Herding Her Heart

by Kit Morgan

  “Do I? Well, perhaps a bit. Are you worried?”

  “Of course I am. Didn’t you hear what he said earlier? What if he can’t find us husbands?”

  Be encouraging, Jasmine thought. She took a deep breath. “Of course he’ll be able to find us husbands. I’m sure he’ll find each of us a wonderful man, you’ll see. This is only a delay – he still has all his aunt’s records, which must include all the prospective husbands. Once he’s had a chance to settle in, he’ll probably be pairing us up and sending us to the preacher faster than you can blink.”

  That seemed to improve Bertha’s mood. But her own stomach knotted tighter, and she wondered if she’d need a bucket to lose her breakfast in. She took another sip of coffee and watched the other brides. Some were chatting, while a few, including Myrakle, had gone upstairs to finish unpacking. Her little pep talk had apparently helped everyone except her.

  “Jasmine?”

  “Yes, Violet, what is it?”

  “I was just wondering if you’re okay?”

  Jasmine brushed at her skirt. “About as well as can be expected.”

  Violet sat in the chair Myrakle had vacated. “Well, I appreciated your speech. I’d been concerned because you hadn’t been as chatty this morning as you were yesterday.”

  “Oh, that.” She clasped her hands in her lap. “I’m trying to cut back a little. People often tell me I talk too much.”

  The woman’s eyebrows rose as she smiled. “Well, I don’t mind if you do.”

  Jasmine smiled again and shut her eyes. That was nice to hear – she was worried she’d already overstepped her bounds with some of the others. Besides, she’d been sticking close to Myrakle during breakfast, and Myrakle probably only heard – well, saw – half of what she said. It was good to have two new friends who didn’t mind.

  “You let me know if you’re ever not okay. And keep up the encouragement – I think we’re going to need it.”

  Jasmine nodded. “Thank you so much. I have to admit, when I think about all this … sometimes I get scared out of my mind.”

  “As do we all. But as you said, I’m sure that Mr. Redburn will get this all sorted out. In the meantime we’ll do as he suggests and take turns cooking and cleaning while we’re living here.”

  “But how long do you think that will be?” Jasmine asked. “Weeks? Months?”

  “In truth, I’m not sure. It depends on how quickly Mr. Redburn sorts through the files and makes sense of them. But don’t worry, I’ll see what I can do to help him along.”

  Jasmine smiled. That’s what she needed to hear. She didn’t spend a lot of time speaking with Violet on the journey to Bent, but she’d observed her often enough to know that the woman took charge, often checking on the others to make sure everyone was doing okay. They needed that more than ever now.

  Well, if Violet’s job was to take charge, Jasmine’s was to encourage – and that meant keeping her own spirits up too. No point in crying over spilled milk or even dead matchmakers. It was time to look toward the future with eyes bright and a smile ready. She headed up to her room to do just that for Myrakle – even as she hoped that she hadn’t made the biggest mistake of her life coming here.

  Rafe Adams crossed the street toward the hardware store. He needed more nails, and also had to mail a letter to his parents in Oregon. He missed them at times and planned to visit soon, but every time he tried to make it happen something came up. He couldn’t pass up more work, though, not when he needed the money to take on a wife.

  Wife … the word seemed foreign somehow. But his mother kept asking if he’d found anyone. He’d only moved here a year ago and had concentrated on getting his business as a carpenter and furniture maker running. What he’d done so far had built him up a nice reputation for quality work. He had a house now with a nice-sized shop next to it and he’d made a few friends. What more could a man want other than a wife and family?

  And then his best chance at obtaining a bride died last week of pneumonia. Viola Redburn had assured him she’d find him a special woman to be his bride. One that would see past his … how did she put it? Malady.

  “Rafe!”

  He turned to see Reverend Gregory walking his way. He’d shared with him his concerns a few days ago regarding Viola’s promise – and her sudden inability to fulfill it. The reverend was a sympathetic soul and provided a listening ear.

  “Did you hear the news?” the reverend asked when he reached him.

  Rafe swallowed hard. “Wh-wh …” He swallowed again. “What n-n-n-news?” He sighed. What bride wanted to be married to a man who couldn’t even ask a simple question without stuttering?

