Helen pointed at the results of Jennifer’s work. “Those belong to Lucas?”
Jen felt her cheeks turn rosy. “Yes. I recognized them and put them together.”
“Too bad you can’t just carry them up to your room and let them share space in your chest of drawers, Jen. Lucas is a good man. You’re lucky to have married him.”
“If he’s so wonderful, I can’t imagine that he’d have had to send away for a bride.”
Helen laughed. “He wouldn’t have, given the number of women here who’d have given an arm and leg to have him. But there was something about Lucas that yearned for a woman who was different. He probably thought he’d find someone very special when he applied to that agency.”
“And was disappointed when I showed up on his doorstep, so to speak.”
Helen shook her head. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you, Jen. He’s not disappointed. Not one little bit. The man is smitten with you. Maybe he doesn’t even know it himself, but I can tell.”
“Well, I’m not smitten with him,” Jennifer said. “I’m just waiting till I have enough money on hand to get on a stage and head East again.”
“Somehow, I don’t think that’s gonna happen. I suspect Lucas will win you back long before you have enough in your account to get past St. Louis.” Helen laughed at the thought. “You’d be a fool to pass him up. And you don’t look like any fool I’ve ever seen.”
Jennifer set her lips in a thin line. She picked up a shirt and folded it quickly, well used to the chore after weeks of doing laundry for a houseful of men. “He can just go whistle for a wife, as far as I’m concerned,” she said. And then wondered at the sting of tears as she turned toward the doorway, gathering up Lucas’s clothing from the sofa as she went.
It fit into his dresser drawers with space to spare, and she wondered about the scarcity of his belongings. His bedroom at the farm held two drawers of small clothes and stockings, another of shirts and a fourth of trousers. He’d apparently left a good share of them behind.
The memory of that room, the wide bed it held, the night she’d spent there in his arms, filled her with a warmth she could not deny. She bowed her head, lifting one hand to wipe at the tears she’d not been aware of until this moment. The face in the mirror in front of her was filled with sadness, loss and remorse. She’d found she needed more than Lucas would—or could—supply.
She would not be a mere bedmate to Lucas O’Reilly. Nor would she be his maid or mistress, content to pick up behind him and lavish him with affection.
She’d never wanted to play those roles, but now things were different. She had confidence. And Lucas had better recognize that fact. She was capable, and thus far, a success at what she’d chosen to do. If he wanted to pay good money for the right to be fed, the privilege of wearing clean drawers, so be it. She would take his money gladly, provide for him as she did the other eleven men who lived in this house, and at the same time, pretend she’d never lived in his home, had not slept in his bed, was not aching to feel his arms around her again.
With a final look at his bedroom, a last glance at the bed he’d slept in last night, she left his room, unaware that he would find her presence there upon his arrival home.
JENNIFER HAD BEEN in his room. Not only could he catch the scent of her, that floral aura of soap and powder she wore, but as he opened his dresser drawers he saw her fine hand in the folding of his clothing, the placement, just so, of his stockings and drawers, the neatly turned-down collars of his shirts. Even without benefit of a flat iron, they were smoothed and pressed by her hands and he smiled as he lifted one in search of the aroma of the woman he’d followed to this place.
A basin of warm water assured him of cleanliness and he dropped his soiled clothing where he stood, reaching for the laundry she’d placed in neat piles in the dresser drawers. Rinsing the soap from his body, he dried with a towel and welcomed the luxury of cleanliness, the towel still smelling of outdoors, its fragrance that of wind and summer flowers, caught in the very fibers of the fabric.
Supper was waiting, he knew, for the footsteps of a half-dozen men had gone past his door in the past few minutes, and he hastened to follow them down the stairs to the big dining room. His place was at one end of the table, Ida having decided it to be appropriate, apparently, given his relationship to her business partner.
