The thought of taking a bath held a great deal of appeal. A grunt of exertion escaped him as he took his things to the bathroom. Elated to find a shower nozzle mounted to the tiled wall surrounding the bathtub, he turned the water on and stepped beneath the hot stream.
He couldn’t recall the last time he’d had a shower, at least a private one with all the hot water and soap he wanted. A bar of Ivory soap produced a satisfactory number of iridescent bubbles as he lathered it between his hands before getting down to the business of scrubbing himself clean.
Once he rinsed off the soap, he continued to stand beneath the steamy spray, hands braced on the tiled wall, relishing the feel of water against his skin.
Reluctantly, he turned off the water and stepped out of the tub. He lifted a snowy white towel from a nearby hook and buried his face in the soft, sun-drenched material. Leisurely dressing, he used his index finger to brush his teeth with the Calox tooth powder he found inside the mirrored medicine cabinet above the sink.
He rinsed his mouth, hung the towel up to dry, and opened the bathroom door. After hastily shoving his dirty underwear into his bag, he made his way through the empty house.
The front of the house offered a spacious living area with a room off it that appeared to be an office. Bookcases lined the walls and a large desk occupied much of the floor.
Down the hallway, he looked inside a second bedroom before making his way through the dining room to the kitchen at the back of the house.
A plate covered by a blue-and-white striped dish towel sat on the table. A note on top of it read, “Help yourself.”
Hungry, Rock removed the towel covering a crumb cake. Cinnamon filled the air and his mouth watered. He lifted the knife the woman had left by the platter and cut a generous slice. After he located a plate and a glass, he retrieved a pitcher of milk from the refrigerator.
Stomach growling, he filled the glass with milk and sat at the table. He offered a brief prayer of thanks, feeling blessed by the meal and the fact he hadn’t died in the storm. The severity of his condition, from what he’d overheard his doctor discuss with his colleague, left Rock surprised to be alive.
As he ate the delicious spice-laden treat and sipped the wholesome milk, he contemplated who the woman was, why she was there, and what she planned to do with him.
Strength rapidly waning, he finished his milk and the last bite of cake. He rinsed his dishes and left them in the sink, then made his way to the living room. Two brown leather wingback chairs flanked a large fireplace. A yellow velvet tufted sofa sat across from the fireplace with tables and lamps on either side of it. Overhead, a pale yellow chandelier glistened in the morning light. A Philco radio and a rocking chair with a basket of yarn within easy reach rounded out the room’s furnishings.
Rock sank onto the cushioned softness of the sofa and rested his head on a floral throw pillow, stretching out on the long surface.
As he drifted to sleep, he pictured a tall, silent woman with a head full of dark, silky hair and cool, tender hands.
Miko stood at the foot of the sofa, studying the soldier as he slept. Since finding him in the wee hours of the morning last week, she’d nursed him around the clock, praying he wouldn’t die.
It had depleted her lagging energy to drag him into the kitchen. She’d tossed a blanket over him and turned up the heat while she got out of her wet clothes and rested a few minutes. The effort it had taken to tug the big man to the nearest bedroom had left her reserves utterly empty, but she had somehow managed to remove his wet clothes and get him into the bed.
As soon as he’d ceased shivering in wracking spasms, Miko had taken a hot shower and made herself a simple meal of toast and tea. By then, she’d marveled that the power hadn’t been shut off or the cupboards emptied of food. In their haste to pack up their lives and leave, her family must have overlooked a few details, such as emptying the refrigerator and giving notice to the electric company.
She’d returned to the bedroom where the soldier rested, spread another blanket over him, and settled into the chair by the bed to keep watch.
Throughout the day, she’d wiped his brow and spooned hot liquids into his chilled yet feverish body. As she kept a vigil over him, she’d soaked her blistered, aching feet, and rubbed them with her grandmother’s special ointment.
