Hilda thrust her gift toward Cecile. “Please, take them. I’ve crocheted pretty much everything I need for the rest of my life.” She laughed and pointed to the stack she’d just put on the table.
Cecile relented, kissing Hilda‘s cheek in appreciation. “Thank you so much. I doubt I’ll ever be a talented as you, but I promise to practice these stitches until I get them right.”
Spending time with the older woman proved to be more fun than Cecile had expected. She wished for more than one evening to share, but Walt had already announced they would leave at first light.
Long after everyone else had fallen asleep, and the last embers of the fire crackled, Cecile sat with feet curled beneath her in a chair by the fireplace, intent on completing a second row of chained stitches. For the first time she attempted to share Walt’s vision in the beauty of a project completed.
She stopped the now nimble movement of her fingers and gazed across the room at her sleeping husband. Stretched out on a pallet of quilts and blankets on the floor, with his hair ruffled and his lips fluttering with each exhalation, he stirred feelings of love she had never felt for anyone in her life. All she wanted to do was keep him happy, and if living in a shack did that, then it was time to accept that it was her home, too. And with a little effort maybe the dwelling could look as nice as Hilda’s. Cecile didn’t remember when she finally fell asleep, but she awoke, sprawled in the chair, to find everyone awake, dressed and ready to eat. Her neck ached and her body felt as stiff as a winter’s icicle. She gathered her growing chain, twined it around the ball of yarn, stuck the needle between the strands, and then stood. Smoothing her skirt, she flashed an embarrassed smile and joined the others for the morning meal. The fried eggs and biscuits looked delicious, and the perked coffee smelled even better.
***
Breakfast was barely over when Walt announced the wagon was loaded and he and the animals were ready to go. Cecile embraced her new friend.
“Hilda, I’ve had such a good time visiting and having you teach me to crochet. I only wish we lived closer so we could get together more often.” Cecile backed away, her eyes blurring with tears. “I swear I don’t know what’s gotten into me.” She sniffled. “I guess being a new bride makes some women emotional.” She forced a smile and swiped wetness from her cheeks. “And, thanks so much for the needle and yarn. Hopefully by the time you come for a visit, I can show you some of my handiwork.”
Walt lifted her onto the wagon and climbed up to join her. He patted her knee and gave her a smile that melted her heart. Perhaps he didn’t see a difference, but she felt one. Her outlook had definitely changed, and she had Hilda to thank. This visit had been just what she needed.
Glancing over her shoulder, she made sure the bag holding her crocheting things had been packed. The sack tucked behind the seat might not seem important to anyone else, but it was to her. She braced herself for the forward lurch of the wagon, waved to the Stinsons, and snuggled up to Walt. To her surprise, she was actually anxious to get home.
The ride back was a noisy one. The chickens didn’t like being uprooted and confined in crates, and the pig squealed and grunted, unhappy to be restrained in the wagon. Luckily, the horses and cow didn’t seem to mind plodding along behind. Between the constant squawking and squealing, Cecile was more than happy to see home on the horizon.
She helped Walt with the livestock, and with animals in the barnyard, the place actually began to look more like the ranch he’d chattered about. The rooster strutted around with a cocky sort of pride, trying to impress the hens. His nasty attitude was quite apparent, and Cecile planned to steer clear of him.
Walt dumped buckets of water into the new pigpen, and the sow contented herself by rolling around in the oozing mess. Soon her clean pink skin was totally camouflaged by dark brown mud.
At the corral, Cecile stroked the cow’s nose. “You’re gonna provide the milk for my morning coffee, old gal.” Except at the Stinson’s, Cecile had endured black coffee since her wedding, but she’d never developed a taste for anything other than a beige morning brew. It was even better with a spoonful of sugar.
Cecile ambled over to where Walt stood and gave him a big hug. “You know,” she said, leaning back and gazing up into his eyes, “I can’t wait to gather our first eggs for breakfast. I might even try my hand at making a cake.”
