Читать книгу Frontier Want Ad Bride - Lyn Cote, Lyn Cote - Страница 11
ОглавлениеThe next morning, Judith dressed and walked out through the curtain. She’d heard Asa, who had already built up the fire before he left, telling her he was going to milk the cows. She approached the area near the hearth that appeared to be the kitchen, preparing herself to make her first meal in her new home for her new husband.
She’d never cooked over an open fire before. Her home had always had a wood stove, but cooking was cooking, right? And she definitely didn’t want to make a mess of her first meal for Asa. On a wooden counter she found a bowl of brown eggs. Nearby in a barrel were a sack of flour and some other necessaries, and she began to mix up pancakes.
Outside she heard someone stomping his boots and then, with a gust of cold wind, Asa hurried inside. “Got a dusting of snow last night.” He hung his coat and muffler on pegs by the door.
“Well, that’s not surprising for March,” she replied, trying to sound natural, though her stomach was doing some kind of nervous jig.
“What’re you mixing up?”
“I thought pancakes for breakfast?”
He nodded. “Soon I’ll be tapping trees.” He set a jug of milk on the counter.
“Tapping trees?” She glanced over her shoulder at him.
“To make maple syrup.”
She sent him an approving glance. “You are an enterprising man, Asa Brant.”
He grunted in reply and walked over to warm his hands by the fire.
She was curious about this man. Now they could get to know each other better. “Did your father teach you how to tap trees?”
“Noah Whitmore taught me.”
“Noah?” She mixed in some of the milk he’d brought.
“Man who married us.”
“Oh.” The scene yesterday in the schoolhouse where they’d exchanged vows flooded her. She shook it off. “I’ve never cooked over an open fire before,” she admitted. “I take it I pour the batter into the skillet and then hold it over the fire?”
He moved to her side. “Right. Always warm the skillet over the fire first, melting the fat.” He opened a crock that obviously had fresh rendered tallow in it. “Here are a couple of trivets so you don’t have to hold the heavy pan and try to flip at the same time.” He pointed to the trivets stacked under the counter. Both wrought iron, one with shorter legs and one with longer.
“Thank you,” she said. “I’ll become accustomed.”
“Should have got you a wood stove. It might have been more practical than a sewing machine—”
Judith halted in midstep. “Asa, you chose the perfect wedding gift. I love to sew, and I’ve wanted a sewing machine...forever.” Their gazes locked. The air between them seemed to thicken, and she felt herself blush.
“Glad you like it,” he said finally.
“I do.” She looked down, and her stomach growled embarrassingly. “I better get these pancakes done.”
He stepped back.
She moved toward the fire and the trivet he’d positioned for her.
He suddenly gripped her arm. “Be mindful of your skirt near the fire. A woman was burned just this winter from not being careful.”
She halted with a gasp. “I’ll be careful.” She looked down to her skirt and where the fire was on the hearth. She set the cast iron skillet on the trivet, poured in batter and reached for the spatula. “I’ll be careful,” she repeated.
Asa grasped the coffeepot bubbling on a hook over the fire, moving to sit at the table. “Coffee?”
“Thank you, Asa.” She concentrated on the batter bubbling in the pan, then on flipping the first pancake and keeping her skirt back from the fire. Soon she carried a platter of pancakes to the table, where Asa had poured cups of coffee and set out a cruet of maple syrup and a jug of cream.
She bowed her head, waiting for Asa to offer grace. So far the morning was going well. Her husband was not talkative, but after all, they were strangers. And he had showed concern for her safety. That loosed the tightness within her.
* * *
She wanted him to pray? After a hesitation, Asa said simply the prayer his father had always prayed, “Thanks for the food and for the hands that prepared it. Amen.”
She looked up, shyly smiling.
Asa nodded and helped himself to the top two large golden pancakes. His mouth watered.
Judith waited for his first bite before she forked one onto her plate.
“Mmm-mmm.” He could not stop the sound of pleasure. “Made a nice big stack, too.”
“I guess I’m used to cooking for more than two,” she admitted. “My brother brought home a wife from Kentucky, but I still did the majority of the cooking.” She looked to him. “Do you have brothers and sisters?”
