Lone Star Romance Collection

by Cathy Marie Hake

  “It was.” Ismelda sighed romantically. “I told Otto I’m wearing Mama’s bridal mantilla as my something old. In a year or two, maybe I could drape it over our baby, too. Don’t you think that would be a lovely tradition?”

  “Mmm.” Though tears filled her eyes, Carmen smiled up at her sister. She’s so sure I’ll never be a bride.

  Ismelda pressed her hand to her bosom. “Oh, do I look so beautiful that you’re in tears?”

  “Muy hermosa. Very beautiful.”

  “You’re such a wonderful sister to make me feel lovely in my gown.”

  “Never once forget how beautiful I think you are—inside as well as out.”

  “Are you done pinning me up?”

  Grateful to break eye contact, Carmen reached for the pincushion. She pulled out another pin. “Just one more. Here.”

  “Now that we’ve finished my gown, we need to decide on yours. I don’t care if the gringos here think red is for a loose woman. You look beautiful in red, and—”

  “Be practical, Ismelda. I’d never be able to wear it again. If I put work into making a dress, I ought to get some use out of it.”

  Her sister made wavelike motions. “What about layers and layers of yellow and orange?”

  “Since when did we wear layered skirts? Mama always dressed us in designs featured in Godey’s.”

  Ismelda shrugged. “You were talking about heritage. I thought it might be fun to have some of our heritage in my wedding.”

  “You could carry our Spanish Bible.”

  Eyes alight, Ismelda proclaimed, “You can! I’ll hold a sheaf of flowers from our garden, just as I always dreamed, and you can carry Papa’s Bible. In fact”—Ismelda clapped her hands—“you could read a verse from it.”

  “That doesn’t seem right. Otto doesn’t know any Spanish. A groom ought to understand the whole ceremony.”

  Ismelda wrinkled her nose. “I guess you’re right. I know she doesn’t mean to be rude, but his mother often speaks German to him in front of me. I’m so determined to understand them I’m having Otto teach me new words all of the time!”

  “Chris Gregor rattles off German like he’s one of them, and he’s getting good at Spanish, too.”

  “I’m glad.” Ismelda blushed. “He can translate for the doctor now. Duncan—he hasn’t learned much Spanish or German, but everyone understands him, and he understands whatever someone else is trying to say.”

  Carmen started to unbutton her sister’s gown. “That stream of people wandering past his shop and visiting with him—it’s that way every day, all day long.”

  “Really? I hadn’t noticed.” Ismelda let out a trill of laughter. “I love Otto so much that I don’t seem to notice anything else at all.”

  Carmen gave no reply. Duncan Gregor was a nice man. A good man—godly and gentle and kind. People couldn’t help responding to his warm and humble personality. He’ll never be lonely, but I will. That thought hit her hard. What does he do that I don’t?

  “You look so sad!”

  Summoning a smile she was far from feeling, Carmen knew she didn’t dare confess her fears. She wanted her sister to bask in the joy of her marriage, not to fret over things that couldn’t be helped. She softened the truth. “I was thinking how empty the house will be. I’m going to miss you.”

  “So you’re reconsidering my suggestion about becoming the Steins’ housekeeper?”

  “No.” Carmen didn’t have a hard time looking appalled at the notion. “I’m going to have to find ways to keep busy once you’re not here to pester me.”

  “You can come visit me whenever you want.” Ismelda carefully stepped free from her gown. “We still haven’t decided about what you’ll wear for the wedding.”

  “Leonard mentioned he’s gotten a shipment of bombazine in at the mercantile.”

  “Bombazine is for widows and chaperones. You said you want to be practical—well, then we’ll have your gown be a bright color in a lightweight silk or a challis. That way you’ll be able to look festive all through the spring and summer.”

  “Come spring and summer, I’m going to want lightweight cotton so I can stay cool while helping you with the extra chores that come from being a farmer’s wife.”

  “Then we’ll have to be sure to get material for two dresses for you.” Ismelda grinned. “In addition to the fabric for the dress you’ll wear for the wedding.”