Could it be she was beginning to see something good about the place? Dropping her hands from his neck, she hugged him around the waist, nestling her head against his chest. The sun was sinking in the westward sky, leaving a palette of pastels in its wake. Tired from the trip, but not yet sleepy, she looked forward to sharing their old sagging bed. Who would have thought an old dusty mattress on a creaky frame, left behind by someone else, could bring her such joy?
Chapter Five
Spring passed and the days grew warmer. Almost overnight, the vast green prairie turned brown from the sun’s intense warmth. The cool mornings had turned hot and sticky, serving as a warning of unbearable heat yet to come. By midday, undulating waves climbed skyward toward the blazing orange sun.
Cecile crossed the yard to the barn, wrinkling her nose at the already stifling air. Walt had asked for her help in making some further repairs to the barn. He’d already gathered a stack of slats that had fallen from the building’s side, and by reattaching those and securing the loose ones with new nails, he’d shore up the barn from dangerous animals prowling for food. One couldn’t be too careful, with coyotes and other scavenging beasts.
Cecile joined him, handing him planks and nails while he did the hammering. The day continued to grow hotter, sending trickles of perspiration between her breasts and plastering dampened hair to her head. She swiped her forearm across her sweat-beaded brow, but refused to complain. With every patched hole in the barn, Walt’s grin widened. Even when his pale blue shirt was drenched, showing salted sweat rings under his arms, pride still sparkled in his eyes. After a fresh coat of whitewash, even she had to admit the barn didn’t look like the same building.
By the time they finished and trekked into the house, Cecile was exhausted. Going to the counter for a drink of water, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her eyes widened, seeing her nose a shade darker than her sunburned cheeks. Her hair hung in unruly strands, and her hands ached. She held them out, turning palms up and gazed at the splinters and blisters her day’s work had earned her. “Oh look at me.” She leaned closer to the distorted looking glass. “I should have worn my bonnet.”
Walt looked up from pulling off his boots and socks. “You look tired… but still beautiful.”
“How can you say that? My nose looks like I rooted around with the pig.” She rubbed the tip with her finger, hoping it was just a smudge of dirt. It wasn’t.
She turned and slumped against the counter. “If my mother saw me now, I’d get a good talking to. I can’t count the times she’s told me how important it is to protect my skin. I’ve always hated having something on my head, and now just look at me. I’m a mess.” She picked at a sliver in her thumb and huffed.
“Tell you what,” he said, coming over and embracing her. “When I go to town for supplies, I’ll buy you a brand new bonnet and pair of gloves.” He kissed the tip of nose and pulled his mouth into an exaggerated frown that made her laugh.
“My father would say that’s like shutting the barn door after the horse got out… or something like that.”
“It’ll take more than one day in the sun to dim your beauty, Cecile. Now how about I go out and bring in some water and we can wash up for bed. I’m exhausted.” He grabbed the bucket and started for the door, but paused and looked over his shoulder.
“I could probably muster up some energy if you aren‘t too tired.” He dropped one azure eye in a wink and slipped outside.
***
Cecile went about her daily chores, sweeping, washing dishes, and airing out the bedding. Humidity pasted her clothing to her sticky skin. The petticoats she’d become accus
tomed to wearing beneath her skirt lay discarded in the corner, leaving her clad only in a chemise beneath her plaid summer dress. There was no escape from this kind of sticky heat. How in the world did Walt work outside for so long without a break?
Even if she ventured outside to the shade of the only tree next to the house, the hot wind burned her skin. Why hadn’t the person who built the place put it closer to the lake so the thick stand of oaks growing there shaded everything? Using her skirt hem to blot the beads of perspiration from her brow, she sighed, looking forward to the end of the day when the sun dropped below the horizon, giving a brief respite from its muggy torture.
