She put her hand over her mouth to hide her giggle.
“Let’s go. Don’t want to get caught in the rain.”
Clouds rolled in, colors ranging from pale gray to water-laden black, pushed by the wind toward Turtle Springs. The farm might escape the worst of the approaching storm.
The groceries were already in the wagon. The gentlemen assisted the ladies onto their wagon, and within minutes they headed home.
One advantage of dry weather was hard ground, and the horses made good time.
“What’s that?” Debbie had located his package of wood and was pulling at the paper.
He lifted the package and settled it next to him. “That’s for me to know and you to wait for. No peeking.”
She wiggled in her space. “I’ll look forward to it.” She looked across the plains, at the rain falling in sheets to the west. “I was disappointed you didn’t stay to visit with the other couples. Everyone was asking for you.”
“I had business to settle.”
“What business?”
He shook his head. “Look. I know I disappointed you today, but I hope to make it up to you soon. Will you forgive me?”
“I suppose.” She accepted his arm, but it lacked the pleasure they’d shared on the ride into town.
He knew she wanted more from him. And she would have it, soon. If only she would wait.
Chapter 12
Today was her birthday! And perhaps another special day, too? Debbie lay on her bed, awake, excited, and eager to start the day. A year ago she’d dreaded the arrival of her year five-and-twenty. But Zack’s recent behavior hinted today was the day, the day she had looked forward to since they’d met at the audition. Had only two months passed?
The door inched open and Zack entered the soddy. He tiptoed to her mattress and knelt. “I know you’re awake.” His whisper was barely louder than a cricket’s song.
She giggled.
“Happy birthday, dearest Debbie.” Nothing more—he returned to his bed, the corncobs rustling under his body. A few minutes later, his light snore announced he’d gone to sleep.
Sweet, as if Santa Claus had stopped by her bed on Christmas Eve. She wished he had kissed her, on her forehead at least. Now, if only she could go back to sleep. She hadn’t been this excited since … since Christmas, 1860, when the entire family gathered at the family home and five children, under the age of ten, ran around underfoot.
Lord, thank You for my sisters and their husbands. Bless them today. Susanna and Robert, Heather and Norman … She drifted to sleep, dreaming of her family—and children of her own.
The next thing she knew, someone was shaking her shoulder. “Daughter dear, you’d better get dressed. I let you sleep as long as I could.”
Sunlight gleamed through the window, set high in the wall. “It’s late. Why didn’t you get me up earlier?”
“It’s your birthday. How do biscuits and blueberry jam sound?”
“I can’t wait.” Debbie reached for her dress. The blue-and-green gingham held up to the rigors of daily life. She added a green ribbon to her hair.
She touched her Bible. The yellow ribbon Zack had given her sat in its place in Ecclesiastes 3, the subject of last week’s sermon. Today was her time to dance.
“Sit. Enjoy a cup of coffee. I’ll have everything ready before the men come in.” Mama handed Debbie a fresh cup of coffee in one of their good china cups. She tried to dredge up guilt for letting her mother do all the work, then decided to enjoy the special treatment.
Hot coffee, with sugar and a dollop of fresh cream. Sometimes Debbie thought the beverage alone was enough for breakfast. But not today. Not with blueberry jam available.
Mama continued cooking something Debbie couldn’t quite identify by the aroma. Debbie peeked into the skillet. Flour, milk, salt, and pepper swirled in the frying pan.
“I had this at the eatery in town a couple of times,” Mama said. “Their cook shared the recipe. It should make a filling breakfast.”
“Biscuits and gravy. I remember.” Debbie did remember the conversation. “But if you don’t put gravy on your biscuits, what do you eat with them?” Meat. Eggs. Butter, jam, honey, molasses … a long list entered her mind before gravy.
Zack stepped aside to allow her father to enter first. “Happy birthday, little girl.”
