Serendipity (17 page)

“You are still breathless.”

She stopped his fingers from loosening her ties. “Embarrassed,”

she corrected. “If you ease those any more, it’ll fall off and I’ll perish of mortification.”

He kept his arms about her and squeezed. “You are my wife.” The pronouncement sounded as if it carried an entire list of reasons to counteract her emotions. Todd didn’t give a single one. Instead, he nuzzled her hair. “Rearranging the furniture is a priority, and we will do so later today. To have our bed.”

Our bed.
That was supposed to calm her? Maggie pushed away. “We have other things to accomplish. Important things. I told you, once I broke free from my affliction I’d make you breakfast.”

With an audacious wink, he corrected, “You didn’t break free from your affliction. I rescued you.”

“So does that mean you’ll cook breakfast?”

“Not even the doctor could rescue us from such a result.” His eyes twinkled. “Hmm. Breakfast before all else. I am happy with you just as you are, but do you not want your skirt?”

Heat filled her face. “You bawdy rascal!” She grabbed the garment and got mad at herself for having looked him in the eye after she’d just promised herself not to for at least a week. Sparkling blue those eyes were, and crinkled at the corners. If that didn’t prove how right she was about him being a rascal, the unrepentant grin he continued to wear testified how he’d proudly misbehave just to keep her off balance.

Why, oh why couldn’t this cabin at least have a screen for her to hide behind? Her hands shook as she donned her skirt and apron. There. Now she could face the day.

“I’ll show you the windmill and where the outhouse is.”

“Thank you.” No indoor pump? She didn’t bring an extra pump, but wondered if someone in the area had one she could trade for.

“The buckets you brought – they will be useful.”

She nodded. Out they went, each carrying buckets. It would be days before she’d get this place whipped into shape. For now, though, Maggie determined to start in with a good attitude. If she strained to be extra observant, she’d pay her husband five compliments by the day’s end. She hurried to keep up with his long stride. “That’s a clever setup you have with the water trough fed from that pipe so the beasts don’t get close to the household supply.”

Nodding, he started filling a bucket.

“You’re a tall man. I’ll need a crate to stand on to reach the diversion.”

“As soon as I have an empty one. Lumber is very expensive here. I use the wood from crates.”

It took mere moments to fill all four buckets. “Water looks nice and clear.” Regardless of the cold, Maggie cupped her hand, dipped it in, and took a sip from her palm. “Mmm. Just a tad sweet, too.”

While she dried her hand on the hem of her apron, she turned and felt her jaw drop. “What is that hairy wall?”

Todd laughed. “It is grass, not hair. When I broke ground, I constructed the sod wall. It gave shade and acted like a windbreak until I could build the barn.”

He lifted all four buckets and jutted his chin off to the side. “Outhouse is behind the house, near the cottonwood.”

The closer she drew, the more grateful she felt. Her husband had overlapped crate slats to construct a clapboard-styled outhouse! Here was one thing on the place she didn’t need to fix up. Except . . . It couldn’t be. She reached out, testing with her fingers so the vile vision would dissipate, but it didn’t. In the space where a door should have been, a frayed and tattered section of wool blanket hung limply from the top beam.

After slipping behind that dusty blanket, Maggie mentally reviewed what she’d packed. Everything from andirons to window sashes, but not a single door. Not even a piece of wood that would serve as one. An empty nail hung on the wall. No. Surely there had to be an old catalog or magazine or something! He’d stranded her in a doorless necessary without the necessities!
Oh my word! He mentioned
the cottonwood. He actually expected me to use those leathery,
toothed leaves to . . .
Paper in her apron rustled. She slid her hand in and pulled out the recipe she’d gotten on the train. Her sigh ruffled the blanket-door. Todd had no one to blame but himself that he wouldn’t have his Wishes Come True.

Not wanting to awaken her mother-in-law if she still slept, Maggie peeked in the curtainless window. One look at the cabin set her mind awhirl with plans, but those plans came to a screeching halt the second she spied the stove. With room for only one pot at a time, cooking would be an either/or proposition: either she served hot food and cold coffee or cold food and hot coffee. No two ways around it: she needed to set a cook fire outside, too.

