Читать книгу Once More A Family - Lily George - Страница 11

Chapter Two

As soon as Jack grasped Miss Westmore’s hand in a firm shake, a sense of loss tugged at him. Another marriage that didn’t mean anything, at least in the traditional sense. That seemed to be his lot in life. Well, there was no use in getting upset. Miss Westmore was everything his father-in-law wanted in a stepmother for Laura. She was educated, cultured and pretty. So, just as with his first marriage, he’d at least get Laura out of the deal.

“I suppose we should go into the parlor,” he remarked, releasing her hand.”

Miss Westmore nodded and peeked around the corner of the veranda. “Tell me, why aren’t we being married in a church? It seems strange for so solemn a ceremony to take place in front of a judge.”

“There’s no church in Winchester Falls.” He never even missed it, to be honest. “I guess there aren’t enough people.”

“Hmm.” Miss Westmore’s eyebrows drew together. “I’ve never lived anywhere that didn’t have a church of some kind.”

“Winchester Falls is still pretty new.” He shrugged. “We’re building this town from scratch.” He offered her his arm, a bit rustily. He’d have to get used to squiring a lady around again. “Should we go?”

She nodded, taking his arm. All the color had drained from her face. She must be nervous. Who could blame her? This was a lot to take in all at once, and even more to handle gracefully. She didn’t seem the type of woman to appreciate much coddling, though.

He led her around the veranda and into the front vestibule. “Don’t be chicken,” he whispered. Maybe teasing her would brace her a little.

“I beg your pardon?” She halted, looking up at him with a sharp, startled expression.

Maybe teasing wasn’t the right road to take, either. “I just meant—don’t be scared.”

She squared her jaw, looking at him frankly. “I’ve never been afraid of any man in my life.” Then she squeezed his elbow, propelling him into the parlor. Sure enough, Pearl and Frank Lowe, the judge, stood waiting before the fireplace mantel.

“So you were able to talk some sense into her.” Pearl laughed. “You have succeeded where I failed, Jack. Of course, a handsome fellow like you is more persuasive than an old farm woman like me.”

“I am an entirely sensible creature,” Miss Westmore said, breaking away from him. “We’ve come to an agreement that is acceptable to all parties. There’s no need to be so ridiculous, Aunt Pearl.”

Frank shot Jack an amused look that said, plainer than spoken words, Are you sure you want to get hitched to that?

For his part, a grudging respect surged through Jack as he stood beside her, waiting for the ceremony to begin. She was small of stature but stout of heart. It would be hard to picture anyone coercing her into doing anything she didn’t want to do. His first wife had simply gone along with whatever the St. Clair family wanted. Even miles away, they had controlled every movement of the Burnetts. Which, incidentally, his father-in-law still was capable of doing. After all, here he was, marrying a woman he barely knew just to please the man.

The ceremony was over as soon as it started. Miss Westmore gave him a startled glance as he slipped a ring on her finger. He kissed her briefly on the cheek, and they were married. It was as simple as that.

Pearl came forward to embrace them both, and Frank shook Jack’s hand as he passed through the parlor and out the front door.

“I suppose you want some supper.” Pearl smiled at her niece. “You must be starving.”

“Actually, I prefer to go home,” Miss Westmore replied, her voice sounding tired. But she wasn’t Miss Westmore any longer. Now she was Mrs. Burnett. That would take some getting used to.

Pearl looked as though she’d been slapped but gave a strained smile.

“Sure.” Jack stepped in between the two women. “I know you’re probably worn-out.”

Miss Westmore nodded. No, she was no longer Miss Westmore. She was Mrs. Burnett now, but that seemed too strange to accept just yet. He’d just call her Ada. That seemed less formal. “Is my trunk still in your carriage?”

“It is. I just need to go hitch up the horses and bring them around front.” He hesitated, glancing from one woman to the other. The air had become distinctly frosty despite the balmy early-spring weather.

“I’d prefer to go with you to do that,” Ada replied. “Goodbye, Aunt Pearl.” She gave her aunt a curt nod and then flounced out of the room.

