The Anonymous Bride (8 page)

“My pleasure.” Rachel waved good-bye to her friend and waited on the porch for the busybody train to arrive. Visiting with Agatha and Aunt Beebee, as Bertha was better known, was always an experience, but she needed to get supper started for her guests soon. She’d have to make the visit with the two older women short, if that was possible.

“H’lo, dearie.” Aunt Beebee waved her plump arm in the air as if she was at a hallelujah service. In her other hand, she balanced a pie. As she waved, the pie leaned precariously to the left. Rachel held her breath, but Beebee righted it before it could take a tumble.

Agatha smiled, looking embarrassed by her sister’s outgoing display. Where Beebee was wide, Aggie was thin. Beebee was vibrant and gregarious, while her sister was prim, soft spoken, and proper. After losing both their husbands within a short time period, the two older women had sold their neighboring ranches and taken up living in town, much to the chagrin of the townsfolk.

“Good afternoon.” Rachel smiled and held the door open to allow the two women to enter.

Beebee plopped the pie into Rachel’s free hand. “That there’s my prize shoofly pie.” She leaned toward Rachel. “Made with our grandma’s secret ingredient.”

“Why, thank you.” Rachel lifted the pie to smell it, wondering what it would cost her. Beebee always expected information in exchange for her treats, and Rachel doubted today would be any different.

Everyone in town knew Aunt Beebee’s secret ingredient was rum, though folks never let on they knew. Rachel would love to eat pie other than her own, but she didn’t partake of alcohol in any form. Her boarders would probably enjoy it though.

“Goodness me. Today must be the day to go visiting.” Beebee huffed past Rachel into the house, bringing with her an overpowering scent of perfume. “I just saw the doctor’s wife take her leave. Too bad she couldn’t stay a bit longer.”

Rachel nodded at Agatha as she came in. “Martha said she needed to get her husband’s supper started. I must confess that I will need to do the same soon.”

“No problem a’tall.” Beebee barreled her way into the parlor, bumping the end table and rattling Rachel’s hurricane lamp. “We only came for a short visit.”

The hair on Rachel’s neck stood on end. When Beebee and Aggie’s visits were short—and they rarely were—it meant they came with a specific purpose in mind. What could they want?

Beebee backed toward the settee and dropped down. The couch creaked and groaned from her near three hundred pounds. Rachel swallowed, hoping the antique that had belonged to James’s grandmother could withstand the torture it was enduring. Beebee lifted her skirt a few inches off the floor and fanned it. “Whew! It’s mighty warm for April.”

Rachel glanced at Aggie, whose eyes widened at her sister’s unconventional behavior. Aggie ducked her head, cheeks flaming, and stared into her lap. Sometimes Rachel wondered if the women had been adopted or had different mothers. No two sisters could be any more different.

“I’d have been here sooner but have been laid up with a sore foot. It’s downright impossible to find decent shoes in this town.” Beebee patted her large hairdo that resembled a hornet’s nest. “I just had to come over and see how you were getting along now that Luke Davis is back in town. Seems he’s been spending plenty of time with your daughter. And poor Rand Kessler. Whatever must he be thinking?”

Rachel’s heart somersaulted. She’d known Beebee had had an agenda for visiting, but she hadn’t considered it might be Luke. She set the pie on the parlor table and took a seat.

Aggie shook her head. “I told her to leave be, but she wouldn’t listen.”

Beebee frowned at her sister, and Aggie ducked her head again, fingering the fold of her matronly gray skirt. Beebee turned her gaze back toward Rachel and rested her plump hands on her skirt, the colors of a field of wildflowers.

Rachel swallowed hard, knowing whatever she said to Aunt Beebee would get around town quicker than a raging fire.

“It must be hard on you to have Luke back, I mean with you having to cook and clean for the man, what with him not even being your own husband.” Beebee shook her head and swung her gaze toward her sister. “Don’t you think that would be difficult, Agatha—to have the man you once thought you’d marry but didn’t back in town and having to care for him? Why, James is probably rolling in his grave, bless his heart.”

