“We’d better hurry,” Dorothy urged. “Intermission is not long and I’m sure there’ll be a line.”
They joined the throng of people and headed for the banquet hall, where refreshments were being served. No sooner had they walked in than Peter saw his mother with a glass of lemonade in her hand. When she spotted him, she waved.
Peter groaned. He couldn’t avoid speaking to them. “Catharine, I see Mother with a friend. We should go over and say hello.”
“Of course, Peter.” She dipped her head in agreement.
“You all go ahead and I’ll be back in a few minutes. I see someone I want to talk to.” Dorothy slipped away from their group.
“Peter, what a nice surprise to see you,” Clara gushed as they walked closer. She greeted Catharine and her sisters. “Greta, I see we meet again. How’s that nice soldier boy you were with?”
Greta’s eyes shifted to Peter, then met Clara’s gaze. “I believe he’s just fine.”
“Pity he couldn’t escort you tonight.” Clara turned to her escort. “This is Mac Foster, a very dear friend,” she said, her face coloring. “Mac, this is my son Peter and his wife Catharine, and her sister Anna. You met Greta at the Tivoli.”
Mac bowed slightly and squeezed Catharine’s hand. “You never told me how beautiful Dutch women were.” He winked at Catharine, then shook hands with Peter. “I’m glad to have finally met you. Your mother is extremely fond of you, but I’m sure you know that.”
Peter responded with a hello but couldn’t help thinking what a smooth talker Mac was. He appeared to be around his mother’s age, with a dusting of gray at his temples and intense eyes. He could tell by his mother’s expression that she really fancied Mac. Did she imagine herself in love with him? Peter was shocked at the thought, but the look on his mother’s face said a lot. Why shouldn’t she seek male companionship? She’d been a widow for years, but somehow Peter had never given it much thought. Of course she was lonely. And with Mac’s arm encircling Clara’s waist, it looked like they’d built a close friendship.
“You must come back and have dinner with us again sometime, Mrs. Andersen,” Catharine said.
“We’ll see,” was all she said, then engaged Anna in conversation about her plans for high school.
“Mac, why don’t you and I get these ladies some refreshments? I see you’ve already had yours.” Peter indicated the empty glass in Mac’s hand. “There’s only ten minutes before curtain.” Mac acquiesced and Peter steered him toward the huge counter for their drinks.
“Mac,” Peter said as soon as they were out of earshot, “I know all about my mother hiring you to get my wife’s past history. I want to know if there’s any proof to what she told me.” Peter pressed his lips into a thin line, and his jaw twitched.
“You like to get right to the point, don’t you?” Mac chuckled. “Since you’re Clara’s son, I don’t want to start off on the wrong foot.”
“I prefer not to waste my time. I don’t want you to take advantage of my mother.”
Mac drew his shoulders back and frowned. “Now what’s that supposed to mean? I was hired to investigate your wife, like any other client.”
“I’m well aware of that. And that’s just my point. Have you uncovered anything about Catharine?”
Mac leveled a gaze at him. “First of all, your mother can take care of herself. Second, I don’t discuss my business with anyone but the person who hired me, and that’s your mother. It’s her business to discuss it with you if she so chooses.” He lifted two glasses from the counter. “You have a very beautiful wife, Peter. I’d be more concerned with keeping her if I were you. Someone could snatch her up. Now, if you don’t mind, this conversation is over.”
Peter touched Mac’s sleeve. Without batting an eye, he said, “If that’s a threat, that will never happen with Catharine. We’re very happy. And just so you know, I don’t really trust you or your methods with my mother.” Peter lifted two glasses and spun around to rejoin the waiting ladies. He tried to quell the anger boiling inside. Mac was trouble—Peter smelled it.
The Cristinis had joined the small group, and Angelina walked toward Peter and gave him a kiss on the cheek in greeting. “I know that look, Peter. Is everything okay?” she whispered.
“Nothing that I can’t handle. I didn’t know you and Mario would be here tonight.”
“We wouldn’t miss it! Who is that man standing over there with your mother?”
