by Kit Morgan
“Oh, do settle yourself, Constance, and get your head out of the clouds. The men here are ... unreadable. I do not know how to act around them.” Admitting it to her sister wasn’t easy, but she was sure she and Eloise would find themselves in the same pickle when it was their turn to deal with their so-called prairie grooms.
“I find them quite easy to read.”
“That is because none of us can read you. You’re as unpredictable as the wind.”
“Yes, isn’t it wonderful? I like being unpredictable. It makes me mysterious. Papa told me once that men like mystery in women.”
“Father told you what? Oh, never mind. Go to sleep.”
“I can’t sleep, I’m too excited. If we go to town tomorrow, maybe I’ll get a glimpse of my husband.”
Penelope yawned. “He is not your husband until you marry.”
“Future husband, then. Aren’t you excited to see Mr. Bennett again?”
Penelope stared at the ceiling while her stomach did a little flip at the thought. She would see him tomorrow, look into those dark-blue eyes, gaze at the sharp lines of his features, and perhaps again experience the feel of his touch when he took her hand in his. She stifled a sigh and turned over. “I suppose I should have to see him if we are to speak with the local clergy about getting married.”
She listened to the frame of a bed creaking as Constance sat up. “I cannot believe you said that! One would think you didn’t wish to marry Mr. Bennett at all.”
“Perhaps I don’t.”
“Penelope! What would Mother say if she were here?”
“She would say ... oh, bother – I don’t know what she would say anymore. Now go to sleep.” She pulled her pillow over her head, knowing exactly what her mother would say. Penelope, if you do not marry this one, you shall never marry! You shall be a spinster the rest of your life!
“Yes, mama,” she automatically whispered. It was what she’d always replied when she heard her mother say it, which was a lot over the last five years. Well, not this time. For one, her mother wasn’t here, and two, August Bennett didn’t know about the Sayer name, and all it entailed ...
Five
August showed up at the Triple-C bright and early – early enough to have breakfast with Jefferson Cooke and his wife Edith, who also lived on the ranch. They dwelt in the little cabin on the hill that overlooked the barnyard. Edith and her two sisters, Sally and Marybeth, had come to Clear Creek a few years before to work in Mr. Van Cleet’s hotel once it was completed. Edith’s only job now was helping out on the ranch and taking care of her husband, and she couldn’t be happier. Her sisters still worked in the hotel and helped Mr. and Mrs. Van Cleet with thinking up clever ways to make it bigger and better. The only problem with that, however, was that there were rarely any hotel guests to enjoy their cleverness.
“Are you going to town today?” Jefferson asked his wife.
“Yes, I thought I’d go see Sally and Marybeth, and show the young ladies around Clear Creek. Besides, the ladies’ sewing circle meets soon, and we need to get the word out about the girl’s wedding dresses.”
“Of course. How about you, August?” Jefferson asked. “Need any assistance with that new farm of yours?”
“Thank you, no. Not yet.”
“Need any stock?”
“Yes, but I’ve already spoken with Harrison and Colin about acquiring some. I’m also making plans to get some more chickens.”
Jefferson nodded. “I hear the Turners are trying to get rid of ... er, are selling a rooster.”
August stared at him a moment in suspicion. “So I’ve heard ...”
Jefferson grabbed a piece of bacon and munched on it. “Come on out tomorrow and I’ll take you out to the south pasture. You can have your pick of what’s there.”
“Thank you, Mr. Cooke, that’s mighty kind of you,” he told him as three sleepy-eyed women entered the kitchen. Miss Red gazed at him a second or two before she quickly took in her appearance, as if just realizing he was there. He stifled a chuckle as he buttered a biscuit. “Good morning, ladies.”
Constance took in the food on the table and licked her lips. “Good morning. Have you been here long?”
“Only a few minutes. Enough time for Edith to pour me a cup of coffee and hand me a plate.”
Miss Red remained silent, but did make her way to the table and sat at the far end. Her eyes darted to the plate of bacon and she stiffened. “What’s the matter?” August asked. “You don’t care for what’s on the table for breakfast?”
