She glanced at Rollie, and so did Brett, but didn’t say anything.
“You heard him, dear, enough for four.” While his wife walked away, Rollie added, “The fried chicken smells so good you’re buying enough for tonight too, are you, Brett?”
“Something like that,” Brett answered. “How much do I owe you?”
Rollie told him the amount, and while Brett counted out the payment, anger roiled harder and faster inside him. He had half a mind to go pull Josiah off his chair by his fat neck and tell him that while he was stuffing his face, there was a fine woman and two little boys who hadn’t eaten a decent meal in weeks. Months mayhap considering they’d left Ohio penniless. The boys had inadvertently told him that and he believed it.
He knew for certain Josiah hadn’t taken her any provisions. While visiting Wally, he’d seen Josiah walking toward her house empty-handed. Those six eggs he’d given her weren’t enough to keep them going for long.
“I sure do hope Abigail White doesn’t scare the new preacher off before he gets to know anyone else,” Rollie said. “The sermon he gave was wonderful this morning. Sadie and I discussed it on the walk home. He even held the boys’ attention. They barely squirmed in the pews.”
Close to fuming, Brett didn’t dare do much more than nod.
“I hear tell he’s from California,” Rollie said. “Answered an advertisement the mayor sent out to newspapers in that area. Abigail helped him with those. That’s what she claims. I’m sure we’ll read all about it in the special edition this week.”
Brett nodded again and couldn’t stop himself from saying, “Seems the mayor is hauling quite a few people into town.”
Rollie frowned and then grimaced as he asked, “You aren’t angry at me, are you, Brett? For marrying Sadie? I know you contributed to the Betterment Committee and all, but—”
“No,” Brett said, stopping the man. “I’m not angry at you, Rollie. You needed a wife and you got one fair and square. I hope the two of you are happy.”
“Oh, we are. We are. And I’m glad you feel that way, Brett. You are one of my best customers. I consider you a friend too.”
“I consider you a friend too, Rollie.” Brett let out a sigh, but it didn’t help his anger toward Josiah and how he was treating Fiona. “And like I said, you deserved a wife. Some men in this town don’t.”
Rollie frowned, but it didn’t last long. His wife appeared, carrying a large basket covered with a blue checkered cloth.
“Here you are, Mr. Blackwell,” she said quietly.
“Thank you, Mrs. Austin,” Brett said. “I’ll return your dishes and basket tomorrow.” After a nod toward Rollie, he turned and walked out the door.
As he made his way toward his place, his disgust for Josiah didn’t fade. Fiona deserved better than the likes of Melbourne, and so did Wyatt and Rhett. They needed someone they could count on, all day, every day. That would never be Josiah. Though he might be a fine mayor, he wasn’t much of a man. Not in Brett’s eyes right now anyway.
“Hi, Brett—I mean Mr. Blackwell, what’s in the basket?”
Good thing a train hadn’t been coming. He’d crossed the tracks and rounded his blacksmith shop without glancing left or right once along the way.
“Mr. Blackwell?” he said to the boy sitting on the top rung of the corral holding his big draft horses. “I told you yesterday you can call me Brett.”
“I know, but Ma says we can’t,” Rhett said. “Says we have to call you Mr. Blackwell.”
Manners were important for children—and adults—so he shouldn’t discount what Fiona had told her son. Laying a hand on the boy’s shoulder, he asked, “How are you today, Mr. Rhett?”
The boy laughed. “I’m not a mister.”
Leaning down, Brett whispered, “I’m not much of one either. Especially to my friends.”
“Am I your friend?”
“You sure enough are.”
“Wow.”
Brett laughed at how he could almost see himself in the little feller’s eyes. They were sparking as brightly as his freckled face was shining. That was how little boys should look. Happy. He ruffled Rhett’s thick crop of brown hair. “Like my horses?”
“Yeah. They’re big. Like you.”