Peter watched as Mac handed drinks to Greta and Anna and suddenly remembered that he held Catharine’s drink. He strolled toward her with Angelina following. “That’s Mac, Mother’s . . . er . . . friend.” He said hello to Mario, ignoring Angelina’s look of surprise.
Grateful for the bell signaling that intermission was over, Peter gulped down his lemonade and they all hurried back to their seats.
For the rest of the play, a young understudy by the name of Maggie O’Neal delighted the audience with her perfectly delivered lines and performance, but Peter had a hard time concentrating, thanks to his exchange with Mac. It was a hard fact to swallow that his mother, Clara Andersen, was seemingly taken by Mac.
Catharine leaned over and whispered, “Anything the matter, Peter?”
He patted her hand and said, “Everything’s fine, dear.” He could tell that somehow she knew he wasn’t being truthful.
On the ride home, the chatting from the females was a delightful sound to Peter’s ear and a great change from his former life. He shoved his negative thoughts about Mac to the recesses of his mind. He had a hard time seeing Mac and his mother together, but there was nothing he could do about it now. He listened to the conversation flowing around him.
“I declare, Maggie O’Neal is going to be quite a performer,” Greta said.
“Maybe so, but she’s no Sarah Bernhardt. She’s the ultimate actress,” Catharine said, snuggling close to Peter’s side.
Anna chimed in, “But you have to admit she has a way about her, and such striking features. I liked her even in a minor role.” She yawned. “I’m so sleepy.”
Greta patted her legs. “Come, put your head on my lap, my little peep.” That’s all it took for Anna, who settled in for the rest of the way home.
With Catharine’s body tucked close to his side, a warm sensation flooded Peter’s chest. But he was still alarmed by the comment Mac had made about Catharine being a beautiful woman who could be taken from him. He wasn’t sure what Mac had meant by that. He’s just all talk. I wonder what Mother sees in him. Other than a means to an end.
An end that might harm his relationship with Catharine.
Clara invited Mac in for coffee after the play, and they were hardly in the door before he grabbed her and planted a kiss on her lips. “You look good enough to eat. I’ve thought about your kisses all through the play tonight, Clara.” His breathing was ragged, and he pulled her tight against him. “Mmm, you smell good too. Do you know what you do to me?”
Clara tried to calm her heart pinging rapidly against her corset, which was already cinched so tight she could hardly breathe. All in the name of vanity. She’d wanted her waist to look small, and the corset flattered her bosom. Truth was she loved his kisses too. They were like an elixir for her thirsty soul, and while she wanted more, she placed her hands on his chest and pushed back slightly. “No, but maybe you should tell me while I make the coffee.”
Mac clasped her hands and kissed them. “It’s not coffee I need. It’s you, my sweet Clara. Beautiful you. You make my senses reel. I long to make love to you.” His eyes were dark and smoldering as they searched hers.
Clara drew back, alarmed, and licked her lips to steady her voice. “Well . . . I . . . I’m very flattered, Mac, and while I want that too, I’ve not heard you say one thing about love or marriage after spending all this time together.”
Though she said one thing, her heart said another and tried to rule her head. She wanted nothing more than for him to sweep her into his arms, vow his love, and declare he didn’t want to live with
out her, then carry her up the sweeping staircase.
“Marriage!” He chuckled and kissed her on the tip of the nose while stroking her back. “We’re older adults, and since we both know what we want and need, how can it hurt?”
This time Clara moved out of his embrace. “Because it’s the right thing to do, Mac. Let me ask you, have you ever been married?”
“What has that got to do with us?” He frowned.
“It has everything to do with us. I do feel a lot for you . . . I may be in love with you.” She made no move to leave the foyer but stood waiting for his response.
Mac sighed. “Clara, I was married years ago, but it didn’t work out. I do care for you, maybe more than I’ve ever cared for any woman.” His eyes softened and he took her hand. “I care for you a lot . . . a whole lot.”
Tears threatened when she didn’t hear what she longed for him to say. She chewed her bottom lip to keep from saying something that might push him away, and she didn’t want that. “But you don’t love me?” Her voice sounded flat and seemed to come from far away.
