by Jillian Hart
“I’m fine.” She could feel him breathe, feel the flex of his muscles as he moved.
His hand smoothed across her brow. She wanted to give in to the warm caress. To close her eyes and let him take away the loneliness. She needed his kiss, she craved his touch.
It took all her strength to tear away from the shelter of his arms. Away from the comfort he promised.
She headed toward the large swatch of light made by the open barn door. Anything to get away from him.
“Linnea?” His step pounded after her. “I’m getting tired of chasing you. Maybe you can tell me why you let the mare go. I made some progress with her today.”
“She deserved to be free.”
“Freedom is a dangerous place. That’s how she wound up in your care.”
“Life is a dangerous place. It can’t be helped.”
“Damn it, that’s not what I meant. You had something to offer her. A safe place to live. Hay and grain and a comfortable bed at night.”
“She wanted her freedom.”
“In time, she would have made a good saddle horse. She would have been happy.”
“Do you see her staying around? Look.” She swept her hand toward the prairie, where the galloping mustangs were distant silhouettes against the horizon. “She made her choice, and I’m glad.”
“You are the darnedest woman, Linnea Holmstrom.” He shook his head. He sounded angry; he sounded amused. “Is there a chance now that you’ll invite me in for a cup of tea or something?”
“Not a chance on this earth.” She left him standing in the yard, bathed in moonlight, looking as confused as she felt.
She’d been mean to him. It weighed on her conscience as she bolted the front door and turned down the light. Darkness filled the parlor. There. Maybe that would stop him from coming back to the door and knocking. Trying to get the kiss she’d denied him tonight.
But she sat at the window and peered through the night shadows. She spotted him against the dark night. He walked home, his head bowed, his hat in his hands.
She’d hurt him. When she’d only meant to keep a proper distance between them. Troubled, she leaned her forehead against the cool glass. She’d done the right thing, but it didn’t feel that way. Not one bit.
Chapter Eight
“Wait to wash the cloth, dotter. Until you’ve made your trip to town.”
“I’m not going to town.” Linnea scooped the dipper into fresh well water and drank it gratefully. She felt sticky and dusty from packing water for the garden, and her arms and back were aching. She returned the dipper to the bucket. “I’m late on starting the washing.”
“Linnea. Tell me why the wood is on the porch.”
“I didn’t want Seth in the house last night.”
“He was here?” Mama marveled, as if the greatest miracle had occurred. “To think I slept through it. Did you offer him my cinnamon rolls? How highly he praised them yesterday.”
“When he brought you home?”
“Why, yes. He left this for you. To continue sewing for him.” She reached into her pocket and withdrew a greenback. “I told him to run home and fetch his favorite trousers and you would make a pattern from them. He wants four pair, Linnea. Three for work and one for good.”
“I’m not sewing for him.” Her step faltered when she noticed the twenty-dollar bill her mother was waving.
“Whatever for? If this is about yesterday—”
“This is not about yesterday,” she bit out, hating the harsh strain in her voice. She yanked open the front door and loaded her arms with wood. “This is about what’s right. He has a sister to sew for him and half the unmarried women in town.”
“But he prefers you.”
Linnea stomped across the room and dumped the wood on the floor in front of the stove. Raw and hurting, she tried to stop thinking about yesterday. How could she?
Ever since she’d let Jimmy McIntyre get her pregnant when she was sixteen, the gossips had been relentless. And inventive. If what they said were true, she’d have slept with half the men in the county.
But they weren’t going to gossip about her and Seth. She stabbed sticks of wood into the meager fire and watched the flames flare.
“You have lost work in town. What can it hurt to make a few garments for a bachelor? He cannot sew for himself, and there is trouble with his sister, I think. He cannot rely on her.”
“That’s none of my concern.” Remembering last night and how Seth had walked away in the darkness, his head bowed, raked like hot coals across her conscience.
