by Deeanne Gist
As soon as the men left the table, they dispersed to take care of the chores. Several headed down to the barn to milk the cows, feed the pigs and chickens, muck out the stalls, and collect the eggs. All wore pants cut off at the calf.
The man with white-blond hair filled a huge caldron with water and set it to boil. Young Ronny sat on the porch churning butter. To his left a chestnut tree ripe with fruit leaned dangerously close to the house. She wondered why Joe hadn’t chopped it down.
Scanning the yard, she spotted him propping a log end-up on the block. He swung his ax in a generous arc that involved arms, shoulders, back, waist, and legs. Each time he struck, the log flew off the block in two neat pieces with a loud snap. Picking up one of the pieces, he repeated the motion, splitting it into quarters.
Balancing a tin tub on her hip, Anna collected the dirty cups, plates, and flatware. The logs could have been jackstraws for as little effort as it took him. She glanced his direction again just as his ax connected with the wood.
“Water’s hot,” said the man with white-blond hair as he made his way to the garden.
Flushing at being caught staring, she finished collecting the dishes and moved to the caldron, keeping her attention on what she was doing. Still, she found herself scrubbing in time to the sound of Joe’s chopping.
She’d just finished with the dishes when the men returned from the barn, each taking a load of the newly cut wood into the house. For the first time, she noted they all wore their shirts loose. She realized the oversized shirts gave them more freedom in their movements. But why the shortened pants?
One by one, they dropped their lunch buckets by the back door, then thanked her for their meal.
“Good night, miss. Those cinnamon rolls sure were good.”
“You rest up and we’ll see you in the morning.”
“Hope you don’t hold a grudge toward taters now. Ronny says they sure were creamy, other than the dirt, o’ course.”
With each parting comment, her throat filled a little more so that by the time they’d all said their good-byes, she could hardly even speak.
She’d been cooking her whole life, it seemed, but never for a more appreciative and thoughtful bunch as these overgrown lumberjacks of the Pacific Northwest.
Bit by bit the thick forest swallowed them as they walked away, a wake of laughter and easy conversation rippling behind them until only the sounds of crickets and frogs were left.
Joe planted his ax in the chopping block. “That was a fine meal, Anna. The boys will have an extra spring in their step tomorrow knowing they’ll end their day with another meal like tonight’s.”
Darkness had fully descended, but light from the kitchen windows spilled out, providing illumination. He stood with his weight on one foot, hip cocked, hand resting on the handle of his ax.
“I’m going to need some supplies,” she said. “Your storeroom’s well stocked, but there’s a few things missing that would really round it out.”
“You make up a list for Red. He and Gibbs are driving a load of logs down the skid tomorrow. They can pick up whatever you need while they’re in town.”
“Thank you.”
They looked at each other across the expanse of the yard.
She moistened her lips. “I hadn’t expected the men to do my chores, but I’m very thankful. I wasn’t sure how I was going to get all of them done and the cooking, too.”
“The boys are used to it. Besides, with you here they no longer have to share cooking duty. These other chores are minor by comparison. If there’s something else you need done that wasn’t, well, you just let me know.”
“Thank you. I will.”
He walked into the kitchen, a dark stain of sweat making a V at the back of his shirt. She wiped down the chairs. And even though it was too dark to see very well, she swept the dirt floor of the lean-to. She wanted to give Joe plenty of time to wash up before she went inside.
Two evenings later, Red and Gibbs pulled up with the supplies Anna had requested.
“Everything go all right?” Joe asked, rubbing the noses of the oxen harnessed to the wagon.
“Yep.” Red jumped down from the seat.
The rest of the men had already returned to camp for the night, so Joe, Red, and Gibbs unloaded the wagon. Anna rushed between the kitchen and the milk room showing the men where she wanted the bags of flour, crates of fruit, barrels of meat, and jars of syrup.
“I guess that does it, then,” Gibbs said, following Joe out of the house and down the porch steps.