“Some of each.” Asa took another bite and chewed. A personal question—just what he wanted to avoid.
Judith was staring at him. The silence between them grew.
He couldn’t think of a safe subject, nothing too personal, to talk about. He’d forgotten how to make conversation.
Finally she broke the silence. “What kind of man is Mason Chandler?”
“Honest. Hardworking. I’m taking care of his cow and we hope a new calf soon,” he continued in between bites, “till he gets back.”
Another silence hung over them. He would have been happy just to eat with someone else at the table. But he could tell she wanted to find out more about him. How could he steer the conversation away from personal questions? He combed his mind for a topic.
“We have a cow, and I think I heard chickens outside?” she asked finally.
“Two cows of our own and about a dozen chickens.” He took another bite of pancake dripping with butter and syrup. They were so tasty and light, he felt like...doing something to thank this woman. She was watching him, so he continued the conversation as best he could. “I plan on buying a couple of shoats this spring to fatten through the summer. Make pork sausage this fall and cure some bacon.”
She nodded and continued eating. In between bites—and to his relief—she chattered about her home farm and family.
He got the distinct feeling that she didn’t like her sister-in-law. Soon breakfast ended and he rose from the table. And before he knew it, he said, “Fine meal, ma’am.” These were the words his father had said at the end of each meal. Asa hadn’t seen his family since he moved here and barely wrote. Having this woman here was stirring him up, making him remember what family was.
“You’re welcome,” she said. “What are you up to today?”
“Have some work in the barn, and I’ll bring more wood in, too.” He motioned toward the nearly empty wood box near the door.
“I’ll wash up,” she said, “and then I need to get more acquainted with my kitchen.”
“Make a list of supplies, whatever you need.” And then, pulling on his jacket, he shut the door behind himself.
* * *
Taken aback by his abrupt departure, Judith stood and carried the dishes to the counter, where a dishpan sat. Well, dirty dishes constituted a common and inevitable part of her life. She wondered for a moment if Mabel Joy, her brother’s Kentucky wife, was enjoying being on her own without help from Emma and her. Mabel Joy had wanted them gone, and they were.
Her husband’s use of the married title, ma’am, had startled her. She’d been a miss for so long, thought she’d always be. Mabel Joy had taunted her, telling her it was too bad she was plain and no man would ever marry her. Well, someone had married her. I am married.
Judith tried not to let the newness, the strangeness of this cabin, of having a husband she never expected to have, unsettle her. “I’ll become accustomed soon and then this will feel like home.” Tears rushed into her eyes. Was this mere homesickness? Or regret? Or fear? But of what? Everything had gone well.
Except that Asa’s reply to her one personal question had gone unanswered. Why hadn’t he just told her how many brothers and sisters he had? It had been a commonplace question. Had he been teasing her? He hadn’t sounded so. A feeling of unease flickered inside her. She shook herself and began cleaning up breakfast. The large midday meal would come soon enough. I’m being foolish to fret. My husband is just not a talker by nature, that’s all. He will come to know me and then he will speak more.
* * *
On the wagon bench two mornings after their wedding day, Asa and Judith set out for town to do a few errands. Normally they would have walked into town, but he needed the blacksmith to check one horse’s shoe, and the metal rim of one of his wagon wheels needed fixing. And he didn’t know how much Judith would be buying at the store.
He felt his wife warm at his side. I’m not alone anymore. A blessing. And a worry. So far he thought he’d done a pretty good job of keeping up the pretense of a good husband. After all, she couldn’t see inside him, inside where he was a hollowed-out shell. He’d drawn on memories of how his mother and father had behaved together. If he could just keep that up, all would be well. Under a clear blue sky, he drew in a deep draft of the sharp early March air.
Though the sun shone bright and warmed his face, the horses’ hooves still threw up snow on their way into town. He and Judith had navigated through two days of marriage. He’d successfully avoided any and all personal questions. She’d asked him what his hometown was; he mentioned visiting Chicago. She’d asked if he’d served in the Union Army and he’d nodded and then asked about her family. He thought he’d done pretty well under the circumstances. He understood his wife’s wanting to ask him things. Women did that.