“She’s mad at me,” Pearl fretted, turning to Jack. “Hopefully she’ll come around. I do think this is for the best. I wouldn’t have suggested it, otherwise. You know me—I am always looking for the sensible solution.”

Jack nodded. It was better not to get involved in a family argument. He’d learned that one the hard way. “We’ll be seeing you, Pearl. Give her a few days to get used to things. I’ll bring her by once she’s settled in.”

Tears filled Pearl’s eyes, but she said nothing. She merely nodded and patted his shoulder. A prickle of unease worked its way down Jack’s spine. This didn’t feel right—the rushed wedding to a stranger, the tense surroundings. Even Pearl’s tears were unusual and made a fellow feel off balance. He hadn’t seen her cry since the day her husband, R. H. Colgan, had died. She was as tough and salt of the earth as they came. That she was crying now over her niece’s situation was downright odd.

The sooner they were home, the better.

He left the parlor and joined Ada on the porch. “Have you ever hitched up a carriage before?”

She shook her head. “I had my own curricle at home, but the groom always readied it for me.”

“Well, if you’re going to be as equal as me out here, you might as well start with hitching up your own horses,” he replied. He wasn’t trying to be fresh with her, but, on the other hand, it really was time for her to learn how to handle a few things herself.

He showed her how to hitch the horses to the harness, and she stroked their necks with a gentle hand. “Such beautiful bays. I’ve missed being around horses. Mine were sold before I left New York.”

He glanced over at her in startled surprise. “You know about horses?”

“Of course.” She heaved herself up into the wagon, disdaining his outstretched hand. “I’ve ridden every single day since I was six years old. I’ve been on several fox hunts, of course, and even tried my hand at a steeplechase once.” She leaned forward, her eyes glowing at the memory. “Father never knew about that. He would have been appalled.”

Fox hunting was a St. Clair pastime, a ridiculous waste of horseflesh and energy. He pulled himself up beside her and flicked the reins. The bays moved forward as he pointed them toward home. He could tell her, on no uncertain terms, just what he thought of the kind of people who went fox hunting in Virginia. That, of course, would mean starting a fight. He’d like to at least get her home before they had another row.

He lapsed into silence as they rolled over the hilly road that stretched between his property and Pearl Colgan’s. If Ada could ride well enough to keep her seat during a steeplechase, then she might be of help around the ranch. He’d never really had help unless it was his hired hands. Emily had been afraid of horses—the only St. Clair to be terrified of the animal. So it took everything he had to try to get her to drive a gig alone. After all, he couldn’t be at her beck and call to drive her to every social function in the county.

Ada was quiet, too, but not in an uncomfortable way. He looked over at her once more. Dust still covered her traveling dress and dark circles ringed her eyes.

“Only one more turn and we’re there,” he said in a hearty tone of voice. “Hope you’ll like it.”

“I am sure I will,” she replied, so promptly that it was obvious this was her training as a well-bred young woman talking and not any special enthusiasm.

He guided the horses around the bend in the road, but they were so used to taking this route that he hardly needed to twitch the reins at all. They passed through the front gate and wound their way up the drive to the house.

They traced the semicircle around the front and drew to a halt before the front porch. He paused a moment, savoring the feeling of the wind. His ranch had the advantage of being on a bit of a hill, the only raised part of earth for miles around on the prairie. This location gave a great view of the patchwork fields down below, some green and others brown, depending on what was growing and what had been harvested.

He jumped down from the seat and walked around to her side of the carriage. He extended his hand to help her down. “Well, what do you think?”

* * *

Ada took his hand, gathering her skirts as best she could in her other hand, and then leaped down from the carriage. As soon as she gained purchase, she dropped his hand quickly. She might be his wife in theory, but too much physical contact was unsavory, given the reality of their situation. She glanced up at the house, shading her eyes from the sun.