  “Women! Ten of them came in late last night. Poor Chance has his hands full.”

  Rafe’s heart leaped in his chest. “M-m-m-Mr. Redburn?”

  “Yes, he’s got them at his aunt’s house. He inherited everything, you know.”

  “Y-yes, I-I-I heard.”

  “You’ll have your bride, you’ll see. You, uh, might want to pray for Chance, though. Apparently his aunt wasn’t so good at the recordkeeping, and he’s got to sort her papers out and deal with a house full of complaining brides. If you can be patient with him, I know he’d appreciate it.”

  Rafe nodded. He didn’t want to speak any more than he had to, especially not with this news! Ten women ensconced in the Redburn mansion at this very moment – to think one of them might be his! He smiled, gave the reverend a parting nod and went on his way. Rev. Gregory was used to him not voicing a goodbye.

  Rafe shook his head as he entered the hardware store. He’d inherited his father’s good looks and charm, but also his mother’s stutter. She often coughed to cover it up. He was too obsessive about cleanliness to consider a coughing fit an option. His mother would also hold her breath, which he found didn’t help him after he’d passed out a few times

  So he’d resigned himself to grinning and bearing it. This meant he had to find a career that didn’t involve a lot of talking. He’d tried cowpunching, since how much conversation did a cow need? He also got really good with a gun to deal with cattle rustlers and the like. Once he opened his mouth, no cattle rustler or outlaw would take him seriously, so he learned to let his revolvers and his fists do the talking. But he never enjoyed ranch work or violence. Carpentry let him be creative, which fed his soul – and how much conversation did a block of wood need?

  He purchased what he needed, left the hardware store and was headed for the post office when he saw Chance Redburn waving at him. “Say, Rafe!”

  Rafe smiled and headed over, hoping the man had some good news in the wife department. Yeah, he had a pretty good life … so long as he didn’t have to talk about it.

  Chapter Four

  Jasmine glanced at Myrakle as they trudged up the stairs. “It’s all right. Mr. Redburn will figure this out, you’ll see.”

  But after today’s absolute disaster, she wasn’t sure herself. Mr. Redburn came back to the house after buying supplies, but after he put them away he had the brides line up for some sort of inspection. He said he’d figured out a system to get them all matched with a prospective groom. It was obvious his experience was in ranching – someone really should have told him that matching young ladies to eligible bachelors was not the same as breeding cattle!

  “The nerve of that man,” Myrakle said as they reached the top of the stairs.

  Jasmine couldn’t argue – she was still trying to make sense of this mess they were in. Imagine asking to inspect their teeth, then asking everyone’s height and weight! Was the man mad? The only good thing to come of this afternoon’s debacle was the news that some men were coming by later to meet them. Would one of them be interested in her?

  The two women entered their room, and Myrakle immediately fell onto her bed and began crying. Jasmine sat next to her and stroked her hair – encouraging words would do no good when she was face down.

  Mr. Redburn wanted Myrakle to meet someone named Adams, but it was clear to Jasmine
that her roommate had already set her cap for Joseph Penella, the handsome cowboy from the train station last night. Myrakle had run into Mr. Penella behind the house that morning when he came by to speak with their host, and she was beaming when she came back inside. She disappeared into the library … and suddenly everyone heard music. No one could believe their eyes when they saw the young deaf woman playing the piano!

  But now poor Myrakle got up from her bed with swollen red eyes, picked up Dumpling and left the room. It was hard to believe she’d been so happy earlier.

  Jasmine thought of going after her but what was the point? Mr. Redburn was determined to make this so-called matchmaking system of his work and to match Myrakle with this Adams fellow. If the poor woman was already excited about Mr. Penella, why insist on matching her with someone else? How could she be happy with him when it was clear she desired the cowboy – she’d even told Mr. Redburn she did …

  Jasmine shook her head, went to the window and stared out. The mansion was in the center of Bent, and people were going about their business below. She wondered where Myrakle and the other brides had gone. Maybe she should go downstairs and see if they were okay. But the thought of being disappointed yet again weighed too heavily, so she stayed put. Was she a coward? She hoped not.

