He spurred his steed faster and gloried in the freedom he felt. He had never been so happy in his life. He couldn’t wait for Saturday when he would finally have another excuse to take that girl in his arms again!
Chapter Six
The day of the barn raising finally came, and the whole town was buzzing with excitement. The men were ready to help their new neighbor, and the women were all more than willing to cook up lunch and a grand supper for when the barn was completed. Mrs. Reilly had made the arrangements for the day, just as Eliza had said, by getting the word out and making plans and food assignments.
Emma was in charge of bringing her peach cobbler, so she had been baking and working all morning long, as well as the night before. Eliza, being close to bursting with the baby, was instructed not to bring a thing, but Emma saw Eliza’s agitation at not doing anything and let her help her in the kitchen the previous night.
“Golly, do you think you made enough, Em?” Seth said, grunting as he piled pan after pan of cobbler into the back of their wagon that morning.
“Ha ha, very funny, Seth,” Emma said, rolling her eyes. “And no. I don’t think I made near enough.”
Seth laughed, and Emma stuck her tongue playfully out at her brother. Since the house had been finished, Seth wasn’t needed as much at James’s settlement, so more of his time had been spent again at home, much to Eliza’s joy. Emma was happy about it, too, what with the baby being close to coming, it eased her mind to have someone else there with them.
Rushing back into the house, Emma reviewed the list in her mind, scuttling to and fro to make sure she remembered everything she needed for the day. After a double check around the kitchen, she made her way to her room and changed into her best dress.
Guiding her hair back into a soft braid, she weaved a piece of blue ribbon through it, noting how nicely it matched the blue dress she’d chosen to wear. She threw the long length of her hair over her shoulder and examined her reflection. She loved wearing the dress, as it drew attention to her eyes and made her hair look an even bolder shade of brown. She pulled her hair slightly forward across her right temple to try to hide, what was to her, a hideous scar that had formed since the doctor took the stitches out, but whatever she tried didn’t seem to work. She sighed, noting that the deep purple line looked like ink had been drawn across the side of her face.
Thinking of Thatcher and hoping he wouldn’t notice the mark, Emma felt giddy. She thought again of being able to dance with the handsome man and sent a quick prayer of gratitude to heaven for her ankle being healed. She scurried out of the room and herded Eliza and Seth out the door of the inn, anxious to get going.
Many people from town had already arrived at James’s when the Marchants pulled in, even though it was only mid-morning. Seth hurried to where the men were all working, while Emma and Eliza moved to where Mrs. Reilly was instructing two teenage boys to help her carry tables down from her wagon and set them where she desired. Nearly all the men from Thundercreek were there helping to build the barn, but there were only a few women to help with lunch. The rest of the women, young adults, and children would arrive just before supper to help with cooking, serving, eating, and playing.
Emma’s eyes roamed James’s settlement with wonder, her delighted smile spreading across her face at finally having the opportunity to see the topic of her family’s conversation the past weeks. The house stood small yet proud on the left side of where the barn was being built, and Emma felt a strange sense of pride in knowing that Thatcher had a hand in building the sturdy shelter. She tried not to entertain thoughts of him someday building a house for her, too.
Emma moved on to examine the men near the base of the barn. They had laid the base work down the previous day to have it be finished that Saturday, so it was already taking form, the framework being built at that moment by none other than Thatcher. Her heartbeat measured the same as his hammering: hard, strong, and with power.
The men were quite a ways away from where the women were setting up, so she was sure Thatcher couldn’t see her. And although she was disappointed by the realization, Emma decided not to let it ruin the beginning of the day, focusing instead on the time she would get to spend with the man later on that evening.
“Well, hi there, girls!” Mrs. Reilly called, her smile stretching across her face. “It’s about time you got here! Now, I need you two to help me with somethin’.”
Emma couldn’t help but smile at Mrs. Reilly’s excitement, feeling the same way. She and Eliza raced around, greeting their friends and neighbors, meeting new faces, and preparing the first meal that came and went in a hurry.