Debbie closed her eyes. Papa was the only one allowed to call her little girl—his youngest child. He put his hands on her shoulders. “I would never have been brave enough to come to Kansas if I couldn’t have brought one of my girls with me. You, and the family you’ll have some day, give me a reason to plan for the future.”
“Oh, Papa.” Tears gathered in Debbie’s eyes, and she hugged him. “You’ve got lots more years to come. You and Mama.”
“Of course we do, you old fool,” Mama said. “Sit down before I scorch this gravy.”
Debbie pinched herself when Zack sat next to her. She never expected him, or anyone like him, when she moved to Kansas. But in some ways, she felt like she had known him forever.
“Happy birthday, Miss Barker. You grow prettier every year.” He lifted her hand to his lips.
Laughing, she swatted his hand away. “You can’t say that. You haven’t known me for a year.”
“I don’t see why not. You’ve grown prettier every day since I met you.”
“Are you sure that’s not the eyes of love talking?” Papa asked.
Silence reigned around the table while Mama poured gravy over open biscuits, and goodwill seeped from the scene until Zack laughed. “Love might put the portrait in a gold-gilded frame, but she’d be just as beautiful to a blind man in a cave.”
Debbie’s cheeks felt as hot as the steaming gravy on her biscuits.
“Don’t let this breakfast fool you,” Mama said. “From now until supper, it will be an ordinary day. Working dawn to dusk.”
“And then we’ll party from dusk to dawn.” Zack winked, and this time warmth spread from Debbie’s head to her toes.
Papa cleared his throat. “You’ve got to sleep sometime, son.”
When they’d finished eating, Debbie told her mother she’d be right back to help with the dishes. She wanted to check the garden. The flowers looked so close to blooming she thought God was going to send her a special birthday present only He could provide.
But before she reached the garden, she stopped, stymied in her pursuit. Instead of the single layer of sod for a barrier, tent canvas hung from tall poles around the perimeter. A flat board blocked the door, painted with No ENTRY. She couldn’t see inside.
Zack. Her cry came out half laughter, half frustration.
“No peeking until tonight,” he said.
“This is what you were doing last night.”
He grinned more widely than ever. He’d continued taking time away from the soddy in the middle of the night. Now the garden was planted, what had he been working on? She didn’t have a clue. If Mama did, she wasn’t sharing.
He came close, close enough they would touch if either one of them moved half an inch.
He wanted to kiss her, she knew it. Go ahead, it’s my birthday. But he didn’t.
“Don’t work too hard today. Take time to dream.”
Dream. About tonight? She held her apron up to her face while the men walked off. Oh, it was going to be a long day.
Every weed that grew in Kansas had decided to poke through the ground on Debbie’s birthday. They needed pulling for the crops to grow properly. With each plant, Zack wondered how to approach Charles. When they stopped for lunch, he searched for an opening. “Today is Debbie’s birthday.”
“I know. I was there, waiting for three hours to learn I had yet another girl, or a boy so I’d have two of each.” He grinned. “People thought I’d want a boy, but I couldn’t be happier God decided to bless me with a bundle of beauties.” He took out their luncheon and patted the ground next to him. “Sit down. We can afford to take a few extra minutes today.”
Zack a
ccepted the offered sandwich.
“What do you want to talk about? You’ve been as skittish as a cat running away from a dog all day.”
The bite in Zack’s mouth turned to sawdust, and he chugged it down with a gulp of water. “Yes, sir. It’s about Debbie, sir.”
Charles nodded and smiled, as if encouraging him to go on.
“It’s no surprise to you I’d like to marry your daughter. After all, I came to Turtle Springs in answer to an ad for mail-order grooms.” Gazing over the fields of growing wheat and corn, the meadows waving in the wind, with a good man sitting next to him, Zack knew he had gained even more than a bride. “After the war, I was ready for a fresh start. A new wife in a new part of the country seemed like a good way to go about it.”
Now he had started, it wasn’t so hard. “I didn’t expect to meet someone like Debbie. So pretty, so intelligent, hard-working, so accomplished. Someone who loves the Lord like she does. I fell for her almost the first time I met her.”
