Deeply Devoted (28 page)

Peter lifted his head to look her in the eye. “I did. I cared deeply for her and thought there were no secrets between us. We knew everything there was to know about each other.”

“Mmm . . . so you’d told her about your relationship with Dorothy then? Seems as though I remember watching Catharine from across the room at church that day when you introduced them. She seemed very surprised, almost hurt, and I could tell she thought Dorothy was competition.”

Peter jerked up in his chair. “You could tell that from a few short moments? It never entered my mind.” He was quiet for a moment. “You know, I didn’t tell her about Dorothy in our correspondence. Maybe I should have, but I never intended on marrying Dorothy.”

“But don’t you see, you held back a part of yourself—”

“That’s not a fair comparison. Catharine already being married is something altogether different!” Peter felt the heat rising up his neck in his defense.

Lucy sat quietly as he contemplated the truth. He guessed she was right. He hadn’t told Catharine about Dorothy. He had no real motive not to—he’d conveniently just omitted it.

The rain had stopped and it was time to leave. Peter reached for his hat on the chair next to him.

“I think you should go home and have a talk with your wife,” Lucy said, stacking their dishes. “Ask her about her past and tell her how you knew. Give her a chance to defend herself, and you’ll find out the truth.”

Peter stood, holding his hat in his hands. “Thanks for the cake and for your advice, even though it stings. I’ll try talking to Catharine, but it won’t be easy.”

“Swallow your pride and don’t let it come between you two. It won’t be easy, but you can’t go on this way either. You’ve already lost most of the wheat crop. Admit it, you don’t want to lose Catharine too.”

He clapped his hat on his head a little harder than he’d intended. “I reckon not, but she’s gonna have a lot of explaining to do.”

Lucy followed him to the door. “I’ll be praying.”

Peter’s shoulders drooped as he sighed. “I appreciate it, and I’m going to need it. Thanks again, Lucy. You’re a wise friend.”

Lucy smiled and waved goodbye while he strapped his canvas tool bag to the back of his horse, then headed home to Catharine.

The rain fell in steady sheets, and the wind howled about the farmhouse, but Catharine and her sisters were safely ensconced in the cozy living room with hot tea and ginger cookies. The ginger kept her queasiness under control.
Please protect this child growing inside me, Lord.
Catharine patted her abdomen.

Greta was working a cross-stitch sampler, and Anna was reading Mark Twain’s
Huckleberry Finn
.

Catharine set her cup down and picked up her Bible. “I’m glad we’re getting rain finally. Perhaps now it’ll cool down a little. But the rain makes me think of home.”

“Me too. Amsterdam had cool springtimes and summer showers.” Greta paused in her needlework. “Cooler temperatures would be nice too. I wonder if Peter is holed up somewhere in this downpour.”

“Mmm, I don’t know, but surely he would seek protection. I think the worst of it has passed now. I haven’t heard any more thunder.” Catharine smiled at her sister. “I’m glad you received a letter from Bryan. I believe that’s the reason for the perpetual smile on your face?”

Greta giggled. “It’s obvious, huh? Yes, he says he misses me. He’ll come to see me the first weekend he has free.”

“He’s more than welcome to stay with us.”

“I’m glad he’s coming. I like Bryan. I think he’ll make you a good husband,” Anna said, peering over her book.

Greta shot her a look. “He hasn’t spoken of marriage yet.” Her face colored.

“Just a matter of time, dear sis.” Anna went back to her book.

Greta turned back to her sewing and Catharine opened her Bible, but her mind wandered back to yesterday when she and Anna had driven to town to check the mail. On the way back home, she passed Lucy Hayes’s farmhouse. She spotted the attractive widow standing outside talking to Peter. Had he just stopped in to say hello?

Something was dreadfully wrong. Peter hadn’t touched Catharine since the day after the locusts came, other than a perfunctory kiss when he left after breakfast. She sighed and started reading in Matthew where she’d left off yesterday. She wanted to finish chapter ten. The first part of verse twenty-seven pricked her conscience: “What I tell you in darkness, that speak ye in light.”

You should tell Peter the truth about your past.
The voice in her head was almost audible.

I know, Lord. He deserves the truth.
Catharine decided to tell him tonight when they retired to their room
,
away from her sisters.
Lord, give me the right words to say . . .

Peter braced himself for what he knew would be a difficult evening. On the way home, he decided there was no use putting off the inevitable. He would talk to Catharine right after supper. Clear the air and get it all out in the open, letting the chips fall where they may. That’s what his father always told him when he had something unpleasant to deal with. Which was most of what Lucy had said to him this afternoon.

He led Star to his stall and, after a quick rubdown, gave him some oats and fresh water. He wiped his carpentry tools and put them away. “Time I faced the problem, Star, and quit stalling for time,” he said, stopping to pat his neck affectionately before leaving. Star snorted as if in total agreement, and Peter laughed softly.

When Catharine saw him come into the kitchen, she laid the ladle down and walked up to him, giving him a kiss. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat of the stove, and as usual she wore whatever she was trying to cook on her apron. It almost made him chuckle looking at her, but he gathered his wits about him and merely squeezed her hand.

“Go wash up. Supper will be ready in about ten minutes.” She stepped back to the stove, opened the oven, and placed the rolls inside, then busied herself setting the table. “That was some kind of rain, wasn’t it?”

Was she acting different somehow, or was it because his mind was in turmoil and he was imagining it? “It wasn’t so bad. I’ve been in worse.”