“I didn’t say that. What is love? I’m not sure if I know. I know that I love spending time with you even when we are at odds. You’re pretty and smart, and I enjoy your quick sense of humor.” He gave her his most endearing smile and tucked a loose curl behind her ear, then stroked her cheek with his thumb. “I think you’re special . . . very special. But I need time to figure this all out.”
She swallowed hard. Perhaps he was right. She wouldn’t want him to say he loved her just to make her happy, but oh, how she longed to hear it. “Meaning what, Mac?” Her voice trembled.
“I’m not really sure if I can be tied to one place. Many times I’m on the road and you would be left alone.”
Ah, so he had thought about marriage, if he was worried about her. She felt somewhat relieved. She would give him the freedom to choose.
Clara searched his handsome face. It would be easy for her to let him stay the night. No one would know, and she wanted to feel his arms wrapped around her. She mentally shook her head.
“Mac, I’m going to have to ask you to leave now.” She moved to open the door, but he brushed against her and she was filled with desire—something she’d felt only in the early days of her marriage. Right now she didn’t trust herself at all. This had gone too far.
“Please, Clara.” He stroked her arm. “Let me show you how you make me feel . . .”
She faced him and felt a poignant sadness. “Mac, there’s nothing more I’d like than to have you do that, but I just can’t.”
His face grew solemn. “All right. I’ll leave. Does this have something to do with my not going with you to church? If so, I promise to go with you. But I personally don’t need church.”
Clara blinked at him. She knew he had no clue. “That’s only part of it, Mac, and if I have to tell you the other part, well . . . I pity any man who thinks he doesn’t need God.” She felt tears threatening, but she fought them back.
Mac’s face looked like a thundercloud. “I’ll be back tomorrow to take you for a drive, and we’ll talk then.” He squeezed her hand, then slipped out the door, closing it behind him.
Clara leaned against the door, her hand against her mouth to try to hold back the sobs, but it was no use. How she wanted him. She loved just being in his presence. He was charming and delightful and made her feel so womanly and desirable. Hot tears flowed down her cheeks. Oh, God, help me be strong. She slid to the floor, her dress ballooning up around her in a heap and the corset cutting into her stomach, then yanked the jet earrings off and threw them across the hall.
First thing Monday morning, before Catharine finished washing the breakfast dishes, two hired men arrived with their plows to help Peter make a trench around the wheat field. Earlier, when she’d dug into the flour barrel, she squealed when she found grasshoppers, and everyone had come running. This was not a good sign, and she prayed the bait Peter was putting out today would be enough to kill the locust eggs in the fields. Today she would make certain the men had plenty of water to drink and a hearty lunch.
Anna bounced into the kitchen just as Catharine was finishing up. “I’ve been wondering, Cath. Could I help you make a cake for Greta’s birthday on Friday?”
“Of course you can. Maybe between the two of us it won’t be half bad.” Catharine smiled at her baby sister.
Anna giggled. “I think your cooking has improved. Since I don’t know the first thing about baking a cake, I figured I might as well learn, and now is as good a time as any to start.”
Catharine gave her a funny look. “Did I say anything about knowing how to make one? I’ll have to resort to a cookbook again.” She snapped her fingers. “I just had an idea! What about getting something from the bakery in town or getting Mario to make something special? His desserts are delicious.”
“Whatever you decide is fine with me, but if you do bake something, I want to help. I can’t think of a single thing for her present except . . . one of the puppies.” Anna picked up the dried glasses and carried them to the cupboard.
Catharine shook her head. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea. Peter’s already told you that you can only have one. Remember?”
Anna’s face fell. “I know, but I’m hoping he’ll change his mind. I think he really likes them, don’t you?”
“I really haven’t noticed, Anna. I’ve been too busy. In fact, I could use your help with making lunch for the men when they finish plowing.” She finished drying the last dish and laid the cloth aside.
“Where’s Greta? I thought she was helping. After all, I fed the livestock so Peter could get on with the plowing.”