Originally, she’d planned to ask her grandparents’ closest neighbors, Lucy and John Phillips, to take him in after giving her a ride to the assembly center. The young couple had always been kind. They’d not only help her, but also make sure the soldier received care.
Miko hadn’t planned to be so thoroughly exhausted from her ordeal and caring for the soldier. Much to her dismay, she’d fallen asleep and hadn’t awoken until hours past the time she should have checked in at the assembly center.
Fearful of what would happen if she arrived late and truly concerned for the man in her care, Miko had remained at the house.
In the soft light of dawn the following morning, she’d decided to stay at her grandparents’ farm and care for the soldier until he was well enough to travel. At that time, she’d have a better idea of what to do about joining her family at the assembly center.
On sore feet, she’d limped out to milk the cows, coaxing them back into the pasture. She’d assumed her family turned them loose with the hope they’d wander over to the Phillips’s farm.
A bucket of feed had coerced the chickens into their pen from roosting spots around the yard and barn.
While her feet and body had healed from her trek home in the rain, Miko tended the garden her grandfather had already planted, contemplated her future, and cared for the soldier half out of his mind with sickness.
Several times, he’d referred to her as Nurse Brighton and spoken to someone named Billie. Miko wasn’t sure if the nurse and Billie were the same person or two separate women he admired.
She was all too familiar with his type; his thick brown hair, straight nose, and square jaw guaranteed his popularity among females who went for strong, rugged men.
As he slept on the sofa, the thin straps of his undershirt bisected a set of broad shoulders. Despite his weakened condition, muscles remained visible in his biceps, especially with them crossed over his firm chest.
Tall and handsome, he probably left a trail of brokenhearted girls wherever he went.
Miko had no plans to be one of them. As soon as he was able to travel, the soldier was on his own. She’d then face the consequences of showing up late to the assembly center. Surely, given the reason for her delay, they wouldn’t be too hard on her.
Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t realize the man had awakened and stared at her.
“Hello,” he said in a deep voice, husky with sleep.
“Hello,” she spoke quietly. “How are you feeling today?”
“Better.” He pushed himself up until he sat against the cushions, then swung his legs around to the floor. He rose to his feet and swayed with dizziness.
Miko rushed forward, slipping an arm around his trim waist to steady him. “Easy, sir.”
“Thanks,” he muttered, clearly embarrassed by his need for assistance.
“You are most welcome.” She glanced up at him and caught his gaze. His eyes were an incredible shade of blue, so clear and bright they put her in mind of summer starlight. Before she fell into the tempting pools, she forced her attention back to the matter of providing care for the wounded man. Scars crossed his left side and he favored his left arm, as though he’d recently received the injuries. A nasty scar ran the length of his forearm. He seemed to have trouble moving his hand and fingers.
Curious when and how he’d been injured, she supposed if he wanted her to know, he’d share the details.
“Want to tell me who you are and why you’re here?” she asked as they took unhurried steps toward the kitchen.
He remained silent until they were halfway across the dining room. That bright gaze dropped to hers and he grinned, flashing remarkably even, white t
eeth. “I suppose introductions are in order. Have you taken care of me since the big rainstorm? Was that yesterday?”
Miko shook her head. “I found you on the back step just before dawn on the fifth of May. Today is the thirteenth.”
“The thirteenth!” Astonished, he gaped at her. “I’ve been sleeping for a week?”
“Yes, sir. You had a fever and chills and were quite ill. Your fever broke Friday night, but you were still very sick. I could tell you were much better yesterday. It’s good to see you up and about today.”
“It’s good to be up and really good to be alive. Thank you for taking care of me.” He smiled at her, a genuine smile full of gratitude. “I was trying to make it home, but due to unforeseen circumstances, I got off the bus a few miles past Beaverton and started walking home.”
Miko questioned what kind of stonehearted person could turn a wounded soldier out on a cold, rainy night. Probably the same type to kick a young woman lugging a suitcase off a bus twenty miles from her home, but she kept her thoughts to herself. Instead, she latched onto the fact he had a home in the area. “Where do you live?”
