Robin (31 page)

              Robin took a deep breath and willed Wren to take one, too. “No, I don’t know what he did, but I’m sure you would like to tell me. But, Wren, he’s right. I’
m
no
t
his boss. He answers to Ty Morgan or Rusty or Uncle John.”

              “All men, and what do they know about cleaning a house?”

              “You expected him to clean house at the Feather? It shouldn’t have taken much work, Wren. Except for a few dishes in the sink the day we came for the celebration, I left it clean and tidy. There hasn’t been anyone there except, perhaps, Uncle John."

             
“
Hump
h
. You think Uncle John picks up after himself? There were dirty socks by his chair in the living room. Dirty socks in his bedroom and two pair under the kitchen table.”

              Robin giggled. “That’s all? Dirty socks? So what did you do, or say, to Sam Mason to get you in such a dither?”

              “I’m not in a dither. Mr. Mason is the one who got all steamed up, then he laughed at me when I”—she leaned to whisper—“fell on my bottom.”

              Robin put her hand to her mouth. This was not a good time to be amused, at least for Wren to see. “You fell? How? Did he trip you? Why are you so upset with Sam?”

              “He let go of the sock.”

              Robin chewed on her lower lip—hard. She might not be able to squelch this giggle. “And were yo
u
i
n
this sock? I’m afraid you’ve lost me.”

              Wren stood, hands on hips. “Lark went upstairs to check the bedrooms for clean bedding, and Sam just stood there doing nothing, and I asked him why couldn’t he help instead of gawking, and he said he wasn’t gawking, but he didn’t know what to do, and I told him to look around, there was surely something he could find that needed picked up or put away.” She huffed before taking a deep breath.

              Robin held up a hand. “Slow down. Speak one sentence at a time, Wren. I’m listening, and I’m a captive audience. So you asked him to look for something to do? Did he?”

              “He was disgusting. He picked up one of Uncle John’s dirty socks and held it away from him as far as his arm would reach with one hand, and pinched his nose shut with the other, and he was smiling. I could see him smile. ‘Here,’ he said, ‘is this what you wanted me to do?’”

              “And?” There must be more to this story.

              “And I told him he needn’t be so smarty, and I grabbed to take the sock from him, only he wouldn’t let go, so I pulled harder, and he gave a yank, then let go and I . . . I fell on my bottom. And he laughed. He makes me so mad.” Wren fell to her knees, laid her head in Robin’s lap, and sobbed.

              Robin stroked her sister’s hair. “I think you’re more embarrassed than angry, Wren. And no doubt you’ve held in a whole lot of tears since your arrival. You go ahead and cry. I’ll ask Emma about the socks. I’m wondering if Uncle John’s changed clothes at all.”

              Emma stepped into the room with an armload of folded laundry. “Well . . . Oh, I’m sorry to intrude. Is this a private conversation?”

              “No, Wren and Sam just had a little tussle. But Wren said John has dirty socks strung throughout his house. Do you think he’s even changed clothes since I was hurt?”

              Emma placed the stack of laundry on the bed. “I’ll put this away later.” She sat on the edge of the bed. “John has changed his clothes. I’ve made sure of that. I’ve done laundry here, and Sam Mason has helped, if you can believe that—”

              “I can’t believe it.” Wren’s muffled voice interrupted.

              “Wren, let her finish.”

              “I was going to say that John has gone home on occasion when you were still not with us.”

              Robin giggled. “So you think he just went home to change socks?”

              Emma shook her head. “No, no. That dear man has been nearly out of his mind with worry for you, Robin. You have to remember he’s been alone for a long time. I don’t think he ever thought he’d love you like he does. I suspect each pile of socks represents a place he sat and prayed. Don’t ask me why I think he took his socks off to do it.” She grinned. “Now, tell me about this tussle between Sam and Wren.”

              Robin relayed the story, grateful Wren couldn’t observe Emma’s face. “I think it might be a good idea for Wren to help you with dishes tonight. Perhaps she could dry them for you.”

              Emma nodded in understanding. “I would like that very much.” She stood and patted Wren’s back. “In fact, dearie, if you think you’ve had your cry, I could use your help right now.”

              Wren stood and wiped her eyes with the hem of her skirt. “Mama would fuss at me for doing this, wouldn’t she?”

              “Not for crying, Wren, but sh
e
woul
d
admonish you to use your handkerchief, and she would insist you carry a lace-edged one.”