Walt spent most of his time working the fields while waiting for the right time to make the trip to purchase winter supplies and seeds. When spring came again, he remained determined to plant a garden and grow corn, squash, beets, green beans, and onions rather than buy them as he would this year. Cecile’s misery forced her to put aside her crocheting. Even with the windows and door open, the hot air kept the inside like an oven. Watching her husband drag his weary and sweat-soaked body into the house every day forced her to keep her whining to a minimum. The summer wore on tirelessly and gave her a great idea: a picnic next to the lake.
“Heck, I think I’ll even try my hand at growing some tomatoes,” he announced during lunch. Despite the shade overhead, the lack of a breeze didn’t change the dampness in the air. Even with the cheery checkered tablecloth on the ground, the tempting fare spread before her, and the sun sparkling off the nearby water, her mood remained grim. Her spirits sank even lower when Walt declined her invitation for a refreshing dip in the lake. She’d go herself, but she hadn’t learned to swim. All he seemed to think about was this God-forsaken ‘ranch.’ Not even the unbearable temperature dimmed his enthusiasm as it had hers.
“You know, Cece, once we get in a good crop, we can put up our own vegetables and enjoy them anytime of the year. I can’t wait till we have our own garden.”
Sitting opposite her husband, she swallowed the bite of sandwich she chewed with difficulty. Canning was a common practice, but she certainly had no experience. She’d never even seen it done. Those were talents passed down through generations, and since her mother bought their canned goods at the mercantile, she was armed with only the most basic of food preparation skills. She shook her head, worried about meeting her husband’s expectations. The most she knew about a can was how to open one.
Worse, his mention of a garden conjured up images she didn’t find appealing. She glanced at her already blistered and callused hands and saw herself on hands and knees, in the dirt. Even with that disparaging picture glaring in her mind, she agreed it would be nice to enjoy fresh vegetables. It just never occurred how much work went into them. She plastered a smile on her face, having yet one more thing to worry about.
Leaving her to ponder his plans and pack up the picnic, Walt planted a kiss on her cheek and went back to work. The trip back to the house wasn’t as hard as lugging the lunch fixings uphill, but the stifling heat she met inside prompted her to drop the food encased tablecloth right inside the door and plop down in the old rocking chair. She forced herself to pick up her crocheting and continued the jagged looking square she'd started. It bore no resemblance to Hilda’s perfect work, but she was getting the hang of it. Her rows were starting to even out.
As she methodically pulled yarn through stitch after stitch, her thoughts drifted back to Silver City and her frequent trips to the mercantile for things her mother needed. She sorely missed the convenience of walking a few blocks and finding everything in one place. Being part of growing and storing her own food would be a new adventure indeed, and without Walt’s knowledge, Cecile feared she would be totally lost. Wet from perspiration and clouded with doubts, she tossed her project aside and walked out onto the porch. Where was the breeze she prayed for? Was there no relief in sight?
***
Despite the sweat that mingled between them, they cuddled, enjoying the afterglow of lovemaking. Walt nuzzled her ear. “Cece, as much as I hate to, I’ve got to go to Castroville for supplies before it gets too cold. It’s almost September, and I need the glass for the windows before the weather turns. You never know when the snows will start around here, and once they do, the roads become impassable. I’ll be gone for about a week; it’s a good three days each way. Do you think you can manage without me for that long?”
It was hard to imagine snow when the days were still overly-warm. At least the evenings finally provided a cooling breeze that made sleeping… and other things more pleasant. Her body still tingled from his touch, and the thought of his absence brought a lump to her throat. She wanted to beg him not to go, or at least take her with him, but that wasn’t possible. Someone had to stay behind and care for the animals. Walt had given her milking lessons, and she was somewhat comfortable around the horses, but God, how she hated that darned rooster! He had the most intimidating attitude, and even Walt tried to gather the eggs and get out while the rooster was occupied elsewhere. That mass of red feathers was the smallest of all the animals, but she was petrified by him.
Tears stung the back of her eyes at the thought of having to manage everything on her own, even if for a short while, but she reminded herself she was a woman now with adult responsibilities. She faked false strength. “Of course, I’ll be fine, but please hurry home.” She hoped Walt didn’t detect the tremor in her voice.