Since Ma still slept, Maggie dashed to the barn. Eggs, ham, and biscuits with a steaming cup of coffee – that ought to be a grand start for her man’s first day home. A search turned up only two measly eggs. Neither was any too fresh.

The trip didn’t take any time at all. But when Maggie opened the cabin door, Ma shrieked, “You left me! How could you be so cruel?”

While Maggie changed Ma’s linen, Ma kept a steady stream of rebukes, complaints, and criticisms flowing. No amount of soothing calmed her. Knowing embarrassment fueled the attack, Maggie forgave her but quickly escaped to start a fire outside.

With coffee perking over one side of the washpot and water heating on the other, she went back inside to make the biscuits. Cooking for three felt odd. Stingy, even. A glance at the tiny stove made her wince.
My heart ought to overflow with gratitude that I’m
only cooking for a few,
she reminded herself. The folding metal box which was to be set atop the stove to turn it into an oven couldn’t be found. Making do, she flipped a kettle upside down over the biscuits.

Nudging the table flush against the wall, she gained a little breathing room. “With one leaf up, Todd has his rightful place at the head of the table and we’ll sit side by side.” She patted Ma’s hand as she squeezed past her wheelchair. “Using a spoon or fork is the next step. Practicing when it’s just the two of us here will make it easy.”

“Easy? Nothing about this is easy.” Tears filled Ma’s eyes.

Though tempted to dab away the tears, Maggie tucked a handkerchief into Ma’s right hand. “Aye, that’s true. Learning new ways is hard work, and you’re a private sort of lady. My intent was to say we’re kin, so your heart can be at ease as you improve because it’s just me.”

While Ma gathered her poise, Maggie almost lost hers. Todd’s hideous dishes ruined her appetite. Gold rimmed the plates’ edges and ringed them again where the center began to slope upward. That inner ring measured at least half an inch – probably an attempt to corral all the fruit in the middle. Between the edge and inner gold ring, pansies fought marigolds for dominance. A gorgeous set of her great-grandma’s china – appropriately bearing graceful swags of roses – rested in a barrel out in the barn. Assured she’d only eat off these monstrosities for a single meal took the sting out of looking at the eye-crossing trio of place settings.

The door barely opened, and Ma said, “Breakfast isn’t ready yet.”

“Oh.” Todd sounded befuddled as well as disappointed.

Accustomed to hungry, impatient men, Maggie patted his arm. “If you’d be so kind as to fetch the coffee brewing outside, I’ll have your ham all fried up and ready.” Relocating the biscuit pan with the overturned kettle to the table, she freed up the stove.
Thank you,
Jesus, for ham. It fries up so fast.
Laughter bubbled out of her.

Thump.
A solid knock sounded as warning, and the door opened. Todd entered, sniffed, and grinned. “What makes you laugh?”

“I thanked Jesus for ham. Ham! Jesus is Jewish. Jews don’t eat pork. It never occurred to me how I’ve ardently asked Him to bless food He wouldn’t touch.”

“You have nothing better to think about?” Ma groused.

Todd sat down. “In the New Testament, some believers ate of the meat offered to idols. Others did not. Paul exhorted us to act according to our hearts but not to make a brother stumble. I gladly eat ham. God looks upon the heart and knows I am thankful.”

Maggie served her husband first – two thick slabs of ham and the pair of pitifully small eggs. While the ham for her and Ma sizzled, Maggie quickly poured coffee into all three cups. Why hadn’t Todd seen to that task? Uncle Bo always did when her hands were full. Just those fleeting memories brought pangs of homesickness.
Naturally I’ll miss my uncles, but I have to work on pleasing the man
who matters most to me now.

“Push me to the table, Son.” Maggie served up the food for Ma and herself.

Todd drew back Maggie’s chair, and she stepped in front of it only to miss the nudge of the seat against her legs as he scooted it back in. Baffled, she turned around. Her chair was gone! Todd had moved it sideways, to the spot farther from him.

“Breakfast is getting cold.” Ma wore her cat-that-ate-a-spider smirk.

