by Kit Morgan
“Rafe most certainly would – he’s the adventurous type, you know. Thank heavens it’s getting too chilly for the men to be out playing that base ball.” She gave Maisie a pointed look. “Ever since he taught the men in town that game, that’s all they think or talk about all spring and summer.”
“Or do,” Abigail added. “Be glad you’re not married yet, Maisie, or your husband would be lured into the base ball circle too.”
Maisie smiled despite her despair. Jasper had played the game a lot over the warmer months. But everyone looked forward to the games Rafe had started eight years ago.
“I’d better get home,” Mrs. Petroff said. “My poor husband is probably starving and wanting his supper.”
“Say hello to him for us, will you?” Abigail said.
“I will,” Mrs. Petroff turned to Maisie. “And you say hello to your mother for us. How is she, by the way?”
Maisie’s chest tightened. She didn’t want to talk about her mother, but it looked like she had no choice. She didn’t want to be rude. “I’m afraid she’s not well, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”
“Oh, you poor dear,” Mrs. Petroff said, her voice laced with sympathy. “Such a dutiful daughter. Land sakes, if I had a son, I’d introduce him to you in an instant!”
Maisie felt herself blush.
“Oh look, Abigail, her cheeks are pinking.” Mrs. Petroff smiled broadly. “Have you thought of marriage?”
“Oh, Mrs. Petroff,” Maisie said, abashed. “What girl doesn’t now and then?”
“Well, you go right on ahead and keep thinking, dear. The right gentleman will come along in time.”
Abigail snorted, catching their attention. “Abigail, it’s nothing to laugh about,” Mrs. Petroff scolded. “Matrimony is a serious matter.”
Abigail put a fist to her mouth to hide her smile, but Maisie saw it anyway. What was she thinking? She looked at Mrs. Petroff, who seemed to be as curious as Maisie.
Abigail snorted again.
“For Heaven’s sake, Abigail,” Mrs. Petroff said. “What’s the matter with you?”
“I’m sorry – it’s nothing, really. Nothing.” She folded her hands in front of her.
Maisie rolled her eyes and walked behind the counter. She knew it wasn’t nothing – Abigail’s friend Mr. Bridger was not only new in town, but an eligible bachelor. But would he stay? What if he decided he didn’t like the town? And did it matter if he stayed in Cutter’s Creek? Mama would never allow a man to call on her, let alone court her.
“Until next time, ladies,” Mrs. Petroff called from the door. She left the mercantile with a wave.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Abigail inquired again once she was gone.
Maisie leaned against the back counter, gripping the edge with both hands. Tears burned her eyes and her stomach twisted. What is the matter with me? she thought. She suddenly felt as if Papa had died all over again. “I’m fine,” she said, but her voice was weak and sure to raise Abigail’s suspicion. “Really.” She cleared her throat. “Just tired.”
“Well, if you’re sure ... we got some new dresses in. Would you like to see them?”
Maisie smiled at her and nodded. Ready-made clothes were rare in these parts – most everyone sewed, Maisie included, or went to Brown & Brown Clothiers if they could afford it. But she hadn’t had much chance to sew lately, what with taking care of Mama. Speaking of which, had she eaten the fruit Maisie left her? She certainly hoped so, but what if she hadn’t? What if she refused to eat supper?
For now, there was nothing Maisie could do. She had a job and she needed to do it. She took a deep breath. “All right then, let’s see those dresses.”
JONATHAN RODE IN PEACEFUL silence back to town. Cecilia and Max – and Lucius and Emma’s little ones – had worn him out. He’d wrestled with all five. It was a good kind of tired, the kind brought on by lots of laughter, good food and good company. Yet there had been something missing.
He noted his surroundings, figuring he’d better memorize them in case he wanted to return to the Judrow ranch on his own. He’d been so deep in conversation with Eldon on the way out, he hadn’t paid much attention to landmarks, only the time it took to get there.
The Montana Territory was beautiful country, but despite the setting sun just disappearing behind the mountains, he felt empty. Lonely. Maybe it was from having so much peace and quiet, something he was still getting used to. Could he? His life had been one long torturous battle with his family, day in and day out. Could it be part of him missed the chaos?