“It’s very pretty,” she said mechanically. Although, to be honest, pretty was an inadequate word. How best to describe this house? She was used to imposing, majestic brick facades, usually with tendrils of ivy clinging to the walls. Jack’s house was very large, too, but airier. It was a two-story structure, painted white, with bottle-green shutters framing each window. A large, curving veranda wrapped around the front of the house, supported by tall columns. Wooden lacework, also painted that same snowy shade, peeked around the columns and was tucked underneath the eaves of the roof. The comparative elegance of the house contrasted sharply with the rough-and-ready Texas terrain. “I don’t understand why your father-in-law finds it inadequate for your daughter.”

“The St. Clairs are snobs,” he replied tersely. “I’ll bring your trunk in. You’ll be staying in the spare bedroom.”

“Thank you.” She meant it, too. What a relief to finally be in her own room after what seemed an eternity of travel.

He nodded and retrieved her trunk and her valise from the bed of the carriage, and she hastened to open the front door for him. He brushed past her, carrying her trunk as easily as if it were no heavier than a small sack of cotton. As she followed, she clutched the banister for support. A heavy layer of dust stained her gloves.

The stairs creaked as they ascended. At the top of the stairs, Jack made a right turn and opened a door off the hallway. “It’s a little unkempt,” he admitted, tossing her trunk at the foot of an iron bedpost. “But it’s got a nice view of the fields.”

Ada glanced around, taking off her gloves. She schooled her features into blank politeness, but inwardly she was shocked. How on earth did a room get so dirty? Cobwebs hung in the corners of the ceiling, and dust had settled over all of the surfaces. The window was gray, lending a kind of grubby filter to the view of the fields outside.

“Do you have a maid?” She kept her voice as even as she could under the circumstances.

“Yes, two of them,” he responded. If the soiled state of the house appalled him, he was good at hiding his dismay.

“Do they have other duties besides taking care of the house? Do you share their services with anyone else?” That would be the only way such slipshod cleaning could possibly happen.

“No, they’re both employed to take care of the house and make meals,” he replied. “Speaking of which, I think you must be pretty tired and hungry by now. I can find Mrs. H. and have her make us something.”

“Aren’t meals served at regular times?” At this point, it was no longer possible to avoid arching her eyebrows. Two servants, a filthy house, meals served haphazardly—this place was in need of serious management.

“Naw, just whenever I am starving enough to ask them to rustle up some grub,” he replied, flashing a bewildered grin. “After all, it’s just me here. No need for them to go to any kind of trouble for a widower.”

Why employ anyone, then? What exactly did two maids do all day? They obviously didn’t keep themselves busy by cleaning the house. Should she throttle him for expecting so little out of life or feel sorry for him for his lonely bachelor existence? Ada forced a smile. “Well, that’s going to change. No wonder your father-in-law doesn’t want Laura to stay here. This place is ridiculously filthy.”

The grin faded from his face. “When my wife was alive, the house was spotless, and the only time he came here was when Emily was still living. So you can’t hang this one on my poor housekeeping skills.”

Ada tossed her gloves onto the dresser, raising a small cloud of dust. “You married me for one purpose—to be a wife, which means running your household. I need a home, too, and I want it to be nice. So, if you have no objection, I shall get started without delay.”

His square jaw tightened. “Be my guest,” he replied curtly. “I need to see to the horses.” He brushed past her and closed the door with a snap.

Ada sat on the bed, removing her hat pins with hands that trembled. Her life had taken such an odd turn the moment she’d stepped onto the train platform that morning. She opened her valise, removing her silver-backed hairbrush-and-mirror set. She unwound her hair and began brushing it with long, smooth strokes to remove the travel dust.

If Jack had known they were going to be married when he came to fetch her that morning, then this house was in the kind of condition he expected her to appreciate when he brought her home as his bride. That was absurd, for no woman would delight in a wretchedly ill-kept house. On the other hand, he seemed genuinely startled and then offended when she pointed out that regular meals and a clean environment must be maintained in a home when raising a child.

She wound her hair back up in its coil, pinning it into place, and changed from her traveling dress into a clean housedress. She removed her boots, which had started pinching her toes, and reveled in the feel of her slippers, so soft and accommodating for tired, achy feet.