“Yes, they are. Climb down. I have to find your brother and your mother so I can show all of you what’s in this basket.”
Rhett obeyed, and seeing how the boy had to run in order to keep up with his long strides, Brett slowed down.
“You wouldn’t have a fishing pole in that basket, would you?” Rhett asked.
“I don’t think a fishing pole would fit in this basket,” he answered. “Besides, I have plenty of fishing poles.”
The boy nodded, but disappointment had his little shoulders dropping.
“Why?” Brett asked. “You want to go fishing?”
“Yes, but I don’t have a fishing pole, and Ma said we couldn’t ask to borrow yours.” Rhett sighed. “Those fish last night sure were tasty.”
“They were,” Brett agreed.
“Ma says the mayor might take us on a picnic today, but Wyatt says that’s not going to happen. He says Mr. Melbourne doesn’t care if we’re hungry or not.”
For only being seven, Wyatt was a smart boy, and that made Brett a bit sad. Wyatt was still young enough he should be more like Rhett. Carefree and sitting on corrals admiring horses. “Where are your mother and brother?”
“In the house,” Rhett answered. “Wyatt’s getting a talking-to for being a smart mouth. He told Ma she lied. That the mayor ain’t coming and we’re going to starve. That there will be no picnic. No fried chicken.”
“Fried chicken?”
Rhett nodded. “That’s what I wanted. It’s my favorite. I like it so much I can almost smell it right now. That and fish. I like fish too. And fishing. And catching frogs. You ever catch frogs?”
“Sure have. Lots of them.” They were near his house, so Brett said, “I have to set this basket inside, then we’ll go find your mother and brother.”
“But I thought you were gonna show us what’s in the basket,” Rhett said.
“I did and I will. We just have to gather up your mother and brother first.” And a fishing pole or two, Brett added silently.
Chapter Five
Sitting on the trunk, head down, Fiona was berating herself. Not only for scolding Wyatt again for talking negatively about Mr. Melbourne, but for not saving a couple of the eggs Brett had dropped off this morning. If she’d known they wouldn’t have anything for lunch, she wouldn’t have eaten any eggs this morning, saved them instead for the boys to eat now. This, this worry of never having enough to feed them, had been a major reason why she’d agreed to marry a man she didn’t know. Had never even met.
If only Josiah could be more like Brett. If only—
The door opening startled her. She jumped to her feet as Rhett barreled through the doorway, and she instantly swiped at the wetness on her cheeks as Brett stepped over the threshold.
Pressing a hand against the quickened beat of her heart, she shook her head. “Oh, Mr. Blackwell, I do hope Rhett wasn’t disturbing you again.”
“Nope, not at all. He’s helping me find you and Wyatt.”
Her gaze shot to the bedroom door. The one Wyatt had slammed shut a short time ago, shouting that he hated her. He hated everything. It had reminded her so much of Sam the past few months he’d been alive, it had brought her to tears.
Pulling up a false smile, she asked, “Whatever for?” Her stomach fell. “Did Rhett take your fish—”
“This little feller didn’t do anything.” Brett then pointed toward the bedroom. “Wyatt in there?”
She nodded.
“Would you mind if I had a word with him?”
Her instincts
said she shouldn’t ask more of this man, but she was beyond knowing what she should and shouldn’t do. Truly at her wit’s end in so many ways, she shook her head. “No, I wouldn’t mind.”
Brett patted Rhett’s head and then touched her arm gently as he walked toward the bedroom. After a single knock, he entered the room. Fiona didn’t consider following. Brett was so kind and trustworthy, she had no fears he might harm Wyatt, and she’d know soon enough what was said. Wyatt would most likely come running out, shouting of all the things he hated all over again.
“I’m thirsty,” Rhett said.
She collected a glass from those she’d unpacked and led him to the door. “We’ll draw some fresh water from the well.”