But soon she’d be more used to him and then there would be no more personal questions. And also no more temptation for him to answer them. Somehow his new wife caused him to want to open up, tell her about himself. But if he started, couldn’t that go too far? Reveal everything? He mentally shook himself. Enough thinking.
“Wish the thaw would begin in earnest,” he said to break the silence. “These bright sunny days make me want to get out and begin tilling my fields. Yet it’s way too early.”
She turned to him and looked pleased that he’d spoken. “Yes, I understand. It would be good to open the cabin and let the fresh air inside.”
And he thought that their relative idleness might be another reason for her asking questions. Once they were busy with the productive part of the year, farming, gardening and such, they’d settle into an easy pattern of being busy, too busy for personal questions and they’d just make do with idle conversation. He wanted to hear her fill up the silence but not ask him to join in. Even he noted the inconsistency in this. But it was the truth.
“And I’m looking forward to seeing my sister, Emma.”
To this, he nodded. He’d almost forgotten her sister would be there.
As soon as they reached town, Asa pulled up in front of Ashford’s. He guided Judith inside and breathed in the scents of the tidy general store—primarily dried apples and cinnamon. He felt relieved. He could leave her here for a while and not have to watch every word he said or she said.
“Mr. and Mrs. Brant! I saw you from my window.” Mrs. Ashford hurried into the store from the rear. “How are the newlyweds?”
Asa nodded politely. “Doing fine, ma’am.” He touched Judith’s elbow and then turned and left. Saved by the storekeeper’s wife. She’d talk Judith’s ear off, and perhaps that would satisfy his wife’s desire for ready conversation.
* * *
Bolstered by his touch and being greeted as a wife, not a pitied spinster, Judith smiled at Mrs. Ashford. “I’m here to buy some spices. I guess bachelors use only salt and pepper.”
“You give Ned your list, then come on up,” the woman instructed. “Your sister and I are just finishing up a few chores and have time for a chat.”
Judith watched the woman head up the back stairs. She went to the counter and handed the storekeeper her list. After discussing the items as to quantities and specifics, she followed Mrs. Ashford.
How was spontaneous and lively Emma faring living with these strangers, and was she upset her intended had not been here to meet her? Judith also craved a private chat with Emma about her puzzlement over Asa. She hoped that Mrs. Ashford would grant her and Emma a few moments alone to talk.
Judith found that a vain hope.
Mrs. Ashford poured them all fresh, steaming coffee and then sat at the head of the dining table. Judith had been given the seat with the view out the windows toward the river. She watched a steamboat heading toward the Pepin pier. “I love your view.”
“Yes, I told Mr. Ashford to build on this side of Main Street. I wanted a good view. The forest can be so forbidding. Plus if the river ever floods, we’ll be on higher ground. The shops across the street are much too close to the river.”
Judith glimpsed the blacksmith’s sign across and to her right. That’s where Asa was. Her heart tightened. Something was trapped within Asa and she didn’t know what. He was like a parcel glued and tied shut. Was this just due to their being strangers to one another? Yes, that must be it, she hoped.
“Now, how is it going with you and Mr. Brant?” the storekeeper’s wife asked the very question Judith could not quite figure out herself.
And what did the woman expect her to say? “He won’t talk to me and I can’t figure out why”? “We’re doing fine. Just getting to know each other. Asa is so considerate.” But secretive. Or maybe not. Maybe men just didn’t talk much about themselves. But why can’t he even tell me how many brothers and sisters he has or the name of his hometown? Judith pushed this out of her mind and hoped her expression revealed nothing.
Mrs. Ashford was staring at her, obviously wanting more details about the newlyweds.
Casting around for a safe subject, Judith lifted her cup in front of her face. “Mr. Brant—Asa—presented me with a sewing machine for a wedding gift.”
“I know!” Mrs. Ashford crowed. “I helped him choose it from the catalogue for you. Such a thoughtful gift, and so useful.”
Judith agreed, interrupting the flow of the woman’s conversation.
“It’s too bad the weather has been so cold. We usually have a lovely spring here in Pepin.” Their hostess kept up a steady stream of chatter, to which she and Emma merely had to agree.
Judith was aware that her sister was trying to hide mirth at Mrs. Ashford’s curiosity and constant chattering. Emma possessed a ready and sometimes inappropriate sense of humor. Judith sent her a reproving glance.
