“But…that’s good, isn’t it?”
“Not for my peace of mind, it’s not.” Oh, Molly would never understand. She and Marcus were in love. With each other. Frustrated, Sarah picked up her cinnamon buns again. “But this time, I have a new plan. A plan of my own devising.”
Molly bit her lip. “Perhaps you should sit down. You look a bit feverish.”
“No! I’ve too much to do. Beginning with these cinnamon buns. And a few other items, now that school is dismissed for the day.” Moving quickly, Sarah headed for the bakeshop’s exit. “Don’t worry. I’ve got everything well in hand.”
Skeptically, Molly shook her head. “I’ve seen your plans before. They’re nearly as…imaginative as mine.”
Hah. Her family was chock full of doubters. It was a good thing Sarah had faith enough for all of them.
She waved. “Wish me luck!”
“You don’t need luck,” Molly called. “You need a dose of common sense!”
But by then, Sarah was already making good her escape. The door shut behind her on a squeak of hinges and a thump. She clattered down the steps to her next destination.
At the apothecary, Sarah consulted confidentially with the pharmacist. She held up two bottles of elaborately labeled patent remedies, then gave him a hopeful look.
“Which of these would be best to give me spots?”
Frowning, he peered through his spectacles. “Spots?”
“Just minor ones. Nothing terribly gruesome.” She thought about it. “Something…off-putting would do.”
“Most young ladies want to remove their spots.”
“That’s fine for them. I’d like to add some, please.”
She waited impatiently.
The pharmacist’s expression suggested she was mad. He pointed to the bottle in her left hand. “That one has a quantity of lanolin in it. It might conjure up some blemishes for you, if you put enough on.”
Excellent. She vowed to slather on handfuls. Beaming, Sarah placed the remedy on the counter, along with a jar of Miss Olga’s Original All-Natural Wart Cure-All and Preventative.
“I’ll take these.”
At the mercantile, Sarah selected a length of hideous green flannel. She squinted at the grotesque purple flowers printed on it and decided it was perfect. Four yards were enough.
Next she sampled all the ladies’ fragrances on display. The first smelled too lovely, similar to the lavender she used. The second smelled too sweet, a keen competitor for Molly’s cones of baking sugar. The third smelled like a man’s cologne. Frowning, Sarah turned the bottle so the label faced her. It was for men.
She considered it, then added it to her goods, as well.
Only a few more purchases remained. Those and a few fresh eggs to be claimed from Mrs. Harrison on her way home, that is. Feeling more hopeful than ever, now that she had nearly everything she needed to execute her plan, Sarah added a pair of thick wool socks to her load. She plucked a handful of garlic bulbs from the corner, then made her way past the store’s potbellied stove to the barrel of crackers.
“Three pounds, please,” she told the proprietor.
Then she was off to her mother’s for a frenzied bout of sewing. If there was one person she could count on to help her with this dilemma, it was her mama. Especially now that her sisters’ advice had turned out to be so foolhardy. Their counsel had only led to Daniel’s pursuing her ever more boldly. Without his love, that was one thing Sarah could not withstand.
Satisfied that her own ingenuity would save the day, she gathered her bundled purchases in her arms. She waddled to the street as burdened as any pack mule. Now that her day of teaching was completed, her most important task lay ahead.
She had a husband to outwit.
Daniel was late coming home that night. He’d lingered apurpose at the smithy. A part of him wanted nothing more than to see Sarah and Eli—to take his wife in his arms and kiss her hello, to hoist his boy on his shoulders and then tickle him till he laughed near to puking. Those were the moments that made his life his own…that made his life a life.
Yet he’d stayed away as long as he could. Because the rest of him knew of a certainty that it was up to him to save them all from the dangers of “love.” So Daniel had labored over his fire till long past sunset, diligently repairing metalwork and trying not to think of the family he was missing. But eventually he hung up his hammer. He faced the night instead.
This time of night, when Morrow Creek turned snug and all the families joined for their evening meal, was difficult for him. All his years as a bachelor, Daniel hadn’t known the pleasures of having someone there waiting for him. Of seeing a lantern lit as he approached and knowing there’d be soft voices and laughter and togetherness inside his cramped household.