“Please reconsider—” Mama paused in midsentence. “I hear a rig in the yard. A little buggy drawn by a single horse. We don’t know anyone with a small buggy.”
“I’ll see who it is.”
Sure enough, there was a polished lady’s buggy parked in the shade of the barn, a single mare already grazing in the grass. A handsome woman dressed in a slate-blue shirtwaist and black skirt swept down the dusty path toward the house. Her matching bonnet framed her face.
Linnea’s heart sank. She knew exactly why the woman had come. She was returning the quilt. “Mrs. Jance, welcome.”
“It’s good to see you again, Linnea. Please, call me Ellie. Is this your mother? Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Holmstrom.”
“Oh, how wonderful you have come to pay us a call.” Mama clasped her hands together, beaming with happiness and beauty. “I cannot tell you all the good things I have heard about your shop. What a talented seamstress you must be.”
“I don’t know about being talented, but I try to run a good business, which is why I’ve come. I’ve sold your appliquéd rose quilt, Linnea.” She snapped open her pocketbook and counted out several large bills. “This is your share at sixty percent.”
It couldn’t be true. Linnea’s knees wobbled and she caught the carved back of the sofa. “You sold it?”
“And now I’d like to know if you have another I can display in my window.”
“You really sold it?” She couldn’t believe this was happening. Someone from town had bought her quilt? And paid so much money for it?
“A young man bought it for his bride-to-be.”
“Dotter, what is this? You have kept this from me.” How happy Mama sounded. How proud she looked as one hand flew to her heart. “My daughter’s work was displayed in your fine shop, Mrs. Jance? Oh, to think my horrible, bad daughter did not tell me so that I could boast!”
“Mama! Guess why I didn’t tell you.” Linnea still couldn’t believe it and that Mrs. Jance had come with more than money. “You want more quilts?”
“Does my dotter have more quilts!”
Mrs. Jance’s eyes sparkled and she held back her chuckle. “That must mean she does.”
“I’ll bring out what I have.” Linnea took the crisp bills and folded them into her pocket. “You already sold my best one.”
“That’s all right. I’m sure whatever you have is lovely.”
Her hands were trembling as she knelt in front of the cedar chest in the bedroom. What if Mrs. Jance didn’t like them? She had only a few that had never been used. They were all traditional patterns she’d learned from the book Papa had given her for her fourteenth birthday.
Suddenly the simple blocks didn’t look fancy enough. If only she’d had the chance to start something new.
“This is stunning.” Mrs. Jance knelt beside her and shook her head at the calico pattern of pink buds and green leaves, pieced with pink calico and plain white.
“It’s a Double Irish Chain. There’s no appliqué.”
“It’s feminine and beautiful.” Mrs. Jance lifted the quilt from the chest and draped it on the bed. “Look at that. May I take this one?”
Linnea nodded. “I have a flower basket pattern here. I made it from memory of a drawing I saw in a book.”
Mrs. Jance ran her thumb over the feathered circle stitch that set the theme for the quilt. “I’ll take this one, as well. Now, how would you feel about sewing a quilt for me?
You select the pattern and I’ll give you the pick of fabric in my store. We split the proceeds fifty-fifty.”
“Yes.” How could she refuse? There would be no more collars to set, no more pesky sleeves to baste and rebaste into place.
“Good, then I’ll take these and expect you to show up in my store soon. I know I’ll enjoy doing business with you, Linnea.”
Ellie Jance left, hugging the quilts against her.
“Shame on you for keeping this secret from me,” Mama scolded. “To think what good fortune this is. What do I always say? When a door closes, a window opens.”
“Yes, Mama.” Linnea laughed. She couldn’t help it. She was so happy. She had more blessings than she could count. She would not ask for more.
* * *
“Are you leaving?” Ginny asked quietly in the night shadows.
The muscles in Seth’s neck clamped into a tense knot. Instead of turning around and looking at his sister, he kept folding his shirts and placing them on a pile on the bed. “I’m moving into the claim shanty.”
