Читать книгу The Forever Man - Carolyn Davidson, Carolyn Davidson - Страница 11

“I surely didn’t expect you’d be making your bedroom in the attic.”

Johanna’s breath caught in her throat as the deep voice cut into her thoughts. Her skirts swirling around her legs, she did an abrupt about-face, turning to seek out the man who was watching her. He was head and shoulders above floor level, his feet planted firmly on the attic stairs, one arm resting on the wide planking of the attic floor.

“Don’t creep up on me that way!” Johanna’s hand was at her throat, and her words were breathless, almost a whisper.

“I’m sorry,” Tate said softly. “I thought you’d have heard me calling you from the back door.”

“I didn’t hear you come in,” she answered, her hands sliding with measured nonchalance into her pockets.

His eyes slid from her to sweep the perimeters of the large, cluttered room, resting finally on the bedroom furniture that occupied one wall.

“What are you doing up here, Johanna?” he prodded, his forehead creasing into a frown.

“Moving things,” she said abruptly.

She’d begun by shifting an old dresser, and then, snagged by bittersweet memories, she’d opened one of the drawers. The clothing inside was neatly folded, just as she’d left it ten years ago, still smelling faintly of her mother’s scented sachets. She’d lifted a soft, worn petticoat to her face and inhaled deeply, closing her eyes as they filled with unbidden tears, allowing the wistful thoughts to flood her being for just a moment.

Reluctantly she’d placed the garment back inside the drawer, her fingers lingering on the worn fabric as she set aside the remnants of her mother’s clothing. Wiping her eyes and blowing her nose ferociously, she’d gently closed the drawer.

And then Tate had interrupted her pondering with his blunt query, startling her into a rude reply. It was time to backtrack.

“I’m deciding about this bed.” She folded her arms about her waist, nodding toward the headboard she’d leaned against the dresser.

His eyes followed her direction. “What’s the problem? It looks to me like it’ll fit down that stairway just fine.”

A spark of defiance lit her eyes. “You don’t think the attic would be a proper bedroom for me?”

“I think I’d feel better about it if you slept downstairs with the rest of us.” His frown had somehow vanished as he spoke, a glimmer of amusement taking its place, crinkling the corners of his dark eyes.

“It’s just that it’s my mother’s sewing room I was thinking of using,” she answered obliquely, her hackles rising to meet his arbitrary reasoning.

He tilted his head, his smile gentle. “Your mother’s been gone a long time, Johanna. I doubt she’d want you to make a shrine out of her workroom.” He climbed the remaining stairs and walked toward her. “I’ll help you carry the headboard down if you’d like me to.”

“I know exactly how long my mother’s been dead, Mr. Montgomery. And if I want the bed taken down, I’ll do it myself, the same way I got it up here.” She’d stiffened at his approach, and now her head tilted back, allowing her gaze to clash with his.

He was stooped just a bit beneath the lowering eaves, a tall man, used to allowing for his height. Now he reached out to lay a warm hand on her shoulder, bending even closer, until she could see the shadows beneath his eyes. “You don’t have to move furniture while I’m here, Johanna. If I’m to be the man of the house, I’ll do the heavy work.”

She held her ground, aware of his bulk, the masculine weight of his hand against her more fragile bones. Flexing the muscles beneath that pressure, she shrugged, as if to rid herself of his touch. It wasn’t worth the fuss.

“Suit yourself,” she said, dropping her gaze from his, her mind retaining the memory of his eyes and the shadows they contained. Perhaps he hadn’t slept well out there in her barn. Maybe his nights, like hers, were occasionally prey to demons that stole sleep.

“Will you need help making room for us in the house today?” he asked, releasing her and reaching for the heavy wooden headboard. “The boys are anxious to see where they’ll be sleeping. I think they’ve lost their appetite for roughing it.”

“They’ll be usin’ my old bedroom. It has a big bed in it. I suppose they can bring in their belongings as soon as I empty my things from the dresser and the wardrobe.”

“They’re pretty easy young’ns,” he said with a trace of pride. “They’ll be happy most anywhere, long as there’s something softer than the ground to sleep on.”