Thatcher had smiled and winked at her when she had served him his food, but that was the extent of their contact. She had wanted to speak with him, but there was work to be done on both ends.
The afternoon proved to be stifling, and soon the working men began to shed their shirts while the women were content with fanning themselves while resting in the shade.
The break in between preparing and cleaning up after meals was one of Emma’s favorite times during barn raisings. The men continued to work, but most of the women had the opportunity to relax in the shade until they started cooking supper.
She and Eliza walked to the tree where a blanket had been laid out on the grass and a few chairs had been lined up. Some women from the town were already there resting, and they greeted the ladies as they approached.
“Well, Miss Marchant,” Mrs. Garth, the mercantile owner’s wife, said, “can I just say you look stunnin’ in that blue dress of yours.”
Emma thanked her graciously, her cheeks burning red.
“It is a beautiful color on you, Em,” Eliza said, “Now help me sit down ’fore I fall over.”
The women laughed, and Emma looked to her friend with gratitude. She hated having all those eyes on her, and Eliza knew it well.
“Mrs. Marchant, you look plum ready to have that child!” Mrs. Gardner said.
“I sure am,” Eliza said, breathing heavily after the exertion of sitting down. “I only have a week or two left, but I hope it’ll be sooner. Much, much sooner.”
The conversation was then directed around children, husbands, and homemaking, and Emma couldn’t help but feel out of place. Most of the women her age in Thundercreek were already married and settled down, some of them pregnant or with a few children, so those conversations were always the hardest for her to sit through.
“Emma? Emma?” Mrs. Symes repeated.
Emma was startled out of her thoughts and looked back to the doctor’s wife. She blushed as she realized she had been unconsciously watching Thatcher as he worked. “Pardon?”
“I asked if you were excited to have a new young lady in the town,” Mrs. Symes repeated with a smile.
Emma’s mind raced to figure out who she was referring to, completely wrapped around Thatcher and his muscular arms. Gratitude filled her heart as Eliza again came to her aid. She whispered, “Miss Martin.”
“Oh yes, ’course I am,” Emma said, and it was the truth. She could hardly wait to meet this Lucy Martin, James’s fiancée, and see what it took to be enough for a Deakon brother. Not that she thought she could measure up. She was only curious. “I’m sure she’ll fit in real nice here.”
“Well,” said Mrs. Gardner, her nose directed towards the air, “I think his older brother Thatcher ought to stop foolin’ ’round and just choose a girl already.”
Emma’s attention was finally captured by the conversation, and she listened closely to what the women had to say about the man she had grown so attached to.
“I agree,” Mrs. Abney, the postman’s wife said. “There are plenty of beautiful young ladies to be had here in Thundercreek, no matter how small the town is. Why, Miss Tilman would be a fine choice for him. They fit nicely together. A mighty fine lookin’ couple, if I do say so myself.”
Emma felt sick. Why had she started listening? She had forgotten all about Nancy Jane up to that point, but now her who
le day was destined to be ruined.
The women continued talking of what perfect children the beautiful couple would have, and the blood drained from Emma’s face with images of Thatcher marrying anyone but herself.
“Emma.” Mrs. Reilly interrupted the conversation with a smile. “Would you mind helpin’ me take some more water to the men? I’m sure they’re all plum thirsty by now.”
Emma sighed with relief, the churning in her stomach seeming to lessen as she nodded her head.
Standing, the ladies walked over to the pails of water and carried them to the barn that was progressing quickly.
“Now, boys,” Mrs. Reilly shouted to the men who were standing on the framework of the barn, “don’t be workin’ yourselves to death! Y’all have done a bang-up job so far, but there’s a right pretty lady down here willin’ to give you some fresh water when you want some!”
“Mrs. Reilly!” Emma gasped as the men laughed, a few setting their tools aside and jumping down from the framed walls.
