by Regina Scott
She would get her commissions soon enough. In the meantime she wasn’t sure what to do with herself. She paced the little room, considering her options. Simon’s cabin didn’t need a lot of cleaning. And the sparse furnishings required little tending. By his own admission, the wash had been done recently. She’d never lived on a farm, but she was certain there must be a number of chores, even in winter when the fields lay empty. She simply wasn’t sure what those chores would be or whether she could do them.
She had never intended to be an honored guest at Wallin Landing. If she was going to live here, she would have to find a way to contribute.
Someone rapped at the door just then, and Nora hurried to answer. Standing on the stoop, swathed in a sky blue cloak of fine wool, Catherine smiled at her, her arms full of clothing.
“Good morning,” she greeted. “I fear we started out on the wrong foot last night. May I come in so we can talk?”
Nora could not imagine Simon refusing entrance to any of his family, especially one coming in the name of peace. She held the door wider, and Catherine crossed the threshold into the cabin.
She glanced around, her graceful brows arched in surprise. “Rather Spartan.”
Had Simon kept her from entering? “Haven’t you been here before?” Nora asked, concern rising.
“Never,” Catherine said, turning to her with a smile. “Until you arrived, this was the last male bastion at Wallin Landing. Simon and John generally stayed here, with Levi joining them when he was in their good graces. Somehow, I imagined it messier.”
Then she could not know Simon well. Nora was fairly sure untidiness would drive him mad.
Catherine held out the clothing. “Beth asked me to bring you these, along with her promise to come see you as soon as school is out tomorrow. We persuaded her you might need today to settle in. These are what they were going to use for costumes for the theatrical next week.”
Nora crossed to her side and accepted the clothing from her new sister-in-law. Her fingers touched worn velvet, thick wool and filmy linen. She set the bundle on the table and lifted the top piece.
“It seems a little large for children,” she said as the shirt she held up to her fell past her knees.
“Well, there are no children at the Lake Union School,” Catherine told her, removing her cloak and draping it over one of the log chairs. She seated herself on another and arranged her skirts. They were properly narrow, Nora noticed: good navy wool with no ornamentation around the hem, which was dotted with mud.
“But I thought Rina had five students,” Nora said, folding the shirt carefully.
“She does, but Beth is by far the youngest at fourteen,” Catherine explained. “Levi and his friend Scout are eighteen, and the other two are grown men who hope to better themselves by learning to read and cipher. There were others earlier, all adults, but they have graduated and moved on. It’s all very progressive.”
It certainly sounded that way. The school Nora had attended had been girls only, with a female teacher who brooked no nonsense. But Nora was glad her parents had sent her to school. Had they passed away when she was younger, Charles would likely have found some reason to keep her sequestered at home.
“About last night,” Catherine said, her hand brushing some fir needles off her skirt, “I do apologize if anything we said offended you.”
“Not at all,” Nora told her. “But I think Simon was hurt by his family’s comments.”
Catherine started, her gaze darting to Nora’s. “Simon?”
Nora took a seat opposite her at the table. “Is that so hard to imagine? He chose to marry a stranger so his family wouldn’t lack for food. I find that admirable. Is it any wonder he was hurt when his family questioned him instead of thanking him for his sacrifice?”
“But marriage is about more than enlarging one’s holdings, no matter the need,” Catherine protested. “It is about two people becoming one, in goals, in values, in love.”
Now, that was a lovely definition of marriage. A shame it would not do for her and Simon.
“Simon and I are compatible when it comes to values,” she allowed, “and we are agreed to support each other’s goals. As for love, I certainly never expected to find it.”
Catherine frowned at her a moment, then lowered her gaze to the pile of fabric, her long fingers pleating the linen shirt. “When I came to Wallin Landing, I had no interest in finding love either. I lost my father and brother in the war, you see, and I was certain my heart would never survive another loss. But Drew changed my mind. He showed me love was worth the risk.”
Nora sighed. “Oh, how romantic. I’m so glad for you.”
Catherine leaned forward, her gaze rising once more, the pale blue bright and determined. “And I only wish the same for you, Nora. I will pray that you and Simon are similarly blessed in your marriage.”
Nora could only smile in answer. She knew the Lord would care for her—He always had. But she had no illusions that Simon would fall in love with her. The best she could do was to earn his respect by being useful to him and his family.
And suddenly she knew just how to start. When Catherine was ready to leave, Nora threw on her cloak and followed her out the door. She had to find John before he started out to Seattle for her trunk, for she had a few more things for him to pick up.
* * *
The sun had set when Simon dragged himself home for the day. He, Drew and James had been trying to finish an order for spars, which the sawmill owner Henry Yesler wanted to have on hand for the sailing ships that stopped from time to time in Seattle’s harbor. Drew was hoping for payment within the week so he could purchase something special for his bride their first Christmas together. Normally, John would have helped, but he’d gone into Seattle to fetch Nora’s trunk. Until Levi passed the examination Rina and his mother had agreed on, Simon’s youngest brother spent the better part of the day at school, squeezing in chores before and afterward.
