“Yeah, it’s got cinnamon and sultanas and treacle. I can’t wait.” Lance rolled back to his original position.
My kitchen stocks treacle and sultanas? The fact his children were involved in something together and not arguing was a blessing. He didn’t want to upset whatever they thought they were doing to help. “Okay.” He turned and stretched his jacket toward the wooden pegs jutting from the wall then hesitated. A green cloak draped over Fayth’s peg. She’d never worn green. Throat tightening, he shook away that thought of the past. This morning, Vika wore a cloak of this color when she arrived. Of course, hers should now occupy a peg with the other coats.
After hanging the jacket, he scanned the room and stilled. White lacy things covered the arms and the ridge of the davenport’s back cushions. On the floor under an end table sat a deep basket filled with balls of colorful yarn. A knitted afghan of brown and gold covered the top of Fayth’s rocker. He sucked in a breath. Fayth preferred stitched quilts. The new additions were small and, as a whole, didn’t alter much, but the room looked different enough to set him off-kilter. Change was hard…always had been.
Vika rushed into the dining room, carrying a bowl covered with a checkered cloth. She set it in the middle of the table. “Oh, you’re back.” Smiling, she glanced over her shoulder then toward the fireplace. “Me bairns, how’s the clootie?”
A deep blue cloth with white decorative stitches on the edges he’d never seen before covered the table. Several chokecherry branches stuck into a jar served as a centerpiece.
“I still see shiny spots.” Lance stabbed the air with his pointer.
“Thank you kindly for yer help. Now, hie yourselves to the kitchen to wash yer hands.” She grabbed the hem of her apron and crimped the cloth then glanced his way. “Sorry, Chad, but I don’t know yer regular routine. Do ye want all the plates at the head of the table? Or will ye and I pass bowls between each other?”
The lilt in her voice was pleasant, but she spoke so fast, he had to concentrate to understand her words. He crossed to the table and rested his hands on the closest chair top. A mouth-watering scent of fresh bread rose from the bowl. Pink tinted her cheeks, and long strands of curly auburn hair hung in several places from her pinned hairdo. “You’ve done more than just reheat the stew?”
“The kitchen lacks some essentials. All I had time for was a simple dish, mince and tatties, with bannocks.” She mashed together her lips then twisted the apron hem. “I looked for some crowdie, but butter will have to do.”
She’s nervous about preparing three dishes? Even if he had no idea what foods they were. After traveling and unpacking, Fayth would have taken to her bed for the remainder of the day. “Don’t apologize, Vika.” Her name sounded strange coming from his mouth. “I’m grateful not to be the one doing the cooking. Whatever you’ve prepared smells wonderful.”
The blush coloring her cheeks deepened. Vika dipped her head then spun and disappeared into the kitchen. The swinging door moved in smaller arcs, giving him glimpses of the three gathered close at the sink.
Indistinct voices came from the kitchen, followed by a burst of shared laughter and a high-pitched yip.
Suddenly, isolation swamped him, making his breath hitch. He’d been shouldering the whole load for what seemed like much longer than the time since Caroline left. No matter that his situation would be different from what he’d known, he strode around the table, an arm extended toward the room that held his new life.
Herding the children to the table, Vika breathed out a relieved sigh. The afternoon proved a whirlwind of unpacking her belongings into the upstairs bedroom amidst unending questions from the children. Then she’d taken stock of the kitchen contents and how the cooking pans and utensils were arranged, which hadn’t suited at all. All she’d had time for, cleaning-wise, was a light dusting of the downstairs furniture. The mound of dirty clothes on the back porch would be tomorrow’s project.
Telling herself she just needed to feel settled in her new home was a lie. Constant motion allowed her to avoid thinking about would happen tonight after the children were asleep. After scooting in Guinie’s chair, she slid into hers. Getting off her feet felt wonderful.
Chad stretched to grab the covered bowl.
“Do ye no’ say a blessing?” Vika clasped her hands and rested them on the edge of the table.
His eyes widened, and he lowered the bowl to the tabletop then copied her pose. “Sure, go ahead.”