              Wren giggled. “I stuffed that one up Uncle John’s nose the first day we came. I don’t know what became of it, but I don’t think I want it back. I do have another one.” She reached into her pocket and retrieved her handkerchief and an envelope. “Oh, Robin. I forgot to give you this.” She handed her a letter. “I hope you’re not mad at me. Henrietta Harvey gave it to me before she left that day she brought us here. She said I should keep it until you were well enough to read it. You are well enough, aren’t you?”

              “I suppose that depends . . . Who’s it from?” Robin sniffed the envelope. Lilacs. Why would Anna Blair be sending her a letter?

              “Wren, why don’t you and me go down and see if we can get something rounded up for supper. That will give Robin a little privacy to read her letter. You can come back up for a while this evening.”

              Robin turned in her chair to take advantage of more light from the window. Her heart tripped. Ty said she’d broken their engagement. What possible reason would she have to write to her––and have it hand-delivered? She slipped her finger under the wax seal.

Dear Robin: I simply do not have the words to sufficiently express my deepest regret for the way I treated you these past weeks. I have no right to expect it, but from the bottom of my heart I ask your forgiveness.

At a time when you needed a friend, I behaved as though you were my enemy. You were not, Robin. I am my own worst foe. I was jealous and deceitful. And I knew from the first encounter that you would one day emerge the victor in a battle you never chose and a war you didn’t know had been declared.

I don’t know what will become of you and William, but you need to know that Ty Morgan loves you. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. I’ve watched him since that first Sunday in church. And the day you were injured, I knew without a doubt that his heart belonged wholly and completely to you. And I believe you love him, too, dear girl.

I have visited with Ty, and he has graciously forgiven me for the charade and torment I put him through. He is an honorable man. He deserves someone like you, and I pray you will give him an opportunity to prove his love for you.

This is not the way I would have chosen to speak these words. However, Doc Mercer would not give me permission to visit with you, and by the time you are well enough to read this on your own, Mother and I will be on our way to Pennsylvania. I’ve asked your sister Wren to determine the best time to give you this letter.

Get well, dear Robin. Ty and that little boy need you. My prayer is that you will become the mistress of the Hawk. Ty’s mother would have loved you. I hope we might one day become friends.

Sincerely, Anna Kathryn Blair

THIRTY-SEVEN

            
 
Robin stood in the middle of the bedroom at Ty Morgan’s ranch. As eager as she was to return to the Feather, how she would miss these cheery sunshine yellow walls where she’d been nestled since her injury three weeks ago. Time played tricks with her, but within these walls she’d experienced such comfort and healing––and a newfound relationship with the Lord. And did she dare hope—the love of Ty Morgan himself?

              “Robin?” Lark’s face revealed frustration. “I . . . could you help me fasten this string of pearls? I don’t even know how.”

              Robin stepped behind her sister to close the clasp on the string of pearls Emma had insisted on loaning her. She caught her sister’s gaze in the mirror. “You look lovely. I’m glad you consented to Emma’s offer of a new dress. The soft green looks beautiful with your red hair.” She leaned and kissed the top of Lark’s head.

              Lark smoothed the hair away from her temples. “I don’t know, Robin. My hair feels as though it will fall in my face, and I’ve never worn jewelry, you know.”

              “I do know, and that’s why I’m insisting you wear it tonight. And your hair is very attractive. Wren did a fine job of arranging it. It just feels loose because you’re so used to pulling it back so tight. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look this happy. Could Albert Harvey have an influence?”

              Lark turned and grasped Robin’s hands. “Albert told me my voice was as beautiful as my face. Can you believe that? Robin, no one—other than Professor Lucas—ha
s
eve
r
called me beautiful. Not even Papa.

              “Professor Lucas called you beautiful?” Robin frowned. This was not the time to voice her concerns in regard to that little bit of news. She was up and around, feeling like her old self again. Lark and Albert were giving a musicale, and Ty had invited the neighbors far and wide to celebrate.

              “Professor Lucas says nice things to all his students, Robin. I only mentioned it because sometimes I pretend he meant it special for me.” She blushed. “Silly of me, isn’t it?”

              “If Albert told you something so sweet, then believe him. Albert is not a man of words he doesn’t mean.”

              Lark laced her fingers together. “It was sweet of him, but I shan’t make more of it than it can ever be.”

              Robin bent to check her own hair in the mirror. “Why can’t it be more, Lark? Don’t you like him even a little bit?”