“No, I don’t!” he exclaimed. But he could feel an emptiness growing inside of him, a relentless stirring of ... what? He had no idea. Maybe he just needed to feel like he belonged somewhere. Cutter’s Creek hadn’t had time to grow on him again, that was all. He kicked his horse into a trot and let him have his head. The animal knew where he was going, his ears pricked forward in anticipation. But if he wasn’t careful, it might speed up and gallop back to the livery stable.
He slowed the gelding to a walk again. “Nothing wrong with taking our time ... er ... Cinnamon? No, that’s not right – Sugar?” Good grief, he couldn’t remember the horse’s name? He was told him what it was when he rented the horse, but all he could remember was that it was a seasoning of some sort. Parsley ... nutmeg ... “Pepper!” he shouted triumphantly.
Pepper, in turn, spooked and took off like a shot. Jonathan almost lost his seat, and it took him a moment to right himself and slow the horse down. “Sorry, old boy. Didn’t mean to startle you.”
Pepper snorted in response and shook his head.
“Oh no, you’re not taking off like that again. I’m in no rush to get back to ...” Jonathan stopped and stared straight ahead. “... town.” He gazed at the lights of Cutter’s Creek through the trees. Could he build a life here, he wondered? Could he maybe find a wife, start a family, be as happy as Aggie and Eldon?
He bit his lower lip in thought. Aggie had brought up Maisie Woodhouse more than once. After all, if he did settle here, she was almost the only eligible girl in town. “Wouldn’t it be my luck she’d have no interest?” he asked the horse.
Pepper snorted again and tossed his head, anxious to get back to the livery and his supper.
“Well,” Jonathan said with a sigh. “I don’t suppose it could hurt to see if she likes me. After all, where else am I gonna go? I have friends here ...”
Pepper pulled at the reins, wanting to go faster.
“Wouldn’t you stay, make a go of it? I got me a good job ...”
Pepper wasn’t the least bit interested.
“Oh, what do you know – you’re a gelding. You don’t care if the fillies like you or not.” He gave the horse his head and let him break into a slow canter. Best he get back before the sun disappeared – he didn’t fancy riding in the dark.
Once he got Pepper taken care of and fed, he took a walk around town, surveying his new domain. He spent extra time in front of the little red chapel. “Why do I feel more like I’m saying goodbye instead of hello?” he asked it.
The Christmas festival of 1867 flashed before him. He remembered the look on Aggie’s face when they’d gone to speak with Rev. Latsch about volunteering. What a time that was. As awful as his family had been, they were still family, but he knew he couldn’t go back. And he wouldn’t subject any bride of his to them either. The poor girl likely wouldn’t last a week without fleeing or killing one of them.
Jonathan turned and walked down the street to the other end of town and the boarding house, hoping Mrs. Whitehall had left him some dessert. He was hungry again and could do with a snack. Reaching the place, he went inside and straight to the kitchen. Mr. Martensen waved at him over his paper as he passed through the front hall. Then ...
“Oh!” Miss Woodhouse said as she jumped. “Land sakes, you scared me!”
Jonathan stopped dead, his feet glued to the spot. Maisie wore a simple yellow calico dress with white lace at the sleeves and collar. H
er dark hair had come loosed from its pins in several places, and her blue eyes shone against the ivory of her skin. “Great Heaven,” he whispered. She was beautiful.
“I beg your pardon?”
Jonathan took a ragged breath and stepped into the kitchen. “Is there, um, any pie left?”
“Yes – would you like some?”
“Please, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.” She turned to the cupboard, opened it and took out two pie tins. “Apple or pumpkin?”
“Mrs. Whitehall made pumpkin pie?”
“Actually, I did.”
His eyes lit up. “You did?”
She seemed offended, her dark eyebrows knitting over those stunning blue eyes. “Don’t sound so surprised. I can bake.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean to imply you couldn’t. But when did you have time?”