Well, there was nothing for it. She would have to seek out the maids and put them to work. Otherwise, she would find her newfound life too tinted with squalor. She made her way downstairs, avoiding the banister, and crossed the front vestibule.

The entryway was covered in dust, as was the parlor and the dining room. There was no sign of anyone else in the house. Her slippers didn’t make any sound as she drifted from room to room. It was almost as though she had imagined this whole scenario and would soon find herself in New York again.

The house was larger than it had looked from the outside, with high ceilings and arched hallways. The furniture was—all of it—mahogany. Painted glass ceiling fixtures, with prisms dangling, were covered in filth. This could be a very fine home. Why, it was prettier than Aunt Pearl’s—at least what she’d glimpsed of Aunt Pearl’s house. If only it were cleaned up and made to look as gracious as it truly was.

She passed through the dining room and onto the back veranda. A small outbuilding caught her eye, as it had a very large chimney. Perhaps the kitchen was separate from the house. That would make sense. After all, in this heat, having a kitchen inside would make the living areas almost unbearable.

She ventured across the yard, holding her skirts above the grass. An older woman and a young woman stepped out of the building, eyeing her warily as she approached.

As soon as she came close enough to speak without shouting, she said, “Hello.”

The two women mumbled their greetings. The older woman had keen brown eyes and gray hair scraped back into a serviceable bun. The younger woman had two long braids of blond hair, one over each shoulder, but the same brown eyes as her older counterpart. Mother and daughter, perhaps?

“I am Miss W— I beg your pardon, I meant to say Mrs. Burnett.” She gave them each a polite smile in turn. “I believe you work for Mr. Burnett?”

“Yes.” The older woman crossed her arms over her chest. “We do.”

“Is it just you two?” Although Jack had assured her he only employed two maids, she had no inkling of just how to open the conversation. How should one approach upbraiding the women for the deplorable condition of the house? An idea began to form in the back of her mind. “That’s not very many servants for such a large house. Are you, perhaps, overworked?”

The older woman eyed her with skepticism. “No, ma’am. We can handle anything.”

The younger woman nodded, keeping her gaze turned toward the ground.

“Well, I have half a mind to tell my new husband off.” She shook her head with mock indignation. “Men! The idea that two women would be adequate staff for cleaning such a large house, not to mention providing meals in a timely manner, is preposterous.” She gave them both encouraging smiles. “Thank you for all you have done. I suppose I should begin hiring more staff tomorrow. Do you know of anyone who would be willing to help?”

The younger woman spoke up. “Yes, ma’am. One of my friends, Cathy Chalmers, was let go from the Hudson place when they packed up and moved back east. She’s a good maid and a deft hand with laundry.”

“Excellent. Can you get word to her? I’d like for Cathy to start this week.”

The younger woman nodded. She wasn’t smiling, but she did seem somewhat less abashed.

Ada pressed on. “Both of you have me at a bit of a disadvantage. Would you please tell me your names, and how long you’ve been in service to the Burnett family?”

“I’m Loretta Holcomb, but you can call me Mrs. H. or Betty. My daughter here is Maggie. We’ve been working for the Burnetts since the first Mrs. Burnett passed. All her servants went back to Charleston.”

“I see.” So both women had come on board when Jack’s life had been utter chaos and confusion—dealing with his wife’s death, losing his child, having to placate his father-in-law. No small wonder, then, that they had been allowed to do such a poor job. Perhaps they even thought they were doing credible work. After all, Jack was a widower and spent most of his time, in all likelihood, outdoors.

That was going to change.

“It’s very nice to meet you both. I am not from Texas, so I am sure I shall rely on you to help me as I learn what life is like out here.” Now that she had introduced herself and found out more about the women, it was time to get to work. “Mrs. H., are you the cook, primarily?”

“Yes.” Her posture relaxed somewhat, though her arms remained crossed over her chest.