Her eyes met his. They were brighter than he remembered, and she looked like she was trying to think of what to say. “Hardly. I enjoy your American foods very much.”
“Don’t let her fool ya, August,” said Jefferson. “I was married to Harrison and Colin’s mother, after all. Even I know the English eat bacon.”
“They haven’t any kippers though,” Eloise commented as she sat. “I do so miss kippers in the morning.”
“Kippers?” August asked.
“Little fish, Mr. Bennett,” Edith explained. “I don’t much care for them, but a lot of folks do.”
“Herring is what most Americans call them,” Miss Red explained.
“Oh,” August said in answer. “I think I’ll stick with fresh trout if I’m gonna have any sort of fish for breakfast.”
“Do you have to fish and hunt for your food?” Constance asked, eyes wide with interest.
August smiled at her, then winked at Miss Red for good measure. “Sometimes.”
“Oh, dear me,” Miss Red muttered.
“What was that?” August asked. Of course he heard her, but asked anyway.
“Nothing. Please be so kind as to pass the biscuits and coffee,” she said in a weak voice.
He smiled and slid the plate of biscuits down the table toward her. Constance took one in passing, and then pushed it the rest of the way.
“Coffee, anyone?” Edith asked. Without waiting for an answer, she began to pour. The girls had met Jefferson and Edith the night before. They’d come into the kitchen while the three sisters were washing the dishes, and introductions were made. Belle had stayed with them until the task was done, then they went into the parlor and visited with Jefferson and his wife until it was time for bed. All three sisters found Edith quite comfortable to be around – so much so that they didn’t notice for a few minutes that none of the other Cooke brothers were around.
“Where is everybody?” Eloise finally asked.
“Out in the barn, getting the wagon ready,” Jefferson told her.
“By themselves?” Miss Red blurted.
August looked at her, his mouth half open. She’d sounded so utterly shocked when she asked it. “Of course. Sadie and Belle know how to hitch up a team of horses.”
Miss Red blanched.
“Stop it,” Edith scolded. “You know very well Logan is hitching up the team. Belle is gathering eggs.”
August smiled. “Oh, really? I thought it was the other way around.” The three sisters looked at one another, not knowing what to think. August knew he shouldn’t, but he just couldn’t resist asking, “Do you ride, Miss Sayer?”
“Of course I ride,” she snapped. “We all do.”
“Oh, good. Perhaps you could accompany me this afternoon? I’d like to show you my farm after we talk with the preacher.”
She swallowed hard and stared at him. “Lovely,” she managed to mutter.
He took a slice of bacon, sat back in his chair, and stuffed it into his mouth. He watched her as he chewed, and wondered what she’d think of his little farm. He’d worked hard on it the last year, making it special, preparing it for a woman who could turn it into a real home. Miss Red was apparently whom Fate had sent him to do the job. The question was, could she? The woman probably couldn’t sew a button on a shirt if her life depended on it. And good grief, what was her cooking going to be like? He’d been pretty spoiled by Mrs. Dunnigan’s and Mrs. Upton’s cooking the last few years – how was he go
ing to get used to ...
“I haven’t a proper saddle. Does the livery have any?”
“What?” August asked, her voice pulling him out of his thoughts. “Saddle?”
“Of course,” Miss Red stated. “You can’t possibly expect me to ride astride.”
“What other way is there?” he asked, dumbfounded.
Her eyes grew wide before they narrowed on him. “Mr. Bennett, it is highly improper for a lady to ride astride. It just isn’t done.”
“Well ... how else would you do it?” he asked, ignoring the snickers escaping Jefferson.
“Side-saddle, of course,” she explained with a sniff.
Jefferson laughed and looked at August. “She’s right, you know. No self-respecting English maiden would be caught dead riding astride.”
August gaped at him. “Well, no self-respecting horse cares either way.”
Jefferson laughed again. “Lucky for you, I just happen to have a side-saddle.”
“You do?” Miss Red asked, eyes wide.
