Читать книгу Sequins and Spurs - Cheryl St. John - Страница 12

Chapter Five

After pausing to wash her hands in the kitchen, she carried a basket out of doors and unclipped her clothing from the line, quickly folding and stacking. From the corner of her eye she caught movement as a man climbed to his wagon seat and shook the reins over his horses’ backs. He turned his head and adjusted his hat, but it was plain he’d been taking a gander.

She waved in a friendly fashion and went back to her task.

A minute later, when she glanced over again, the wagon was rolling up dust along the road and Nash had headed back toward the stables. She plucked a wooden clothespin from the bag and threw it as far as she could. It dropped in the grass with unsatisfactory silence.

Ruby carried her clothing into the house and to her mother’s room, where she sorted it on the bed. Traveling with the troupe, the girls had hung their clean garments anywhere they could—most often in their hotel rooms. Ruby felt foolish for not having the foresight to realize it wasn’t polite to hang her things where someone might see them, but the sheets had already been dry by the time she got around to hanging her chemises and drawers. She wouldn’t have the beds made now if she’d waited.

It irked her that Nash had pointed out her mistake, and it irked her more that he’d told her what Pearl would have done. Of course her sister had known how to do everything properly. She’d probably never even said words like drawers or underpinnings in front of her husband.

Ruby didn’t like feeling foolish, and she wasn’t going to let her sister’s cranky husband make her feel bad. There were nice ways to say things, and he hadn’t been very nice about anything yet.

Yanking open drawers in the bureau, she took out all her mother’s stockings and cotton clothing, and unfolded and refolded each piece. Ruby didn’t own much everyday wear, so she’d be able to use most of the items herself. Mama would have liked her practical thinking.

At the bottom of a drawer she found a rectangle wrapped in a scarf and uncovered it, revealing her parents’ wedding portrait. Her mother looked so young and lovely, with a sweet girlish expression. Ruby ran a finger over the image, noting Laura’s simple clothing and the plain veil she’d worn over her hair. Around her neck was the gold locket she’d always worn. Seeing it stirred up more memories for Ruby.

Her father stood straight and tall in his three-piece suit. He was fair, with a thick mustache and curly hair Ruby remembered well. Seeing his likeness brought an ache to her chest.

One morning he simply hadn’t been at the breakfast table.

“Where’s Daddy?” Pearl had asked.

“I don’t think we’ll be seeing him again.” It wasn’t until years later that Ruby had considered how controlled her mother’s voice and actions had been as she’d hidden her panic and fear from her daughters. “He took the big brown suitcase and his clothes.”

“But he didn’t say goodbye!” Ruby had cried. “He must be coming back.”

“I don’t think so,” her mother had said, ineffectively dousing hope. “You girls had best set your minds to the fact that your daddy’s gone for good.”

Pearl had cried, and their mother had wiped her tears and hugged her.

“He’ll come back,” Ruby had stated emphatically, sure of it. Certain he wouldn’t just leave them without a word of explanation.

When her mother had reached to comfort her, she’d angrily slid from her chair and run out the back door. People didn’t just give up on the ones they loved. But with every day and week and month that had passed, her hope had faded.

She’d never stopped wishing. Wishing he’d return with hugs and gifts and assurance that he loved her. Wishing life wasn’t so hard for her mother, for all of them. But Ruby had also grown determined. She would not spend her life here, lonely and fading like dry flowers in the heat—like her mother. She was going to see places, meet people, live life without boundaries.

Obviously, the sight of the portrait had been too painful for her mother, so she’d hidden it away. Ruby set it on the bureau beside pictures of herself and Pearl as May Day fairies, with flowers in their hair, winding streamers around the maypole. She tested how she felt with the wedding picture in plain view.

Her father hadn’t married Laura with the intent of leaving. He’d obviously loved her and planned a life together. What had pulled him away?