Red closed the bed of the wagon. “I’ll take care of the animals.”
Gibbs stopped. “You sure?”
“Yeah. You go on. If you hurry, you might just make it for a round of poker.”
Changing course, Gibbs set off at a jog. “Thanks, Red. I owe you one.”
Joe and Red watched him until he was out of sight.
“I thought you said everything went all right?” Joe kept his voice low so Anna wouldn’t hear him through the open windows.
“Walk with me to the barn while I put the oxen to bed.”
The men walked in silence. Joe knew better than to rush his friend. When Red was ready to talk, he’d talk.
Joe unlatched the barn door and swung it wide. Red was the first friend he’d made when his family moved from Georgia to Maine back in ’46. Joe was nine at the time and old enough to support himself. So he got a job in a dairy milking cows for room and board. Red’s family owned the dairy.
“Met the woman you pledged yourself to.”
Joe stopped short for a second, then unhitched the wagon.
“Not quite what I was expecting,” Red continued.
“Well, she’s exactly what I was expecting.”
“She was?”
Joe gave him a pointed look. “Mercer was the one conducting the affair.”
His friend didn’t say any more until the wagon was stored and the animals tended. Lifting a lantern off a nail, Red headed toward the back of the barn. Sighing, Joe followed.
They entered the last stall, but instead of an animal, it held a barrel, two stools, and an unmade cot. Red studied the cot, then looked at Joe. “Who’s been sleeping here?”
Joe slipped his hands in his pockets. “It wouldn’t be right for me to stay at the house with Anna, so I’m bedding down here.”
Red stared at him for a minute before laughter rumbled up out of his chest. He didn’t belabor the point, though. Just hung the lantern and picked up a worn deck of cards. They played two games of Casino before he finally loosened his tongue.
“You really planning to marry Mrs. Wrenne?”
“I want to keep my land, Red.”
He shuffled the cards. Thuuuuurump-whoosh. Thuuuuurump-whoosh. “What’s wrong with that pretty little girl you got up at the house?”
“She doesn’t believe in marriage.”
Red slapped the deck down for Joe to cut. “Well, I suggest you start making a believer out of her.”
“Actually, I think marrying Mrs. Wrenne is really the better choice. She wants a husband, and from what I understand, any husband will do. I need a wife and any wife will do. So why not?”
“Why not? Why not?”
Joe raised a brow. “You going to deal?”
Red grabbed the deck. “That woman has to be sixty at least.”
“Which means she’ll be sensible and levelheaded. So she gets what she wants, and I get what I want.”
“You want a sixty-year-old wife?”
“I want my land.” He arranged his cards. “I’ll be good to her. She’ll be well taken care of and I’ll let her have her choice of the spare rooms. No sin in that. You got any queens?”
Sighing, Red shook his head. “Go fish.”
Joe drew a card, laid it on the barrel top, then pulled three out of his hand and stacked them, making a book.
“Seems to me that keeping Miss Ivey warm and dry wouldn’t be too much of a chore,” Red mumbled.
“I�
�ve known Anna for four days. You’ve only sat at her table once. How would you know if she’s a chore or not? How would either of us know?”
“Anna, is it? She call you Joe?”
“Not intentionally. Only when she’s distracted.”
Red lifted his brows. “You got any aces?”
Stifling an oath, Joe slapped down three aces.
Red laid down his own book. “Eights?”
“Go fish.”
“When are you and Mrs. Wrenne supposed to tie the knot, then?”
“The judge gave me seven weeks to find a bride and not a minute more—no matter what happens. But once Mercer assigned Mrs. Wrenne to me, I figured I better go ahead with it. She had some things she wanted to take care of first, though. I’m supposed to go back for her at the end of the month. You got any queens?”
Red handed him one. “So you have about three weeks before the big day?”
“Um-hum. Twos?”
“Go fish.” Red leaned back in his chair. “You got a telegram from Mercer while I was in town today. Threes?”