“The farm where I grew up is in Gales Creek. That’s where I was headed, but I’ve since remembered I leased the place to a neighbor’s son when my father died three years ago.”
“I’m sorry about your father,” Miko said. She couldn’t bear the thought of anything happening to her beloved papa. “What about your mother?”
A pained look passed over his face. “We lost her the last year I attended West Point.”
Miko helped him settle into a chair at the table and handed him a glass of water. She took a seat across from him and waited while he drank half the contents of the glass. “Do you have any other family?”
He shook his head and took another drink of water. “No. It’s just me.”
Expectantly, she stared at him. “And you are?”
If he’d worn a hat, he would have tipped it. In place of it, he respectfully bowed his head. “Captain Rock Laroux at your service, ma’am.”
A smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “It’s nice to meet you, Captain Laroux. I’m Kamiko Nishimura.”
Rock returned her smile. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Nishimura.”
Miko didn’t feel the need to set him straight. It was best if he assumed she was married. She stood and moved to the refrigerator, prepared to make lunch.
With plenty of eggs at her disposal, she took out five and beat them in a bowl with milk, salt, and a little pepper.
“Is this the Yamada farm?” Rock asked, as she dropped a glob of butter into a hot cast-iron skillet. He listened to it sizzle and sputter as it melted, filling the air with a delicious, savory aroma.
Puzzled, she glanced over her shoulder at him. “It is the Yamada farm. Do you know Shig and Aiko Yamada?”
He nodded and continued watching her graceful movements as she worked. “My dad and I used to buy produce from Mr. and Mrs. Yamada every summer until I left home. They always had the best strawberries and tomatoes.”
Another smile touched her lips as she poured the egg mixture into the pan. “They still do.”
“How do you know them?”
“They are my grandparents, on my mother’s side. I used to spend my summers here with them.”
“I remember seeing girls working here in the summers,” Rock said, recalling two Japanese girls with pigtails and big smiles filling sacks and cartons with the fresh produce.
“My sister, Ellen, and I worked the produce stand. My brother, Tommy, helped when he got big enough.” Miko sliced bread and set a plate of it on the table along with butter and a dish of strawberry jam. She cut thin slices of cheese and layered it on the omelet as it cooked.
“Do you and your husband live here on the farm?”
The way his gaze rested on her ringless finger set her on edge. Every time he mentioned her husband, her shoulders tensed with worry.
Cautious, Miko finally admitted the truth. “I’m not married, Captain Laroux. It’s Miss Nishimura, but everyone calls me Miko.”
He tossed a wicked grin her direction. “Well, Miko, I suppose since you’ve seen me in my underwear, you might as well call me Rock.”
Blossoms of pink colored her cheeks as she set the table. The man had been delirious and bedridden for a week. She’d done more than just see his underwear, but he didn’t need to know that. “Very well, Rock. Would you like a glass of milk?”
“Yes, please. The milk I had for breakfast was the best I’ve had in a long time. It tasted fresh and rich, and so good.”
She poured a glass and handed it to him, then lifted the omelet from the pan and cut it into two servings, sliding the largest portion onto his plate.
Much to his surprise, she bowed her head after she took a seat and offered a brief but heartfelt prayer for their meal.
“Are you Methodist?” he asked as he buttered a slice of bread and slathered it with jam. Many of the Japanese he’d known in his youth belonged to a Methodist church located on the outskirts of Portland.
“Presbyterian.” She smiled and cut into her omelet. “My great-grandparents joined the church a few years after they arrived from Japan.”
“When was that?”
Rock bit into the bread and closed his eyes, clearly enjoying the strawberry jam. Sweet and full of one of the best flavors of the summer, he chewed slowly, as though he wanted to savor the experience.
“In the 1880s. My grandfather was a young boy when they arrived.” Miko took a bite of the omelet, pleased to see Rock enjoy the jam she helped her grandmother make last summer.