Johanna stepped aside, watching him lift the headboard with ease, carrying it down the stairs as if it were no heavier than a length of two-by-four. She followed him, her steps light, her house shoes silent against the uncarpeted stairs.

“Which room am I headed for?” he asked over his shoulder, shifting his burden to accommodate the corner at the foot of the attic stairs.

“The end of the hallway, on the right,” she told him, closing the attic door behind herself as she followed him down the wide corridor. She scurried past him quickly, opening the door to her mother’s sewing room, making way for him to follow.

He halted in the doorway and whistled softly. “Not a whole lot of space, is there?”

A paisley shawl caught his eye, its folds draped gracefully over a sewing machine in one corner. The black iron treadle below was angled, as if a feminine foot had left it only moments ago.

A wardrobe filled another corner, its doors closed snugly. A small dresser was tight against the wall near the door, a daintily crocheted scarf centered on its surface. Beneath the window, a worktable lay empty, not so much as a pincushion remaining in view. Obviously Johanna had not made regular use of her mother’s room. Either that or she was the neatest woman he’d ever met.

A faint scent, perhaps that of rose petals, caught his attention, and for a moment he felt another presence, as if the woman who had been the possessor of this space lingered still. And then the notion vanished as Johanna moved across the floor, her gaze measuring the walls and floor space.

“I think there will be room enough once the worktable and sewing machine are taken upstairs.” She turned to him expectantly, as if she awaited his opinion.

“Whatever you think, Johanna.” He’d already decided to be as obliging as he could. The house was her domain. The lines would be drawn soon enough when it came to the running of the farm.

“I’ll move most everything upstairs.” She spoke softly, one hand brushing at a speck of dust on the dresser. “This chest will be large enough for my things.”

“I’ll take care of the heavy stuff. Where do you want the bed to go?”

She started abruptly. “Oh! Here, put it against the wall. We’ll have to move the sewing machine and the worktable out first, won’t we?” Her fingers lingered on the surface of the dresser as she spoke. “I’ll empty out these drawers after a while.”

Tate leaned the heavy headboard against the wall and straightened. “Tell me how this table comes apart. I’ll carry it upstairs and bring down the rest of the bed.”

Johanna watched as he put one knee to the floor, leaning to peer beneath the table where long bolts held the legs in place. “My father built it for her,” she told him, moving to his side and crouching next to him. “He made it just like the one her mother had, back in the city. Shall I get the tools from the kitchen for you to use?”

He’d shifted to both knees, his hands already busy with the heavy nuts holding the bolts in place. “Your pa did a good job, I’d say. These things are tighter than an old-”

Johanna’s eyebrows lifted as he paused. “An old maid’s pucker?” she asked.

He ducked his head, backing out from beneath the table, a grin twisting his mouth. “Yeah, that’s what I was about to say. Then thought better of it.”

“I am an old maid, Mr. Montgomery. And not ashamed of it.”

“But not for long, Miss Patterson,” he reminded her, his grin fading as he took note of her somber expression. His jaw tightened as he recognized the faint uneasiness she sought to hide. Her hands were buried in the folds of her apron, her fingers no doubt clenched tight. Johanna Patterson was taking a big chance marrying a stranger, and it would behoove him to treat her with kid gloves, at least till the deed was done.

“If you’ll collect those tools for me, this won’t take long,” he said quietly. “I’ll be taking that ride into town as soon as I move these things for you. I’m sure the preacher’s looking for me to stop in to let him know what we’ve decided to do. It wouldn’t look right for me to be staying here without making our arrangement legal.” Rising, he reached one hand to where she crouched beside him, silently offering his assistance.

Deliberately, carefully, she placed her fingers across his, watching as he enclosed them in the warmth of his wide palm, then tugged her with gentle strength to stand before him.

“You haven’t had second thoughts, have you?” His grasp on her fingers had not lessened, and now he raised them to rest against his chest.