Aggie’s gray eyes went wide. She reached up and pulled the collar of the stark white blouse away from her throat.

“Now that James is gone, surely you and Luke are gonna get back together. For the child’s sake. That little scamp certainly needs a father, and I never thought that Kessler fellow was right for you.”

“Bertha, that’s none of your business.” Aggie fanned her face with her hand. “And Rand Kessler is a fine gentleman.”

Rachel jumped to her feet. “Oh, forgive me. I forgot to ask if you’d like some tea.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” Beebee glowered at her sister and reached for the teapot still on the table beside the settee. She pulled off the lid and peered in.

“I could heat it up if you’d like.” Rachel wanted to suck back the words as soon as she said them. Heating the water would take time and cause the ladies to stay longer.

“No need. As hot as it is, cool tea will be refreshing,” Beebee said.

Rachel grabbed the pie Beebee had brought and hurried to the kitchen for extra cups. She glanced around, knowing all she needed to do, and breathed a prayer for patience. Back in the parlor, she filled a cup and handed it to Beebee.

Rachel offered another cup to Aggie, but she shook her head. “Thank you, but I just had some tea a short while ago.”

Beebee drank nearly the whole cup, set it down, and reached for a cookie from the platter on the table. She lifted her brow at Rachel. “Well...”

Rachel didn’t know what to say that Beebee couldn’t construe the wrong way. She rubbed her thumb back and forth on the cording of her seat cushion. “Luke and I merely have a business arrangement. As a benefit of his job as marshal, I cook for him and any prisoners he has and clean the Sunday house, and I receive some additional income for doing so. There is nothing personal about it.”

Aunt Beebee snagged the final cookie, looking less than convinced. She waved a beefy hand in the air, scattering crumbs. “All of us who were in Lookout back then know that you two young folks were as tight as a tick on a hound dog. Now that that worthless James is gone, there’s nothing to keep you from marrying Luke.”

Rachel and Agatha gasped in unison.

“Bertha, that’s hardly any concern of yours,” Agatha protested.

“It’s nobody’s concern.” Rachel grasped the edge of her chair as if she were on a runaway wagon. “All that is in the past. I’m a widow with a daughter now.”

Beebee’s thick lips turned up. “That Luke Davis is a handsome man—and unmarried. If you don’t snatch him up soon, someone else will, mind my words.”

Agatha lurched to her feet. “Uh ... thank you for your hospitality, but I’m afraid we must be going. Come along, Bertha.”

“But I’m not done visiting yet.” Taking up her cup, she sipped her tea and gave her sister a pinched look.

Rachel forced herself to stand. “I’m afraid I must head to the kitchen now, or I won’t have supper ready on time for my guests.”

“Well, if you insist.” On the third attempt, Beebee managed to stand.

“Please come again sometime.” The words nearly scalded Rachel’s throat as she uttered them, but she refused to be inhospitable, even if her guests made her uncomfortable. “Maybe around two,” she said, hoping the older ladies would be napping then. “That will give us more time.”

Beebee nodded, making the rolls on her three chins jiggle like a turkey’s wattle. “We’ll just do that. Come along, Agatha. We best be getting out of Rachel’s way so she can get her cooking done. Do enjoy the pie, Rachel, and have that girl of yours bring the plate back when you’re done with it. Mind that she doesn’t break it.”

“Thank you,” Rachel mumbled.

As Beebee lumbered out the front door, Aggie stopped beside Rachel. “I’m terribly sorry. She means well.”

Rachel nodded and stood in the open doorway, watching the two women make their way down the street. The bank president had the misfortune to step outside the bank just as the ladies approached.

“Well, how do there, Mr. Castleby.” Bertha was so close the banker took a step back.

Rachel held tight to the doorjamb. Had she kept her expression clear enough when Beebee had talked about Luke and her marrying? Would everyone in town expect Luke and her to get married? What would Rand think if he heard such talk?

She thought of Luke’s cold expression the first few times she’d run into him and shook her head. Luke Davis no longer had designs on her. She was the last person he would consider marrying.

