Deeply Devoted

by Maggie Brendan

  Now why was she thinking these thoughts? What’s wrong with me?

  “How about dessert? I may be able to make it worth your while.” His eyes toyed with hers with a mischievous twinkle, crinkling at the corners.

  Clara felt the heat rise in her face. “I don’t think I could eat another bite, but thank you.”

  “So that was your daughter-in-law’s sister that we met earlier? Is the soldier courting her? It must have been hard for him to get time away from Fort Russell to escort her to dinner.” He tilted his head upward. “You know, the third floor here has been purported to be a lover’s getaway, and . . . er . . . possibly other things go on as well.”

  Clara’s heart pounded fast under her corset. Was he making reference to Greta or taunting her? She wasn’t sure. Not at all sure. “I’ve heard stories . . . but it’s all speculation. As to Greta, I know very little about Catharine or her sisters. That’s why I’m paying you to find out.” A nagging thought about Greta popped into Clara’s mind. How old was she anyway? Was she safe with this soldier? Clara had a mind to go find them and check on her. She wouldn’t want anything to happen to her, even if she was Catharine’s sister.

  “Ah . . . always the reminder for services rendered. Tell me, my lovely Clara, what have you been doing for enjoyment since your husband died?”

  Clara squirmed in her seat and moistened her dry lips, remembering that he’d asked her this question before. “I attend church and volunteer for a variety of things there. Before Peter was married, we frequently got together for dinner. I read a lot.”

  “Sounds perfectly perfect, but boring and lonely. Are you lonely, Clara?” He paused, and when she didn’t answer, he continued. “Allow me to add a little fun to your life. It’ll be good for you.” A charming grin split his face, and his eyes smoldered through lashes too thick for a man.

  She sucked in air, then released a heavy sigh. Best to say what was on her mind so there would be no misunderstanding. “That depends on what kind of fun you propose. If you mean fun up on the third floor, then I’m not interested,” she answered, compressing her lips. “That would be entirely wrong.”

  Mac laughed. “That was not what I meant. However, I’ll admit the thought has crossed my mind. Not to worry, I’ll respect your wishes and your morals, though mine may differ somewhat.”

  Clara blinked. What did he mean by that? She wasn’t sure if she should be flattered or not. Mac’s way of talking confused her, but she was drawn to him. “It’s getting late—I should be getting home,” she said, glancing at the watch fob dangling from her neck. She made a move to leave.

  “What’s the hurry? No one is home waiting, right?” He shoved his chair back and was at her side in a heartbeat. “Besides, I’d like to have more evenings like this with you.” He leaned over to pull her chair out, and Clara could feel his warm breath along her neck.

  She stood and he offered her his arm. “You’re right. There’s no one to answer to but a lonely house.”

  Mac patted her hand and pulled her close to his side as they left the Tivoli. Clara couldn’t remember when she’d felt in such high spirits, and for a short while all her burdens lifted like clouds blown away by the prairie winds.

  Sometime during the night, the rain stopped. Catharine was awakened with a kiss from Peter, who was shirtless but dressed in clean trousers that Angelo had delivered promptly at seven. They were too large, but Peter belted them tightly around his hips.

  “Good morning, my sweet one.” He took a seat on the side of the bed. “I hated to wake you, but if we’re to have breakfast and pick up your sisters . . .” He smiled tenderly at her as he fingered a red curl lying on her shoulder. “Did I ever tell you that you’re beautiful in the morning when you first wake up?”

  Pulling the covers around her chest, Catharine sat up and stretched, then stifled a yawn. “I don’t believe you have, but I’m sure I’ll never tire of hearing it from you,” she whispered. She gazed at his handsome jawline, remembering his delicious kisses and more during the night. Loving him was heaven on earth for her . . . like breathing fresh air. She’d never tire of him and didn’t want to let him go.

  “I had a breakfast tray delivered to our room.” He indicated covered dishes on a nearby table. “I might let you share it with me, if you can drag your beautiful self from the bed to the table.”

  She flashed him a wicked look. “I’m afraid I’m too worn out from last night.”