“Of course. It belonged to my late wife, Honoria. That would be Duncan, Colin and Harrison’s mother. If you pay attention, you’ll find little pieces of England all over this house, and even a few out in the barn.”
“Harrison and Sadie named their baby after our late aunt?” Constance asked.
“Yes – they did me proud when they did that,” Jefferson told her.
“How quaint,” Miss Red whispered.
August looked at her, his mouth shut. He decided he’d better keep it that way. He couldn’t figure out what she was thinking, whether she was glad or mad to discover she could ride in the way she was accustomed.
“I’ll fetch it after I finish my coffee,” said Jefferson. “You can ride to town while your sisters go in the wagon.”
Miss Red’s face paled. “Oh, ah ... well ... I could just as easily ...”
“Penelope’s afraid of horses,” Constance announced, cutting her off.
“Constance!” Eloise scolded. “You didn’t have to tell everyone!”
“They might as well know, otherwise pride would dictate she mount the beast, which in turn would sense her fear and then buck her off all the way to ...”
“Enough! Kindly keep your explanations of my riding ability to yourself, Constance.”
“I wasn’t talking about your riding ability, I was talking about your fear of horses.”
Miss Red closed her eyes in resignation and shook her head. It was all August could do to keep from laughing. But embarrassing her was not on his to-do list that morning, so he opted for saving her dignity. “Are you afraid of horses?” he asked Constance.
“No,” she stated.
“Good. Then why don’t you ride with me, and your sisters can ride in the wagon?”
Miss Red’s eyes flicked over him, and he could see she was angry. “Constance will do no such thing,” she said. “I will ride with you. My sisters will ride in the wagon,” she announced stiffly.
“Are you sure about that?” he asked.
“Of course I’m sure. If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t have suggested it, now would I?”
He looked her up and down. Her face had gone pale with her little speech, and he knew she had to be shaking like a leaf inside at the thought of getting on a horse. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, ma’am.”
“It seems you want proof of my ability to handle a horse. I shall give it to you, sir.”
“I didn’t say I needed proof you could ride, you told me you could. I’ll take your word for it, Miss Red.”
“Her eyes narrowed. “What did you call me?”
Oops. He sighed. “Nothing.” He stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go help Logan with the wagon. I’ll see you ladies in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”
“What?” Eloise asked, confused.
Edith chuckled. “It means he’ll be seeing you soon. Eat up, girls. We’re going to town!”
* * *
Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall ... Penelope remembered hearing her father speak that proverb now and then, usually before her brother made a journey to London. She recalled the last time she’d heard her father say it. She and her brother had gone to a ball, her first, during the height of the season, but she’d become ill and had to leave early. There was a fight, and Charles had somehow wound up in the middle of it. The evening ended in tragedy, and he never came home.
The curse of the Sayers began that night – and if disaster wasn’t plaguing her father’s family, it went after her Uncle John’s. Any male heir bearing the Sayer name met with an unseemly demise. And once it had struck the male line down, it went after the females, ensuring no one would be able to take the Sayer name and use it for his own. Anthony Sayer’s estate had a black cloud around it since the day he died, and none had been able to lift it until Duncan Cooke – a.k.a. Duncan Mackenzie Sayer – came into his own and took over the title and estate. Peace finally settled over the remaining family members – all of them female, and either widowed or unwed.
It would only be a matter of time before Uncle John’s daughters descended upon America. Penelope hoped they were dealt a better hand than she and her two sisters had been. If they were lucky, though, they’d be sent across the Channel to France to marry instead of having to travel across the sea. Barring that, she hoped that if the Duke did send them this way, it would be no further west than New York or Philadelphia.
She stared at the sorrel mare as it stood calmly waiting for the saddle to be cinched up. Were they purposely giving her the saddest-looking animal on the ranch? Did they think her that incompetent? No, of course not. She told them she could ride. They just thought her a silly child for being afraid to.