It was a short walk to the well that had been dug and enforced by a short rock wall. Josiah had said it would be shared by all the houses the town was building in this area. After pulling up the bucket, she filled the glass for Rhett. She took a couple swallows too and then refilled the glass to carry into the house for Wyatt.
To her surprise, as she turned around, Wyatt was walking out of the house.
Brett was behind him and paused long enough to shut the door while saying, “Rhett, come here.”
Rhett took off in a run. Fiona stood still, watching Wyatt approach. His face was sheepish, but also sad.
He stopped a few feet away. Shuffling his feet back and forth, he hung his head. “I’m sorry, Ma. Sorry I yelled at you. Sorry for being so ornery.”
Fiona didn’t know if she’d ever been so close to dropping to her knees. New tears stung her eyes, and she couldn’t stop herself from glancing toward Brett. He wasn’t looking at her or Wyatt, instead he was showing Rhett something on the ground, keeping her younger son’s full attention off what was happening. His actions gave birth to a form of respect she might never have witnessed before, and that did weaken her knees.
Her steps wobbled slightly as she stepped closer to Wyatt and knelt down. Taking both of his hands in hers, she said, “Thank you for apologizing. That’s very big of you.” Tears burned hotter. “I know none of this is easy. Not for any of us. But if we stick together, the three of us—you, me and Rhett—we’ll make it. Someday we’ll be so happy, we won’t even remember how sad we were at times.” Feeling her words fell short of his apology, she squeezed his hands a bit tighter. “I want you to know, it’s all right to be mad, it’s all right to be sad, but it’s not all right to be bad or misbehave. That only hurts others and that’s not what we want to do, is it?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“I also want you to know I’m proud of you. You’re a wonderful son and have been a big help to me. I’m proud to be your mother.”
His face scrunched up as he rubbed one eye and she pulled him forward for a solid hug. If she could have a miracle right now, it would be to offer him something special. Like the picnic she’d suggested earlier. A basket of fried chicken couldn’t appear out of nowhere, so she stood and guided him to the well, where she handed him the glass of water.
“Have you two had enough water?”
She turned to look at Brett and Rhett as they walked closer, both grinning. A smile tugged on her lips, and she gave in to it. “Yes, Mr. Blackwell. Would you care for a glass?”
“How about a jarful?”
“A jarful?”
He nodded.
“Well, yes, I have several empty jars in the house.” She’d brought along her canning jars from Ohio, hoping to someday have a garden again.
“Would you mind filling up, say, three or four jars and bringing them over to my place?”
The simple request shocked her, yet simple or not, she would not refuse. Whatever he’d said to Wyatt had made more of an impact than all her scolding. “Of course I wouldn’t mind.”
“Good. We’ll meet you there.” Looking at Wyatt, he asked, “Care to join us?”
Wyatt looked at her. She nodded. “Go. I’ll be right along.”
While Brett and the boys went in one direction, she went in another. Back to the house, where she gathered four jars, his egg basket and a cloth to wrap around the jars so they wouldn’t jostle against each other while she carried them in the basket. Back at the well, she filled the jars, secured their lids and packed them back into the basket. Then she made her way across the short field to Brett’s house.
The back door to his house was open, and stepping in only to see the stove, icebox, pie cupboard and other furnishings had her wondering once again why he wasn’t married. Whoever did marry him, whenever that happened, would be a very lucky woman.
“We can go, can’t we, Ma?”
Her gaze settled on her sons, each standing at Brett’s sides, holding fishing poles. She couldn’t have stopped a smile to save her life. Feigning to not understand, she asked, “Go where?”
“Fishing!” both boys yelled.
“And on a picnic,” Brett said as he lifted his arms. One hand held a large basket. The other held a folded colorful quilt. “Complete with fried chicken, beans, potatoes and sweet pickles.”
This man was a miracle worker. She had to pinch her lips together to keep a sob of joy from escaping. Then, pretending to have to consider his offer, she asked, “Sweet pickles?”
He nodded. “The sweetest.”