Emma bit her lower lip.
Judith thought, Please, can’t I have a moment alone with my sister?
As if Mrs. Ashford heard Judith’s thought, she rose from the table. “I need to brown the beef for lunch and start it cooking. Please excuse me.”
Judith drew in a relieved but silent breath.
Emma muffled a giggle behind her hand.
Judith scolded and quizzed her sister with a glance.
“She never stops talking,” Emma whispered, “unless she’s eating or sleeping.”
Judith lifted her hands in a gesture that said What can I do about that?
“She’s really nice and kind, but I have trouble not teasing her. I don’t think she’d appreciate it.” Emma’s expression became serious. “How are you doing? What’s worrying you?”
Though she and Emma weren’t identical twins, they had always been attuned to each other. “It’s nothing, really.” Judith spoke in a low tone. “It’s just that Asa...avoids everyday questions. I asked him if he had brothers and sisters and he said, ‘Some of each.’”
Emma laughed.
Judith glared at her. “It’s not funny. We get along very well unless I ask him a personal question.”
“Perhaps he’s just a very private person,” Emma suggested.
“Even with his wife?”
“His very new wife. Just give it time, Judith.” Emma pressed a hand over Judith’s, which clutched her coffee cup.
Judith nodded. Her sister had given her good advice. She relaxed her hands. “What are you keeping busy doing?”
“I help with some chores, and yesterday I helped in the store. Mr. Ashford did it out of kindness, I think, to give me a chance to talk to someone besides his wife and daughter. The people here are really—”
They heard the sound of rapid footsteps and then Mr. Ashford called from the back door, “Katherine! You’ll never believe this!”
Both Judith and Emma turned to see the storekeeper hurry into the room and over to the front window. Mrs. Ashford bustled out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. “What is it?”
Mr. Ashford waved a paper. “This is his letter of resignation, and there he goes. He’s getting on the boat! I can’t believe it!”
“Who?” Mrs. Ashford said, joining her husband at the window. “That’s Mr. Thompson, the schoolmaster!”
“Yes! He just resigned!”
“What?” Mrs. Ashford squawked. “He can’t leave in the middle of the school year!”
“Well, there he goes,” Emma said. She’d moved to stand beside the Ashfords at the window.
“What got into him?” the storekeeper’s wife asked.
Mr. Ashford frowned down at the letter. “It just says he must go home because of a personal crisis.”
“What will we do come Monday? Who will teach?” Mrs. Ashford wailed.
“We can’t ask Mrs. Lang. She’s busy with her little ones.” The storekeeper stared out the window. Then he swung to Emma. “Miss Jones, will you please take over downstairs? I need to go to Noah Whitmore and Martin Steward, the other school board members, right away.”
“Of course,” Emma agreed. “I can handle matters.”
“Thank you.” Mr. Ashford was taking off his long store apron and hurrying toward the rear entrance. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, Katherine. Just keep a plate warm for me.” And then he was jogging down the steps, pulling on his jacket and hat.
“Well, I never,” Mrs. Ashford said. “What is the world coming to?”
“I don’t know,” Emma replied. “I’ll head downstairs.”
“Thank you,” Mrs. Ashford said. “Call me if you need any help.”
“I will.” Emma snagged a shawl and headed down the back steps. “Sorry, Judith!”
Judith rose. “I don’t know what to say. May I help you in the kitchen? Or go help my sister?”
Mrs. Ashford pulled herself together. “Why don’t you go down and help your sister finish your shopping? I’m making plenty of lunch. When your husband comes back, you two are more than welcome to stay and eat with us.”
The woman was indeed kind and hospitable. “Thank you. But I think he’ll want to go home as soon as we’re done.”
“I understand.” The woman beamed at her. “Newlyweds.” And then she returned to the kitchen.
Blushing, Judith donned her shawl and carried the rest of her warm wraps outside and into the store. The thought occurred to her that people here might look to her sister to fill in at the school, but that wouldn’t work. Emma had applied to teach in their home district and had been turned down as “not having the serious temperament necessary in an educator of children.” Nonjudgmental Emma had been surprised, but Judith hadn’t.