Her eyes widened at the gesture, her heartbeat quickening just a bit. Tate Montgomery was a tall man, a big man, standing head and shoulders over her. He could have been intimidating, had he chosen to do so, but the hand that held her own was gentle.

She shook her head. “No, no second thoughts. And yes, if we expect him to marry us tomorrow, I agree that you need to deliver a message to Reverend Hughes right away.” Her mouth twisted wryly. “I don’t want to have the town talking. Heaven knows we’ll be giving them enough to gossip about tomorrow as it is. I’m not sure they’d even approve wholeheartedly of your staying here last night.”

“Well, I don’t think my spending one more night in your barn will ruin you beyond redemption, ma’am. I suspect everyone in town knows I’m here, anyway.”

She winced. “Yes, you’re probably right. They’ll be looking you over in grand style come tomorrow morning, Mr. Montgomery. Not to mention whispering behind their hymnals when we march down the aisle before morning service.”

His hand exerted just the smallest amount of pressure on hers, his eyes assessing her quickly. Fine wisps of golden hair curled at her temple, a smudge of dust provided mute evidence of her foray into the attic, and her cheeks were brushed with a delicate rosy hue that gave away the conflicting emotions she was struggling with. “I’ll be with you, Johanna. The boys and I will march down that aisle with you, just like a real family.”

“I’m counting on that, Mr. Montgomery.” Her fingers wiggled a bit, and he freed them readily from their captivity.

“Last night I was Tate,” he reminded her. “What happened to turn me back into Mr. Montgomery?”

She turned to the door, resting her hand on the knob, hesitating at his query. “Nothing, I suppose. Tate it is. I’ll go and get the wrench from the kitchen for you.”

“I want to be in town by noon, Johanna. I’ll take the sewing machine upstairs now, and you can decide what else you want moved after you find the tools. If you call out for the boys, they’ll help you get the eggs and butter ready for me to take.”

“Yes, all right.” Her voice floated back to him from the wide stairway as she hurried down to the first floor, and he smiled at her words. He had a notion that Johanna Patterson wouldn’t always be so agreeable. In fact, if he had her pegged right, she’d be a worthy opponent for any man. No matter—he’d never backed off from a battle before. Settling down to a marriage with Johanna might very well be a real struggle, but it was one he was more than willing to wage. She’d make a good mother for Pete and Timmy. As for himself, he’d have the farm to run, and hot meals on the table and clean clothes to wear every day.

He turned to where the sewing machine stood. It would be awkward carrying it, but not more than he could handle. Kind of like the agreement he’d made with Johanna Patterson, he thought with amusement. He might find things a little awkward at times, but he’d warrant he could handle her. Matter of fact, sorting out Johanna Patterson might prove to be the most interesting part of the bargain.

* * *

“Blest be the tie that binds…” Voices soared around her as Johanna mouthed the words, her throat too dry to add sound. The hymnal she shared with the man next to her would have been impossible to read from, had she held it alone. Her hands were cold, her fingers trembling, and only Tate’s sure strength kept the book from tumbling to the floor.

“…our hearts in Christian love…” he sang, his voice a pleasant rumble in her ear. At least he could carry a tune, she thought. That was one thing she knew about him now. No, she knew he liked cream in his coffee and he had a heavy hand with the sugar spoon, if this morning’s meal was anything to go by. He’d eaten two bowls of oatmeal, laden with brown sugar and half a dozen biscuits, fresh from the oven, then been generous with his praise for her cooking.

His hand slid the songbook from her grasp, and she glanced up at him in surprise. The closing hymn was over, and he placed the book on the pew, then stepped a few inches closer to her. His pant leg brushed her skirt and his palm cupped her elbow as his head bent, the better for him to speak privately.

“You weren’t singing.”

Her breath caught, shivering in her chest, and she wished fervently—just for a moment—that she was at home, feeding the chickens or milking the cows or even carrying those dratted apples to the fruit cellar.

“Are you all right, Johanna?” The teasing note was gone, a worried tone taking its place.

She nodded, clearing her throat. “Yes, I’m fine. I’m just wondering what we do next.”