“But it’s been abandoned for years. It’s falling down.”
“I’ll fix it.” He kept his voice neutral. Getting angry at Ginny wouldn’t solve either of their problems.
“But I promised to cook for you and keep house. In exchange for you helping me.” Sorrow filled her words.
And, he hoped, regret. “I can cook my own meals. Or you can invite me over, if you’ve a mind to.”
“I shouldn’t have said those things about Linnea.”
“Damn right you shouldn’t have.” It grated him that she hadn’t thought. Ginny had learned from her father how to strike and then hide, always sorry. “I’ve got more work than I’ve got daylight to do it in. But you seem to have enough time to make a mess of everything you touch.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
“Yes, you did.” He refused to be fooled. They’d grown up in the same house for a time. Her father had been a cruel man, always attacking and retreating, jovial until he found a person’s weakness. Seth didn’t have to live like that now, in the form of Ginny’s apologetic silences and attempts to please him. And her hatred for it.
“I gave my word, and that’s the only thing keeping me here.” He grabbed socks from the top drawer. “The only thing.”
“If you left, we’d go hungry. I married into one of the richest families in town so I’d always be cared for. So my son would never know the life we had growing up.”
“Rich or poor, town or county, that doesn’t make the difference.” He jammed his socks into the leather pack. “You ought to know that by now. Your fancy house didn’t protect you from life, did it?”
She hung her head, staring at the floor, and her refusal to own up to what she’d done, to be responsible, angered him more.
He buckled his packs and swung them over his shoulder. “You’ve got a son who’s alive. I’d be grateful if I were you. I’d spend my time making his life better instead of cutting down a defenseless woman who’s done nothing wrong.”
“You think I’m wrong.”
“I know you are.”
“I see.” She bit her lip, waiting. “You’re angry because my son is alive and yours isn’t.”
“Fine. Turn it into that if you want.” He’d had enough of her house, dark and bleak. Of the jabs that came passively so she could deny them.
He pushed past her and climbed down the ladder from the attic, taking the rungs two at a time. Like a thousand pounds pressing on his chest, he felt claustrophobic. He couldn’t breathe. He’d stayed in this bleak place long enough.
“Inga Neilson saw Jimmy in the fields one night when she was coming home late from a church meeting. Riding back to town as happy as you please, whistling. He had to have been at the Holmstrom farm. He’d been with Linnea, I know he was.”
Seth pushed open the door and stepped out into the shadowed porch. Lamplight from the kitchen spilled over the weathered boards and lit his way as he kept going.
“Your friend Linnea had been with him before, when Jimmy and I were promised. Did you know that? She—”
“That’s enough,” he growled, and meant it.
He watched the realization dawn on her face, pinched hard with bitterness and anger, and she bowed her head.
“I just thought you should know,” she bit out. “I won’t let her hurt you.”
“You have no say in how I live my life. I don’t want to hear another word against Linnea.”
“But she’s—”
“Not another word.”
The night deepened, and Ginny became only shadow as the moonlight faded behind clouds.
“All right. I’m sorry.” She whispered the words, laced them with defeat.
He wasn’t sure if she was telling the truth. Time would tell. “Just so you know, I won’t bend on this. No more gossiping. No more cruel remarks.”
“She’s not the woman you think she is.”
“Neither are you.” He left, choosing the darkness instead of Ginny’s passive rage. He could hear her tears, but he didn’t turn back. He felt sorry for his sister, but she had some growing up to do.
The shanty was little more than a shack perched on a small rise behind the orchard. The front door listed on its rusty hinges and great patches were missing from the roof, but he could fix that.
He set his packs on the floor. The night wasn’t cool, so he didn’t build a fire in the chimney he’d repaired a few hours before. He spread out his bedroll and took off his boots.