  What would Genevieve do? Would she demand Mr. Redburn make the proper matches or else? She scoffed. “Or else what? Pay our train fare home?” She began pacing. Actually, that did sound like something Genevieve would do. But in the meantime Violet Montgomery had been speaking with Mr. Redburn, trying to make things right, and Jasmine didn’t want to mess up her plan.

  Jasmine sat on the bed, her face in her hands, but no tears came. She wasn’t quite as disappointed as Myrakle – she hadn’t set her cap for anyone yet.

  She glanced at the vanity table and wondered if there was paper and ink in one of the drawers. Should she write her parents and tell them the whole thing was a bust? Or should she soldier through, at least for now?

  She could be bright, happy and chatty in front of the other brides, but when she was by herself the thoughts in her head moved so fast she was paralyzed, overwhelmed. She couldn’t even cry! “What’s the use of being upset when you can’t have a good cry?” she complained as she paced some more. “Oh, that man!” She hoped ranching was still an option for Mr. Redburn – he was certainly a dud as a matchmaker.

  She went downstairs to try and make herself useful. Maybe if she stayed busy, she wouldn’t keep thinking about the mess this endeavor had become. She found Myrakle and Helena, a young woman from Ohio, watching Mr. Beans open the front door. Had the gentlemen Mr. Redburn told them about arrived? She saw Myrakle’s face light up. “I thought so,” she whispered to herself.

  “What?” Helena whispered back. “Oh, look, it’s the cowboy from the train station.”

  Jasmine nodded as another man walked in behind him. He was tall like Myrakle’s cowboy, with dark hair and ice-blue eyes. Was this the Mr. Adams that Mr. Redburn wanted to match with Myrakle? He was handsome. She looked a little closer – was that sawdust in his hair? Well, she should be there for Myrakle, even if she only had big, sad eyes for Mr. Penella.

  Helena saw it now, exchanged a glance with Jasmine, and together they went over and put comforting hands on Myrakle’s trembling shoulders. Jasmine’s heart went out to her.

  But suddenly more men were at the door, and within minutes the foyer was filling with them, along with curious brides coming down the stairs. Well, maybe things were starting to come together …

  … or maybe not. Jasmine jumped when Mr. Redburn whistled, high and shrill, then waved everyone into the parlor like they were a herd of cattle. Then, once everyone was in there, he began to eye them all like they were for sale at auction, even at the men. “This is too much,” she muttered to herself.

  “Shhh!” one of the brides behind her hissed.

  She didn’t know who it was, nor cared. She was too intent on watching Mr. Redburn take one of the other brides by the hand and pull her over to stand in front of one of the men. “Oh, my word, could this get any worse?”

  “Don’t draw attention to yourself,” Helena warned. “Though you’re right, this is a bad joke.”

  Mr. Redburn dragged another bride to a prospective groom. “I want to be encouraging,” Jasmine whispered. “But … this? Does he have any idea what he’s doing?” No one answered. Half the young women were crying now, as Mr. Redburn looked like he was sticking two animals in a pen for breeding! How embarrassing.

  When the man took Myrakle by the hand and pulled her in front of Mr. Adams, she sobbed. He gulped, looked her up and down, gulped again. Good – he wasn’t any happier than the rest of them. In fact, the more she watched the men, the more disgruntled they appeared. At least they had that in common.

  Then, after all the other brides had been relocated, Mr. Redburn took her hand. “Miss Hammond, have I got a match for you.”

  Jasmine let him pull her across the room. But from the look of things, all the men had already been taken. Where was she going?!

  Rafe walked next to Miss Estes. Chance had shooed them out of the parlor, telling them to take a walk, and they had, straight to the chicken coop in back. He didn’t really know where else to go, and so far the young woman hadn’t said a word, just given him a few looks. Now here they were, watching the birds scratch and peck at the ground. He noted some broken eggs nearby and wondered what happened. From the looks of it, someone had dropped them. Too bad.