Charles scoffed. “I know that. We’ve been wondering when you’d get around to talking with her about it.”
Zack drank from his canteen, but no amount of water could keep his face from heating up. “I wanted to give her time to get to know me. You, too.” There was more, but those things he wanted to share with Debbie only. “I guess I’m asking if I’ve proved myself to you yet. Do you trust me with your daughter’s hand in marriage? The best present I can give her is myself.”
Charles set his sandwich down and clasped Zack’s right hand. “If I didn’t, I would have kicked you out of here a long time ago.”
Zack jumped up and whooped. Charles chuckled. “Something tells me you may not get much accomplished this afternoon.”
Instead of more backbreaking, sod-clearing work, they spent the afternoon weeding the crops. While they worked, Zack explained his plans for his future with Debbie, which met with Charles’s surprise and approval.
Since a rainstorm threatened, they wouldn’t water the field. “Do you mind if I go back? I’d like to change before tonight.” Zack couldn’t get a bath, but a change of clothes, a fresh shave, and water to get his hair to behave would help.
“I’ll join you. If a man can’t celebrate his own child’s birthday and engagement to a fine man, when can he?” Charles wagged his finger in Zack’s face. “But be prepared to work twice as hard tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir.” Zack grinned. Triply hard, now he had something to work for.
Despite their early departure from the fields, gentle rain sprinkled them on their way to the soddy. Farmers seemed to live on a razor’s edge between too much water and too little.
“Tell Debbie I’ll be in shortly,” Zack said, and he swerved away to the little stall he’d created to have some privacy to work on Debbie’s present. Early that morning he’d set up his shaving equipment. The bowl of water had warmed nicely in the midday heat. Not quite a hot shave but better than the river-cold water they used in the mornings. He changed from his workday shirt into Debbie’s favorite blue one then slicked down his hair. The reflection in his tiny mirror showed he had done the best he could. Not that she was marrying him for his looks.
Next he gathered the object he had made for Debby, along with a packet of letters. Last stop, inside the garden, he found a single, perfect sunflower. He clipped it carefully and slipped it in with her other presents. He looked to the sky in silent thanksgiving—and the sky let loose with a deluge of water.
“Zack, there you are.” Debbie opened the door and let him in. “I was about to send a posse hunting for you.”
“I had some preparations to finish,” he protested. “I wanted to freshen up—but the rain undid most of my efforts.” He slipped his bag next to his bed, where she couldn’t snoop.
She handed him a towel. “You look fine to me.”
“As do you.” She had done something different with her hair. He’d seen his sister heat iron rods in the fireplace and use them to curl strands of her hair. Maybe that’s what Debbie had done. Whatever it was, her hair curled around her face and dangled down her neck like angel feathers. She had twined a few blue-and-green ribbons in her hair. “Your hair is different.”
She touched it self-consciously. “You like it?”
“I do.” His heart lurched.
“Supper’s ready,” Kathleen called.
Food filled the table. “You outdid yourself on this meal.”
“It’s not every day your baby girl turns twenty-five,” she said.
Zack loved the way red slammed through Debbie’s face. “Mama.” He wondered what bothered her more, being called a baby—or the reminder she was twenty-five.
The fare was plain, but plentiful. A feast, a celebration, which her parents dragged out when Zack wanted to rush. He was too excited to eat more than a few bites.
Thunder rumbled throughout the meal. When at last they had finished eating, he laid down his silverware. “Do you mind if we wait until later in the evening to enjoy the cake? I would like to take Debbie for a walk in the rain.” He grabbed the umbrella where it waited by the door. “You might want to put on your coat.”
Debbie blinked and flushed again. “Outside? In this weather?” She smiled coquettishly. “Or do you just want time alone with me?”
“I’d check before you go out.” Charles nodded at the high window. The sky had turned dark gray, lightning flashing in the near distance. Small white balls, the size of peas, peppered the dirt.
