. He has more of us to take care of. Last year he had only himself to be concerned about.”

“Will you tell Anna?” Greta asked, scooting back down against her pillow.

Catharine got up to leave, giving a low chuckle. “I will now. Angelina knows too. I hadn’t intended to tell her—I just blurted it out when we were planning your birthday.” She leaned down and smoothed the hair on Greta’s brow. “Try and get some sleep.”

Greta grabbed her hand. “None of us deserves your devotion, but I’m so glad that we have it.”

“I’ll always watch out for you and Anna. Don’t ever forget that.”

Greta smiled and closed her eyes, and Catharine quietly slipped out.

Peter was loading the fifty-pound bags of fertilizer he’d bought at the general store when he heard someone call his name. Turning around, he spied Thomas Sturgis—Tom to his peers—walking toward him.

Tom extended his hand in greeting. “How are you, Peter? Were you hit hard by the grasshoppers?”

Peter gave his hand a hearty shake. Tom’s warm, friendly nature made him a favorite of the community and of the Wyoming Stock Growers Association, where he’d held the office of secretary for many years. He was struggling to maintain his own ranch after the winter blizzard.

“Unfortunately, yes. I didn’t lose my entire crop, but most of it. I won’t make much money this year, that’s for sure, but last year it was far worse. It really gets a man down, you know?”

“I’m really sorry about that. You can always consider ranching, but I have to tell you, I can’t promise cattle ranching will ever be the same again. Many of the ranchers have already left to head back East or look for more lucrative work.”

Peter chuckled. “I’ve given it some thought before, but not seriously.”

“Tell you what.” Tom rubbed his jaw. “Why don’t you come to our annual reception at the end of the month at the Cheyenne Social Club? You can be my guest and rub shoulders with the ranchers and get their take firsthand.”

Peter propped his foot on the back of the wagon and crossed his arms over his leg. “I’ll give it some thought and ask Catharine. I’ve heard it’s quite the event. Would that mean she’d need a new dress?”

Tom leaned his head back and laughed heartily. “You know women—any excuse to buy something new. But yes, it’s definitely dress-up time. You’d have to wear black and one of those stiff white shirt fronts.”

“You mean those fancy things I heard call
Herefords
?”

“Yep! That’d be it.” Tom tipped his hat. “I gotta run. I have an appointment to keep. I hope to see you there.”

“You just might,” Peter called out, watching Tom walk away. Well . . . it could be an alternative, and something he’d have to learn along the way, since he knew nothing about cattle. Who was to say another blizzard might not hit next year?

Leaving the wagon, he hurried over to the post office, but there was no mail, and as he was leaving, he ran smack-dab into his mother on the sidewalk.

“Son, you nearly toppled me over,” Clara said as he steadied her by the arm.

“Mother, I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going. I had other things on my mind.”

“I can see that, but I’m glad that we ran into each other. It’s all over town that east of the city, grasshoppers descended on some of the farmers again. How did the crop fare?”

He heaved a sigh. “Not good, but not a total loss. I dug trenches and set out bait, but I don’t think I did it soon enough. I wasn’t expecting it.” They started walking down the sidewalk in no particular direction.

“I’m very sorry.” She laid a hand on his forearm. “You know, I have a little money set aside if you have need of it.”

Peter had no doubt that she would loan him the money, but he didn’t want to be beholden to her. “I’ll be all right.”

“But, Peter, what will you do? It takes money to run a farm. Why not take the money from me?”

She gave him a look as though he was two sandwiches short of a picnic. He almost laughed out loud but stifled it, not wanting to rile her.

“Care to have a cup of coffee at Mario’s place? I’d like to talk to you, but not out here on the sidewalk.” Clara paused, looking up at him.

“Mother . . .” Peter put a hand on his hip.

Clara held up a hand in protest. “This is important or I wouldn’t ask you.” Her eyes were pleading. When had he ever been able to stop her?

“Okay, but I’ve got a lot to do back at the farm, and I told Catharine that I’d pick up some fresh vegetables since our garden was mowed down.” They turned around and headed toward Mario’s Ristorante.

Mario smiled as soon as he saw Peter, but his smile faded when he saw Clara. “Hello, my friends. You’re too late for breakfast and too early for lunch. My guess is that you’re here for coffee, no?” He indicated the first table they came to.

“Hello, Mario. You’re exactly right. Could you seat us somewhere more private?” Clara asked.

Mario cocked an eyebrow at Peter, who only lifted his shoulders in resignation. “But of course . . . as you wish. Follow me.” He guided them halfway back where it was empty. “How’s this?” He bowed slightly, draping a crisp linen napkin across his arm.

“Perfect!” Clara said. “Say hello to Angelina for me.”

“She’s gone shopping for britches with the twins. They’re growing faster than we can keep them in clothes.” Mario chuckled. “I’ll return with your coffee in just a moment or two.” He hurried off to the kitchen and soon returned with their drinks.

Clara waited until Peter had taken a drink of Mario’s strong brew before saying a word. Peter felt uneasy. He thought this must have something to do with Catharine again, and he readied himself.