Joe shook his head. “What’d Mercer want now?”
“He had some information about Mrs. Wrenne that he thought you should know about.” Red made another book. “So Harvey Kittrell at the telegraph office gave the telegram to me. I’m supposed to pass it along to you.”
“Well? What’d it say?”
Reaching into his pocket, Red tossed a piece of paper on the barrel. Joe placed his cards facedown and picked up the telegram.
To J Denton STOP Urgent News STOP Bertha Wrenne’s husband not dead STOP Is returned from confederate prison camp STOP Followed Wrenne here STOP Will be in Seattle in two days STOP A S Mercer STOP
Joe slowly lifted his gaze to Red’s. “I can’t believe you sat here this whole time and never said anything. Who else knows?”
“Just you, me, and Harvey Kittrell. I told him you’d be the one to give Mrs. Wrenne the news and also told him I’d take it personally if word got out.” Red smiled. “He won’t be saying anything.”
Joe reread the telegram.
“You think the judge will give you another extension?” Red asked.
“Not a chance.”
“Then I recommend you put on your courting shoes and woo Miss Anna Ivey.” Red held out his freckled, beefy hand. “Now, give me those queens you’ve been asking for.”
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
Joe lay on his cot, the smell of animals surrounding him. He should be happy for Bertha. And he was. But that left him right back where he started.
Well, not exactly. This time, he had an unmarried, comely female living in his house. Cooking his meals. Having no interaction with anyone other than him and his crew. And she was ripe for the picking.
An owl seeking a mate let off a series of monotonous whistles. Over and over and over. Like a minstrel of old tooting the same note on his recorder, endlessly. And though the sound grated, Joe felt a touch of empathy for the frustrated male.
Hooking his hands behind his head, he sighed. He needed to tell Mrs. Wrenne. Tomorrow—before her husband showed up and found out she was betrothed to another. Thank goodness they hadn’t gotten married.
He toyed with going to the judge again, but Joe’d barely gotten that last extension. If he asked for yet another, no telling what Rountree would do.
That left him with about six weeks to try to change Anna’s mind. He’d like to tell her straight out what was going on. But she seemed to have something against marriage, and he still remembered her outrage on Mrs. Wrenne’s behalf—claiming he was “using” her.
He kicked the blanket off, leaving the sheet. It was only “using” if the arrangement was one-sided. But marrying Anna would be just as beneficial to her as it would be to him.
She’d obviously fallen on hard times. As his wife, she’d be provided for. She’d be protected. She’d be living in one of the finest homes in the Territory. And if she wanted, he’d even be willing to make the marriage real in every sense so she could become a mother. What more could she want?
He worked his foot out from underneath the covers so it could breathe, his mind turning over the possibility of her bearing children. His children. He swallowed. Red was right on that score. It’d be no chore to take Anna to wife.
The problem was how to get around her aversion to marriage. He shook his head. A woman who didn’t want to marry went against all laws of nature.
The whys of it didn’t matter, though. What mattered was securing his land, and Anna was his last hope. The most expedient and logical thing to do was make her fall in love with him.
Slinging his arm across his face, he closed his eyes. Just how exactly was he supposed to do that? She’d shown a bit of interest in him those first couple of times he’d washed up, but she’d made herself scarce ever since.
Was it him personally or men in general she had an aversion to? At mealtimes, she held her own with the boys, accepting their teasing with smiles and quips of her own. She certainly wasn’t shy around them, or even him, for that matter.
Yet she’d made it clear that first day she never wanted to wed. He dragged his fingers through his hair. It just didn’t make any sense. But he needed to marry her, and the sooner the better. So he’d best stake a claim before one of the boys decided to.
He stilled. Had any of them caught her eye already? She seemed rather partial to Ronny, but he was just a boy. Of course, she was closer to Ronny’s age than Joe’s. But the attention she gave the skid greaser was more motherly than anything else. Still, he’d let the boys know she was not only off limits, but she was his.