              Lark stood. “Here, sister”––she patted the back of the small chair in front of the dressing table––“you need to sit a spell before descending the steps.”

              Robin seated herself. “Nonsense. I’ve been up and down these steps countless number of times this past week. But I’ll sit to please you. Now, sister, you are ignoring my question.”

              “I do like him, Robin. He is every inch a gentleman. But please try to understand what I’m going to tell you. This isn’t the best time, but I’m not sure there would be a good time.”

              Robin pivoted in the chair. “That sounds so gloomy, Lark.”

              “It isn’t so bad. I just don’t want you, or Albert––and especially not Mrs. Harvey––to get false hope of my returning to Kansas anytime soon. I . . . I don’t want to leave Chicago.”

              “Lark? Of course you’re coming to Kansas. We made a promise to Uncle John. Papa would be ashamed if we were to ever break our word. And . . . and what else would you do?”

              Lark pulled at the lace on her cuffs. “I can stay in Chicago and teach.”

              “You can teach out here, Lark. I’m sure you would find families who would love for their young daughters to have an opportunity to have music lessons.”

              “How many families do you know? Two? Five? That would not earn my living and you know it.”

              Robin stood and put her arms around Lark. “Perhaps making your own living won’t be a concern. Albert seems interested.”

              Lark wiggled loose from her embrace. “Don’t tease, Robin. It’s not like you to poke fun.”

              “I am not teasing, nor poking fun. But you must promise you will give this more thought. We can’t decide tonight.”

              “I know. I didn’t intend to even broach the subject until closer to my leaving.
I
wil
l
give it more thought. But please don’t pressure me, nor say anything more about Albert.”

              Hearing voices downstairs, Robin linked her arm in Lark’s. “No pressure. Now, I think we have guests to greet.” She stopped her sister before they reached the bottom step. “I want you to know how very proud I am of you, Lark. I never had a formal ‘coming-out’ party, you know. Mama wouldn’t allow it since I wouldn’t be able to dance. Thank you for making my ‘coming-down’ party so very special.”

###

Ty slipped his arm around Robin’s waist as they walked into the night. “I have permission from both Doc Mercer and Emma—you may accompany me on a stroll, my lady.”

              “Ah, but you’ve not aske
d
m
y
permission.” Robin smiled up at him.

              “You’re right, I haven’t.” He turned to her with mock gravity. “Miss Wenghold, might I have the distinct pleasure of accompanying you on a stroll around my barnyard?” The dimple perched on the corner of her mouth gave him confidence to continue. “We shall observe, by the light of the moon, the cow, the horse, and the . . . and you, of course.” He dared to smooth the tiny wrinkle that settled on her forehead then let his finger brush the corner of her mouth. “Do you know that from that very first night I saw you, that little dimple has haunted me? I’ve wished I could somehow put it in my pocket for safekeeping."

              Robin lowered her eyes. “And what would you have done with it then, Mr. Morgan?”

              He gazed into her eyes. “All those days, when we didn’t know if you would make it through this injury, I would have done this . . .” He cupped her face in his hands and traced the corner of her mouth with his thumb. “I’d have put it back on, and then”––he brushed his lips across the dimple––“I would have sealed it to stay forever, just like that.” What was he thinking? She’d done nothing to invite such behavior, and he’d just taken advantage of her need to stay close to him so she wouldn’t fall. Yet, she’d not pushed him away. And even now, she stepped closer and laid her head against his chest.

              “I’ve asked Doc Mercer if I might go back to the Feather, and he’s given his permission. Wren wants to go over again tomorrow and make sure things are still in order, then Uncle John will take me home the next day. Jacob will accompany us.”

              “But . . .”

              She lifted her head and put her fingers across his lips. “Shh. Please don’t say anything more, Ty. Tonight has been more than I ever dreamed. My sisters are here. Lark was brave enough to sing. So many people I didn’t know telling me they’ve prayed I’d recover. And now . . . this moonlight stroll. Don’t spoil it with words you might come to regret later. Remember?”

              “Robin . . . please.”

              “I’m quite tired. I think I best start back. I’m surprised Doc hasn’t come looking for us.”

              He put his arm around her waist as they followed the path back to the house. He’d told Doc to leave them alone. He’d told Emma, too, and persuaded Sam to take Jacob to the bunkhouse for the night. This wasn’t the way the evening was supposed to end.