  “You little tease. I might be tempted to get back into bed, but instead you leave me no alternative!” He leaned down and flicked back the covers, leaving her just the sheet, then lifted her in his arms, showering her with kisses along her cheek and neck. She returned his kisses with fervor, wrapping her arms about his neck. “Peter, you’re so good to me.” She saw a flicker of desire in his blue eyes as a muscle twitched in his jaw.

  “Nothing’s too good for my bride. Let’s have something to eat now. Then we can continue later tonight, the next night, and forevermore trying to make one another happy. Mmm . . . that might be nice.”

  The look he gave her melted her heart. He kissed her again, then he sat her in a chair at the small table and lifted the pot of tea he had steeping for her. “See if this meets with your satisfaction,” he said, handing her the cup. Admiring his strong forearms as he lifted the covered domes from their plates, she reached up to push away a lock of sandy brown hair from his eyes.

  Over toast, fresh blueberry jam, and scrambled eggs, they talked about the Cristinis’ delightful supper and their frolic in the rain. Peter teased her lips with a piece of buttered toast. She caught his hands and kissed his knuckles, and finally he popped the toast into her mouth. Love was spilling over in her heart, and even more, a closer friendship with her husband was beginning. She marveled at how sweet and attentive he was to her. She didn’t mention his attitude a couple days before, not wanting to spoil their brief honeymoon.

  Finally she moved to get dressed while he donned a shirt and then went to retrieve the wagon. He’d tipped the bellboy the night before to settle Star at Abney’s livery directly across from the hotel. That gave Catharine just enough time to spend on her toilette.

  The dress Angelina loaned her was too short, but it was a pretty green and brown calico with a fetching row of tucks along the bodice that flared at the waist, complementing her hourglass figure. After braiding her unruly hair, she located her shoes by the door, the mud now hard and cracked and still sticking to them. They’d have to wait until she was home to be cleaned.

  She laughed softly, amused by her new look. Her fingernails, usually neatly filed ovals, now had ragged edges. She hadn’t had a lot of free time, and she had quickly found out that farm work was very physical indeed. Besides the cooking and cleaning, she assisted Peter whenever a fence needed mending or barns needed mucking or the cow needed milking. Hard to believe how much her entire life had changed in less than two months. What would her mother say if she could see her now?

  I do fit the part of a farmer’s wife. Would I change it for what I had before? Most definitely not!

  She stared at her reflection in the cheval mirror and made a mental note to ask Peter about a new dress for church. Her clothes were showing wear, and she hoped to convince him to buy new ones for her sisters as well. They weren’t his responsibility, but they were helping out around the farm the best they could.

  She stuffed all their dirty clothes into a paper sack. She’d wash the borrowed clothes, then return them the next time Peter made a trip to town. To save time, Catharine decided to go downstairs to wait for Peter. The town was thoroughly awake now, with all kind of folks moving around in wagons and carriages, or merely walking down the sidewalk on their way to their various occupations or ventures. When she stepped out of the hotel, rays of bright sunlight lit the spacious blue skies, making her squint, so she shaded her eyes with her hand.

  Peter was parked a few feet away and chatting away with the pretty blonde Dorothy Miller. Catharine watched as he leaned
nonchalantly against the wagon, smiling with obvious interest in what Dorothy was saying. She knew she shouldn’t stand here observing them, but she couldn’t help herself. Peter looked so relaxed and in no hurry to come after her. Why was he looking at Dorothy that way? Like a bolt of lightning from their recent storm, jealousy shot through her.

  Dorothy was dressed in a smart blue dress with matching bolero trimmed in black velvet. The hat that sat cocked to the side of her head was the latest fashion in black velvet adorned with a pretty feather. Catharine sighed. Here she was in a dress that was considerably too short for her, wearing mud-caked boots. Rooted to the spot, she waited for them to finish their conversation, hoping Dorothy would leave before she caught sight of her dressed in ill-fitting clothing with a sack in her hand.