Which brought him right back to where he started. How by all that was holy could he convince her to marry him?
Punching his pillow, he rolled to his side. Lorraine sure hadn’t needed convincing. As a matter of fact, she’d done most of the pursuing.
But he’d watched his brothers court girl after girl after girl. All it took was . . . He cringed. They’d splashed tonic on their hair, picked flower bouquets, wrote sonnets, went on buggy rides, and acted like perfect idiots.
He slid his eyes closed. How was he supposed to do that way out here in the wilderness? He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. But he had to do something. And he had to do it quick.
The house smelled of vinegar, bacon, and bread. And no wonder. Six pies cooled on a table in the kitchen. Bacon, crisp and ready, had been set aside. Doughnuts filled a half dozen platters. How long has she been up? he wondered, heading straight for the coffeepot.
Facing the stove, she dumped a handful of chopped onions into a saucepan. She’d coiled up her hair and skewered it to her head with what appeared to be a larding needle. Already rebellious bits and pieces had slipped loose.
“I’m going to town.”
Anna placed a pot of water on to boil. “Town?”
“Yes.”
She dried her hands on her apron. “But Red and Gibbs just went.”
Not wanting to tell her about Bertha’s husband just yet, he merely shrugged.
She propped her hands on her waist. “Well, you sure did a lot of bellyaching about how you couldn’t be away from work and how you didn’t want to be going back and forth to town.”
He grinned. She was already sounding like a wife.
“You going to miss me, Anna?”
Her eyes widened. “I . . . well, no, I just . . .” She whirled around and began hastily slicing up bread. The scissor motion caused her skirt to swirl and hug her hips.
She was wearing her dark blue dress today. As far as he could tell, she only owned it and the brown one. Threadbare as the wool dresses were, they still had to be hot in this kitchen. Particularly this time of year.
Maybe he’d pick her up some fabric. He couldn’t bring her flowers. That would be too suspect. Especially after the twinflower debacle.
He’d wasted no time in gathering up those wild flowers and throwing them out, but it would be a while before he forgave himself for that impulse.
Fabric, however, would be perfect. It would be something she’d love, yet something he could somewhat justify.
Scratching his cheek, he considered how he was going to give one girl fabric while being “betrothed” to another. “Would you like me to pick up anything while I’m there?”
She paused, cocking her head to the side and exposing the slope of that pretty neck. His gaze lingered. When they were married, that’d be his for the taking, Lord willing.
“No,” she said, returning to her bread. “I think I have everything. Thank you, though.”
He walked up behind her. Close behind her. She took a sudden breath, her knife snagging in the bread, then stopping altogether.
Sandwich makings lay neatly stacked on the table. Reaching around her, he lifted several slices of ham and laid them on three separate pieces of bread. With each motion the inside of his arm grazed the outside of hers.
She didn’t use any scents when she bathed, but he knew she bathed most every day. Not only because she was always so clean and fresh-looking come suppertime, but because each time he put the tub away, he’d find it back out that same evening propped against the side of the house to dry.
“I can do that for you,” she whispered as he added cheese and sliced pickles to his sandwiches.
“That’s all right. You go ahead with what you’re doing.”
She started cutting, but had taken no more than a few saws when they both froze. The motion had caused her hips to brush his legs. Joe looked down. Her chest was rising and falling in time to her quick, short breaths. The watch pin above her breast rocked.
“What do you have against marriage, Anna?”
“Nothing. I love going to weddings.”
“I’m not talking about other people’s weddings. I’m talking about your own.” Placing a hand on her waist, he leaned far enough over to snag two boiled eggs. “Why don’t you want to marry?”
She began to step out of his way, but he’d boxed her in—his hand on one side of her waist, his body leaning across the other. Setting down the knife, she laid both palms flat on the table. “I don’t know. I guess I have no desire to enter into that particular state.”