Deeply Devoted (33 page)

Peter could hear the twittering between the other three women. He reached out to take the dishes and handed them to Angelina and Mario. “We
are
family, aren’t we?”

Catharine gave a slight nod and sniffed into her hanky.

“In that case, we can work through anything,” he said, bracketing her face between his hands. He tenderly brushed a single tear from her cheek and felt love flow into his heart until every vein in his body tingled. “I love you, and I guess I did right from the start.” She was his lovely, devoted Catharine, always concerned for others.

Catharine fell into his embrace, crying, and he showered her face and eyes with kisses. She whispered “I love you” in his ear.

The small group around them echoed their agreement with soft
ahh’s
until finally Peter and Catharine pulled apart, but he didn’t let go, and he promised himself that he never would. They stood leaning against each other, her head resting against his shoulder, overcome with emotion.

The twins expressed their feelings above the yapping of the puppies. “Yippee!” they yelled almost in unison. “Now can we go home?”

Everyone laughed, and Mario and Angelina carried the dishes back to the crate to pack them back up. Angelina wiped a tear or two from her eyes and sighed. “Ahh . . . so romantic, don’t you think, Mario?” She gazed at Mario, who simply smiled at her and winked at Peter.

Anna knelt down to soothe the puppies clamoring to get out of the box. She lifted Prince and hugged him tightly to her chest while he nuzzled her with his nose. She stood and turned to them and said, “It’s time to feed the puppies. Let’s go home.”

A happier group didn’t exist, Catharine thought as the chatter and laughter spilled from the Andersens’ wagons rumbling down the road. They had waved goodbye to the Cristinis with promises to have lunch after church on Sunday. Greta drove the wagon they’d taken to town, three of the puppies piled in the back and one in Anna’s arms. Catharine pressed close to Peter’s side on the wagon bench they shared, not wanting one inch to separate them. Her heart was full of gratitude and love that God had seen her through the defining exposure of her and Peter’s wounded hearts. She remembered her mother saying once, “What man meant for evil, God meant for good.” From now on, when she faced a difficult problem—and without a doubt there would be a few—she’d claim that promise.

She stole a glance at her husband’s lean and handsome profile, letting her eyes slide down to his square, strong hands and nicely shaped nail beds. She remembered the way those hands had caressed her with tenderness and fervor. Catharine felt sudden desire surge through her, and her face grew warm at the thought. She would tell him about the baby when they got home, praying silently that he would be pleased about his new role as a father.

Peter took his eyes off the road a moment to smile back at her, a mischievous look in his eye. Blushing, she looked out across the field to enjoy the common yellow dandelions dotting the landscape. Purple pasture thistles nodded their heads at the tall yucca plants loaded with white blooms. The gentle motion of the wagon after a while made her eyes droop, and she struggled to keep them open. Besides the pregnancy making her tired, she was behind in the sleep department. Catharine felt like she could sleep an entire week.

“What are you thinking? Are you happy?” Peter broke her reverie.

She laid her hand on his knee. “Yes, Peter. I’m very happy and can hardly wait to get home. I’ve so much to do.”

“Mmm . . .” He gave her a sly gaze. “Most of it can wait. It’ll all be there tomorrow. If you’re like me, you didn’t get much sleep, so we can make up for that.”

Catharine got his meaning and smiled shyly, patting his knee. “Yes, we can.”

In a short while they were driving down the lane lined with maple and ash trees. “Those trees will be a scarlet red in the fall,” he told Catharine.

“I’m really beginning to appreciate the unique beauty of Wyoming. It would have been hard to leave it.”

He reached down and squeezed her hand. “I’m so glad you didn’t.”

“Peter, I should tell you more about my first marriage,” Catharine said softly.

“There will be plenty of time to talk later on. I should explain a few things myself.” He patted her knee. “But let’s just celebrate our love for now.”

Catharine lifted her eyes to meet his. “That, Mr. Andersen, will be fine with me.”