  Suddenly Peter caught sight of her and motioned to her. Ach! There was no way she could compete or escape the company of Miss Miller. Stiffly, Catharine strolled toward them, feeling like her leather boots had shrunk at least one shoe size from the rain . . . and feeling like an outsider. All the joy she’d felt earlier had somehow dwindled to a far-away spot in her heart.

  “Catharine, you remember Dorothy from church,” Peter said when she walked up to where they stood.

  “Ja, I remember. Nice to see you again.” Catharine saw Dorothy’s eyes sweep critically over Catharine’s appearance, as if she were comparing her or sizing her up. “Are we keeping you from something? You’re out awfully early.”

  Dorothy smiled and said, “It’s hardly early. It’s nine o’clock by my watch.”

  Catharine felt the blood rush to her face. “You’re right. I guess Peter and I were enjoying our time so much that we lost track of the hour.” She looped her arm through Peter’s possessively, and he gave her arm a squeeze.

  Dorothy observed her with a cool look. “I was just telling Peter that he should bring you to the opera some evening. There’s a divine actress by the name of Sarah Bernhardt coming to perform Fedora, and I’ve heard she’s incredible, though she only speaks French.”

  “I may consider doing that, Dorothy, if Catharine wants to.”

  “I would. I’m sure I’d love it.” She looked up adoringly at her husband.

  “I can get us tickets as soon as they become available. Would that be all right? We could all sit together.”

  Not if I can help it! Catharine plastered on a fake smile for Peter’s benefit.

  “Sure. Guess we need to get going now.” He turned to assist Catharine up to the wagon seat. “We have to go collect Greta and Anna.”

  “Oh?” Dorothy said, as if waiting for him to explain. “Yes, well then . . . I must be going too. I hope to see you soon.”

  Who does she hope to see soon, Peter or both of us? Catharine wondered, but she just replied, “Nice to see you again, Dorothy.” Catharine adjusted her skirts, and Peter crawled up to the wagon seat beside her, then lifted the reins. With a wave of his hand and a shake of the reins, Peter headed the wagon toward Mario’s.

  Lush, rolling prairie hills undulated in the distance with every mile as Peter drove home. The rain was an unexpected treat in Cheyenne. Before long the wheat would be a foot tall. He loved how the wheat looked like rippling waves when it grew waist high. He’d walk through it, looking for any possible insect infestation that might be harmful, reveling in the bountiful harvest that would soon come from God’s gift of grain. He was so blessed.

  He glanced over at Catharine seated at his side, breathing in the scent of her until he thought his heart would burst with pride. She had more than responded to him last night, and he would forget any doubts of her love for him. It had been a very good decision to spend the night in town!

  Catharine caught his gaze and smiled. “Peter, what are you smiling about? You look like the cat that just caught the mouse.”

  “I was thinking of you and what a lucky man I am.” He watched her freckles become more prominent as her face colored at his words.

  She blinked. “I’m happy if I’ve made you happy, Peter. That is my greatest desire,” she said in a hushed tone so her sisters couldn’t hear. But they were chattering away about the events of the Cristini household and the fun of staying with them.

  “Why did you quit our game of checkers, Greta? We were having so much fun playing with the twins,” Anna asked. “Then I played another game with Angelina.”

  “I . . . er . . . I had a headache,” Greta answered quietly.

  “Is your headache gone now?” Catharine turned on the wagon seat to look at her.

  Greta licked her lips. “Matter of fact, it is.”

  “Well, you weren’t in bed when I came up, so I didn’t know where you were. I guess I fell asleep before you came to bed,” Anna said.

  “Silly girl.” Greta fidgeted with her bonnet strings. “Of course you did.”

  “I’m so glad you girls enjoyed staying with the Cristinis. They were nice to offer their home . . .” Catharine’s voice softened. “So we could have a night alone.”

  Peter cleared his throat, feeling heat in his face. He wasn’t comfortable with them discussing this. “Well, we had a nice time despite the rain—”

  “Don’t be embarrassed, either of you!” Greta laughed. “You two deserved a little respite.”