Now he did. And he could not claim any of it.
The real devil of it was, every day Daniel felt more drawn to his “convenient” wife. Every day he wanted her more. Every day he edged closer to something he knew could prove disastrous. For Sarah’s sake—and Eli’s—he had to hold firm. He had to resist. Otherwise, who knew what he’d feel compelled, like Lillian, to do?
At first, after his blurted-out confession of what his sister had done under the damnable influence of “love,” Daniel had tried to stay away from Sarah. He had. But that had lasted him no more than half a day. Perhaps less. Thinking on it now, he gave a wry shake of his head.
Without her, he felt empty. ’Twas plain as that.
With that failure behind him, Daniel had reverted to his original plan. The fact of it was, he needed to assert his husbandly dominance over his household. Otherwise, things would only become more complicated. He could not have his wife in charge! As Marcus and Jack had pointed out, seduction was his likeliest skill and his best chance of winning, besides.
Daniel hadn’t given up hope of his seduction tactics working, either. Just yesterday, in fact, Sarah had been so preoccupied by an encounter between them near the water pump, she had mistakenly served him a biscuit. With honey. And she’d smiled at him, too. Four ticks of his pocket watch had passed before she’d realized the gesture lay at odds with her strike.
That was progress.
Feeling hopeful—and willing, with his gambler’s heart, to take his chances on this night—Daniel strode inside his house. Eli ran to greet him, a toy train in hand and a bone-crushing hug in mind. Naturally enough, that turned into a rowdy mock wrestling match on the woven rag rug. Ten minutes later, Daniel found himself pinned by a triumphant little boy with eyes as brown as his own and an arrogance to match.
“I’ve got you!” Eli said. “You’ll never escape now.”
“Let me up, you hooligan.”
The boy gave him a crafty look. “Say please.”
Hellfire. Sarah’s influence was everywhere. “Did Miss Crabtree tell you to say that?”
Eli shook his head. “Aunt Sarah did.”
At that, all the fight went out of Daniel. He stared at the boy, agape with wonder. All these weeks later, Eli had finally given over to the woman who cared for him, who cooked endless mounds of stinky cabbage for him…who loved him.
“She did, did she?” With a scowl, Daniel pretended to consider it. “Well, then. I guess I’ll have to…tickle you!”
He rose with a deafening roar that sent the cat fleeing beneath the sofa. Holding Eli in his arms, Daniel lumbered upright like a bear. He swung him to and fro by the armpits, then set him on his feet. The tickling started. They both collapsed again, laughing till their sides ached.
Gruffly, Daniel hugged him close. Eli’s answering embrace warmed him in turn. Just for a minute—no more than that—he allowed himself to enjoy it. To lock it in his memory. The boy had a piece of his heart in his grubby fist, that was for certain.
Now on to more practical matters. “I could eat a two-ton buffalo. Hair, hooves and all.” Sniffing, he rubbed his belly. “Where’s our dinner?”
Eli shrugged. “I already ate mine. Aunt Sarah said to go a
head, since you were working at the smithy so late. But maybe there’s something left over for you.”
“All right. Go and finish with your trains. Then it’s time to clean your teeth afore bed.”
The boy gave a grudging nod. Daniel sent him to play. Then, drawing in a deep breath, he tucked in his mussed shirt. He raked his hand through his tousled hair. He rubbed his whiskers and verified them exactly prickly enough. Then he steeled himself.
It was time to confront the hardiest obstacle of all. The greatest challenge to his self-control. His wife.
He found her, befuddlingly enough, seated at the kitchen table with her feet propped on a chair and her father’s Pioneer Press newspaper in hand. Her skirts billowed to the floor, looking somehow more voluminous than he remembered. A cup of something terrible-smelling sat at her elbow.
Daniel made a face. “What is that stench?”
Perkily, Sarah lowered her newsprint. “Hello, husband!”
He gawked. “What is that on your face? Did some ruffian hold you down and smear chicken droppings on you?”
Blithely, she touched the sticky-looking goo. She seemed uncommonly satisfied with it. “It is a beauty concoction. Made of miller’s bran, whole eggs and a quantity of ground herbs.”
