“Ah, I see she has escaped again.” Everett came up behind her carrying a crate. It was the same box they’d had her in, but with the slats redone. “I put her in a pot while I fixed this, but that obviously didn’t work.” He passed them up the stairs and bumped through the door.
“She got out of the box?”
“Yep.” He slid the crate into the corner above the pallet where Julia had slept since Helga took the bed.
Julia knelt down on the tick—the scent of which reminded her every night that Everett wasn’t there—and placed the kitten inside. Along with the dirt box, there was another empty box of about the same dimensions. “What’s this for?”
“I figured you could put something soft inside for her to sleep on.”
Helga passed her a tin cup of milk. “Oh, I shall make it. I know how much you not like sewing.”
“But I don’t have any extra fabric, so Sticky will have to wait until I pick something up when I take you to the train.” She nudged the kitten’s nose in the milk to encourage her to lap. Sticky resisted and drank nothing, preferring the bottle method.
“Find something in my trunk to cut up.” Everett poured himself a glass of tea and downed it in a gulp.
Julia eyed him. He’d give up a usable piece of clothing for a cat?
“I best get back to work.” He stooped down to pat the cat’s head. “I might be late for dinner.”
She caught his sleeve before he straightened. “Thank you.”
He stared into her eyes for a second, but did nothing more than smile and nod.
When the door shut behind him and his boots cleared the stair, Helga tsked. “He need kiss for that.”
Julia’s face warmed. She busied herself with putting Sticky’s little snout in the milk again. She did need to be nicer to Everett . . . but not too nice—not kissing nice.
Or was a simple kiss something she should think about giving him?
She wrapped her arms about her stomach and stared at the tabby’s whiskers, frothy with milk, blinking up at the human insisting she do things her way.
“Mew.” Sticky’s little pink tongue quivered.
Me, she was saying. My way.
Julia knew what was best for the cat, but did she know what was best for herself? She had thought so until she ended up here, married and confused.
“You should kiss him when he comes back.” Helga sat down with a humph and removed the boot that constricted her still-swollen ankle.
Kiss him in front of Helga? No. “How about a cake? Everyone loves cake.”
Helga shook her head vehemently. “Don’t stoke the fire in here more, please. I am wet all over.” She pulled her shabby valise onto the bed. “I will get my needles. You get something from trunk.”
Thankful that she’d dropped the kissing advice, Julia scooted across the floor before Helga started talking about rewarding Everett again. “I don’t know what to sacrifice for the cat. It’s not like I can easily replace Everett’s wardrobe with my sewing skills, and it’d be a terrible waste.” She ducked under the bed to pull out Everett’s trunk, but the mystery trunk loomed in the shadowed corner. She’d forgotten about it. Most of the things in that chest had been in good shape, plus they weren’t doing anything useful—just getting musty. But what if it remained untouched because Everett wanted it so?
“What is wrong under there?”
Julia grabbed the trunk full of secrets. Maybe she’d glean some information as she rifled through it. “I forgot about this trunk.” Kneeling on the floor, she wiped off the dust and opened the lid. In case Helga became curious as to why a much larger woman’s clothes were hidden under the bed, she didn’t pull anything out. “There’s a yellow dress I don’t think I could easily refashion.”
Helga shook her head. “Too nice for cat.”
She shrugged. “Too nice for Kansas.” And it would look awful on her.
“Is there something soft?”
She rummaged through the items, bypassing a shawl. That could be useful. A flannel wrapper lay in the bottom, worn, as if a favorite. “Here we go.”
Helga raised her eyes at it, shook it out, but quickly nodded. “Much better for kitty.”
Julia went in search of scissors, but then realized Helga had a set and had started cutting. She frowned as fabric fell away onto the bed. Would Everett be mad? “I could pull some feathers from my pillow.”
“No, too nice for kitty. Enjoy your feathers. We fill with straw.”