  Accustomed to her little sister’s stunts, Carmen laughed and nodded. “Yes, querida. One for me and one for you.” And maybe a few more yards of cotton, besides. I could make Mercy’s little Elspeth a couple of gowns, and with old Mrs. Lintz becoming bedridden, I’m sure she’d appreciate a crisp nightdress and soft pillowslips. And Mr. Rundstadt—it must be so hard for him to find shirts to fit his twisted frame. I’m going to devote myself to the people who need love and might not get it otherwise.

  Relieved to have come up with a solution to battling the impending sense of loneliness, Carmen went to fetch her reticule.

  “Rob took Mercy and the baby home.” Duncan offered Carmen his arm.

  “It was nice of them to come to the wedding.” She slid her hand into the crook of his elbow and walked toward the buggy with him. When she glanced up, her deep brown eyes carried a wealth of emotion. “I know Mercy loves Rob with all her heart, but it was especially nice of her to treat Ismelda so kindly. Some people were still talking about how just a year ago Otto was going to marry Mercy.”

  “It’s time everyone let go of the past and embrace the future. It’s plain to see Rob and Mercy love each other. As for Ismelda and Otto—he was a broken man, and her love did wonders for him. Both men are blessed.”

  As Carmen allowed him to lift her into the buggy, Duncan noted her new dress. He waited a moment while she gathered up the extra material from her fancy gown. “Your frock’s comely. It puts me of a mind of the heather from back home.”

  “Thank you.”

  The buggy swayed as he swung up beside her. For all the fabric in their skirts, it was easy to forget how tiny most of the women were. Carmen was of average height but fine-boned. He saw how she tried to drag her left foot out of the way.

  “You must be exhausted.”

  She bristled. “What makes you say that?”

  He flicked the reins. “I’m thinkin’ on how you’ve babied the garden so there were flowers aplenty and that you’ve stitched yourself a pretty frock. You cooked and cooked and cooked. And ooch, those Mexican wedding cookies—you baked hundreds of them. I’m not exaggerating, either, because I ate a good half dozen all on my own. Then you saw to any number of trifling details to make the wedding all your sister e’er dreamed of. Just reciting the list of what you’ve done leaves me weary.”

  The tension drained from her shoulders. “I’m afraid now that the wedding is over, I’ll be bored to distraction.”

  “You?” Duncan chuckled. “I dinna think the word leisure is in your vocabulary. Rob tells me you’ve been cheering up old Mrs. Lintz, and I ken you’ve helped o’er at the Rayburns.”

  “Mrs. Rayburn’s splint should come off next week.”

  “Aye, but a woman with a broken arm and a passel of children is a sorry sight.”

  “They’re dear children—well behaved and affectionate.”

  “I’ve not been ’round them enough to agree or disagree.” Duncan grinned. “You’re a fine woman, and I’m sure they love you on your own merit. That bein’ said, e’en the naughtiest of bairns would toe the mark just to have a taste of your bunuelos and empan-things.”

  “Empanadas.” She smiled. “I’ll be sure you have some the next time I make a batch.”

  “I confess, I would hae never thought the Germans and the Mexicans to hold much in common, but the cinnamon-sugar desserts and the polka sort of music are startlingly similar. In the end, ’tis fun to see how much alike we all are.”

  She nodded. “I suppose it all boils down to a simple truth—we really all are the same. Young or old, blond or black-haired
, we want to belong, to love, and to be loved.”

  Chapter 4

  Duncan, did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

  Duncan ignored Christopher’s bellow and assisted Mr. Rundsdorf up the single step leading to his workshop’s porch. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  “I can come back later if this is a bad time.”

  “Your timing couldn’t be better.” Duncan grinned. “Chris swears he canna stand all the frills that came wi’ the house kit. Just to keep him on his toes, I’ve been tacking up a piece in or on the house every now and again.”

  Mr. Rundsdorf’s gaze roamed the workshop. “Your brother’s far ahead of you in the race.”

  “He likes to think so.”

  Chris stalked over. “Take it away by noon, Duncan, or I won’t be responsible for what happens next.”

  “You gave me all the gingerbread. ’Tis mine to do with as I please.”