He promised she had nothing to worry about, then almost immediately began to snore. She wished sleep came so easily to her. Instead she stared into the darkness, worrying about being alone for the first time in her life.
***
The day before Walt’s scheduled departure, Cecile wrote a letter for him to mail to her parents. In it, she told them how very happy she was, embellishing a bit when describing her charming country home and flourishing ranch. Tears blurred the paper when she realized how much she missed her mother. Did the separation bother her as much? Cecile pondered for a moment, then wiped her eyes and continued, making the letter as newsy as possible, including details of the Stinson trip and expressing her pride in being able to crochet. In closing, she conveyed hope that perhaps she and Walt could visit before too long.
Sealing the missive, she leaned on her elbows, her mind filled with images of Christmastime in Silver City. Even the hitching rails were adorned with holly berries and sprigs of greenery. She almost smelled the wonderful aromas drifting from her mother’s kitchen. The memories tugged her lips into a frown, wishing she and Walt could surprise her folks by showing up on their front porch for the holidays. Remembering Walt saying the roads became impassable during the winter, she knew that trip wouldn’t be possible.
Tears of disappointment brewed near the surface, but Cecile fought them back and folded the paper into a square, writing the address neatly on one side. She was determined to stay positive, and started jotting down things on Walt’s shopping list for making decorations and gifts. For a fleeting moment, she felt like a little girl again.
***
Walt was up before the sun the next morning, eager to get an early start. The cocky rooster crowed as Cecile dragged herself out of bed and slugged toward the kitchen. She’d never been an enthusiastic morning person. After pouring herself a cup of coffee from the pot Walt had brewed, she sat at the table, her head propped on her arm, while she willed her eyes to stay open.
“Good morning, beautiful.”
“Umm hmm” she muttered, still dozing.
When he walked over in sock-clad feet and planted a kiss on her forehead, she looked up at him through half-lidded eyes. The truth dawned. He was leaving for Castroville. She squared her shoulders, determined not to make his departure any harder than it had to be, and began gathering food for his trip. While he pulled on his boots, she filled Aunt May’s basket full of biscuits, jam, and the last of the bacon.
Walt walked up behind Cecile and put his arms around her. “Cece, I hate leaving you here alone, but the sooner
I go, the sooner I can get back.”
She stiffened at his mention of alone. “I know you have to go and that I have to stay here to take care of things, but that doesn’t make me feel any better. I’m miles from nowhere.” She hadn’t meant to add to his guilt for leaving, but her words spilled out before she thought.
He grasped her shoulders, turned her to face him, and stroked her cheek. “You’ll do fine. I’m leaving my rifle, and the door has a sturdy locking bar. I promise I’ll hurry.” He bent and gently kissed her, then went outside, leaving her slump-shouldered and craving more assurance. A sturdy locking bar? A stiff wind could blow the door off the house.
She swallowed the lump in her throat and followed him with the basket of food.
Standing in the doorway, she embraced herself against the chill. Hadn’t it just been yesterday when she prayed for a change in the weather? Walt hitched the horses to the wagon, tossed his bedroll in the back, then took the container of food she held out. “Thanks for packing a basket for me. I’ll miss your good cooking.” He tucked the wicker container under the seat.
“You’re welcome,” she said, well aware he wasn’t being truthful. Her cooking skills were dismal at best. At least he wouldn’t starve between home and Castroville.
Once they had some fresh vegetables, however, she planned to try her hand at making some stews and soups. So far the menu had been limited to very basic and easily prepared foods, and although Walt never complained, she knew he would appreciate a little more variety.
If she could learn to crochet, she could conquer anything. All one had to do was try. She pushed aside the negative little voice in her head that doomed her to failure, and relied on memories of her wedding night; she hadn’t a clue what to do. She chuckled aloud, thinking how fast she learned.
Destiny's Bride Page 6