“Peter, Mac gave me more information about Catharine—”

“Why are you still digging into Catharine’s past?” he said, his jaw clenching. “I’m married to her now, so what difference will it make?”

Clara blinked. “I’m afraid that you acted in haste where she’s concerned. Mac has found proof from his solicitor in Amsterdam that she was married before.” Her face was dead serious.

“I don’t believe Mac,” he said.

Clara reached inside her reticule and pulled out a piece of paper, opening it flat on the table between them. “This document is proof enough. It’s a signed copy by Catharine’s own clergy in Amsterdam.”

Peter’s blood turned to ice as he read the document. So it was true! And her husband’s name was Karl. He swallowed the lump in his throat. Why hadn’t she told him? She’d had three months to do so.

“Just because she was married before doesn’t make her unworthy of marriage to me.” Peter tried to sound convincing, but his brain was scattered. He didn’t know what to think.

“Peter, it gets worse. They can find no proof that she was ever divorced.” Clara leaned over to bridge the space between them. “I’m sorry, but I felt you had to know. I wanted to make sure she wasn’t just a gold digger and a ticket to America at your expense. She was probably flat broke, you know.” Clara chewed her bottom lip.

Hot anger flashed through him. He was mad at his mother for investigating his wife, but most of all he was angry that Catharine had never told him. He tried to collect his thoughts as he thumped his thumb against the document, staring at the name of her husband. Karl Johnsen. He had a name. She was his first love, not him. Why would she hurt him like this? There was no way he could begin to understand her deceit.

“Peter . . . are you all right?”

His heart had all but stopped and he felt numb. Lifting his head, he studied his mother for a long moment. No doubt she cared for him and wanted to make sure no one took advantage of him, but now she’d just destroyed the one sweet thing he thought he had in his life.

“Of course there has to be a divorce decree, or she wouldn’t have married me. Catharine is not like that.” Peter could feel the thudding of his pulse in his neck.
Am I sure she wouldn’t do that to me?
He didn’t feel sure about anything right now.

“I’m telling you what Mac uncovered, and so far no record of divorce was found on file at the courthouse.”

“Now, let me tell
you
something about Catharine, because you’ve never even asked me about her. She was from a very wealthy and prominent family, and her father was a shipping magnate. Her parents were on a buying venture to France when they encountered a terrible storm at sea. The boat sank, and with it, the entire inventory he was bringing back to Amsterdam. Catharine is well bred and well educated, yet she decided to become a wheat farmer’s wife. We began to care for each other through our correspondence, no matter if she was married before!”

“That’s all very well and good, and I’m sorry she lost her parents, but, Peter, don’t you see? Even if she was divorced, where was she to go without a dowry or any visible means of support?”

“Did it ever occur to you, Mother, that she might have wanted a new life after her parents died, leaving her as guardian of her two younger sisters?” Peter expelled air from his lungs.

“I suppose you could be right. But why wouldn’t she tell you about her first marriage? Perhaps she thought you wouldn’t want to marry her then, and you could have married Dorothy.” Clara drained her coffee and set the cup down.

Mario scurried over and they both became quiet. “Can I get you anything else? A refill perhaps?”

“No thank you, Mario. We’re just leaving.” Peter fished in his pocket for money and laid it on the table.

“Oh, so soon? But you’ve just arrived.” He poured more coffee anyway. That was Mario’s way. If you said you weren’t hungry, he placed food in front of you, convincing you that you were. “I’ll leave you two and go get ready for my lunch crowd.” He backed away. Peter could tell that Mario knew something was up but had the good grace not to ask. “Ciao!”

“Goodbye,” Clara mumbled.

When Mario was out of earshot, Peter answered his mother. “I don’t know why she didn’t tell me, but it’s really none of your business now. It’s time you accept the fact that Dorothy and I were just friends. Nothing more. Why don’t you go see your dear friend Mac? He seems to have all the answers you could possibly ever want!” Peter rose and Clara did too.

“I’m really sorry, Peter. I truly was beginning to catch a glimpse of what it is you like about Catharine at the birthday party the other night. And as for Mac, he’s become very dear to me.”

“I’m not surprised, with all the money you paid him to do this.”

“I’ll have you know that he loves me and we’ve been spending a lot of time together, so you may as well get used to seeing a lot more of him around here,” Clara said.

“You want me to accept Mac, Mother, but it’s too bad you didn’t do your part to get to know Catharine the way I do. When he gets the divorce decree, let me know. Notice I said
when
, not
if
. I’ve got to go.” Peter stalked out of the restaurant without looking back. He passed Angelina returning from shopping with the twins, and though he normally would’ve stopped to tussle with the boys, today he only muttered hello and kept going.

“Clara, whatever is wrong with Peter?” Angelina asked as Clara was leaving. “Is he so upset about the crop that he can’t talk to an old friend?”

“You’d be better off asking him. It seems Catharine is not at all what he thought.” Clara huffed and continued on out of the restaurant without another word.