Maybe his leaving hadn’t reflected on her or her sister. Maybe it hadn’t been her mother’s fault. Maybe he’d simply had a wandering spirit, and nothing could have tied him to this land.

Ruby discovered she liked the happy memories of her and her sister as children and her parents young and in love. The portrait reminded her she had been a part of a family once. They were all gone now, and her only relations were Nash and Pearl’s two children. She was going to have to learn to get along with him—and somehow prove herself to him. She would look at the faces of her parents and sister in the morning and at night to remember the good times and remind herself what was important.

A glance at the clock told her it was time to prepare supper, so she put away the clothing and cleaning supplies.

Her lack of foresight had left her with few choices for a meal. Tomorrow she would go into Crosby and buy supplies.

Out back of the house, she eyed the chickens in the pen. She had no idea what to do with a chicken, but she sure liked them fried, so she went in search of her brother-in-law.

* * *

“Hello?”

At the sound of her husky voice, Nash set down a bucket and straightened.

Startled that Ruby had sought him out, he met her in the opening of the barn door, where the late afternoon sun sent shafts of light across the hard-packed dirt. She walked into one of them, and the sun lit her hair like fool’s gold. “Can you spare a few minutes?”

“What do you want?”

“I wondered if you’d show me how to get a chicken ready to cook.”

Having her here made things agonizingly complex. He didn’t want to help her, but she did seem to be making an effort to do something useful. His belly was already grumbling.

She planted her hands on her hips. “I want to learn. And I really want to eat.”

He grabbed his hat and settled it on his head as he strode out the door. Since she was bound and determined to get in the way of a day’s work, he might as well get a meal out of her effort. “Got hot water ready?”

“No.”

“Not boiling, just hot enough to scald. Sit a big pot on the back porch there.”

She hurried to do his bidding, and returned minutes later.

“Don’t eat the sitters,” he explained. “If they’re on nests in the henhouse, let ’em be. You have to pay attention to know which ones lay regularly.”

She followed him into the pen.

“That one’s a rooster.” He pointed. “I didn’t know till it crowed the other day. Grab it by the feet and hang it upside down, so it won’t flap its wings.” It took Nash a couple minutes to demonstrate a humane kill and preparation.

If he’d thought she’d be squeamish, he was wrong. She watched the process with interest, listening as he explained, watching as he scalded the bird and pulled off the loose feathers.

“What about all these little ones that are left?”

“Burn ’em off over the stove. Then cut it into pieces for frying.”

She took the plucked bird from him. “Thank you, Nash.”

Simple words, but in that throaty voice, they seemed to hold more meaning. She made things personal with that voice. She had the uncanny ability to make him feel something besides anger and grief, and he didn’t like it.

He nodded and went back to his work. He had responsibilities, and tomorrow didn’t take care of itself.

His wife’s sister was persistent and would hound him until he answered her questions. He carried an uneasy feeling about what she wanted to talk about. He’d been working at the mill until he’d married Pearl. She and her mother had been hanging on to the Dearing farm and scraping by. He’d offered to take over farming if that was what they wanted, but Laura had been ready to let him do whatever he wanted with the land.

It had always been his dream to raise horses, and these acres held rolling hills of pasture and fields ripe for hay. It had been a sensible arrangement for them to share the big house with Pearl’s mother, and Laura had welcomed Nash and later their children.

Laura Dearing hadn’t deserved the hairpin turns life had dealt her. She’d been a kindhearted, devout woman who loved her family and should have had a husband at her side. She should have lived to a ripe old age and seen her grandchildren’s children.

And Pearl. She’d worked hard and sacrificed to help him get the ranch going. Their marriage had been convenient for both of them. She got a husband to take over the land and provide for her and her mother. He got the ranch he’d always wanted. He’d been preoccupied with the business end of things and the work. He’d figured there would be plenty of time for them to grow closer once the ranch was thriving. At least that’s what he’d thought until their life together had been cut short.