She started making gravy and stirred the bubbling grease until it browned, then added the flour. She poked out her bottom lip to blow away a length of hair that fell across her eyes. She’d never looked more adorable to him than when she was attempting to whip up an entire meal by herself. Her cooking had improved with the aid of a cookbook and occasional help from him.

He wished she knew how much he loved her, but his heart wrenched in pain with the knowledge that she once loved someone enough to marry him. He wished he wasn’t jealous and confused. He wished none of this was true. He wished he could sweep her into his arms and take her to bed and cover her with his love. But he wasn’t sure of the truth now, so that wouldn’t happen. Not now. He gulped. He hoped his uncertainties wouldn’t last forever.

She turned to see him still standing there looking at her, and she gave him a lopsided smile. “You’re still here? Could you call the girls when you go wash up?”

“Sure thing.” Peter knew his voice sounded flat. She smiled, and he twirled on his boot heel, hurrying from the kitchen.

When Greta and Anna went up to their room early, Catharine knew she would have to make a move to open the conversation with Peter, who sat in his favorite overstuffed chair, flipping through the Montgomery Ward catalog. It was as though her sisters sensed she needed to be alone with him. He’d been quiet throughout supper. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but something wasn’t right. Did he already know?

Catharine took the seat closest to him and leaned over the catalog. “What are you studying so intently in the catalog?” She was close enough to smell the scent of fresh soap from his quick wash before their meal. Her hands felt clammy and she licked her lips, trying to get the nerve to broach the real subject on her heart.

“I was looking at all the latest farming implements. I wonder if I shouldn’t take a harder look at raising cattle after the last couple of years of locust problems.” His eyes locked onto hers.

“Next year will be better.”

“How can you possibly know?”

She smiled. “I dreamed of a beautiful field full of ripe grain ready to be harvested.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “Is that so? I’m not sure I believe in dreams.”

“Well, it was a most pleasant dream, and I believe God speaks to us sometimes through dreams.” Catharine fingered the ring on her left hand. She wanted to tell him the rest of her dream, but her tongue felt thick.

“I’m not sure about that either. But we were invited to the Cheyenne Social Club’s annual reception.”

“I thought that was only for cattlemen.”

He continued flipping the pages of the catalog. She loved his hands and long fingers, wishing she could feel them gripping hers in love.

“I reckon they can invite anyone they want to as their guests.”

“Peter . . .” She didn’t know where to start.

“Hmm?” he said without lifting his head.

“Could you please look at me?”

“What, Catharine?” He glanced at her, then studied the images of new plows.

Catharine wanted to snatch the catalog from his hands. She moved closer, and Peter looked up with surprise. “I need you to look at me, please.”

“I’m looking. What do you wish to talk about?”

Her shoulders lifted, then sagged. “For starters, where have you been going every day after breakfast?” Catharine’s heart was in her throat as she waited for his answer. All she could think about was the lovely widow Lucy.

Peter turned in his seat to face her squarely, his eyes not revealing anything. “I guess I should have told you . . . I’ve been doing carpentry work for Lucy Hayes.”

“You have?” Catharine felt a moment of relief. “But why?”

“Because the crop failed, I now have four mouths to feed and bills to pay, and I refuse to borrow from my mother!” he spat out.

His reaction alarmed her, and she wasn’t sure how to proceed. He didn’t know that he’d soon have five mouths to feed.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to raise my voice. There’s a lot on my mind.”

“Yes, I’ve noticed. We don’t talk anymore, and you kept your working for Lucy a secret. I’m your wife—you could’ve confided in me.”

Peter stood up, raked his hand through his hair, and paced the floor before speaking. “Confided in you? You mean have confidence in you?”

She looked at him in surprise. “Of course.”

He shook his head. “Of course . . . just like that . . . just like you keep confidence in me?”

“Certainly I do.”

He bent over and stared into her eyes until she felt pinned in the chair. “No, you don’t,” he whispered. “You keep secrets, Catharine.”

She felt her heart plummet.
He knows
 . . . This was not going the way she’d planned at all. “What secrets?” she asked under her breath.

“Your first marriage—or have you totally forgotten about it?” Peter’s face was dark with fury.

Catharine froze, feeling all the blood drain from her face, feeling light-headed. She’d wanted to be the one to tell him. So much for her best-laid plans to be honest about everything. Slowly she rose from her chair on wooden legs. “How . . . did you find out? That’s what I was going to talk to you about tonight . . .”

Peter flinched. “Is that so? Then why, pray tell, did you keep something like this from me?” he said through clenched teeth. She reached to touch his sleeve, but he pulled his arm away, and as he did his hand knocked over her Blue Willow teacup and saucer, sending them crashing to the floor and breaking into a thousand pieces. “I can’t believe you would do that. You held my heart in your hands.” He clenched his fists.

If he was angry enough, would he strike her? She shrank back. Catharine didn’t think he would, but one never knew another totally, completely.

“I . . . didn’t want to tell you . . . because . . . you may not have wanted me then. I know that was wrong to do, and I’m sorry.”

“You’re right! I wouldn’t want to be married to someone who is still married to someone else. Now what do we do, Catharine?
Tell me that!
” he yelled. Drawing closer, he pointed his finger at her. “So it is true! I knew I should’ve believed the facts my mother discovered.”

He said it with such anger that she recoiled. The blood rushed to her stomach, causing instant nausea, and she swayed on her feet, but Peter seemed unaware or didn’t care one way or the other.

“Like the way she believed Dorothy was better for you than me?” Her voice wavered and her mouth was as dry as flour. She held her hand across her stomach to keep from heaving.
Please, Lord . . . help me. Keep me from being sick.
“Peter, I can explain. It’s not at all like you think!”