Of course. If left up to her, Sticky would be spoiled rotten within a week. The kitten scratched at the sides of the box, as if looking for a secret escape panel, tempting Julia to pick her up.
Helga cut strips from the skirt instead of an even square.
“What are you doing?” She picked up a narrow piece.
“I not cut so you can’t wear, just take from bottom. It is very long for you.” And without any more words, she returned to her task.
Did Helga wonder about the other woman’s things as much as she did? “I’ll go gather the padding.”
In the barn, she could hear tines scraping against wood, but she couldn’t see Everett. Hoping not to disturb him, she climbed into the loft and stuffed some hay in a gunnysack.
“Can I help?”
She peeked over the edge. “Just getting hay for the cat.”
“I’d rather you used straw. Hay’s better for the animals to eat.”
———
Everett scrambled up the ladder and headed toward the straw. “Over here.”
Though tomorrow they’d be alone again once Helga left, Everett couldn’t neglect the chance to join Julia in the hayloft, though she likely wished he wouldn’t.
“Can I ask you a question?” Julia stumbled in the hay behind him.
Thankfully, for once, she was asking a question. “Sure.” He turned and took her elbow as she tried to walk across the pile with a bit of grace.
“Whose trunk is under your bed?”
He frowned at the dusty sunbeam obscuring her face. “Mine or yours?”
She stopped moving. “The trunk engraved AGG.”
His eyebrows moved with the scurrying of his brain. AGG. An extra trunk. He swallowed hard.
The extra trunk.
He coughed, more to clear his constricted throat than against the irritants floating in the haymow. “Ah, that would stand for Adelaide . . . uh, something, Gooding.”
“Who?”
“A woman.” He took a deep breath to calm his tremors. When she asked a question, she made it count. He’d rather tell her his favorite color was pink. But then, he’d decided only hours ago he had to tell her everything. Might as well be now.
Not that this conversation could be anything but awkward.
He pulled her over to a short pile of hay and sat.
Julia perched precariously on the edge beside him. “I’ve begun to wonder if I’ve missed something everyone else knows. Helga said something about you that didn’t quite make sense. Like she’d been . . . attached to you somehow. And Carl Hampden seems to think you have feelings for his wife. And this trunk—does this Adelaide have something to do with them?”
“Yes.” He dragged off his hat and flipped it around on his finger, trying not to roll it as he normally did, since a split where the brim and top met had recently appeared. “It’s a long story.”
Would she turn silent again once she’d heard about his brides? He swallowed. It didn’t matter how she reacted, she had the right to know. And he’d told William just a couple days ago that if a man loved a woman enough, he’d change even though it hurt. “When I first moved here, I was smitten with Rachel’s sister. Never declared myself, but it was understood. I decided I needed a decent house for her, so I built my cabin so I’d—”
“You think that thing is decent?” She screwed up her face as if questioning whether he knew the definition of the word.
He grimaced. “It was when it was new.”
She tucked her hands between her knees. “S
orry, I didn’t mean to hit a sore spot.”
“I admit the shack is run down. But only after years of neglect during the war. And I’d built it in a hurry.” He released his death grip on the hat. So much for not making the split wider.
“So what happened to Rachel’s sister?”
“Before the war, some fellow asked for her hand before I did, and she moved back east.”
She raised an eyebrow. “But she left her trunk?”
“No, that’s not hers.” He sighed. “I think you know from Rachel’s letters I was looking for a wife?” At her nod, he continued. “I was drowning in crop failure and needed help desperately. Droughts had made it near impossible for me to care for everything by myself, so a woman agreed to come. A Miss Gooding. I’d forgotten I shoved her trunk under the bed. She died on the train, and I didn’t know what else to do with it.”
“Ahh, I see.” She frowned. “How sad.”
He glanced over her way for a moment before returning his gaze to his hay-covered boots. “Then I requested a second bride to come, but she jilted me for another man on the way here: Carl Hampden.”
Julia sucked in air.