Very smart and good at all subjects, Emma would have made a lovely teacher, but all through school she’d been scolded for her humor and sudden outbursts of excited interest. Emma would never be the strict spinster teacher that school boards preferred. Emma was too pretty and jolly for them.
* * *
Carrying a sack of spices, Judith hurried inside, chilled from the short ride home. Asa came in after her and set several bags on the table. He went immediately to the banked fire and stirred it back to life.
“That woman can sure talk,” he said, rising. Asa had surprised her by accepting Mrs. Ashford’s lunch invitation.
Judith chuckled. “Yes, but her Salisbury steak and potatoes did not disappoint.”
“Can’t argue that. You need me right now? I have to take care of the horses.”
“No.”
He headed toward the door.
“But,” she said, halting him, “it occurred to Emma and me that we haven’t written home to our father. He isn’t in good health, and I want him to know Emma and I arrived safely and are doing well.”
“A good idea. We can give it to Ashford tomorrow at church. Mr. Ashford’s the local postmaster.” He opened the door.
“Asa, wait. I’d like you to write a line to my father. I think that would reassure him.” Her father had been very concerned about his twin daughters going away to marry strangers.
Asa paused, his expression froze into vertical lines. “I’ll see about that later.” He escaped out the door.
Escaped exactly described his exit.
Judith stood by the dry sink, unable to move for a moment. Then she walked to the chair by the table and sat. Why would writing a line to her father flummox her husband? What could be more natural or simple? Something more than natural reticence was at work here. She thought over the many letters he’d written her. It wasn’t that he couldn’t write a few lines. He didn’t want to. Why? Why did he avoid any mention of anything personal? What was wrong with her simple request? What was going on within her husband?
Feeling confused, she bowed her head and whispered, “Heavenly Father, something is not right. What is it? What should I do? Say? Should I confront Asa plainly?”
At the word confront, panic swept over her. The old pang twisted around her heart. She pictured again that day in 1861. Tom Southby had been going off to war, and she’d decided she couldn’t let him go without telling him how she felt. With a red face, Tom had thanked her for caring for him but said he couldn’t return the same to her. Once again she flushed with the heated humiliation over those horrible moments. He’d said they’d always been the best of friends and he wanted to leave it at that. Best of friends. She’d been in love with him since sixth grade. Yet it wasn’t Tom’s fault that she wasn’t pretty enough.
With effort, she mastered the old hurt and shame. Praying for guidance and peace, she sat for several minutes, hoping for something to occur to her. Then she recalled her late mother’s favorite verse, Isaiah 26:3. “You keep him in perfect peace whose mind is steadfast because he trusts in You.”
One thing came clear. She was allowing Asa’s hesitance to reveal anything about himself to disturb her peace. And that was what she’d really come here to find—a husband and a peaceful life with him. She went over the past two days and the innocent questions she’d asked her new husband and his avoidance of replying to each one.
She recalled Mrs. Ashford’s favorable assessment of Asa’s character. “Lord, I feel I’ve married a good-intentioned man,” she murmured. “I sense nothing false about him. He doesn’t make up answers to suit my questions. That’s what a dishonest man would do. But why is talking about himself an issue for him?”
No answer came, but her tension eased. Heartened just a little, she straightened and slowly rose. She had chores to do and a life to live. “I’m not alone, Father. You are here with me, and I trust You. I would not have come here just to escape my contentious sister-in-law. You opened this door, and Emma and I walked through it. We both had peace about this decision. And now I’ve given my sacred pledge to Asa. No turning back.”
She picked up the sack of spices and looked for a place to store them. She continued her audible prayer. “And, Lord, help Emma find a place and a new beginning here. It’s too bad she’s not suited to teach.”
She drew herself up and began humming her mother’s favorite hymn, drawing strength from its words and hearing her mother’s voice in her memory. “Come thou fount of every blessing.” Judith had much to sing about—a husband and home of her own along with a beloved sister nearby and, as always, a faithful God—and finally work to do, a kitchen to organize.
Maybe she wasn’t a woman that a man would fall in love with, but she could take care of a house and be a helpmeet. She could hold up her end of the bargain she’d made with Asa. She could be a good wife. Experience had taught her that love was for pretty girls like Emma and even unlikable Mabel Joy, but not her.