He glanced over his shoulder to where the townsfolk were streaming down the aisle and out the door of the small church. Curious glances had warmed his back all through the service. Whispers of conjecture had accompanied the sound of the piano playing, and even now half a dozen women were gathering at the back door, their heads together. If he was half as smart as he’d always thought, he’d have arranged for himself and Johanna to show up at the parsonage after church.

“Pa? Are we goin’ now?” Pete’s loud whisper was impatient.

Tate bent past Johanna and spoke to the boy. “In a few minutes, Pete. Remember what I told you? Miss Johanna and I need to talk to the parson for a few minutes first.”

The boy sat down on the wooden pew again, his hands hanging between his knees, his face dark with displeasure. Beside him, Timmy yawned widely and swatted at a lazy fly that had settled to rest on the pew in front of him. He waved his cap at it as the insect circled once over his head, and then cast his attention at the dust motes that floated in the brilliant sunlight from a nearby window.

“Have you told them?” Johanna asked quietly, shifting from one foot to the other as she waited for the church to empty.

Tate’s nod was quick, his look a warning as three women made their way back up the aisle to where his family waited.

“Why, Johanna Patterson, it’s sure good to see you here this morning,” Esther Turner sang out loudly. “Thought you’d forgotten the way to church.”

Selena Phillips turned an exasperated glare on the woman. “You know Johanna hasn’t got a horse and wagon these days, Esther. It’s bad enough she walks to town and back all week.” She turned wise blue eyes on Johanna, and said quietly, “I’m so glad to see you today, Johanna. You’ve been a stranger lately.”

Marjorie Jones adjusted her feathered hat, settling it a bit forward on her head and touched her top lip with the tip of her tongue. “I hear tell there’s gonna be a wedding today. Anybody you folks know?” The look she threw at her friends was all but triumphant. That she’d stolen a march on them was obvious from the surprise they didn’t even attempt to conceal.

“You’re gettin’ married?” Esther squeaked. “You and this gentleman here, Johanna?”

“Well, land sakes alive,” Selena said breathlessly. “As I live and breathe, you couldn’t have surprised me any more if you’d tried, child.”

“We only just decided yesterday,” Johanna said, aware of the warmth of Tate’s hand on her elbow. And then that hand slid around her back and rested on the far side of her waist, allowing the whole length of his arm to press against her shoulder blades and ribs. She caught a quick breath and glanced at him. He was beaming at her, almost as if he were a genuine groom, anxious for his wedding to begin.

“Miss Johanna and I are just waiting our turn,” he explained to the three ladies. “Soon as the preacher gets finished with his goodbyes out front, he’s going to come back in here and marry me to this lady. Me and my two boys, that is. She’s agreed to take on the three of us, and try to get us straightened out a bit.” His smile was wide and his eyes were warm with humor as he offered his explanation.

“Well, I never…” Esther spouted. “You’re going to marry up without any fuss at all, Johanna?”

Marjorie set her jaw. “Don’t know why your friends can’t be here, too.”

Selena Phillips bent closer to where Johanna stood. “Perhaps you’d rather do this privately, Johanna. You’ve always been a quiet girl.”

Johanna shook her head. “Yes…I mean, no, I don’t mind if you want to be here for the wedding, Miss Marjorie. You too, Miss Esther. And you,” she said finally, reaching to touch Selena’s arm.

“Kinda sudden, isn’t it?” Marjorie asked, her eyes narrowing as she turned to the man who’d set tongues wagging’ for the past hour or so.

“I’m Tate Montgomery, ma’am. And I’ve been known to make quick decisions in my life. This one promises to be the best idea I’ve ever had. Miss Johanna has agreed to be my wife, and I’d like to invite you and your friends here to watch us do the deed.”

“You new in town, Mr. Montgomery?” Esther Turner chirped.

“Pretty much so, ma’am. But I’m well established already. The bank has my money, so I guess I’m on my way to being a solid citizen. I’ve got an account started at your husband’s store, Mrs. Turner. And here I am in church. What more could you ask of a man?”