“And then Helga came.”
“Helga?” Julia’s face paled.
“She stayed with Rachel for a time. But she decided my farm was too much work. She married Ned.”
“Poor Helga,” Julia murmured.
Yes, as humiliated as he’d felt—poor Helga. “The train’s brought me nothing but trouble since it first came.”
Julia crossed her arms and started to stand, but he shot out his hand to keep her from getting up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think before I spoke. I used to say that. But you’re not trouble.” His lips pressed together. Not exactly, anyway. Why did he excel at making bad situations worse?
She lowered herself back down, and he released her.
He picked up his hat and dusted it off. “Maybe now you’ll understand my hesitation to welcome you when you arrived.”
He could feel her glare shoot through his ears. “That wasn’t hesitation. That was out-and-out shunning.”
“I’m sorry.” His neck grew hot, but he forced himself to look at her. Just yesterday they were getting along decently, laughing over a cat. Now he’d fallen victim again to her chastising frown. “The hesitation was more before you stepped off the train. That . . . the shunning, was for other reasons.”
“What other reasons?” Her gaze seared into him, and he turned from it.
“You.”
“Me?” Her voice rose an octave.
“Well, you see,” his voice squawked. He cleared his throat. “You’re beautiful beyond words. After being rejected by one very pretty gal and three plain women, I figured I had no hope with you.” And he blew whatever hope he did have. “I was an idiot.”
Her posture relaxed. “You were.”
Well, she could have been a little slower to agree.
“So you didn’t even meet this AGG?”
“No.”
“So do you care what I do with the contents, then?”
Why hadn’t he told her this long ago and given her the trunk? “You can do whatever you want with it. Perhaps she had some work dresses you could use.”
She nodded, then stood with her gunnysack. “I can use some fabric for a cat bed, so I’ll need that straw.”
In silence, they walked across the loft. He took her lack of questions as her needing time to absorb that all together five women had not found him worthy of fully making him theirs.
Chapter 19
Julia drove the team slowly and silently into town. She glanced at the tough woman sitting stoically beside her. How would she get along without Helga? Granted, it had only been a week since she’d come to stay with them, but another woman under the roof had eased the tension between her and Everett. He’d halted his constant interrogation, and she’d enjoyed Helga’s quiet presence.
She’d been worried Ned would come back in another drunken rage, but Helga seemed certain he wouldn’t return for her, and she’d been correct. He’d not set foot on their property since Everett shooed him away at gunpoint. Did Ned not want to deal with Everett again, or did he care so little for his wife that he decided winning her back wasn’t worth his rotten breath?
“So we say good-bye today.”
Julia swallowed against the glumness in Helga’s voice. “You will write and let us know you’ve made it?”
“Yes, of course. I cannot thank you enough for what you do for me.” Tears shimmered on her lower lashes.
Julia stopped the team in front of the depot and reached over to squeeze Helga’s hand. “I would have wanted someone to help me if I were in your situation.”
“You will never need such help.”
True. She couldn’t imagine Everett laying a vicious hand on her. He was gentler with his horse than most men she’d known, but would she never want to leave? Just the thought of returning to the farm without Helga made her feel uncertain. The vague, worrisome feelings stirring within made her want to flee. With her nest egg gone, she had no choice but to stay. But a small part of her . . . well, a small part didn’t want to leave, which made her want to run all the more.
Helga gripped her shoulder. “Why are you having so much trouble?”
There was no need to burden the woman; Helga had enough to worry about. “I’ve enjoyed your company. I don’t want to see you go.”
Helga smiled, the tired wrinkles about her mouth bunched. “I have to, but I mean trouble loving Everett.”
Loving Everett? Julia was nowhere close to loving him. It wasn’t even possible. She’d never be able to trust a man, and trust was necessary for love. But why couldn’t she trust Everett? She stared at the reins in her hands as if she’d find the answer there.