“Very good. Well, I need you to make a good dinner for us tonight, to be served in the dining room.” She turned to Maggie. “And I will require your help on cleaning the dining room. Bachelor living, you know.” It was as close as she could reasonably come to pointing out the disastrous condition of the house. She needed these women to stay, and she needed the assistance of even more servants. She would accomplish nothing by using heavy-handed tactics.

“Mr. Burnett usually takes a plate and goes to the barn,” Mrs. H. replied, looking distinctly mulish.

“How appalling.” The words slipped out before she could check herself. She must not offend the two women who could help her in this bizarre arrangement. “Dining in that fashion certainly does your cooking no credit, Mrs. H. We shall rectify that. What are we having for supper?”

The older woman hesitated a moment. “I was just going to make him a sandwich.” She shifted uncomfortably. “Seeing as how you’re here, though—”

“Actually, a sandwich platter sounds delightful. Nice and cool on such a hot day. Do we have any vegetables to go with?”

Mrs. H. nodded slowly. “Yes. Early cucumbers and green tomatoes. I picked some in the garden this morning.”

“Perfect.” Ada gave her an encouraging smile. “Let’s go with that for tonight. Perhaps tomorrow we can begin making up a menu for the week. Come, Maggie, let’s see what we can do with the dining room.”

Ada strode back toward the house, with Maggie trotting along behind her.

No one could say she wasn’t holding up her end of the bargain. Jack Burnett was going to eat dinner at a proper table instead of in a barn.

* * *

Jack sat in his chair in the dining room. It was hard not to feel rusty and stiff, at least when surrounded by such grandeur. Mrs. H. came bustling in, bearing a large china tray of small sandwiches, cut into triangles. Behind her, Maggie trailed along, carrying a large bowl of some kind.

Ada thanked both women, who bowed awkwardly.

“We’ll come check on you in a few minutes,” Mrs. H. remarked.

“Just a moment. Mrs. H., have you had your supper yet? Has Maggie?” Ada looked over at both women, her eyebrows drawing together.

“No, ma’am. We were getting yours ready.” Mrs. H. sounded a little self-righteous about that. Jack stifled a grin. How would Ada handle that kind of tone?

“Do go ahead and eat. I’ll ring the bell when the dishes are ready to be cleared.” Ada waved to indicate a small silver bell sitting on a nearby table. As she moved, Jack caught a glimpse of a bandage wound tightly around her hand. “There’s no need for you two to have to wait on your meal just because of us.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Burnett.” Mrs. H. curtsied awkwardly and then prodded Maggie’s shoulder, forcing her to follow suit. They left the dining room, closing the door behind them.

He was impressed. Ada didn’t allow herself to be needled into an argument, and she showed concern for others. Both of those were good qualities in a woman.

Ada picked up the bowl. “Would you care for cucumber and tomato salad?”

“Sure.” He brushed against her as he reached for the bowl, and a shock went through his arm at the unexpected contact. He drew back sharply. It was not acceptable to have any kind of attraction to Miss Westmore—nope, she was Mrs. Burnett now—for she was here for one purpose only. If she felt the same way, she kept her composure, merely leaning forward to help him. He caught a glimpse of her bandaged hand again as she spooned the salad onto his plate. “What happened there?”

She snatched her hand back, the color rising in her cheeks. “I had a bit of a run-in with a glass candy dish.”

He expected her, if injured, to cry and carry on or, at the very least, grow faint. Instead, she seemed downright embarrassed by the situation. “You going to be all right?”

“Of course, Mr. Burnett.” She gave him a crisp smile. “Sandwiches?”

“You can call me Jack,” he reminded her as he piled several sandwiches on his plate. “I’ve already been calling you Ada. At least, in my mind I have.”

“Oh, yes.” The flush in her cheeks deepened. “I am so sorry. I am tired, and I keep making foolish mistakes.”

“That’s understandable.” He took a bite of the sandwich. “This is pretty nice, I’ve got to say.”

Ada cleared her throat. “Jack, we haven’t said grace yet.”

He stopped chewing for a moment. “Grace?”