Supper consisted of a huge meat loaf, topped with a blend of tomatoes and brown sugar, forming a tasty crust that sweetened each mouthful of meat. Baked potatoes were piled high in a bowl and green beans fresh from someone’s garden had been cooked with onion and bacon before being served in a large crockery dish. A platter of fresh bread, thickly sliced and ready for butter and jam to be spread on each piece, awaited the men. As one, they eyed the table with admiring eyes.
“Y’all surely know how to cook,” Cole Weston said, his fork spearing a large potato. The meat loaf was passed around the table and when it had become but a memory on the platter, Ida rose and replaced it with another identical to it, from the kitchen.
“Lots more where that came from,” she sang. “Eat up, gentlemen.”
They did. With gusto and hearty appreciation, their compliments flying the length and breadth of the dining room. Lucas ate his share, seconds on the meat loaf and a third helping of green beans. Pickled beets and a salad of fresh lettuce were carried in, the lettuce coated with a milk-and-vinegar dressing sweetened with sugar.
“Never had salad like this before, ma’am,” Toby Martin said. “Sure is tasty.”
“My mama used to make it thataway,” Ida told him. “Makes a dish of lettuce more tolerable.”
“Did you pickle these beets?” another man asked, reaching for the bowl.
“Surely did,” Ida told him. “Planted, pulled and pickled just last summer.”
I have a lot to learn yet. The thought sped through Jennifer’s mind quickly, aware that Ida had years of experience on her, that it might take a long time to equal the woman’s talents in the kitchen. And it had seemed so simple when they’d first talked of this house.
“I’d say you ladies are on the right track,” Lucas said from the end of the table. “You surely won’t have any trouble keeping the rooms in this place full.”
An assortment of voices agreed with his opinion, and Ida preened. “Well,” she said, “it takes more than one woman to pull this load. Don’t know what Jennifer and I would do without Helen to lend a hand.”
All eyes moved to that lady, who strove to be invisible on one side of Lucas. She bowed her head, her cheeks flushed at the compliment and Lucas lifted his glass of milk high. “A toast to the woman who takes such good care of us, gentlemen.”
Without hesitation, all glasses were raised, several of them in dire danger of being cracked or chipped by the vigorous clunking together some of the men employed, and their drinks were downed as Helen blushed even more furiously.
Toby seemed quite smitten with the widow lady, Jennifer thought, and her woman’s heart traveled in that direction for a few moments. Maybe Helen would be open to courtship, and if so, Toby would be a good one to offer his hand in marriage. Women being in short supply made every eligible female a target for at least a dozen men to aim for. And Helen was attractive—a bit plump, but pretty, with brown hair and big eyes that reminded Jennifer of purple pansies.
Her own desirability to these men was obvious, but Lucas had managed to keep them ever aware of his possessive nature, and they minded well their behavior around her.
Dishes were done quickly, three women making light work of the chore, and then it was time for bed. Lucas had taken on the task of bouncing Susan on his knee at the kitchen table, leaving Jennifer free for her own work, and as she took off her apron and hung it in the pantry, she heard him singing a foolish ditty to the baby.
“I’ll take her now.” She stretched out her arms for Susan, but in the way of all flirtatious women, the baby shook her head and wrapped her arms around Lucas’s neck. A born seductress, Jennifer
thought, and smiled.
“Why don’t I carry her upstairs for you?” Lucas rose and awaited Jennifer’s answer, watching as she dithered with the idea.
“All right.” The words were soft, barely reaching his ears and he simply hoisted Susan higher on his right arm, reaching for Jennifer with the left.
His shoulder hugged hers, his arm lifting to encircle her, and she was caught in a vise she stood no chance of breaking free of. On top of that, she apparently would not cause a fuss that might disturb Susan, who reached to touch Jen’s cheek with a chubby hand, as if she welcomed her with a baby’s innocence into the magic circle Lucas had created of the three of them.
He left the kitchen, Ida looking bemused as she followed their progress, and they went up the steps, slowly so as not to cause Jennifer to trip on the wide stair treads. She kept pace with him, though he thought she stiffened in his grasp as they neared her bedroom. Her words added to his theory as she stopped at the closed door.