“I made them earlier today before I went to work. I thought ... well, Mama likes pumpkin pie. It’s one of her favorites.”
“Mine too, only my ma and sister don’t cook well. I haven’t had decent pumpkin pie since Aggie lived with us.”
“Aggie? You mean Agatha Judrow?”
“Yes.”
“That’s how you know her?”
He smiled. “Yes. I guess you could say she and I grew up together for a time.”
She nodded and smiled back. “I’m glad you have kin here, after a fashion.”
“Yeah, after a fashion.” He tried not to stare, but it was difficult. He was looking at her, really looking at her for the first time. And he was concerned by what he saw. As beautiful as she was, she seemed worn down, from her furrowed brow to her dragging feet. Whatever sort of burden she carried, it was heavy. Her dress was clean, but thin at the elbows and frayed at the cuffs. What would she look like rested and refreshed? “Would ... would you take a walk with me sometime?”
Her eyes went wide. “W-walk?”
He nodded, his hat in his hands like a silly schoolboy. “Yes, just around town? If you ever need some air, that is.” Could he have made himself sound any sillier? The words had come out of his mouth before he could stop them.
Her mouth twitched, almost smiling. “I would like that.” She clasped her hands tightly in front of her but didn’t meet his gaze, as if she didn’t dare. Now why would that be?
“I could escort you to work tomorrow,” he suggested. “That would be walking.”
Her smile came easier this time. “Yes, it would. And so is walking home from work,” she added.
He nodded and bit his lip. He slapped his hat against his other hand, and, his smile still in place, turned to go.
“Mr. Bridger? Did you still want your pie?”
Good grief, she’d made him forget about his pie – pumpkin, no less! He smiled again, partly at his own folly. “Yes, ma’am!”
Maisie smiled shyly in return and proceeded to slice him a big piece of pumpkin pie. Jonathan watched her with interest. If she cooked as good as she looked, Aggie’s hints through supper held even more weight. Maybe he could lighten her burdens a little as well ... once he understood what they were.
Seven
Maisie watched Jonathan Bridger chew slowly, seeming to relish every bite of pumpkin pie. He stopped now and then and smiled at her, his mouth too full to compliment her baking, but she understood him well enough.
Her chest swelled with pride. As much as she loved cooking, she hadn’t baked a pie in months, too busy doing laundry and taking in mending to manage it. But when Mama refused to eat earlier that day, she thought she could tempt her. It didn’t work – Mama wanted nothing to do the pies, saying it reminded her too much of holidays and autumns back East when Papa was still alive. But at least someone appreciated her work.
“Maisie, this is wonderful!” Jonathan said between mouthfuls.
She blushed deep red, not so much over his praise but due to the use of her Christian name. “Thank you.”
He stopped chewing, thought better of it and swallowed hard. “What’s the matter?”
She shook her head. “It’s nothing.”
He studied her a moment. “No, it’s something. What?”
She let her eyes flick around the room. “It’s just that ... we should be calling each other by our proper names.”
He sat straighter at that. “Isn’t Maisie your name?”
She smiled sadly. She should enjoy hearing him call her that while she could, not complain about it. Maybe hearing a few more times would make it easy for her to pretend they were courting. “It’s Miss Woodhouse. That’s proper decorum.”
He sat back in his chair. “Oh, that. I don’t know ... around here folks get to speaking on a first-name basis faster than most places. On account it’s so small.” He winked and took another bite.
She couldn’t help but smile at that. “I see.”
“I thought you might.”
She forced a frown to keep from smiling again. She was enjoying herself, even as she knew she needed to get upstairs and help Mama get ready for bed. Though really, what was there to do – the woman never got properly dressed that morning in the first place. She was still in her nightclothes.
“Something wrong?” he asked. “You’ve got that look on your face.”
She started and looked up, belatedly realizing she’d let her gaze fall to the table. Good heavens, what was he talking about? “What look?”
“Like a little kid looks when they get caught doing something they shouldn’t.”
“A child?” she asked, then sighed heavily. Guilt was not her friend. “I have to go.”
His face fell. “I’m sorry – did I offend you?”