With the light so dear in December, the remaining three brothers had had to work hard in relatively few hours. Simon would have thought that short duration enough to keep them quiet and focused on the work, but Drew had used the time to question him. And his brother had not appreciated Simon’s answers.
“So unlike your usual habit, you made your decision based on one conversation,” he said, his ax biting into the tree he and Simon were felling while James took a turn watching for trouble. John had located a stand of timber above James’s cabin with several trees just the right circumference and height to serve as masts when peeled and seasoned.
“I’m not generally the one who has trouble making decisions,” Simon reminded him, yanking his ax from the wood. “Nora presented her case. I evaluated it and found it worth consideration.”
“But you didn’t consider it,” Drew said. “You just did it.”
Simon paused to eye his brother. “Which concerns you more, that I married Nora or that I didn’t come to you first for advice?”
Drew gave the tree a mighty whack that set it to leaning, and Simon could see his brother’s tanned cheeks darkening. “You’ve made your point. You don’t need my permission to wed. And I’m the last one to advise you on courting. If you and the others hadn’t encouraged me, I might never have married Catherine.”
James, who was passing on his rounds about the area, laughed. “We didn’t so much encourage as threaten, cajole and harass. If you ask me, I think it’s a good thing Simon didn’t ask our advice first.” James whistled as he continued on his way.
That was new—James agreeing with him on anything. Drew even let the matter go as they returned to their work, and Levi was just as congenial when he came by the new acreage in the twilight to help Simon clear a couple of smaller trees before dinner.
“You did a good thing by marrying Nora,” Levi had commented as they had hacked at the tr
unk of a young cedar. Simon appreciated his willingness to work on the property, although he thought it was as much to be helpful as to escape studying.
“This land is a godsend,” Simon had agreed as they repositioned their axes.
“Nora’s a godsend too,” Levi had said. “Beth will finally have someone who listens as much as Beth talks.”
Now Simon smiled as he reached for the door latch on his cabin. Nora was unobtrusive, quiet, peaceful even. She would not cut up his life. And that was a blessing.
He opened the door, and the scent of something baking assailed him. More, colors and shapes bombarded his gaze. He blinked, thinking for a moment he’d somehow wandered onto the wrong claim.
Bright swags of fabric draped the log walls, obscured the plank table. Lacy embroidered doilies clung to the four chairs he’d carved from stumps left over from their logging. A rug patterned in roses ran from the door to the hearth, encouraging him to enter the whimsical palace.
He couldn’t seem to make his feet move.
“Welcome home,” Nora said from the hearth, where a cast-iron oven lay covered in coals. White dots he guessed were flour were sprinkled over her dress, and her hair was escaping her bun as if trying to flee from the grandeur around it.
“What did you do?” he asked.
She beamed at him. “I decorated.”
He glanced around again, finding no words to describe the blaze of color. “So I see.”
As his gaze returned to hers, he saw that her smile was fading. “You don’t like it.”
“Not in the slightest,” he said, forcing himself into the room. “But I imagine I’ll get used to it.”
She seemed to accept that, for she turned to the hearth. “Dinner will be ready by the time you clean up.”
She truly was cooking. He could smell ham as he moved deeper into the room, and his mouth began watering. Swallowing, he nodded to the hearth. “I thought we agreed we would eat at the main house with the others.”
“Well, you didn’t seem all that happy with the family dinner last night,” Nora pointed out, arranging the silverware on the table. Silverware? Since when had he owned more than a few forks and a hunting knife?
“I checked with your mother,” she continued, avoiding his gaze, “and she had extra ham, potatoes, carrots, flour and such, so I made dinner here.”
“Inefficient,” Simon said, going to the basin and splashing water into it from the pitcher. “It makes more sense for us to eat with the others. That way nothing goes to waste.”
“Yes, of course,” she said. “I’ll speak to your mother about that tomorrow.”
He scrubbed his hands, dried them on the towel that had been hung next to the stand. The white fabric had been embroidered with violets and edged in lace. Thoroughly impractical. But it left his work-roughened hands feeling surprisingly soft.
He turned to the room and glanced around again. He did his best to keep things clean and tidy. Anything messy seemed out of control. On closer inspection, he could see an order to the colors, a subtle shifting of light and shadow that was somehow appealing. And what could be seen of the floor had been swept so clean the golden patina of the cedar planks glowed through. The ash from the hearth had been cleared out, and the windows gleamed.
“There,” Nora said, setting a meat pie on the table. “And there’s apple preserves as well.”
Simon approached her. “You didn’t have to do all this, Nora.”
Her chin came up. “Certainly I did. I am not one to shirk a task, sir.” She bustled around the table and took her seat.
Simon sat opposite her. “You aren’t a servant in this house.”
She colored. “I didn’t think I was. I’m very sorry you dislike everything. Let’s eat.”
Clasping her hands, she bowed her head. “Dear Lord, bless this food, which I wasn’t supposed to make, and bless this house, which I wasn’t supposed to clean and cheer. Amen.”
She raised her head and reached for the serving spoon, then hesitated. “Am I allowed to serve myself dinner?”