He sniffed. No, the smell definitely came from her cup, not her face. “What are you doing with it?”
“Making myself more beautiful, of course. I intend to use it regularly from now on. Extremely regularly.”
Daniel grunted. Drawn by a movement glimpsed from the corner of his eye, he glanced at Sarah’s pert feet. Or at least at the place where her pert feet in their ladies’ button-up shoes usually were found. Not tonight. Tonight, in their place, wiggled two bulky wool-shrouded things. Doubtless, given the vagaries of women’s fashions, they were designed to make her head seem small by comparison.
He frowned in confusion.
“You don’t need to become more beautiful,” he managed, as he knew she expected. As, privately, he thought was true. “You look stunning already. Rivaling the ladies’ pictures in Godey’s, in fact. You could model dress patterns and the like.”
“Honestly? Looking like this?”
Arching her eyebrows…no, more truly, her muck pack brows…Sarah regarded him. Skepticism emanated from her.
He could not lie. That was the first rule of honorably seducing a woman. Straight-faced, he pointed. “You may need to remove those…stockings first.”
At that, she laughed. The stuff on her face crackled in reaction. Daniel recoiled. There were some things about living with a woman that, evidently, no one had warned him of.
He would pound Marcus Copeland when he had the chance.
“Sit down, sit down. I’ll get you some tea.”
Busily, Sarah stumped to the stove. Those had to be men’s socks on her feet. They made her ankles look as big as an elephant’s. Not that Daniel had ever seen an elephant in the flesh, but he had studied drawings of them in Sarah’s schoolbooks. He reckoned the creatures could not be any baggier, bulkier or grayer around the ankles than his bride.
Kettle in hand, Sarah glanced coquettishly over her shoulder. Daniel knew what she wanted—what he’d given her for the past week or more. Gamely, he attempted to steal a forbidden glimpse of her ankles…wherever they were. Let no man claim Daniel McCabe was easily deterred from his goal.
Sarah did not appreciate his fortitude at all. In fact, she suddenly looked downright vexed.
She hobbled nearer and slid a cup beneath his nose. A horribly familiar stench wafted upward. It made his eyes water.
Daniel balked. “What the hell is this?”
“Brewed garlic tea. Triple strength. I understand it does wonders for the masculine constitution.” Sweetly, Sarah offered him a spoon. “Sugar?”
Masculine constitution? Offended, he glared at her. He didn’t need any assistance with his constitution, damn it. He’d prove it to her, too. Just as soon as he managed to quit gawking at that concoction on her face, he would take her in his arms and kiss her. First he would need a face cloth.
Then something else occurred to him. “You just served me.”
With a placid nod, Sarah settled on her chair.
Unbidden, his gaze went to her elephant feet. Strangely, they seemed almost endearing to him now. It was a brave woman who dared appear before a man dressed that way. She was one in a million. At the realization, Daniel put his chin in his hand. He smiled—unable to help it—fondly at her.
“Yes, I did serve you.” She gave his smile a displeased glance. “The good news is, I’ve decided to resume cooking your meals, et cetera. Your dinner is in the oven, and you have a stack of mended shirts just there, on that chair.”
She nodded to them.
Daniel could not believe his good fortune. Delighted, he picked up his shirts. They filled his arms in a clean, sweet-smelling mass.
“You are hugging them,” Sarah observed.
He felt ridiculously enraptured. They were only laundered shirts, that was true. But still, Sarah had washed them for him. She had… “They’re stiff as a board!”
“Are you criticizing my use of laundry starch?”
“No. Never.” He petted the items, then wanted to grin like a loon when an unyielding sleeve poked out of the mass. In all his paltry attempts at laundering, he had never achieved this degree of fineness. He felt absurdly cared-for. “What is the bad news?”
Sarah hesitated, her beauty concoction gleaming thickly in the lamplight. Now that he’d become used to it, Daniel reflected, her face didn’t look so bad. Beneath all the mess, he could still glimpse Sarah. His Sarah.
Driven by impulse, he put down his laundered shirts and leaned nearer. He swiped her chin.