CHAPTER 9

The Bennett Farm near Carthage, Missouri

Leah Bennett dumped the last of the dishwater out the kitchen door and rubbed her lower back. Only nineteen, and she felt done in already. Shaking her head, she turned back into the kitchen to see what else needed cleaning before she could start working on the huge mending pile that never seemed to have an end. Mabel and Molly, her fifteen-year-old twin sisters, dried the last of the supper dishes with their heads together, giggling and talking about which of the town’s boys they hoped to see at church on Sunday. The twins were the closest sisters to Leah in age, but they’d never needed her companionship.

“You two hurry up. The laundry needs to be taken down from the line and folded.”

“But we wanted to walk out to the fields and see Pa.” Molly drew out her words in a whine that made Leah want to cover her ears.

Leah shoved one hand to her hip. “Pa doesn’t need you gettin’ in his way.”

“You’re bossier than Ma.” Molly stuck out her tongue while Mabel looked down, quietly drying the plate in her hand.

Leah turned away, not wanting her sister to see that her pointed words had hit their target. She never wanted to be the boss, but with so many children in the family and her being the oldest, she had to take over whenever Ma was tending to young’uns or something else that constantly demanded her attention.

Ten-year-old Sally shuffled in from the eating room, carrying a bowl of water and a wet rag. She placed it in the dry sink that Leah had just emptied. “The tables and chairs have all been washed down and straightened, and Ida finished sweeping the floor. Can we go out and play now?”

Leah shook her head. “Go weed the carrots first.”

Sally scrunched up her face and leaned against the doorjamb. “Do we hav’ta? All we ever do is work.”

Leah adopted the pose she’d frequently seen her mother use with one hand on her hip and her index finger wagging and echoed her words. “With eleven children in this family, there’s always something that needs doing.”

Sally stuck out her lip, and eight-year-old Ida sidled up beside her, bearing the same expression. “Andy says you’re too bossy for your britches, and I agree.” Sally hiked up her chin.

Leah sighed. Was a little respect too much to hope for? “I don’t wear britches, young lady. You two get outside and weed the carrots. When that’s done, you can play until dark.”

The girls locked arms and marched out the back door, still frowning. Why couldn’t they mind her like they did their mother? Because she wasn’t their ma, and she hoped she never was one. Having children just meant extra work—and heartache if something happened to them. Nope, she never wanted to be a mother.

As long as she could remember, her ma was either pregnant or nursing and sometimes both. Not even forty yet, Alice Bennett looked closer to sixty. Leah washed out the bowl Sally had used and set it in the rinse bucket. Ma had probably finished tucking the youngest of her brood into bed already, but she hadn’t come back downstairs. She’d most likely fallen asleep during the children’s prayers.

Leah checked the bread rising for tomorrow. She punched down the first bowl of dough and then the second one, sending a yeasty odor into the room that reminded her grumbling stomach that she was still hungry. With so many mouths to feed, she never seemed to get enough to eat. Kneading dough always helped relieve her frustrations. She placed the frayed towel back over the bread and fingered a corner. Just one more thing that needed mending.

In the parlor, she sorted through the pile of clothing and picked out everything that needed to be repaired with blue thread. She grabbed the sewing kit and went outside to sit in her favorite rocker—the only one that didn’t creak.

In the field next to the barn, Allan and Andy, her younger brothers, led the two cows toward the barn where they’d be fed and milked. There was plenty of work on a farm the size of the Bennetts’, but there was a soothing rhythm to it. She selected a baby gown and found the place where her youngest brother, still a crawler, had snagged it on a loose floorboard. She cut a tiny patch from some scrap material and quickly stitched it over the tear.

Giggling preceded Mabel and Molly a short while later as they bounced out the front door and flopped down on the steps. “Tell her.” Molly nudged her twin.

“Tell me what?” Leah folded the mended gown and laid it in the rocker next to her. She picked up a colonial blue shirt with loose buttons that belonged to three-year-old Micah. In the fields past the barn, she saw her father walking behind the huge draft horses, plowing.