“She’s doing some mending. It won’t take us long to make sandwiches for the men.”
“Do you mean right now?” Anna whined.
“Nee. I have to bake the bread first and I’m just about to shape the loaves now. The dough has been rising since dawn.” Catharine sighed.
“Cath, you look tired. Maybe I’ll stay and help with the bread.”
Catharine glanced over at her sister with fondness. “I’m fine. You’re free for a couple hours, but come back and we’ll make lunch. Was there something you wanted to do this morning?”
Anna shrugged. “I’m going to give the pups a good brushing. The little darlings’ fur mats easily, especially with this heat. If you’re sure . . .”
Catharine propped her hands on her hips, cocking her head to the side. “Would I lie to you?”
“I guess not.” She gave Catharine a quick squeeze. “I’ll be back soon to help.” In a flash she was out the door.
Catharine watched through the window as Anna hurried outside to the small pen that Peter had constructed for the pups after the last incident in the kitchen. How she envied that Anna hadn’t a care in the world. Part adolescent, part woman, she thought affectionately. It wouldn’t be long before she’d start noticing the opposite sex like Greta. Heaven help me! She guessed that was part of the reason Anna wanted to be certain the chores were divided equally. Just like a schoolgirl would think. Tit for tat.
She moved to the counter, quickly shaped the dough into four loaves, and slid them in the oven. She wiped her brow with the back of her hand and decided to work a little on the chair for Anna. It was too hot to stay inside, so she dragged the chair to the front porch, where the cottonwood tree shaded one end. While the bread baked, she went to work on the chair, removing the old fabric with an upholstery tool, humming cheerfully.
When the men returned from the field, Peter suggested they eat outside under the trees since they all were dirty. “We don’t want to track dirt in the house, and we won’t change clothes until we put the bait out.”
“Goed,” Catharine said. “I’m not interested in washing the floors today, and for certain it’s a bath you’ll be needing.” She held her nose between two fingers, then swatted him with her dish towel. Peter skipped sideways, pretending fear, and the other men laughed good-naturedly.
&nb
sp; “You men wash up at the well. I left bars of soap and fresh towels there for each of you. We’ll bring your lunches out momentarily.” Catharine hurried back inside where Greta and Anna were slicing the bread and meat.
After everyone had their fill and heartily thanked Catharine and her sisters, they used rope to fasten their coveralls to the tops of their boots. “This will keep the poison from touching our skin,” Peter explained to the women. “The mix could easily burn us. That’s why I had you sew my pockets closed last night.”
“Yours is definitely not a job I want,” Greta said to Peter.
Catharine handed Peter a pair of soft cotton gloves, and after he’d put them on, he pulled on another pair, a leather gauntlet type. The other men followed suit.
“Catharine, we’ll mix the bait near the fields, then fill the plowed furrows with the bait to kill the hoppers. I suggest you ladies stay indoors for the next couple of hours. If the wind decides to kick up, I don’t want you ladies to breathe this stuff. Promise?” His unshaven face held concern.
“We promise, Peter.” Catharine bit her lip.
“My clothes will have to be washed, but I’ll do that myself.” He leaned over and kissed her head. “Don’t start fretting. We’ll be through before suppertime.” He turned to the others. “Ready?” They nodded and he said, “Then what are we waiting for? We’ll cover our faces right before we mix the bait.” The men climbed in the wagon and rumbled out of the yard.
Catharine stood watching until they were just a mere speck on the edge of the wheat fields. She silently prayed for Peter’s safety and for the wheat crop.
“Come on, Cath.” Greta took her hand. “Let’s go inside and take a break.”
“I know,” Anna said. “Why don’t we plan your birthday dinner?”
A big smile crossed Greta’s face. “I’m all for that. I’ll make us some tea.”
They crossed the yard to go inside the house. Catharine, for one, wanted to be out of the heat. She paused as they passed the yapping puppies and said, “You know, maybe we should bring them in. The cow and horses are protected in the barn in case the poison gets carried on the wind. It won’t hurt this one time for the puppies to come inside.”
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