  “Just the same, it all worked out so nicely. When we get home, there’ll be plenty of chores waiting for us to attend to.” Peter guided Star around a rut to keep from spilling them onto the road. “It appears that the rain barely fell here. I was hoping for a good drenching for the fields.”

  Catharine reached over and patted him on the arm. “Don’t worry. There’ll be another rain shower. How about apple dumplings after supper tonight?” That brought a loud cheer from the other three. “Then I expect someone to peel the apples while I attempt to roll out the dough.”

  “I hope it’s better than your first attempt at making a pie,” Peter teased.

  “Oh, Peter!” Catharine poked his side with obvious embarrassment. “I admit that I’m still learning. But no one’s died yet.” They all laughed loudly. “Maybe Angelina can teach me how to make that cream dessert we all loved.”

  Anna clapped her hands. “Oh, yes! Please ask her, Cath.”

  “I will the next time we venture to town.” Catharine turned back to face the road ahead, anxious to be at home. Their home. Her heart swelled with pride at the thought. They would make a wonderful home, and Lord willing, children’s laughter would someday ring throughout it.

  “What do you think of me staying with your mother this fall, Peter?” Anna asked. “I think I could be a companion to her in the evenings after my studies are done. Besides, I’m really not a farmer’s daughter.” She sighed and twirled a lock of her long blonde hair around her finger.

  Peter coughed. “I’m not sure that would work with my mother right now, even if she did suggest it. She probably doesn’t know what she’s getting into. She hasn’t had a young person living with her in years, and she might get on your nerves.” Peter knew he was just making excuses to avoid a decision until he could resolve the rift between him and his mother.

  “Couldn’t you at least consider the possibility? I do want to finish school.”

  “I think you should let her. Then she’ll be out of your hair.” Greta chuckled.

  “We’ll talk about it, Anna, but now is not the time. We’re almost home.”

  Anna harrumphed. She folded her arms across her chest and stared out over the prairie.

  Catharine and Peter worked side by side with a renewed closeness, planting seeds in the neatly laid-out rows in the flower bed. When she looked up from where she knelt on her knees in the soft earth, he grinned back at her as he sprinkled the seeds, then lightly raked the soil over them.

  “You wear the dirt well,” he teased. “You’ve become a farmer’s dream.”

  She reached up, feeling the smudges on her face, then lifted the edge of her apron to wipe the dirt away as best as she could. “What I’ll need is a good long soaking to get the
dirt out from under my nails.” She flashed him a smile and leaned back on her heels. She placed her hand behind her aching back and stretched. “This is hard work, but the rewards will be worth it in just a few short weeks.”

  Peter laid the rake down. “I’ll go start filling the buckets with water if you’re through planting. You just take a break for now.”

  She gave him a nod and didn’t argue, then sat down to wait until he returned to water the seeds in the freshly turned soil. As usual, there was a nice breeze that cooled the dampness under her arms. She liked the fecund smell of the earth and the buzz of insects and watched a fat earthworm digging his way back down into the cool earth. Enjoying nature on the prairie was a continual learning process and entirely different from Holland, where spring showers were abundant.

  The thought of home caused deep pain in her heart. The last thing she’d planted were the tulip bulbs at the head of a little plot in her family’s cemetery. The only way she’d survived the grief was with God’s constant reminder that He was with her and would send the Comforter to soothe her anguish. She’d clung to that promise. She squeezed her eyes shut for a few moments and once again felt peace. Wiping her eyes, she dragged herself out of the dirt to help water the seeds.

  Watching Peter carrying the two buckets filled with water made Catharine’s heart swell with love. He didn’t have to be out here helping her when he had other things that needed tending to, but he’d insisted. She had no idea where Anna was, and Greta was supposedly peeling vegetables for dinner. Catharine had a roast in the oven, and its delicious smell now wafted on the breeze from the open kitchen window.

  “Supper sure does smell good!” Peter said when he reached her. He tilted the bucket so that the water would flow in a slow stream, pouring it slowly back and forth over the rows until he’d emptied the bucket. “My appetite is growing by the minute.”