She only winked at Emma and smiled, bringing her pail to another group of men standing nearby.
The first person in line disappointed Emma heartily, but she made her frown visible in only her eyes.
“Why, Miss Marchant, did you bring this water just for me?”
“Hello, Mr. Gyver,” Emma said with a strained smile. “Sorry to say, but no. All the men are thirsty, not just you.”
She said it with all the kindness she could muster, but he didn’t seem to notice either way, for Silas Gyver laughed heartily. “You’ve always been such a charmer, Miss Marchant. Such a charmer.”
He winked at her and took a gulp of water from the one of the ladles out of the bucket. The water dripped down his thick beard that certainly needed a trimming and down to his bare belly. Emma averted her gaze from the rotund shape with hair swirling around his chest and belly button, breadcrumbs from lunch scattered throughout the mess.
As she looked away from him, her eyes were immediately taken by a real man, a man who had done much more than one day of work in his life, a man more handsome than she’d ever thought possible for a human being. Thatcher, she thought, almost whispering the name aloud.
Though he was much closer to Mrs. Reilly’s, Thatcher walked towards her water line, a slight smiled etched across his handsome face. She watched him glance towards Silas’s jiggling belly and roll his eyes. Her breath was completely taken away when he suddenly ripped his own shirt off, arriving at her station just as he tossed the fabric to the ground.
“It’s too hot for that,” he said with a wink, his smirk playing at his lips.
“I’m sure it is,” Emma mumbled softly and watched as the glorious man took a ladle and swallowed it in two long gulps. She didn’t notice Silas’s glare, nor when he sulked away.
“Now that is just what I needed, Miss Marchant,” Thatcher said as he smacked his lips together. “Thank you, kindly.”
Emma could only nod as she tried not to stare at the glorious sculpture of the man in front of her. Well, his body certainly matches his perfect face, she thought. How anyone could be so handsome was beyond her. He looked like he was chiseled right from stone, but his skin held a glorious shade of tan from working in the hot sun all summer long. She felt like fainting from joy and was barely able to maintain her composure.
***
Thatcher could see the discomfort he had caused Emma, but he couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of satisfaction from having a woman as beautiful as her finding him attractive.
When he saw that old deadbeat Silas Gyver strip his shirt off before approaching Emma, he felt disgusted, and the desire to punch the man swelled in his gut. The thought briefly crossed his mind that he’d just done the same thing Silas had, but he tried to convince himself that it was different, even though he knew it wasn’t. He wanted to show off, so he did. And the sad part was that he didn’t really regret it either.
***
Emma watched Thatcher take another ladle of water, his strong jaw unclenching as his mouth opened wider to let in more moisture.
Sakes alive! she cried to herself when her mouth began to water. She was sure this man would be the death of her.
“Now,” Thatcher said, wiping the water from his tantalizing lips with his powerful forearm, “I sure hope you ain’t forgettin’ that dance you owe me. I know I haven’t, darlin’.”
Her heartbeat furiously as the curious gaze of more than a few men moved to her. Most of the older men smiled, winking knowingly, but some of the other men looked in wonder. She felt pride well in her heart as Thatcher walked away. Yes, he was talkin’ to me, the ol’ spinster Emma Marchant, she thought.
The afternoon threatened to last forever as Emma returned to her place beneath the tree next to Eliza, listening to the women talk of town happenings and the latest gossip. Soon, much to Emma’s joy, dust could be seen from down the long dirt road, announcing the arrival of more folk.
Children’s laughter rang out above the noise of the horses’ stomping and snorting and the chatter of the adults, and Emma thought back to the first barn raising she’d attended. Such exhilaration she had never before felt, but it was all coming back in that moment.
The women gathered together and immediately started on supper, greeting each other as they worked. Emma asked each woman she could if they needed help since her cobbler was already finished, so she spent the next little while breading chicken, mixing cornbread, and cutting deep red tomatoes into thick slices.