Simon puffed out a breath. “Of course.”
“Good.” She dug into the pie and heaped a piece onto her plate, then offered him the spoon. “I’ll tell Beth I can’t help with the costumes, after all. She can likely sew the pieces herself, when she isn’t studying for school, practicing for the theatrical or doing the chores I’m not supposed to do.”
Simon carved out a piece of pie. “Beth does chores to prepare herself to manage her own home. You don’t need the practice.”
“Of course not,” Nora said, though her smile felt sharp. “After all, I’ll never have a home of my own.”
He set down his fork. “That isn’t what I meant. You gave up your life so I could claim one hundred and sixty acres. You shouldn’t have to work for it.”
She softened, her smile becoming the one that warmed him. “I have worked since I was twelve, Simon, first nursing my parents until their deaths, then caring for Charles and Meredith and finally at my own sewing. I wasn’t made to be a lady of leisure. If I sit around all day, I’ll go mad. Besides, as your wife, I should contribute something to the family besides a tract of land covered in trees.”
“What about your commissions?” Simon countered. “Won’t they keep you busy?”
“Not busy enough,” Nora assured him. “And I truly would like to work with Beth on the theatrical.” She peered at him through her lashes. “You don’t object to me helping her, do you?”
“No,” Simon said.
“Good,” she replied. “And tomorrow, I’ll return the cabin to the way it was. John brought me my trunk today, along with some of the fabric I’d purchased at the Kelloggs’ store, and I couldn’t wait to use it all. It seemed such a shame for everything to stay in a trunk that could be used for more important items.”
That did seem a waste. He glanced around again. “I can adjust. You don’t have to take it all down.”
Her smile brightened, making him feel insufferably proud of himself for having done nothing more than agree. “Wonderful. And you really must let me clean house. With you busy clearing the land, you won’t have time. You wouldn’t want us living in squalor.”
“Of course not,” Simon said.
She levered her fork at him. “And you have a button loose on that shirt. I am going to sew it back on properly. What good is being a seamstress if I cannot share my skills with family?”
When had a fork become a lethal weapon? He’d sweated less when teaching Beth to shoot for the first time. “Very well,” Simon said.
She nodded, returning to her piece of pie. “Excellent. I’m so glad we could come to an agreement.”
So was he, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d just agreed to something far more.
Chapter Eight
There. That hadn’t been so hard. True, Simon hadn’t reacted as enthusiastically as she’d hoped to the changes, but he had been willing to listen to reason. And when she showed him how she’d used fabric to soften the bedding he slept in near the fire, his eyes had lit with appreciation. That look made it easier to say good-night and head up into the loft for bed.
And she’d even climbed the ladder all by herself. She just wasn’t sure why that made her feel disappointed rather than pleased.
Once again, he was gone when she woke in the morning. Her only other dress with narrow skirts was a red-and-green-plaid taffeta that Meredith had found far too bright. Nora donned it anyway. But she had to own it was one more blaze of color in the cabin. With winter sunlight shafting through the windows, the room looked a bit brighter than she’d intended. She took down some of the draping, rearranged things on the table and decided that was much better.
Hopefully, Simon would agree.
But she wasn’t going to sit around all day and wai
t for him. Instead, after a breakfast of oatmeal she made from a sack of oats in the cupboard, Nora went to the schoolhouse.
The Lake Union School sat across the back of the clearing at Wallin Landing, a sturdy building of peeled logs with windows looking out toward the main house. Inside, benches dotted by slates were bracketed by a stone hearth at the back of the schoolroom and a neat teacher’s desk at the front. Already a fire was crackling, warming the space, and lanterns hanging from brass hooks in the rafters gave off a golden light. Rina, in her crisp lavender gown edged in deeper purple ruching, looked right at home at the head of the class, her hair carefully combed into a bun at the top of her head.
Nora had hoped to catch the schoolteacher before her students arrived, wanting to ask about how she could help with the theatrical. Beth, however, was there before her, sweeping the schoolroom floor. She stopped to listen impatiently, shifting from foot to foot so that her gingham skirts swung like a bell, as Nora and Rina talked.
“We need nothing elaborate,” Rina assured Nora with a look to Beth, who had opened her mouth most likely to protest. “The play is a simple composition based on the events surrounding the birth of our Savior.”
“Only, our baby Jesus will be born in a schoolroom,” Beth put in helpfully.
Nora frowned. “Why? There seems to be a perfectly good stable just across the way.”
Rina stared at her, her hazel eyes widening in her creamy face.
Beth clapped her hands. “Oh, wonderful! That’s absolutely perfect. I know just how to arrange it all. We can put the audience on the threshing floor and use Lancelot’s stall as the manger. You’re brilliant!” She threw her arms around Nora.
Nora absorbed the hug, feeling rather pleased with herself. She’d contributed, even if she wasn’t entirely sure how.
Rina did not look so certain as Beth disengaged. “Is that advisable?” she asked with a frown. “We would not want to disturb the animals or damage foodstuffs needed for winter.”