Patting the other spot, Maggie forced a smile. “This place has the most room for your wheelchair. You’ll catch some nice heat from the stove here, too.”

“I’ll get as much heat at
my
place.”

Her place? A wife belonged at her husband’s side! Ma knew it, but she was trying to usurp her place as mistress of the home. Ready to confront the situation, Maggie’s chin went up – and then she saw the look in Todd’s eyes. She didn’t know him well enough to read the emotions there. Pain? Regret? Anger? A wife owed it to her husband to try to keep harmony in the home just as much as manage it. Did it matter if this is how things worked out right now? They could be different at dinner. Giving a little shrug, Maggie slipped to the side.

Todd asked a blessing, then ate with lightning speed. Ma complained that the biscuits were too dry on the bottom but dunking them in the coffee made them passable. Maggie chopped the ham into tiny bits for her.

“You made it into a baby’s food.”

“No, if it was for a baby, I’d put it through a grinder.”

“Hmm.” Todd agreed. At least Maggie assumed he’d agreed. His mouth full, he nodded once and reached for his coffee.

“Here. Have another biscuit. Oh! I forgot the jam!”

He perked up. “Yeah!”

Scooting her chair back a little, Maggie hit an obstacle. At a slight angle, Ma’s wheelchair managed to block her exit.
Another
reason why I should be sitting there
. A glance made it clear she couldn’t wiggle her chair free, nor could she lift her skirts and step over both her chair and the smaller rear wheel jutting from the back of Ma’s chair. Sinking back into her seat, Maggie started cutting her own ham. “Todd, I brought in two jars of jam – blackberry and plum. They’re in the poke at the foot of Ma’s bed.”

“The wife serves her husband!”

While his mother gave her opinion, Todd took the few steps to get the jam and returned. He grabbed another pair of biscuits, sat down, and attacked them.

Maggie started chewing her first bite of breakfast. Did Todd agree with his mother? But he couldn’t – or he’d have stayed in place. Hadn’t he seen how he’d trapped her? Or was he too busy eating?
His
mother as much as called me lazy. And he’s allowing her to.
Confusion and pain pulled at her.

“The only good thing about this meal,” Ma declared theatrically, “is that it’s on my beautiful china.”

Sitting through breakfast took every last shred of Helga’s reserves. While in the Ozarks, she had been a guest. For her to do nothing was understandable – expected, even. On the train, no one did anything. But this morning she couldn’t make excuses any longer. She was useless. The truth galled her.

From the moment moving to Texas came up, she’d looked forward to all that entailed. Instead of being a burden who needed to be shuffled around and told what to do, she’d be the lady of the house. Once again, she’d set the daily menu and make trips to the grocer, earning her own egg and butter money. Now that she knew more about fashion, she’d choose feed sacks with a more discriminating eye instead of just for what matched, so even her everyday dresses would be admired. As Arletta taught her, it wasn’t sufficient for a woman to simply blend in and be part of her community. She needed to stand out and be an example. Didn’t the woman of Proverbs 31 do just that? Ja, she did.

Upon awakening today, Helga had lain in bed and looked about the cabin. All of her hopes, plans, and dreams had crumbled. She wouldn’t be deciding between oatmeal or biscuits and gravy for breakfast. Gone was the vision of curtains on the window, the same violet shade of pansies . . . With her tacky ways, Todd’s bride would likely nail up a pair of mismatched sacks.

At least for now. But those kinds of things could be corrected. The list of lessons and admonishments she needed to give this girl grew. Magpie treated Todd like a servant instead of the man of the house! Helga knew her son couldn’t possibly have fallen in love. Oh, he was nice to a fault, but deep beneath that reserve he was just like his father. When he fell in love, there’d be no mistaking the fire in his heart.

“What God hath joined together, let no man put asunder.”
The line flashed through her mind. Only Helga knew deep in her heart God hadn’t intended this union. He paired like with like – and this was the most unlikely couple on the face of the earth. Since she couldn’t jerk them apart, Helga hoped she could coach Magpie into being a good farmwife. The task was staggering. Examples often helped; she’d keep a keen eye out for neighbors to use to illustrate points.