When they arrived, Peter set the brake on the wagon, then assisted Catharine down, holding her in his arms to give a welcome-home kiss, which lasted a little longer than was proper in the yard. They unloaded the dishes with Greta’s help, and Anna let the puppies loose. They bounded from the wagon and ran around the yard chasing each other, happy not to be confined. Anna’s laughter was music to Catharine’s ears.

Like family once again, they shared their evening meal together, enjoying thick slices of roast beef piled high on creamy whipped potatoes and smothered in onions as Peter liked it. “I do believe you are fast becoming a good cook, my dear wife!”

“I agree,” Greta said, wiping the last crumb from her mouth. “Either that or we’re starving. I don’t recall having lunch before we went to the railroad depot.”

“We didn’t,” Anna said. “Catharine was afraid that we’d miss the last train. I’m so glad you got there before we boarded, Peter.”

“And so am I, Anna,” Peter said, giving her a wink.

Catharine rose, taking her plate to the sink. “I’m thinking you had a little advice and help from Mario,” she teased.

“I’ll never tell.” Peter picked up his dish and walked over to caress Catharine on the nape of her neck, just below where her hair was pulled up into a chignon. “Why don’t we put the Blue Willow in the hutch while the girls clean up the kitchen? What do you say?”

“Okay . . . but what about your mother’s rose china?” Catharine wiped her hands on the dish towel, anxious to be alone with Peter to tell him about the baby.

“I’ll put it in the crate and she can have it back.”

“Then let’s get started. Greta, you and Anna don’t mind, do you?”

“’Course not. It won’t take long to clean up. Then I, for one, am headed to bed early.” Greta gave Anna a quick look and a nod.

Anna frowned, then, seeming to suddenly understand, replied, “Oh . . . yes . . . so am I.”

Catharine giggled and followed Peter to the dining room. She knew exactly how Greta’s mind worked and was grateful.

With the rose dishes packed into the crate and the Blue Willow gracing the dining room hutch, Peter and Catharine stood back to admire their work. “It’s so beautiful, isn’t it? I don’t think I told you thank you.” Catharine scooted up to him and threw her arms around his neck. She touched her lips to his, lingering against his mouth until he pulled her tightly against him, kissing her with all the passion he’d been holding back the last few weeks.

She pulled away, teasing him with a soft laugh. “My goodness, Mr. Andersen . . . I can barely breathe.”

“You can’t stop love, and I love you, Mrs. Andersen.” His eyes traveled to her throat, where her pulse beat rapidly. He stroked her arms, then pulled her against him again.

“Ahh . . . I love you too!” She led him toward the stairs, untying her apron and letting the ties trail behind her provocatively. She paused on the first step to remove the apron and laid it across the handrail, then grabbed his hand.

Peter looked thrilled at her open playfulness and followed her up the staircase. Halfway to the top, they paused to embrace again, and she laid her head on his shoulder as they continued up to the landing. Right before reaching their bedroom, Catharine paused in front of the attic door.

“Come with me,” she said, turning the knob.

“What?” He regarded her with a confused look.

Catharine crooked a finger, motioning for him to follow her up the dusty steps. Once in the attic, Catharine stopped and knelt down to remove the heavy cloth covering Peter’s baby cradle. “Would you carry this down to our room, please?”

“Well . . . er . . . sure. Are you planning on decorating our room with it? It’s really dirty and old.” Peter scratched his chin.

Catharine knew he didn’t have a clue. She stepped around the cradle and lifted his hand to her lips and kissed it. “Peter, how does the name Willow sound if we have a little girl?” Her heart pounded in her chest as she waited for his answer.

“Willow . . . a little girl?” A look of incredible delight lit up Peter’s face, which then softened with tenderness. “Do you mean that you—?”

Catharine nodded, barely able to breathe, tears welling up in her eyes. Peter lifted her, swinging her around wildly until they were breathless in the narrow space of the attic. Their eyes locked and held with their own special caress.

“Willow, huh? I like it. I like it a whole lot, my love.”