“Let me go, Lucas. I’ll put Susan down for the night.”
He shook his head. “I’ll help you, Jen. She belongs with both of us.”
As if she could not deny the child’s arms clutching Lucas’s neck, and the look of adoration Susan bent on the man she loved with a baby’s trust, Jennifer nodded. “All right. Come on in.”
Opening the door, she led the way into her room. Lucas dropped his arm from her, freeing her to light the candle by the bed. Buster followed, as if it were his right to claim Susan and Jennifer as his responsibility. Darkness was falling and the house was growing quiet. He heard the sounds of men’s voices murmuring from the parlor below, and the unmistakable rasping of a man’s snores from a room down the hall.
Lucas closed the door and sat on the chair next to the door, settling Susan on his lap. His fingers were deft as he took off her shoes—small, black, patent slippers that the baby obviously was fond of. She grabbed them from his hand and held them against her chest, chortling. Lucas reached higher to pull off the baby’s stockings and then he undid her dress, opening the buttons with care, easing the material over her head.
“You look like an old hand at that,” Jennifer said.
“I’ve undone a few buttons in my lifetime.”
“I’ll just bet you have.” Bending, she picked up the baby and placed her on the bed, locating diapers and a long gown in which to ready her for the night.
“You look pretty competent, yourself,” Lucas told her.
“I am. I’ve just been worrying about the chances of Kyle getting her back, or maybe dreading the day when we have to send her back to her grandparents or whoever the law says will have the privilege of raising her.”
“Kyle doesn’t know where she is, Jen. And don’t you think there’s any chance we might be given the privilege anyway?”
“She’ll need an established family, with a mother and father in a stable marriage.”
“We can have that, Jen.” He awaited her reply, holding his breath, lest she deny him outright.
“Not the way things are right now,” she said sadly. “We aren’t even a couple anymore, Lucas.”
“We’ll always be a couple. We’ll always be married, if I have anything to say about it. And the law gives me that right, Jen. I haven’t abused you or denied you a home of your own. I’ve supported you and provided for you. I don’t know what more you want of me.”
“What do you expect of me?” He thought he caught a glimpse of dampness on her cheek as she glanced his way, and then she bent once more over the bed, changing the diaper Susan wore.
“I don’t expect much, Jen. Just that you’ll come home with me and be my wife. I’d sorta like you to use all this newfound knowledge for my benefit.”
“That’s exactly what I’m doing.” Her chin had that stubborn set again and as he watched, she wiped quickly at her cheek.
“Me and a dozen other men.” His voice was harsh and he rued it, but too late. There was no taking back the bitterness of his tone.
“Eleven.” She uttered the word calmly, then stood, Susan in her arms. The baby wore a long nightgown, her eyes were droopy and her head dropped to Jennifer’s shoulder as if she could no longer hold it erect.
“All right. Eleven other men.” He felt a moment of anger and banished it. Anger would only make things worse. “Put her in bed, Jen.”
She looked at him, as if she waited for his departure. “I’ll have to lie down with her. She’s used to me singing a song before she goes to sleep.”
“That’s easily solved.” Lucas rose and walked to the other side of the bed. “Where will you put her? In the middle?”
Jennifer nodded slowly, as if she wondered at his actions. Pulling down the quilt and top sheet, she placed the baby on the bed, lay beside her and pulled the quilt over them both.
Lucas followed her actions, first removing his boots, then lowering his weight to the bed, stretching out against Susan’s back and meeting Jennifer’s hand as she enclosed the baby in a loose embrace. “All right?” He asked the question without hope of an answer, but she surprised him.
“Yes. All right.” Her eyes were focused on Susan and he held fast to her hand as she began to sing, a soft lullaby he was familiar with, in a gentle voice he was not used to hearing.
In ten minutes time the song had been sung repeatedly, the baby was asleep and the woman who’d coaxed her into slumber had joined her. Lucas gazed at her. Jennifer was tired, of that there was no doubt. She’d been spending long days working at a variety of tasks here in this enormous house—cooking, scrubbing on a washboard, hanging and folding clothing for a dozen men, not to mention the everyday work of dishes and sweeping and dusting the furniture.