“There, that ought to do it for you,” Jefferson said as he patted the animal on the neck. “This here’s Lady J. She may not look like much right now, she hasn’t completely lost her winter coat, but she’s a good horse.” He turned to look at her. “She belonged to my late wife. The boys call her Juliet.”
Penelope smiled at the name, and automatically thought of Romeo and Juliet. But surely no one here would make such a reference ...
“Duncan took Romeo with him to London.”
“What?” she asked in surprise, then looked away as embarrassment flushed her cheeks. When was she going to stop judging these people harshly, solely because they lived out on this hardened frontier? She wished she could simply let herself go and start enjoying things in the moment like Constance did. She had realized earlier as she walked to the barn, that she was beginning to fall into an “us against them” mentality - which wouldn’t do at all if she was to marry one of ... well, them. But now she was seeing the depth of that fall – and she didn’t like it very much.
“Yeah, kind of funny, isn’t it? Naming horses after characters in stories,” said Jefferson.
“Plays,” she corrected reflexively as she reached out and patted Juliet on the neck. “Shakespeare was a playwright.”
“A what? Oh, never mind. Honoria was always correcting me on things like that. What do I know? I’m just a man from Missouri. Only reason I even talk halfway proper is Honoria’s years of teaching me,” he added with a grin.
She smiled. “And you came out west to make a new life for yourself?”
“Along with thousands of others. We’ve done all right, I guess, but enough of that. Let me give you a leg up.”
She backed away from Juliet and turned to him. “A ‘leg up’? Oh, dear ...”
“What’s wrong with a leg up? You telling me you didn’t have that in England either?”
“No, we used a mounting block.”
“A what?”
“They stood on a big box, Jefferson,” August said as he entered the barn. Both turned to face him. “But what we do out west is give you a leg up.” He gave the saddle a once-over. “Just what in Sam blazes is that thing?”
Penelope straightened herself. “Allow me to demonstrate,” she replied ic
ily. She took the reins from Jefferson and led the horse to a nearby crate. It was a little small, but it would do in the pinch. She would not let August Bennett have the satisfaction of giving her a “leg up,” as it was called, especially not if he was going to make fun of her choice of saddle. Besides, the thought of his hands on what she assumed would be her leg made her insides go all funny on her.
She moved Juliet into position, stepped on the crate, and with a grunt, mounted. Juliet stood as still as a statue, and Penelope sighed in relief. “Good girl,” she whispered.
“Well, I’ll be,” August remarked. “That doesn’t look like someone who’s afraid of horses, does it, Jefferson?”
“Nope, sure doesn’t,” he agreed.
Penelope gave Juliet a nudge, and the horse headed for the open barn door. She rode past August with a smirk, but without a word, and into the barnyard where the others were waiting. Constance and Eloise smiled as she guided the horse to the back of the wagon next to August’s.
He came out of the barn with Jefferson, still gaping at her, before he stomped over to his horse, a beautiful Appaloosa, and mounted – astride. “Are you ready?”
She quirked an eyebrow at him. “Are you?”
He squinted against the morning sun. “Yep. Let’s ride.” With that he spurred his horse ahead of the wagon. Jefferson came out of the barn and waved as they set off.
Logan gave the horses a slap of the reins and got the wagon moving. Constance and Eloise both let loose a giggle as the wagon lurched forward. Edith and Belle rode in the back and watched as Penelope kicked Juliet into a trot to catch up with August. Too bad Sadie decided to stay home with the baby – the upcoming battle of the wills was going to be a good one, they guessed. They hoped Logan didn’t let the wagon lag too far behind the couple, as they wanted to be able to hear them.
Unfortunately, it just wasn’t a good day for eavesdropping. August kicked his horse into a canter and rode on ahead of them. Penelope followed suit.
Juliet was a dream to ride, and sensitive to Penelope’s every movement. She enjoyed the mare, and her usual fear of the large animals dissipated as she urged Juliet into a trot. Now as she cantered after August, she found the cool morning air invigorating. She hoped it felt as good on the return ride. Though cool now, Belle told her the afternoons could grow quite warm.