###

Robin undressed and climbed into bed with only the light of the moon streaming through her window. The house had been eerily quiet when she and Ty returned, and he waited at the bottom of the stairs for her to say she’d reached the top safely before saying good night. She had stood in the dark hallway, and it seemed forever before the soft click of the door told her he had gone.

              She turned onto her back and put her hands behind her head. Should she have stopped Ty from speaking? He had declared his love—at least that’s what Emma called it—but that seemed ever so long ago. What if he was going to say he spoke too soon, or that he’d only offered marriage to keep William at bay, but now he could see it would never work?

              Something pinged against her window—or had she imagined that, too? Her pulse raced. Another ping, this time unmistakable. She slipped out of bed, opened the window, and knelt in front of it. Ty stood, bathed in moonlight, under the tree that provided shade for her room during the heat of day. “What are you doing? Is something wrong with Jacob?” If she didn’t keep her voice down, everyone in the house would be awake.

              “You didn’t answer me.” He moved away from the tree and widened his stance.

              “I didn’t answer you? What was the question?” She’d stick her head out a bit more, but she hadn’t bothered to grab her wrapper.

              “No question. I said good night, and you didn’t answer.”

              “This is crazy, Ty. Good night.”

              “No wait. I . . . I’m not done.”

              “Ty, please . . .”

              “Don’t leave, Robin. Promise you won’t leave until we can talk again. But I have to go to town tomorrow. I need you to promise you’ll be here when I return. Please.”

              “I told you. Uncle John will take me the day after tomorrow. Now, may I go to bed?” Would he detect the smile in her voice?

              “Robin? Wait.”

            
 
Okay, let see how serious you are, Mr. Morgan
.
“Ty, unless you sing to me, I’m going to bed and that’s where you need to head yourself.”

            
 
“You think I can’t, Miss Wenghold?”

              In the moonlight his teeth shone even and white
.
Why am I noticing his teeth? Robin, have you lost all decorum? You’re in your nightclothes, hollering down at a man, chancing the entire household hearing, and you notice his teeth?

            
 
“I don’t doubt your ability, Mr. Morgan, only your nerve to do such a thing.”

              Ty clasped his hands to his chest and stepped forward. “‘Believe me, if all those endearing young charms, which I gaze on so fondly today . . .’”

            
 
Robin grabbed the curtain and wrapped herself as best she could. The room was dark. Could he reall
y
gaze fondl
y
?

            
 
“‘. . . Were to change by tomorrow and fleet in my arms like fairy wings fading away. Thou would still be adored . . .’
”
He opened his arms and raised his hands toward her. “‘. . . As this moment thou art . . .’”

            
 
She couldn’t let him continue. The richness of his voice tingled down her back, seeped through her body, and tied a knot in her stomach. She wrapped the curtain tighter. Surely he must be able to tell even from down there that her face was burning.

              “All right,” she said, trying to keep her voice low. “Good night.”

              “I’ll go only if you promise to meet me tomorrow under the big cottonwood tree in the back. There’s a bench for you. Wait for me. Please.”

              Robin reached above her head and pulled the window shut. Why did he have to ruin it? She’d been sitting on that bench when Anna Blair confronted her. So much had happened since then. But couldn’t he have picked a different place? She’d not promised. Dare she peek to see if he were still there?

              She peeked. He was still there, his long frame propped against the trunk of the tree. He wiggled his fingers at her, and she ducked below the sill.

            
 
Uncle John’s jumpin’ bullfrogs, I’ve been caught.

###

            
 
“Lark?” Robin approached the big cottonwood tree. “I wondered where you were. You didn’t answer when I called.” She lowered herself to the bench beside her sister.

              Lark shrugged. “I thought if I came out here for a while I might be able to see what it is that endears this Kansas prairie to you so.”

              “I’ve asked myself that a good number of times. I’m not sure I can give you an answer. Not one you would understand, anyway.”

              “Does it ever just . . . stop? Look. As far as you can see it moves, in ripples, in waves. It never quits. The heat. The dirt swirls down the lane twisting and turning, you don’t know which way to move to escape its wrath. And that buzzing noise undulates in my ears day and night to where I can’t tell if it’s my pulse pounding or those ugly green insects. Even at night the noises don’t stop, and the heat doesn’t relent.” She covered her face with her hands.

              Robin slipped her arm around her sister’s shoulder. “Lark? Remember when Mama and Papa took us to Lake Michigan?”