Lance and Guinie glanced between the adults, their brows wrinkled.
“Bairns, put yer hands like so and bow yer heads.” She watched until they did, all the while thinking of a proper blessing for her first day in a new home. “May ye have…walls for the wind, and a roof for the rain, and drinks beside the fire, laughter to cheer ye, and those ye love near ye, and all that yer heart may desire. Beannachd Dia dhuit.”
“Amen.” Chad looked up and crooked an eyebrow. “What was that last part?”
The bairns hadn’t echoed his amen, but she dinna want to chide. “Pardon me. I slip into my Gaelic ever’ now and then. Those last words mean, blessings of God be with ye.”
“You told me the names of the food…” Chad held up a blue bowl and wrinkled his nose as he peered inside. “But what is it?”
“Mince is chopped beef cooked with seasonings and usually onions, peas, and carrots. I realize peas are out of season. And I couldna find red wine.” She lifted a smaller bowl and drew it close, smiling at the fluffy white contents with a hint of bay laurel. “And tatties is cooked potatoes mashed with milk and butter.” After spooning a small mound onto Guinie’s plate, she plopped a larger one on her own. The familiar food comforted her and allowed a feeling of control over part of her life. Then she reached for two bannocks and broke one in half before setting the pieces on Guinie’s plate. The scent of the warm oak cake made her salivate, but she waited to take her first bite until she saw everyone else eating. Carrying on yer tradition, Mam.
“Mmm, I like mince.” Lance grinned before slipping in another forkful.
At the lad’s compliment, Vika smiled and the tense knot in her throat unwound a bit. She glanced at her husband to hear his opinion.
Without a word and with his head down, Chad scooped in his food.
Maybe conversation wasn’t encouraged during meals. But she hadn’t seen him for hours and had so many questions. Foremost being why the bedroom held none of his personal grooming items—no hairbrush, razor, hair oil, or cologne. Second was why the room across from the kitchen was locked. “I discovered several things lacking in the kitchen. How often do ye go to town?”
“Only when I have to. Tending the herd occupies most of my time.” He straightened, grabbed another bannock, and smeared the top with butter. “We already discussed that you don’t ride.”
“Aye, I don’t.”
He shrugged and bit into the bread round. “Then make a list, and I’ll shop when I go to town.”
As she thought of this solution, she nibbled at the bannock. Letting him shop deprived her of meeting their neighbors and seeing the town in more detail. Wasn’t shopping usually a shared activity? She’d envisioned her new family walking along the town’s boardwalks that she’d only glimpsed on her arrival. “Is the mercantile open after church services on Sunday?”
“Wouldn’t know.” He lifted his glass then sipped the water. “Don’t attend church.”
“What’s church?” Guinie swirled her spoon through the tatties, making patterns.
Shock stole her breath. What father dinna care about the spiritual needs of his own children? She pressed two fingers on the lass’s arm then pantomimed eating. “But I don’t miss a single Sunday.” Frowning, she jerked her head toward the bairns, hoping he’d get the message that church was important for them.
He shrugged. “I’ll teach you to drive the wagon.”
“Teach me.” Lance pointed his bannock toward his father. “I want to learn.”
“Not ’til you’re bigger.” Tilt
ing the blue bowl with his right hand, Chad scraped the last of the mince onto his plate. “This dish is tasty, but I prefer my meat a bit chewier.”
Her shoulders slumped. Dinna he realize what an upheaval today represented? To prevent a quick retort, Vika scooped in a mouthful of tatties. She’d thought the quantity of mince she cooked would provide sandwich-makings for the morrow. Obviously, a man who labored for his profession ate more than a bank clerk like her brother. She’d doubled the recipe for this meal. Next time, she’d have to triple the ingredients. “Fine.”
His fork hung in space in front of his mouth. “What did I say wrong?”
“I canna guess what ye mean.” She sipped her water and dabbed a napkin against her lips. The too-big ring bobbled on her finger, reminding her of their situation that seemed to fit neither person. Of course, everything wouldna be one hundred percent perfect on her first night. But she’d hoped for one success.