“No, no, not at all,” she said quickly. “It’s just ... my mother ...”
Now he sighed. “I understand.”
Maisie stared at him, disappointed. They were both happy, and she’d ruined it. What did it matter if Mama waited a few more minutes? But it was too late – she’d already told him she needed to leave. “I’m sorry, but I have to take care of her.”
“Aw, that’s all right, I understand,” he said with a lopsided smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow?” she asked in surprise then remembered. “Oh yes – our walk.”
“What time do you leave for work?”
“Around one-thirty.”
“Good, I’ll wait for you on the front porch,” he said with a smile and a light in his eyes she hadn’t seen before. What could that be?
Maisie nodded. “When do you start at the mill?”
“Monday. That means I get to escort you for two whole days – three if you work Saturdays too.”
“Sometimes I do,” she said as her heart sank. He was looking forward to walking her to work, she could see the light in his eyes. She just hoped she didn’t disappoint him too much when she had to put it out.
THURSDAY DAWNED CRISP and cold. Maisie awoke with a start, unsure of where she was for a moment. She’d had the most wonderful dream and didn’t want it to end – she’d been sweeping a kitchen floor in a lovely house, two or three children playing nearby and asking her to bake cookies. A pot roast was on the stove, and her husband ...
“Maisie!”
Well, now she knew where she was. “Yes, Mama?”
“Why aren’t you downstairs?”
Maisie sat up to find her mother already in her chair, though still in her nightclothes. She’d have to do something about that this morning. “Because I’m still in bed, as you can see.”
Her mother peered at her in disbelief. “What are you doing there?”
“Sleeping, Mama. Isn’t that what most people do?”
Her mother looked taken aback. “Oh, yes, well,” she replied more softly.
“Breakfast?”
“Yes, please.”
That got Maisie’s attention. Her mother’s lack of manners of late had gotten on her nerves. Maybe the woman would have a good day. “Would you like to get dressed?” she asked hopefully.
Her mother looked down a
t her nightclothes and fingered the lace around one sleeve. “Yes, I should do that, shouldn’t I?”
Maisie quickly got out of bed. “Yes, Mama, I think it would be a good thing. Would you like to bathe?”
“Bathe?” she asked, as if it were a foreign word.
“Yes, I can prepare a bath for you.”
Her mother look confused for a moment. “No, not today. I had a bath earlier, didn’t I?”
Maisie pulled on a robe. “A few days ago, yes.”
“Then I’m fine.” She gazed out the window as she unbraided her hair. “I’m hungry.”
Maisie took a chance. “Would you like to have breakfast downstairs?”
Mama slowly looked at Maisie, then at her hands in her lap. “Downstairs?”
“Yes, with Mrs. Whitehall.” She knew that the other boarders would be gone by the time they went down for breakfast.
To her amazement, her mother nodded. “Yes ... Mrs. Whitehall. I want to speak with her.”
Uh-oh, Maisie thought. But she’d deal with that later. Her mother wanting to leave their room was a major accomplishment, and she wasn’t going to argue over why she wanted to speak to their landlady. Who knew, maybe she just wanted to talk – or by the time they went downstairs, she’d have forgotten why. “I’ll help you dress,” she told her mother and went to fetch some clothes. To her surprise, Mama didn’t balk nor complain – a miracle!
The dressing also went well, and Maisie’s hopes soared. Was Mama finally coming out of her dark pit of despair, the one she’d on occasion tried to drag her into? She opened the door to their room and motioned her mother to join her in the hall. The woman approached the door slowly and peeked out as if worried about an ambush, then tentatively stepped over the threshold to stand precariously in the middle of the hall.
“Mama, are you all right?”
Her mother was white as a sheet as she stared at the staircase at the end of the hall. She swallowed hard. “Yes. Fine.”
Maisie took her mother’s arm and wrapped it around her own. “Let’s go see what Mrs. Whitehall has whipped up this morning, hm?” She did her best to sound cheerful and not panicked. Sweat had popped out on her mother’s brow and she looked ready to faint. But why?