Behind them, boots clumped up the aisle, and an impatient voice heralded a new arrival to the group. “Mrs. Jones, I’ve got your boys in the wagon. If you don’t want to walk home, you’d better be on your way.”

Marjorie turned to face her husband. “There’s to be a wedding, Hardy. Bring the boys back on in and wait, why don’t you?”

His keen eyes scanned the small group. “You the groom?” he asked sharply, pinning Tate with his stare. “You marrying up with Fred Patterson’s girl?”

At Tate’s smile, he nodded vigorously. “About time she found herself a man. She’s too young to be wearin’ herself to a frazzle out there.”

Tate swallowed a chuckle. If nothing else, Hardy Jones was blunt. “I’m honored to be marrying the lady. She’s agreed to be a mother to my boys.”

From her other side, Johanna heard a hushed sound that sounded dreadfully like words she’d never dared to allow past her lips. She darted a glance at Timmy and Pete. Timmy’s head was nodding, and his one foot swinging several inches above the floor. Pete was glaring at the floor, his lower lip stuck out, his face flushed and darkened with anger.

“Pete?” she whispered. Surely Tate had told him the wedding would be today, hadn’t he?

Dark eyes met hers and Pete’s mouth twisted into a pout. “I don’t need a mother,” he whispered. “I got my pa.”

“Oh, Pete!” She bit her lip. Whatever Tate had told him, it hadn’t prepared him for this. “Can we talk about this after a while?” she asked softly, leaving the security of Tate’s arm to bend closer to the boy.

“Won’t do any good.”

Johanna’s heart beat faster as she lowered herself to the pew. Careful not to touch the child, she blocked him from view of the others. “Maybe we can be friends, Pete.”

“I don’t need any friends.”

“I do.” The words were faint, spoken on an indrawn breath. Johanna had let them slip from her mouth without thinking, and only after they had been uttered did she realize the truth they held. She didn’t have a close friend to her name. Selena Phillips had always been kind to her. The other ladies in town had greeted her nicely and spoken to her politely. But never had she had a real friend.

From the far side of Pete’s sturdy body, a small, warm hand crept to touch her palm as it rested on her lap. Timmy leaned forward, in peril of falling to the floor, balancing himself oh the very edge of the seat, and smiled at her sleepily. “I’ll be your friend, Miss Johanna.”

Her heart skipped a beat. Her throat ached with unshed tears, and she blinked her eyes vigorously, lest she allow even one teardrop to fall. “I’d like that,” she whispered.

Pete roughly pushed his brother’s arm aside. “I’m your friend, Timmy.”

Johanna smiled at the younger boy, and then the smile faded as she looked up at the children’s father. His brow pulling into a frown, he bent to view the three of them.

“Everything all right, Johanna? The preacher’s coming back in. Are you about ready?”

Was she ready? Heaven knew she needed a boost of strength from somewhere. She’d just been rejected by Tate’s eldest boy, and that on top of the nervous stomach she’d been struggling with all morning. And now it didn’t feel as if her legs were going to hold her upright.

Her lips curved into a shaky smile. “I’m fine, Tate.” Liar, her heart cried.

His hand enclosed hers, and he tugged her gently to her feet, then led her to the altar where the minister waited.

“Last chance to back out, Johanna,” he said so that no one else could hear.

Johanna thought of the cows he’d milked this morning, the hay he’d forked into the mangers. She remembered the easy way he’d carried furniture yesterday, his words of thanks as she served his supper. She envisioned the task of climbing a ladder to pick apples, imagined trying to tend to the herd of cattle all winter, when the west wind blew snow from the big lake. And then she swallowed her doubts as she accepted the hand he offered her.

His arm slid from around her waist, and he clasped her fingers within his own. It would be all right, she decided. It was a good bargain, this marriage she’d agreed to. Taking a deep breath, she fixed her gaze on Theodore Hughes, watching him open the small book he’d drawn from his pocket. His smile was encouraging as he lifted the cover and turned carefully to a page he’d marked beforehand. With one more long look at the couple facing him, he took a breath and began.

“Dearly beloved…”