Glancing toward the boys, she grinned, “Well, who on earth could say no to sweet pickles?”
“Not us!” the boys squealed, and despite all the sadness she’d known the past months, she laughed. Truly laughed.
“Let’s go, then,” Brett said. “I’ll show you the way to the Smoky Hill River, where we’ll catch enough catfish to feed the entire town of Oak Grove.”
“I believe you could do that, Mr. Blackwell, feed this entire town.”
“If it needed to be done, then we’d have to find a way to do it, wouldn’t we?”
His attitude was so positive, so admirable, she had to laugh again, and nod. “I suspect so.”
With him carrying the basket and quilt, the boys carrying fishing poles, a small shovel and a can, and her with an egg basket full of jars of water, they left his house and headed south, across the tracks and along the edge of town.
“This is the fastest way,” Brett said. “When I walk through town, people stop me to talk and it can take more than an hour to get to the river.”
Briefly contemplating yet another insight into his character, she said, “But you don’t mind, do you?”
“No, I don’t,” he replied. “But these boys would. They want to go fishing and eat fried chicken.”
“That they do, Mr. Blackwell, that they do.”
“And you don’t mind if we take the quickest route.”
She shook her head. “No, I don’t mind.”
“Good. Then I hope you don’t mind if they call me Brett. I told them it’s all right, but if you insist, I’ll abide by your rules.”
In no place to deny him anything, she said, “I don’t mind.”
“Good. I’m glad we agree on that, Mrs. Goldberg.”
“Me too, Mr. Blackwell.” It felt as if they were playing a game, where neither of them said they could call each other by their given names, but each wanted to. She thought of him as Brett. Had since last night. Yet that wouldn’t be right. She would soon marry someone else and—
“Oh.” She stumbled slightly as her mind finally caught up.
“What is it? You step on a rock?”
“No.” She glanced toward the town that was now beside them. Josiah had said he’d be back this afternoon. “We—” Lowering her voice so the boys trotting along in front of them wouldn’t hear, she said, “I probably should have remained at the house.”
A sternness formed on his face. “The mayor is having lunch with the new preacher and the newspaper reporter. He’ll be busy for some time yet. The reporter is
very thorough.”
“Oh.” That could explain why Josiah didn’t want her to go to church with him. He could have told her. She would have understood.
“Come now,” Brett said. “There’s no frowning allowed on picnics.”
He was once again smiling and his eyes looked bluer than the sky. Mesmerized for a moment, she wasn’t sure how to respond.
“It’s against the law.”
Confused, she asked, “What is?”
“Frowning while on a picnic.”
“Against the law where?”
“Here. It’s my picnic, so I set the laws. And I say it’s against the law.”
“Oh, are you a lawmaker?”
“I must be.”
She laughed at his silliness.
“That’s better.” He laid the quilt over the arm holding the basket and took her elbow with his free hand. “We’re being left in the dust.”
The boys were several yards ahead of them. Her legs were long, and for most of her life, she’d gotten used to slowing her stride in order for others to keep up. That wasn’t so with Brett. Their strides matched as they both increased the lengths of their steps to catch up with the boys.
In hardly any time, the town was far behind them and the sounds of flowing water could be heard. Brett led them to an area downriver that had several tall shady trees. After he set the quilt and the basket down, he told her he’d be right back and then encouraged the boys to follow him. A short distance away, he heaved a large rock onto its side and gestured toward the can and the shovel.
Upon returning to her side, he said, “They’ll have the can full of worms by the time we get the picnic set up.”
Using the privacy of the moment, she whispered, “Thank you for whatever you said to Wyatt. I—” She shrugged. “I’m afraid I was at my wit’s end with him.”
“He’s a little boy trying to wear a man’s boots, but the boots are too big, too heavy for him to walk with, and that has him flustered. He just needs to be told it’s all right to take those boots off once in a while.”
Winning the Mail-Order Bride Page 6