Hail.
“No.” He ran to the garden in two strides. Half of the new blooms had been snapped off, others crushed to the ground. The lovely, beautiful garden—his birthday present and engagement gift—ruined by a capricious storm.
“What is it?”
Debbie, his Debbie, stood at his side.
“The garden. Most of the flowers finished blooming today, as if they knew it was your birthday. And the hail—the hail.”
“Broke the plants.” She picked up the bruised stalk of a peony. “We didn’t have hail in Maine.” She sighed.
“I wanted to give you something beautiful—something lovely—something to make up the years the war stole from both of us. And now it’s as ruined as my family’s factory.”
“But the flowers will grow again.” She took his hands. “We’ve already made a new beginning, right here. You’re part of it. You make me feel lovely, inside and out.”
The rain had flattened her curls, but she couldn’t look any prettier. He refused to wait longer. “Let’s go inside before we get soaked enough to catch a cold.” They dashed inside the soddy. The rest of his plan should go as hoped.
The destruction the hail had caused increased the importance of his other gifts. “I have two more gifts for you.” He retrieved his bag from his corner and brought out a miniature dresser he’d carved from the mahogany wood he’d bought in town. Its tiny drawers could hold a ribbon or a necklace and other knickknacks.
“It’s beautiful. Where did you get it?” She examined it, each curve, each carefully fit drawer and knob, all beautifully polished.
“I made it myself. The first of all the furniture I hope we’ll need.” He felt his face heat, but who cared? “Look inside.”
She opened the two top drawers—the right size for a ring or earrings, but empty—then the second drawer. It held a multifolded sheet of paper.
“I’ve spent this summer helping your parents’ homestead get a good start.” He nodded at Charles, who sat at the table with Kathleen over coffee, smiling and nodding their approval. “But I’ve been thinking about our future. I want a place of my own, for myself and my wife.” He held back a grin, ignoring the question on her face.
“This is paperwork for another homestead,” she said. Confusion clouded her eyes. “The plot to the west of this one,” he said. “Ready for whatever we decide to do with it. Myself, I think a cattle ranch might be a good idea.”
Her hand went to her mouth.
“There’s one more gift.” He hoped she would und
erstand its significance.
The bottom drawer revealed a bloom. “A sunflower,” she said with wonder.
“I picked that one flower when I came back this afternoon. Maybe you can dry it and keep it as a reminder.” He stepped closer to her. “Of our future. Of all the lovely things God has for you and me, together. Debbie Barker, will you be my wife?”
“Oh, Zack, I can’t wait for the day we start every beautiful day together as husband and wife. Yes, yes, yes!”
With Charles and Kathleen smiling approvingly, Zack pulled Debbie close for a kiss.
They pulled apart. “What do you think about a wedding after the harvest? Maybe your sisters can come. Mine, too.”
The joy in Debbie’s face told him she liked his idea. Kathleen and Charles hugged each other.
“A new beginning—keeping the old with the new. I’ll wait as long as it takes—because of you.” Debbie leaned close. “One more kiss. Make it good enough to last until October.”
Charles and Kathleen laughed as Zack and Debbie shared a very satisfying kiss.
Bestselling author Darlene Franklin’s greatest claim to fame is that she writes full-time from a nursing home. She lives in Oklahoma, near her son and his family, and continues her interests in playing the piano and singing, books, good fellowship, and reality TV in addition to writing. She is an active member of Oklahoma City Christian Fiction Writers, American Christian Fiction Writers, and the Christian Authors Network. She has written over fifty books and more than 250 devotionals. Her historical fiction ranges from the Revolutionary War to World War II, from Texas to Vermont. You can find Darlene online at www.darlenefranklinwrites.com.
Come What May
By Patty Smith Hall
Dedication
To my grandson, Carter Adam Valentine. May the Lord bless you and keep you, and may His face shine upon you always, my sweet boy.
Seven Brides for Seven Mail-Order Husbands Romance Collection Page 31