“Yes. Of course. Will you do the honors? I’d rather not.” He tried to speak casually, like tossing a horseshoe. But, as with a horseshoe, his words landed with a thunk.

Ada shrugged. “Very well. Then I shall do so.” She nodded at him.

“For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly thankful,” Ada intoned. “Amen.”

He muttered his “amen,” even though he was every inch the hypocrite to do so. Men who didn’t believe in God shouldn’t pray as though they did.

Ada helped herself to sandwiches and then began eating. He ate, too, gazing around the room in wonder. It looked different. Brighter, somehow. It smelled like lemons, too.

“Looks good in here,” he said. “I guess you’ve been putting those gals to work.”

Ada tilted her head to one side, as though thinking things over. “I don’t know. I don’t think they’re lazy. I think they just have no direction. Plus, if you’ve been eating in a barn, they don’t have much motivation to make the house look pretty.”

The chicken sandwiches were tasty, and so was this cucumber-tomato concoction. It was a good thing, too, because it put him in a better mood. He could go toe-to-toe with Ada Burnett if he was well fed and in a nice kind of environment. “Look, a cowboy has to take care of his horses. I learned this way of life when I was a kid. It’s a hard habit to break. Besides which, it would be silly to sit in here and eat alone.” It was lonely, too. He’d tried it once and felt miserable for days afterward.

Ada ate a bite of the cucumber salad. “I suppose I could understand that.”

He nodded, satisfied. It was pleasant here, with the breeze blowing in through the open windows. Ada looked nice, too. She had changed at some point and was wearing a dress that was less stiff and severe. Her hair had been redone, too. She was very pretty, sitting there, and her presence and the cleanliness of the house made him feel better. Not that it mattered what she looked like, since she was here to serve one purpose: bringing Laura home.

Still and all, it was mighty enjoyable to be dining in the company of a good-looking girl again, and in such a fresh, sparkling room. The food was better than Mrs. H.’s usual fare, too.

Maybe this plan would work out, after all.

Ada passed him the sandwich platter once more, and he caught a glimpse of an ugly red mark across her wrist. “What happened there?”

“Oh, that.” She gave an embarrassed laugh. “I tried to help lift a pot of boiling water and ended up scalding myself a little.”

He shook his head and rose. A little aloe-vera juice would keep that burn from turning worse. He went out onto the front veranda and cut off a spike of the ugly little plant. Then he brought it back inside and knelt beside Ada’s chair. She looked down at him in startled wonder, her blue eyes growing wide.

“Let’s see it.” He took her wrist in his hand and pushed back her sleeve. Her skin was as pale as moonlight, with the scald mark glaring angrily across the smooth surface. When was the last time he’d been this close to a lady? Her skin was so soft under his callused fingers.

He was acting like a fool. He forced himself back to the problem at hand.

The burn was bad but not the worst he’d laid eyes on. He squeezed some of the juice from the plant onto the wound.

“What on earth is that?” Ada demanded. “It looks like nothing I’ve ever seen.”

“It’s aloe vera. It’s a desert plant. It grows wild out in west Texas,” he replied, gently rubbing the juice onto the wound. She flinched and held her breath. He took care to be gentle, given that her skin was raw and her wrist delicate. “I took a cutting years ago, when I was bringing some cattle through Odessa. Folks out West use it to help heal burns.” He paused, surveying his work while trying to maintain calm. Ada was now a permanent member of the household, and he needed to get used to being around her without thinking of her as a woman—if that made any sense. “Does that feel better?”

“Yes, surprisingly.” Ada stared at her wound. “It doesn’t sting nearly as much.”

“Good.” He released her hand and tossed the aloe onto the table. She looked at it pointedly, but he refused to pick it up. He would eat at a table and even eat vegetables, but he would not tidy up in the midst of a meal.

Was now a good time to bring up the trip they’d have to make? Probably not, but then, there might not ever be a perfect time. He took a bite of his chicken sandwich to fortify him for the task ahead.

“So,” he began in what he hoped was a conversational tone, “are you up for a honeymoon?”