He’d already learned enough about Ruby to know there’d be no avoiding her if she was determined to ask questions and get answers. He steeled himself for the inevitable.

* * *

Ruby was smart enough to know the men worked till dusk before stopping to eat, so she waited until she was sure they’d be coming before she set food on the table.

The back door opened and the three men entered the kitchen. They had already removed their hats and were freshly washed. Their gazes shot directly to the table laden with steaming beans, biscuits and fried chicken.

Nash introduced the hands. “This here’s Silas Dean.”

The middle-aged man nodded politely. “Miss.”

“And Dugger Wiley.”

The tall young man gave her a friendly smile. “How do, Miss Dearing.”

“Call me Ruby.” She gestured to the table. “Sit wherever you like.”

They seated themselves and Nash picked up the platter of chicken.

“I never cut up a chicken before,” she apologized. “The pieces look pretty odd.”

“Don’t make much difference to how they taste,” Silas assured her.

“I found some recipes in Mama’s handwriting, but nothing about chicken. I guess most people just know how to cook them and don’t write it down.”

“My mama always says you can’t learn till you try,” Dugger noted, and gave her an appreciative nod.

The beans were still a little hard. She hadn’t quite figured that out, either. But she could make golden, flaky biscuits with one arm tied behind her back. She’d found honey and poured some into a small jar, which she passed around.

The men didn’t complain a whit about the food, eating as though they’d been served a feast. She got up and poured each of them coffee. “I found a jar of peaches for dessert.”

She had sliced peaches portioned into four dishes when she looked up and noted Nash’s expression. He was looking at the jar with a bleak expression. “Did I do something wrong?”

He shook his head.

“Were these special? Perhaps I should have asked.”

He reached for his dish. “They’re just peaches.”

Dugger finished first. “Thank you for a fine meal, Miss Dearing.”

The others followed his lead and trailed out the back door. The last one to the door, Nash turned back.

She paused in picking up plates and tentatively met his gaze.

“Thanks.” He shut the door behind him.

“That must’ve pained you,” she said to the closed door. She doggedly washed the dishes, wiped the table and hung the towels to dry, before pouring a pitcher of water and heading upstairs, exhausted.

The silent house yawned in the falling darkness. In her mother’s old room, Ruby stripped off her clothing, washed her face and sponged her body before unfolding a cotton gown and dropping it over her head. She touched the fabric, brought it to her face and inhaled, hoping to find a trace of her mother in its clean folds. The scents of lavender and sunshine were pale reminders. She sat in the corner chair and surveyed the room she’d so carefully scrubbed and waxed.

“I’m sorry, Mama.” The silent room absorbed her voice. “I wanted to make it up to you—all the years I was gone. I hoped you’d forgive me and let me try to start over with both you and Pearl.” Ruby let her gaze touch the molding around the ceiling. “If you missed me half as much as I miss you now, I know how bad it was. I’m glad you had Pearl.”

She didn’t want to think about how hard it must have been on her ill mother when Pearl was killed. “Your room looks real pretty. I’m going to get the rest of the house just the way you like it, too.”

When she could no longer keep her eyes open, Ruby stretched out on the bed and fell into an exhausted sleep.

* * *

In the glow of a lantern, Nash opened the stall door and studied the magnificent horse Ruby called the Duchess. It was his job to know horses, and he recognized this breed from a livestock exhibition he’d attended a few years ago. While they weren’t as perfectly proportioned as Thoroughbreds, Barbs were agile and fast, second only to Arabians as one of the oldest breeds in existence. Nash had saved for a long time to buy a Thoroughbred to improve his stock. He knew an expensive horse when he saw one.

Contemplating how Pearl’s sister had come by this one puzzled him to no end. He didn’t know of anyone in the country who bred or sold them. He ran a palm down over the mare’s bony forehead, and she twitched an ear.

Everything he thought he’d known about Ruby Dearing was being turned upside down. Pearl had never spoken ill of her, but Pearl never spoke ill of anyone. A few years after their father had deserted them, Ruby had hightailed it out of their lives as well. What drove a person to leave their family behind and disappear?