  Miss Estes looked at him sadly. She obviously didn’t want to be there. But this was his chance! He wanted a bride, didn’t he? At long last his patience was paying off. She was lovely, with bright red hair and a nice walk. But did she talk at all?

  He got his answer soon enough. “So what do you do for a living, Mr. Adams?”

  This was it, the moment of truth. As soon as he stuttered she’d laugh or give him a dismissive wave, march back into the house and tell Chance she didn’t want to marry an idiot. He might as well get it over with. “C-c-c-carpentry. I-I-I make f-f-furniture.” There, he’d answered his first question.

  And of course, she was giving him a blank stare like they all did. Maybe she chalked it up to nerves and figured he’d start talking like any other man when he spoke again, but if so, she was in for a disappointment. “I’m sorry, but I can’t understand you.”

  Didn’t she know what carpentry entailed? He looked down as he thought. “I do l-little of ev-ev-ev …” He stomped his foot in frustration and turned away. “… a little of ev-everything,”

  Several seconds of silence, then she tapped him on the shoulder. “Excuse me – what did you say?”

  He shouldn’t have lashed out, but to be tongue-tied at that moment …

  “ I’m afraid I can’t understand you … ”

  Here it comes, the polite dismissal. Then she’d leave, go back into the house and tell Chance she couldn’t possibly get along with …

  “… I’m deaf.”

  Rafe looked at her as if she’d slapped him. He was worked up over a little stammer, and she couldn’t hear at all?! She must have been reading his lips, and when he looked at the ground and turned away, he’d cut her off! “Oh, I-I-I’m so sor-sor-sor …”

  But it was too late for that – Miss Estes burst into tears and ran back to the house.

  Rafe sighed and stared at the chickens as he ran his hand through his hair. What was Chance Redburn thinking. Was he thinking at all? To match him with a deaf girl … he smacked his forehead. The man’s loco, that’s it. He must be stricken with grief over the death of his aunt. No – as much as he’d like to think that, it wasn’t likely. Chance was made of stout stuff and wasn’t going to let something like grief get in his way. But he was also a rancher, and was approaching this like he was dealing with his stock.

  He walked to a chopping block, removed the hatchet stuck in it and sat. He supposed he should give the man another opportunity to prove himself. After all, it’s not like he could b
ecome a master matchmaker overnight just because ten brides had arrived. But what if this kept happening? This first disaster was bad enough. He could probably stomach another, but after that his patience would begin to wane as would any man’s.

  He stood and headed back to the house as Joseph Penella entered the backyard, a woman on his arm. Best he leave them alone. He wandered inside, found the library, sat and thumbed through a book someone had left on a side table. He figured he should go into the parlor and mingle, but as soon as he talked the brides would scatter.

  He set the book down and wondered if Chance’s friend and cook Beans had anything to eat in the kitchen. Maybe he’d visit with him for a while before braving the parlor again. Beans would be stuck in this mess right along with his boss and might know a thing or two. Every little bit helped.

  He found the kitchen and sure enough, Beans was putting a pan of something into the oven. “G-g-good afternoon, Mr. McG-g-gruber.” He knew the man’s nickname but wasn’t sure if the old cook was comfortable with him using it.

  “Howdy, Rafe,” Beans said. “Land sakes, don’t be so formal. Call me Beans like everyone else.”

  Rafe smiled. That answered that. “M-mind if I s-s-sit d-down?” He pulled out a chair at the kitchen table.

  “Sure, go ahead, but I gotta get some refreshments fixed quick-like. Joe Penella just lit on outta here to fetch his brothers. This afternoon’s meetin’ has turned into a party. We’re even gonna have a dance.”

  “A d-d-dance?” That he stuttered was bad enough, but he hadn’t danced in years. It would just be his luck to step on some poor girl’s feet and stutter an apology. How embarrassing would that be? Still, it was better than the cattle-breeding method – he would get a shot at meeting some of the other girls, and maybe one of them would think his stammer was cute. Stranger things had happened already today. “D-do you n-n-need help with anything?”

  Beans stopped what he was doing and glared at him. “Now see here, Rafe Adams. Women offer to help in this kitchen, that’s true enough, and I don’t mind. But you’re no woman.”