“Vika, I was married before. I recognize that tone.” His brows lowered.
Hot tears scratched her eyes. “I suppose I’m just tired. But I worked hard to involve the bairns with the cooking, provide a solid meal, and make the table nice.” She dipped her head and mashed her lips before she lost all pride and begged for a compliment. “A task which was no’ easy because I had to reorganize your kitchen.”
“Why would you do that?” His fork clattered onto his empty plate.
“’Twas backward, with the plates in the wrong cupboard and the spices and seasonings too high for me to reach.” From the corner of her eye, she saw Guinie flinch at their raised voices.
Frowning, he held up his left hand and wiggled it. “Both Fayth and I are…were…are left-handed, so the placement makes perfect sense.”
The mention of his late wife’s name pierced her chest. How much time had to pass before hearing it wouldna bother her? She leaned her forearms on the table. “Well, the present cook is right-handed, and now everything is where it suits me.” Before he could make another statement about Fayth, she stood and collected empty plates. “Will ye be wanting hot tea with yer dumplin’?”
“I prefer coffee.”
“Well, I don’t know how to brew it.” She stretched to gather his plate and braced the stack on her hip. “So, ye can do it yerself or share my pot of tea.” She moved toward the fireplace to collect the dessert. Even as she hurried to the kitchen and set the dirty dishes on the counter, she counseled herself about her reaction. Of course, the late wife’s name would come up in conversation, and she’d just have to get used to hearing it.
She sliced tiny wedges from the clootie for the bairns, a modest wedge for herself, and a large portion for Chad. The lines from a Grimm’s fairy tale about three bears and a golden-haired girl ran through her mind, and she giggled. Turning to the icebox for the vanilla custard to garnish the spiced dumplin’, she ran into a wall of muscle. “Oof.”
“Careful.” Chad grabbed her shoulders. “Thought I’d give you instructions as I made my coffee.”
His hands steadied her, and she wished for the courage to lean closer to see what an embrace felt like from his strong arms. At the thought, heat flushed her cheeks. To avoid the temptation, she stepped back. “Let me finish with the desserts, please.” After adding custard dollops to the dumplin’, she served the bairns and propped open the swinging door. Then she leaned a hip against the counter to watch as he roasted the green beans in a cast iron skillet until they darkened. A rich scent filled the air. But mostly, she enjoyed listening to Chad’s deep voice as he explained the steps, relishing their togetherness.
Too soon, the process ended, and she led Chad to the table, each with their preferred hot drinks. The clootie tasted good, evidenced by everyone scraping their plate. She looked around the table at her smiling family, and contentment filled her chest at the task that went well. Only Vika knew the dessert should have included currants, which Chad’s pantry lacked.
A spot of custard dotted Guinie’s hair.
“Let me clean ye.” Vika reached out her napkin.
Shaking her head, Guinie pulled away. “No, Miss Vika. Daddy do it.”
Vika froze then let her hand drop to the table. A lump rose in her throat. How long before the bairns accepted her?
Chapter Seven
As was their routine, after supper Chad moved the kids into the sitting room. Without the task of cleaning the kitchen, he could spend more time with them. Tonight, they wanted to use the wooden blocks to build a fort. Mostly, Guinie wanted to knock down the structure before it reached more than four blocks tall. With practiced negotiation, Chad convinced her to let her brother keep his fort standing for five minutes then he would help her build a house she could demolish. Afterward, he cuddled them at his sides on the rug and asked about their day.
“We played with the doggie.” Guinie snuggled close.
“I liked mixing the clootie.” Lance crimped his fingers. “We used our hands, and it was all goopy.”
“Sounds fun, although a bit different.” He never envisioned cooking lessons, but their smiles proved they hadn’t missed him too much. So, in that respect, the marriage was the right thing. “Time to go upstairs and get ready for bed.”
Guinie sat up and rubbed a fist in her eye. “Stories, too?”
“Just like every night.” Chad rolled to his hands and knees then pushed upright. With a hand resting on each child’s head, he steered them toward the staircase.