Rock asked about the farm, the produce stand, and her grandparents as they ate.
It wasn’t until she stood to carry the dishes to the sink that he mentioned the absence of anyone else at the house.
“Where are your grandparents?” he asked.
She stopped midstride and cast him a cautious glance. “Gone.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I had no idea…”
Taken aback by his sincerity, she hurried to correct him. “Not deceased, Captain. I just meant they aren’t home.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Rock said, clearly relieved. He glanced around the kitchen before his gaze landed back on her. “May I help with anything?”
Miko set the dishes in the sink, then added soap and hot water. “It will only take a moment to wash these. It’s a beautiful day out. You might enjoy sitting on the front porch for a while,” she suggested, tipping her head toward the front of the house.
Rock got the idea she preferred to be alone. Under normal circumstances, he would have charmed her into accepting his company. However, he liked the idea of soaking up the sunshine and clean spring air. On unsteady feet, he stood and took a few steps. “Thank you for lunch.”
“You’re welcome.” Her focus remained on the dishes she scrubbed.
She dried and put away the dishes, then set a chicken she’d killed and plucked earlier in a big pot to stew. Miko opened a door in the short hall off the kitchen and made her way down the dark stairs. At the bottom, she reached up and pulled on a string. Light flooded the basement.
Miko had never liked going down to the basement. Like most basements, it often smelled musty and spiders lurked in the corners. Her sister always refused to set foot in it, frightened by the dark dankness of the space.
Shelves lined the walls of the large open room. A kaleidoscope of color burst from the assortment of preserves filling jars of various sizes. Grandma always canned twice as much as she needed and frequently gave away the excess.
Bins that brimmed with potatoes, apples, and onions through the winter were nearly empty, waiting for a new crop to fill their bareness.
Along the far wall, a high bench with an assortment of tools, all precisely in place, gave testament to her grandfather’s talent at carving wood and maintaining order.
Miko reached beneath the bench and found a hidden lever, pushing it back until a drawer popped open.
Her grandfather had padlocked the large building where he stored everything from baskets for the berries they sold at the produce stand to his 1939 Ford 9N tractor.
When she hadn’t been caring for the cows, chickens, garden, and Captain Laroux, Miko had searched for the key. She’d never known her grandfather to lock anything, but since they planned to be gone for an indefinite period, she reasoned that was why he’d locked everything. She’d found the key to the building where he kept the lawnmower, tools, and cans of gasoline.
A search of the outbuildings that were unlocked hadn’t turned up a key to the storage shed. Neither had a thorough hunt through the house.
As she’d washed the dishes, she recalled the secret drawer in her grandfather’s workbench.
Intrigued by what she might find, she lifted out birth certificates, marriage licenses, titles to cars, the farm truck, and the tractor. In the bottom of the drawer, she discovered a ring with four keys. She returned all the papers, slid the key ring over one slender finger, and closed the drawer.
While she was already in the basement, she filled a basket with three jars of peaches, one of peas, and a jar of purple grape juice, taking them with her. In the kitchen, she set the basket on the counter, then checked the chicken, inhaling the steam from the pot as she lifted the lid. She turned down the heat of the burner, stuffed the key ring in her pocket, and made her way to the front of the house.
Through the screen door, she watched Rock peacefully slumber on a broad cane seat. Long legs stretched in front of him while his head tipped against the back of the chair. She would have brought a pillow for his head, but she didn’t want to disturb him.
On silent feet, she returned to the kitchen and exited out the back door. At the storage shed, the third key she tried unlocked the padlock and she stepped inside the warehouse-sized building.
In addition to her grandfather’s truck and tractor, she was surprised to see his car along with hers. She wished a hundred times she’d driven herself to Sally’s home instead of going with Pastor Clark. Had she done so, she wouldn’t have been left to walk home in the rain and could have been back in time to join her family before they left for the assembly center.
Garden of Her Heart (Hearts of the War Book 1) Page 4