She stared. “Did you just taste my beauty treatment?”
“Mmmm.” He sucked his finger clean. “Needs salt.” He settled back, folding his hands comfortably over his empty belly. “Now. You were telling me the bad news?”
“Yes.” Sarah seemed befuddled. “The bad news.”
She set aside her newspaper and accidentally elbowed a jar askew in the process. Daniel caught it just as it headed for the floor. He glanced at the fancy label.
Miss Olga’s Original All-Natural Wart Cure-All and Preventative. Hmm. Poor Sarah. For her sake, he smiled and pretended not to have seen it. That, he reasoned, was what a good husband did.
“The bad news,” she said, “is that I have a great deal to do at the schoolhouse for the next few weeks. There is the annual spelling bee to prepare for, and the holiday pageant, besides. I may be up late every night for a while. Burning the midnight oil, as they say.”
“Fine. I’ll keep you company.”
“Oh, no.” She waved her hand in dismissal, then rose to fetch his meal from the oven. Bearing it in her apron-shrouded grasp, she slid a plate of roasted beef and potatoes in front of him. “That won’t be necessary. There’s no sense keeping the whole household up at night.”
“Not the whole household. Only me.”
“It’s my work. My responsibility. I’ll do it.”
“You might just find that your responsibilities are lessened soon.” Winking at her, Daniel forked up some beef.
“What does that mean?”
“You’ll see. Mmm. This is delicious.” He caught her hand across the table and squeezed it. “Thank you.”
Sarah looked taken aback. At least, he thought she did. It was hard to tell beneath all the stuff on her face. But, true to her nature, she recovered quickly enough.
“Well, enjoy your dinner. Take your time.” Wriggling her hand from beneath his, she gathered her newspaper and a pile of wool with knitting needles poked through it. “I have much to do before bedtime.”
He shot an appreciate gaze to her bosom. Blessedly, it featured no muck, nor a dingy gray covering. “Don’t tire yourself overmuch. I have plans for you tonight.”
Daniel waggled his eyebrows, making his romantic intentions plain. Sarah blanched. She glanced to he
r feet.
“But I look…”
She faltered. Her meaning was clear, though. She thought she looked unsightly.
Daniel didn’t care. She was still Sarah. Warts, muck and elephant ankles could not change that.
“You look like yourself. The woman I plan to have our usual kissing lessons with in—” he consulted his pocket watch “—about forty minutes. Once Eli is asleep.”
“You’re serious.”
He nodded, then returned to his meal.
“Horsefeathers!” she muttered, then stomped away.
A few moments later, Eli’s loud chortles came from the far end of the house. Daniel guessed the boy hadn’t seen Sarah’s getup till now.
Smiling to himself, he went back to his dinner. He didn’t know what his wife was playing at, but it was plain she was up to something. The funny thing was, Daniel almost looked forward to finding out what it was.
Filled with anticipation, Daniel carried a lantern to the chamber he shared with Sarah. Light bobbed along the hallway, illuminating the plain wood walls. Keeping his footsteps light, he traversed the short distance quietly. Eli was safely abed, and the house felt still. Daniel wanted it to stay that way.
He relished this time of night. Darkness meant he and Sarah would be together with no pretense between them. Climbing in bed beside her these days, he felt a curious sense of homecoming. It was strange, but there it was. He was not a man to question the truth, especially when it met him between warm sheets and an even warmer woman.
A sliver of light came from beneath their door. Good. That meant Sarah had waited for him. Tilting his head, Daniel lifted the latch. Inside, his wife sat propped on pillows in their bed, her face scrubbed clean. Thank heaven for small favors. He could not glimpse her feet, but he trusted she’d bared them for sleeping.
She bent her head industriously over her knitting, not seeming to notice his arrival. Daniel knew that would soon change. He set down his lantern, arranging it in place beside his washbasin. He cleared his throat.
Sarah did not so much as glance up. Her knitting needles flashed, fashioning what seemed to be a hideously ugly and very lengthy stocking. It occurred to him that she might be making yet another pair of elephant stockings—this time in mold green.
Lisa Plumley - [Crabtree 02] Page 16