He knew that Helen was capable, and was no doubt doing her share, but his wife was working herself to a frazzle, and it didn’t sit well with him. If she wanted to wear herself out doing the work of a housewife, she could just as well do it in his home, in his kitchen and for him exclusively.
Absorbed in his reflections, he did not hear the faint knock at the door. Only when it opened a bit and Ida stood just outside peering in did he rouse enough to lift a hand in warning, waving it at Jennifer and the sleeping child who lay between them.
Ida nodded, smiled in understanding and closed the door. It was the last thing Lucas remembered until he heard the rooster crowing in the chicken coop down the road at a neighbor’s home.
Jennifer’s eyes were open, startled and reflecting her confusion. Susan squirmed between them and he automatically patted her back, hoping she would return to the dreams that had kept her dozing till now.
“It’s morning. And you’re in my room.” As announcements went, it was redundant, he thought, but then Jen had barely awakened and could not be expected to sound coherent.
“Yeah, I am,” he drawled. “I spent the night here.”
“That’s sneaky.” She cast him a dour look and he laughed.
“I’ll let you return the favor whenever you like. My door won’t be locked.”
“I don’t think so.” Her pout was prominent as she rolled over and rose from the bed, brushing at her dress and then sighing deeply. “If you’ll leave now, I’ll change my clothes and get the baby ready for the day.”
He supposed there was no sense in irritating the woman any more than he had to, so he followed her request and got up. Picking up his boots, he went toward the door, opening it just in time to walk into Cole Weston, who was obviously heading for the breakfast table.
“Morning, Miss Jennifer,” he said. “Howdy there, Lucas.” He strolled on and Jennifer’s face reddened as if the man had accused her of some terrible deed, Lucas thought. Buster sidled past and followed Cole down the stairway, evidently needing to find the back door.
Lucas frowned, brushing back his unruly hair. “You’re my wife, Jen. We’re married, we’re both fully dressed and I have a right to be here. Don’t get upset over this.”
“I left you, Lucas. I moved out of your house and your life. If you hadn�
�t followed me here, I’d still be putting money aside to go back East.”
“And now what are you saving for?” He halted in the doorway, boots held in front of him, his voice harsh.
“I’m not. I’m not saving for anthing, I suppose. Just trying to get my life in order and do what’s right for Susan. And for me. Maybe I’m just waiting for you to get tired of me, tired of hanging around.”
Yet, he thought, there was a sense of loneliness about the woman. No matter how irate she sounded, no matter how her eyes flashed with anger, there was a sadness he could not help but see, a sorrowful cast to her features that tore at his heart. How a man could love a woman who cared so little for him was a puzzle he’d yet to solve.
But it was true, he admitted to himself with a sense of wonder. He loved her. He wanted her, and most of all he needed her. Needed the smile she’d offered him as she’d solved the problem of making edible biscuits one day back at the farmhouse. The quick flash of pleasure when he’d touched her, her eyes seeking his with a hidden message he’d cherished, returned to his mind as quickly as it had numerous times before.
Now he stood little chance of keeping her as his own, of taking her home with him, unless he outright kidnapped her and dragged her off. And that he could not bring himself to do.
“I’ll see you at the breakfast table.” Closing the door, he crossed the hall and entered his room. The clean clothing in his dresser drawers reminded him again of Jennifer, and he could not chase her memory from his thoughts as he dressed and readied himself for the day.
She was in the dining room when he arrived, carrying bowls of food from the kitchen. Susan babbled from behind the swinging door and he caught a glimpse of the baby, sitting on a chair, banging a small kettle with a wooden spoon.
The men made short work of the bowls of sausage gravy and platters of biscuits and sausage patties, only pausing to offer their thanks when Helen entered the room with bowls of scrambled eggs. The biscuits were replenished with another panful dumped from a flat sheet and the tableful of men devoured them, barely leaving enough for the women.
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