  “Bad enough we have enough scales to cover ten dragons on the outside of my house. Worse yet, you tacked a bunch of those stupid curlicue things together and hung them in the washroom.”

  “I made a shelf for Mercy,” Duncan explained to Mr. Rundsdorf, who nodded in appreciation.

  “But my bed?” Chris practically thundered the words.

  “What did he do to your bed?” Mr. Rundsdorf asked.

  Chris suddenly went ruddy.

  “Dinna leave the man wondering.” Duncan nudged his brother. “Tell him.”

  “He, uh … tacked something onto a post,” Chris muttered darkly.

  “What was it?” Mr. Rundsdorf leaned forward.

  Chris gave Duncan a murderous look. Duncan shrugged. “Dinna give me that scowl. You’re the one who decided to bellow. The least you could do is answer the gentleman’s question.”

  “I don’t feel like it.” Chris rested his fists on his hips.

  “Then I will.” Duncan turned to the old man.

  “He stuck a birdhouse on my bedpost!” Chris sounded livid. “Seeing it first thing in the morning was enough to ruin my whole day.”

  Duncan happened to glance across the street. Carmen stood in her garden. She held her hand clapped over her mouth, and he knew she’d heard every last word booming out of Chris. “I tell you what, Chris. I’ll let you take down the birdhouse on two conditions: Carmen has to approve of it and you hang it over at her house.”

  “Done.” Chris stalked off.

  Duncan made a sweeping gesture. “Come on inside, Mr. Rundsdorf. I’ve got the brace all ready for you.” A moment later, he threaded a strap through the device he’d created after conferring with Rob on the design. “The sheepskin ought to keep it from rubbin’ you. If you feel a wider pad would help, dinna hesitate to tell me.”

  Mr. Rundsdorf wiggled his twisted torso within its new confines. He let out an appreciative sigh. “I can tell already this is going to work.”

  No brace in the world would ever begin to correct the man’s deformity. Duncan didn’t pretend otherwise. “Rob said the support might bring you some comfort.”

  “Unh-huh.” Rundsdorf buckled the last strap into place. “Stamina, too—not that I expect this contraption to turn me into a schoolboy. But if I can stay up for two or three hours at a time, it’ll be twice what I can do now.”

  Duncan picked up the misshapen shirt and held it for Mr. Rundsdorf to slide into.

  “I’m twisted as mesquite.”

  “I’d never seen mesquite until I came to America. ’Tis a rare beautiful shrub.”

  A rueful bark of a laugh left the man.

  Duncan went on to defend it. “Mesquite’s got character. I’ve admired many a piece of furniture or bowl made from the wood. If that’s not enough, the wood burns slow, and the flavor its smoke lends to Texas barbecue—“ Duncan waggled his brows.

  “I never thought of it that way.”

  “God made mesquite, just as He made pines and oak. He took pleasure in His creation and said it was good. If He took pleasure in that, how much more must He love a son who strives to live to serve Him?”

  Rundsdorf stopped buttoning his shirt and gawked at him. A slow smile spread across his pain-etched face.

  “I’m planning on having to fiddle wi’ the brace so we can get a perfect fit. Dinna be shy about telling me what feels odd or where it puts too much pressure.”

  “It’s perfect as it is.”

  “Aye, and I’ve heard the selfsame thing from plenty of folks when first they tied on a pair of shoes. ’Tisna just the fit when a body is at rest that matters. Pressure and rubbing are bound to happen—and that’s when you discover the difference between bliss and a blister.”

  Fastening the last of his buttons, Mr. Rundsdorf cleared his throat. “You didn’t say how much this cost.”

  The man needed to keep his pride, so Duncan gave him the answer he’d already made up. He swept his arm to encompass his workshop. “I used nothing but scraps and wee bits and pieces. They cost me next to nothing.”

  “But your time—”

  “Has some value. I grant you that. But I wanted to help a brother in Christ, so here’s what I’ve decided. More than a few men have said you’ve a talent with wood. In your spare time, using nothing but scraps, why don’t you make something for my shop?”