Vika emerged from the kitchen, drying her hands on a towel. She stood with a shoe bracing open the door and gazed at the children. “Oh, yer taking up the wee ones? So soon?”
Her widened gaze reminded him she didn’t know their routine. “We play a bit down here then go up to their room for stories after they’re in pajamas.”
Her shoulders sagged. “I see.” She twisted the towel.
“Do you want to join us?” Of course, she expected to be included in their activities. Why didn’t he word the question with more tact?
Sighing, she glanced between him and the children. “Maybe I’ll sit by the fire and knit a while.” She looked over her shoulder and snapped her fingers. “Trobhad!”
The dog trotted from the kitchen, tail wagging.
Chad herded the kids up the stairs. A final glance before he turned toward their room confirmed Vika sat in the rocker with yarn and needles in her hands. Was the fact she worked with yarn a sign they shared common interests? Fayth never asked about the sheep or the wool that comprised their livelihood. Shaking off those thoughts, he make fast work of changing Guinie’s diaper then ran the children through their nightly ritual of putting on pajamas, hanging their outerwear on wall pegs, and tossing their drawers and chemise in the wicker hamper. “What story do you want tonight?”
“Camylot.” Guinie bounced on her knees on the bed.
Biting back a sigh, Chad settled himself on a chair between their beds and launched into one of the versions he paraphrased of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table—the stories Fayth told Lance every night. As he wrapped up the tale, he heard a rustling of cloth and saw Vika lingering in the doorway. Her gaze clung to his, and a smile curled the edges of her lips…lips that had the most enticing dip on the top line.
“That’s not the end, Daddy.”
“Huh?” He glanced to the side.
Lance reached up and patted his father’s chest. “You just stopped talking. Did King Arthur find the Holy Grail or not?”
Chad slapped his thighs. “Not this time. They have to keep searching.” He leaned over and kissed Guinie’s soft cheek. “Goodnight, my sweet girl.” Then he twisted and brushed his lips over Lance’s forehead. “Goodnight, my brave boy.” Out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement.
Vika tiptoed to the end of Lance’s bed. Smiling, she stretched out an arm until she rested a hand on his leg. “Bless those minding cattle, and those minding sheep, and those fishing the sea, while the rest of us sleep. Goodnight, sweet bairns.”
That blessing wasn’t so ba
d. Least it wasn’t too filled with piety, and he related to the sheep part. Shepherds never got their due. Chad stepped to the doorway and rested a hand on the jamb. “I need to spend an hour or so in the loom room.”
“What?” She jerked back her head and stared, eyes wide. “Ach, I understand.”
Her stricken look stabbed him in the chest, but he left the room and headed to his sanctum where the monotony of weaving numbed his mind and blocked painful memories. Hours later, he shoved the wooden shuttle through the angled threads and pulled it to the top. He straightened in the chair and groaned at the tightness in his shoulders. In the morning, he’d cut and tie off each warp thread to finish this length of Army-ordered cloth. Hopefully, since his household chores were now taken care of, he could give the next three lengths a sharper focus and finish them faster.
He rubbed a hand over his stiff neck and gave a longing glance toward the single bed along the opposite wall. While rolling his shoulders, he noticed the lack of noise from the rest of the house. Not even a yip from the mutt.
Standing, he pulled his silver pocket watch from his pants pocket and flipped open the etched cover. Eleven-fifteen. He shook his head. An hour or two stretched into almost four.
He walked through the kitchen to collect his coat for a trip to the privy. A faint glow shone in the upstairs hallway. Why would a lamp still be lit? On the landing, he saw the light came from the master bedroom. Stopping in the open doorway, he spotted Vika lying on top of the quilt, curled into a tight ball.
Our wedding night. Guilt stabbed his chest. She’d waited for him to come to bed—or apparently attempted to. Didn’t he explain he wouldn’t insist on marital relations? He had no desire to father another child or put another woman through the horrible melancholia Fayth suffered.
Her shiny auburn hair streamed down her back and waved over her shoulders. The white gown she wore had lace along the hem and cuffs.
A Vow for Christmas Page 5