As she worked, she listened to Eliza tell yet another woman how long she had left until the baby was ready to come. Eliza was glowing from the attention, as well as from being pregnant, but Emma’s heart hurt as she thought of the longing she had to have children of her own. She tried to shove the negative thoughts away that always came with her fear of possibly never having kids, yet it was near impossible once she heard Nancy Jane’s loud voice carrying out over the crowd.
“Oh my,” the girl said, her southern twang twanging, “look at my Thatcher work. He is just so strong!”
Emma rolled her eyes and stared at Nancy Jane who was ogling the man like a piece of meat to devour. She felt sick. Stealing a glance towards him, Emma was thrilled to see Thatcher turn his body away from Nancy Jane’s gaze. She fancied it was because he didn’t want anyone looking at him that way except for Emma. She laughed at herself. How ridiculous can I be? She sighed and turned her attention as far as possible from the Georgia girl.
Soon, when the finishing touches of the meal were being made, cheers were heard all around the settlement. The barn had finally been completed. Men ran up to their wives and kissed them, children raced to the barn and explored the new building, and everyone shouted congratulations, whistling as loud as they could. Emma tried not to notice Nancy Jane scooting her way to Thatcher the second he got down to pick his shirt up to put it over his beautiful flesh. She smiled again as he dodged the forward girl, moving quickly to the river to wash up with all the other men before the eating began. Silently, she prayed that Thatcher felt the same way about Nancy Jane as she did.
The meal was divine, as was the dessert, everyone enjoying the feast that near everyone helped to prepare. A series of chairs were set in circles for people to sit and enjoy their meals on, and Emma was delighted when James and Thatcher made their way with Seth to eat by her and Eliza. Nancy Jane followed closely behind.
“Why, Thatcher,” she pouted, “you’re walkin’ too fast! I simply can’t keep up with you!”
Eliza looked to Emma, making a gagging face, and Emma snickered under her breath.
She continued to smile as Thatcher took a place right across from her in the circle. The chairs around instantly filled, so Nancy Jane had to look elsewhere for a place to sit, much to the joy of the entire group. Thatcher winked at Emma and soon dug into his food, sure enough starving from the hard work he had put in that day.
The sun set and dusk arrived, so the men went around hanging lanterns on the posts they had stuck in the
ground earlier.
The women wrestled a few kids into helping clean up supper by bribing them with being able to start the games and dancing sooner. Sure enough the tables were quickly wiped off and removed, and the area for dancing was designated. More lanterns and chairs were set around the large square, and on one side of the dancing area was placed a large table filled with refreshments and extra desserts. More cheers were heard when the music finally began, and the men grabbed their giggling partners who were more than flattered at being chosen so early on to dance.
Emma stood next to Eliza on the outside of the dancing area, both talking about the lively music and the delicious food.
“Why don’t you go walk over there by James, Em?” Eliza said, changing topics drastically when the first dance ended and the second began, Emma still not being asked to join a man on the dance floor. A few men who she considered friends looked her way, but not one moved to ask her to dance, and Emma couldn’t understand why. They had all danced with her countless times before, and they’d had a great time as simply friends. Why weren’t they asking her now?
Emma looked to where Eliza had motioned and saw Thatcher standing next to his brother, arms folded across his broad chest, the day’s scruff shadowed across his handsome face. She almost had the courage to go over and talk to him, but when she noticed the women standing around him like a pack of wolves, all hope was dashed away. “No, I don’t want to. Thanks, though.”
Emma looked elsewhere, trying to dispel her negative thoughts, but more came as she saw Silas walking towards her.
“Here we go again,” she muttered to Eliza.
“What?” Eliza questioned until she caught a glimpse of the man. “Oh, for crying out—Why, Mr. Gyver, how are you this evenin’?”
“I’m fine, thank you, Mrs. Marchant,” Silas said, corn stuck between his two front teeth. “I’m just makin’ my way over for a dance with my lady here.”
A Secret Fire (Western Historical Romance) Page 10