  “What do you need?”

  Duncan let out a shout of a laugh. “That all depends on who you’re listenin’ to. Chris thinks I need ambition. Rob says I suffer from the affliction of clutter and wouldna recognize order if it bit me. My sister-in-law is the most dangerous of all. She’s of the opinion that I need a wife.” Duncan chuckled along with his customer. “Me? I’m content just as I am.”

  Rundsdorf looked pensive. “It must be nice to feel that kind of peace.”

  “The apostle Paul wrote of it—e’en whilst in jail. ’Tisna the circumstances a man finds himself in that matter. God is present with us and loves us. All we have to do is open our hearts to Him.”

  “Like Sunday’s hymn, ‘Just as I Am.’ ”

  “Aye. And I canna help believing that since He takes us just as we are, then the grace He bestows ought to flow through us—not only to others but to ourselves. As for me, I’ve found when my heart’s in tune with Him, He can fix my flaws.” Duncan let out a diffident chuckle. “I’ve faults aplenty, so I keep the Almighty busy. But I’m content to serve God to the best of my ability.”

  “I’m thankful you do.” Rundsdorf smoothed his hand over the front of his shirt. His fingers bumped up and down as they passed over portions of the brace. “Maybe that contentment is contagious.”

  Later that afternoon, Duncan worked out on the porch. He looked up and bolted to his feet. In a matter of seconds, he’d crossed the street and yanked a bucket from Carmen’s hand. “What are ye doin’, woman?”

  She turned three shades of red.

  Duncan reconsidered his question. He’d allowed her no privacy. “I meant to ask, ‘Why are you hauling water up these stairs and into your house?’ ”

  “My pump broke.”

  “And you didna ask for help?”

  “I’ll ask Otto after church tomorrow. I’m sure he’ll be willing to come look at it next week.”

  “Nonsense.” Duncan stomped up the last steps and plowed into her house. “Did the pump just suddenly stop working, did it sprout a leak, or what happened?”

  Carmen stayed in the doorway. “The handle’s been getting stiff, and suddenly the works just stopped.”

  Duncan nodded and thumped the water onto her stove. He paused a second to appreciate her kitchen. Mercy kept their kitchen neat as a pin. The white cupboards and gingham curtains looked cheerful. In contrast, Carmen’s kitchen was an explosion of color and scents. Chili peppers hung in exotic-looking spills from lengths of twine. Garlic did, too. The hutch held a cheerful display of red, yellow, green, and blue dishes that matched the same hues as the brightly striped cloth running down the center of the table. The place felt as vibrant as its owner.

  “Thank you for carrying the
water.”

  Duncan cast a glance at the red pump. “I’ll take a look and see what’s wrong with your pump.”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  Duncan leveled a stare at her and slowly crooked a brow. “Why is it you can run all over the county, feeding and helping everyone else, but you shy away from accepting any help in return?”

  “It’s not that way.”

  “Oh? And how does this differ?”

  “To begin with, it’s not proper!”

  Duncan made an exasperated sound. “I’m going to grab some of my tools. While I’m gone, gather up your sewing or some such thing. Whilst I’m here repairing the pump, you can sit out on the veranda.” From the way she winced, Duncan gathered he’d spoken with more force than diplomacy. He softened his tone into a teasing lilt. “That way, you can admire your new birdhouse.”

  As he worked on the pump, Duncan’s mood darkened. Carmen sat out on the veranda sewing a shirt for some little boy. The next-door neighbor called over and suggested that Carmen might think about taking supper to a certain family since the mother was ailing. Yet another woman appeared and dropped off her baby and a cranky toddler so she could go to the mercantile. She’d no more than retrieved her children before another woman dropped off three.

  Duncan cleaned up his mess, washed his hands, and dumped his tools back into a box. It wouldn’t be right to speak to Carmen about it in front of anyone. The next time he caught her alone, he was going to say something. Just because she had a big heart and a willing spirit didn’t mean she ought to work herself into an early grave by doing favors for everyone in Texas. I’m going to tell the lass she’s a blessing to all who know her, but she canna let people take advantage of her.