He’d been young once, frustrated by his father’s expectations that he work at the mill in hopes of one day taking over. Nash had told his father that he wanted something else—that he wanted to raise horses—but his father had turned a deaf ear. Cosmo Sommerton’s own dream of building a milling operation and leaving it as a legacy kept him from recognizing or appreciating his son’s ambition.

The few times during his youth that Nash had approached his father about going out on his own, Cosmo had become so upset Nash had backed down. He’d still been working at the mill when he was in his twenties. Through church activities he and Pearl had struck up a friendship.

Nash stroked the Duchess’s shiny neck and patted her solid withers. “You’re a beauty, all right.”

The horse nickered. It had been no secret that Pearl and her mother were looking for someone to take over the operation of their farm. They could no longer afford to pay hands to do all the work, and had come to the place where they were forced to sell or combine efforts with another owner.

Pearl had been one of the prettiest young women in the community. She was a sweet thing, devoted to her mother and a volunteer at church. There were plenty of fellows willing to court and marry her, but she hadn’t given anyone the time of day until she and Nash became better acquainted.

Nash had taken his share of girls to local dances, but the idea of marrying one had made his future at the mill less and less appealing. If he had a wife—and most likely a young family—he’d be stuck there forever.

One evening he had shared with Pearl his hopes for having a ranch. After talking to her mother, she’d approached him a few days later with the offer of turning the Dearing farm into a ranch. The land was there, the buildings, even fertile fields for hay and alfalfa. Everything he needed for a start. He’d set aside some savings, which he could use to buy horses.

Nash let himself out of the stall and checked on the mares as he made his way toward the front of the stable.

As he’d pondered it over, knowing without a shadow of a doubt that he wanted that land, he’d considered his father’s reaction. Nash had thought about their future living arrangements—and how everything would be more suitable and proper if he and Pearl married. His father would likely be more tolerant of Nash’s choice if love was involved.

And so he’d proposed, and Pearl had cheerfully accepted. They’d made the best choice for everyone concerned, and Nash had his ranch.

It had been easy to love Pearl. She was kind and loving and never complained, even when he worked long hours and spent nights in the barn with foaling mares. She had Laura for company, and later the children kept her busy.

In his heart, though, Nash sometimes feared he’d cheated her. He’d always planned that there would be time to make it up to her, time when they could take trips and he could lavish attention on her as she deserved.

But the horses always needed his attention. And then Laura had become ill, and Pearl had devoted more of her time to her mother. Nash recalled one evening in particular, when he’d entered the house after dark and Pearl had still been in the kitchen. The sweet smell of peaches hung heavy in the air. A dozen Mason jars sat cooling on the table, and his wife was washing an enormous kettle. She set it on the stove when she’d dried it, and turned to greet him with a weary smile.

“Are you hungry?”

“I ate with the hands.”

“Maybe a dish of peaches then?” One slender strand of hair had escaped the neat knot she always wore, and touched her neck. She tucked it back in place.

“You need your rest.” He stepped close and reached behind her to untie her apron. He hung it over the back of a chair. “Go on upstairs. I’ll bring water.”

The image faded in Nash’s mind. He had more and more trouble remembering their exchanges, especially with Ruby here. Ruby’s vibrant presence overwhelmed his senses.

Was that why he had so much trouble accepting her? Because she made him feel as though he was losing another part of himself? Just by being here she pointed out things he didn’t want to admit.

Ruby had been making a visible effort to ingratiate herself. She had taken some pretty harsh news and done her best with it, all things considered. He couldn’t argue about her right to be here. He didn’t have to approve of what she’d done in the past.

When he thought about the situation like that, he went back over his decisions. What would Pearl want him to do? What would Laura expect? He extinguished the last lantern and looked toward the darkened house.

He owed it to Pearl to give Ruby a chance.