There were changes to be made in his life. He wasn’t certain he knew what to do about them. How should he go about making Linnea his wife? He reached into his pack and took out the gift Mrs. Jance had boxed. With a tug, the strings came loose and he pushed the paper aside. Surely she’d like a pretty bauble like this. He traced the pattern on one of the thimbles.
Linnea had certainly been angry with him. Maybe she had a right to her anger. He had been trying to kiss her. All he had to do was think of her and joy filled him. He could picture the way her golden curls shone like treasure at the sun’s touch.
He loved her face and her smile, the way she laughed and who she was. Desire for her pounded in his veins and he grew hard wishing he had the right to do more than kiss her.
Did she love him? His entire future hinged on that question. Judging by the way she’d behaved last night, he had no idea.
One thing was for certain—he wasn’t going to sit here wondering. His life had been empty for too long.
* * *
“I haven’t seen you in a while.” That’s how Linnea greeted him when he rode into her yard.
He tipped his hat back, taking his time to figure out exactly what to say. He sensed the wrong thing would put her on edge and that was the last thing he wanted. “I’ve been fairly busy in the fields.”
“Are your crops surviving the drought?”
“All seventy acres, so far.”
“Good for you.” She nodded politely, then plunged her arms deep into the washtub and fished around in the sudsy water. “I told you I’m not going to sew for you. Let me return your money.”
“Keep it and apply it to what I owe you for the cow.”
“She’s ready. Had her calf a few days ago. When you’re ready to leave, go ahead and take her with you.”
She scrubbed a garment against the washboard with great fury and said nothing more.
Looked like she was still mad about the kiss.
“Major! How wonderful to see you again.” Mrs. Holmstrom’s greeting was as gracious as heaven. “Give me a few moments and I will have tosca cake right out of the oven.”
“A man can’t say no to your baking. I brought something for you.” He reached into the back of the wagon and cradled the soft furry animal in his palm. “I bought one for Ginny this morning from Mrs. Neilson and thought I’d pick one up for my favorite ladies.”
“No, not one of her kittens!” As if she could see, Mrs. Holmstrom turned toward the nearly sile
nt mew from the tiny creature. “Major, this is too much. We cannot pay you for this.”
“No payment necessary, ma’am. This is for all the kindness you’ve shown me. It’s a little female calico. She’s mostly orange and black with a little white thrown in.” He set the kitten in the palm of her hand.
“Oh, she’s darling. I’ve always had a cat, and the last one we had was a cuddly tom who fell ill last year. How I’ve missed him keeping me company. Linnea, come see what the major brought.”
“Isn’t he generous?” Linnea’s step padded on the earth behind him and her presence brushed like a caress across his skin.
It was tough to keep from thinking about kissing her. “I’ve come to put in the windmill I promised.”
“A pump for the water?” Mrs. Holmstrom gasped, as if the words were too good to be true.
“That’s right, ma’am. Linnea won’t have to carry another heavy bucket to the house or the barn.”
“Praise be, what a blessing you are. I’d best get back inside and check on my tosca cake.” Cuddling the kitten, she counted the steps back to the porch.
“You’ve made my mother happy.”
“Good. Because I was hoping that would make it harder for you to be mad at me.”
“I’m not mad at you.”
“Sure. That’s why you winced when you saw me driving up.” That had a corner of her mouth fighting a grin, so it was progress. “I owe you an apology.”
“No, I owe you, because I released your horse back into the wild. I was rash and I didn’t think. She would have been worth a hundred dollars, maybe two. You caught her and treated her wounds. She rightfully belonged to you.”
“I’m not troubled by that. I shouldn’t have tried to kiss you.”
“That’s right. You shouldn’t have.” She spun away, her step jerky as she headed back to her washing.
He’d hurt her more than he realized. A beautiful woman like her having to face rumors like that. She was innocence itself, unassuming and gentle like the flowers blooming in the fields.
“I’m sorry for wanting to kiss you.”
Kneeling at her work, she gazed up at him, her face soft and undefended, her anger gone. “You’re forgiven, it’s forgotten.”