She’d never planned to love the man she married. Hadn’t wanted to. But she couldn’t tell Helga that. It would sound cruel.
And it was cruel. She groaned. She hadn’t meant to be unkind, just self-protective. “It has to do with why I came here, but it isn’t something I want to talk about.” She would never talk about it to anyone. Ned’s actions—based on his suspicion alone—confirmed how people would think about her and treat her if she provided any information to turn conjecture into certainty.
“All of us brides run away from something. But running from Everett is a mistake. I believe I know more than all of us. You were more wise not to leave him, but you are not most wise. You should trust him; he is kind.”
Julia puckered her lip, trying not to let a silly thing like Everett offering Helga his hand in marriage first bother her. It didn’t matter. “He’s very kind, but I’m uncomfortable.”
“Don’t be so much. God gives you good gift.”
Why hadn’t He given Helga one as well? She had never talked ill of Ned once he’d left her, never complained about the gash they’d found behind her ear and the bruises her sleeves had covered. If anyone was an enduring saint, it was this stolid, persevering woman.
“And you take the gift, but you need to enjoy it.”
Enjoy? The fear of the physical side of marriage barred her from relaxing in his presence.
“Trust me.”
Could she trust Helga to know since she’d chosen her husband so poorly? “I’ll think on it.”
They climbed out of the wagon and worked their way to the window to purchase Helga’s ticket. Julia stood at the bottom of the Pullman’s stairs as the porter announced that all passengers should board. She gave the stout woman a hug. “I hope you have an easy journey.”
“It will be much easier than yours.” Helga patted her cheek and frowned.
Julia swallowed against the lump in her throat. Nothing about her life had been easy thus far, and she hadn’t expected it to be any different when she’d come to Kansas.
She’d always have to be wary lest she be crushed again. If she opened herself up, she could be hurt more than ever—to her very core.
Everett stopped mucking and listen
ed. A distant rhythmic banging sounded close by. Gunshots? Another flurry of sounds traveled through the window. More like haphazard hammering.
Grabbing the shotgun from where it leaned against the barn wall, he slunk to the door. A week had passed since Helga left for New York, but he still worried Ned would show up on his property waving pistols and shouting curses.
In light of Ned’s threats and Helga’s recent departure, he’d stayed close to the house. Julia was guarded and jumpy, and both their meals and nights were strained. He could protect her from outside threats, God willing, but he couldn’t figure how to protect her from the emotions churning inside her, closing her off from him again.
But then, he wasn’t much better off. Images of Ned’s hands wandering all over her plagued his mind, making him angry and jealous. Insanely so.
As his eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight, he listened for more of the hammering sound. A few seconds later it came—from the top of the shack. Julia swayed atop his rickety roof. Her tiny frame careened forward as she bent and grabbed something off the peak.
“What are you doing?” He ran to the house and craned his neck. “Get down this instant!”
Unmoving, she looked at him, a nail sticking out from between her lips.
“Did you not hear me? Get down.” Impertinence. He never realized how much he disliked that quality before this moment. He glanced around for the ladder.
She pulled the nail from her mouth. “I’m fixing the roof. It’s leaking again. When I’m done I’ll get down.”
“Do you even know what you’re doing?” He set the shotgun on the porch and ran to the ladder. He held it tight and stared at the eaves. “Come down. If you want me to fix something, ask me.” His heart sank. Why didn’t she ever ask him for help? He must be worthless to her.
Her voice carried over the edge. “I said, I’m fixing it.”
It had actually leaked for years, but he hadn’t bothered fixing that tiny spot because the new house’s roof was watertight. But why would she think this was her job? He’d been particularly attentive to household problems this past month, fixing anything he thought she wanted repaired. He didn’t know the leak in the corner bothered her. He took a deep breath, settling himself to wait for her, yet sure she wouldn’t come. After a few minutes, he bounced the ladder a few times, making sure of its stability, and climbed the rungs.
A Bride for Keeps Page 20