Farmer's Daughter Romance Collection : Five Historical Romances Homegrown in the American Heartland (9781630586164)
Page 20
Learning to do every scrap of work possible was how I helped support Mam after Da came to America. Any trade that involved working wi’ iron, I turned a hand to.
“Ewan?” Johnny’s hesitant tone caught Ewan’s attention at once. Blacksmithing was good, honest work, but a simple mistake could cost a man dearly.
“Aye?” He quickly surveyed his new friend and found nothing visibly wrong. The tension in his shoulders eased.
“I’m finished with this bit.” The younger man gestured toward the whorls of steam rising from the tempering bath as it cooled the heated metal within.
“Good.” Ewan bit back a grin as Johnny cast a furtive glance toward the general store down the road. It appeared he wasn’t the only one who’d noticed the ladies’ destination this morning.
“And it occurred to me that I could use”—Johnny’s brow furrowed—“an…er…well, this place could certainly use a few…”
“A few…what?” Ewan crossed his arms over his chest, delighting in his friend’s awkward ploy to see the girls in the shop.
“Pounds of fresh-ground coffee!” His triumphant pronouncement made him nod sagely. “You know, to keep up our strength throughout the day. Nothin’ like a pot of hot, strong coffee.”
“Like this one?” Ewan hefted the pot keeping warm by the forge and made a show of peering around. “Seems as though we’ve a goodly enough supply to see us through the week.” He put down the pot and nudged a sack with the toe of his leather boot.
“Oh.” Johnny’s face fell. “Right.”
“Although”—Ewan decided to finally take pity on the poor fellow and give his consent—“it seems to me that you can never have too much coffee on hand. We might well invite Arthur over for a mug or two.”
“Only neighborly!” Johnny untied his heavy, soot-stained leather apron and had it over his head in record time.
“I could do wi’ a bit of a break, myself,” Ewan admitted, pulling off his thick work gloves. And seeing some of the pretty things on display at the store would be a welcome change.
Together, the pair made their way to the general store.
“Good placement they’ve set up,” Johnny noted. “Smithy’s in the middle of the village, and the store’s nearby, but far enough away not to catch most of the ash.”
“Wi’ the railroad, this place will flourish into a thriving city before too long.” Ewan shrugged off a vague discomfort at the notion. This place—with its endless skies, fresh air, mountains full of good pine, and tight-knit community—wouldn’t maintain all its current charm in the face of progress. The thought saddened him, even as he told himself the railroad would ensure the survival of Saddleback.
“I hope it doesn’t change too much,” Johnny said, unwittingly echoing Ewan’s own thoughts. “I’d hate to see the place turned into one of those crowded, gritty modern cities I’ve seen too many of.”
Ewan gave a terse nod in reply as they stepped through the mercantile doors. A welcoming coolness settled around him as he made his way further into the well-insulated shop, wending his way past farming implements, seeds, buckets, sacks, rope, and various examples of leatherwork.
“Here we go.” Johnny stopped in front of the large grinder but kept his head turned toward the back counter.
“Mr. Mathers!” The girl called Marlene greeted Johnny with a charming smile before giving Ewan a sedate nod. He didn’t miss the way she nudged Rosalind with her elbow while doing so.
“Mr. Gailbraith.” Rosalind’s acknowledgment, while friendly, bore a hint more reserve than that of her friend’s.
“Miss MacLean. Miss Freimont.” He took stock of the mound of merchandise dominating the counter. “I’d be happy to lend a hand.”
“Thank you.” Her smile deepened, and a tiny dimple flittered in her right cheek. She got prettier every day.
“Welcome,” Johnny jumped in. “We wouldn’t let you little ladies haul a load this big.”
“I’m glad to say we won’t be carrying it farther than the wagon outside.” Rosalind smiled. “Though ’twas such a lovely day for a walk, we gave a thought to leaving it behind.”
“Although it is an awful lot of things, isn’t it? Somehow it seems heavier when it’s right in front of you than when you just write it down on a list.” Miss Freimont pressed a hand to her heart. “Your help would be greatly appreciated. We remembered a few things not on our list once we got here.”
“Must hae been quite a list.” Ewan raised an eyebrow.
“Indeed.” Rosalind pulled a piece of paper, filled with handwriting, out of her sleeve and squinted to read the tiny script. “Though I think we’ve all the supplies we could possibly need for the diner. Except for the vegetables.” She turned to the shopkeeper. “We’ll be needing to take a look at your carrots, parsnips, onions, and potatoes before we tally it all up.” She headed for the large crates holding the produce.
Johnny’s smile, if possible, grew wider as he dug his elbow into Ewan’s ribs. “Looks like we can count on delicious dinners for the rest of the week, at the very least! I hope they make mashed potatoes—they’re my favorite.” He whispered this last.
“We’ll be sure to consider that, Mr. Mathers.” Rosalind’s promise proved Johnny’s whisper had carried a bit too far.
“Of course,” Miss Freimont agreed with a twinkle in her eye. “After all, we want to keep our favorite customers happy.”
Rosalind sucked in a shocked gasp at Marlene’s blatant flirtation with the two railroad blacksmiths. Such forwardness! And yet, her disapproval was tinged with another, darker emotion she recognized as envy. How can she be so at ease around these men?
She relaxed when she saw a hint of rebuke in Ewan’s—Mr. Gailbraith’s—eyes. So ’tis not just that I’m socially awkward. Such saucy comments are too volatile for even Mr. Gailbraith.
“We want to make sure our cooking keeps bringing patrons to the outdoor diner, of course.” Rosalind diffused the tension Marlene remained oblivious to. “And we especially appreciate your willingness to try the dishes before we open every afternoon.”
“Not as much as we appreciate your fine cooking.” Ewan’s—Mr. Gailbraith’s—smile gave a sense of warm sincerity, and Rosalind could tell he knew exactly what she’d been trying to do when she spoke up.
To cover her sudden awkwardness, she turned her attention back to her long list. “Mr. Acton, if you’d let me know what we’ve collected while I check it off my list, ’twould greatly ease my mind.”
“Of course,” Mr. Acton agreed as he added bushels of vegetables to the order. “Vegetables, eggs, flour, cornmeal, sugar, brown sugar, baking soda, molasses, beans, a wheel of cheese, vanilla extract, cinnamon, nutmeg, salt, pepper, and coffee. Is there anything left on your list, Miss MacLean?”
“Wait a moment….” She looked at all the crossed-off items one last time. “Salt pork.” Rosalind glanced up to find the railroad men both looking as though the very mention of that much food caused a corresponding emptiness in their stomachs.
“If I may ask, Miss MacLean,” the blacksmith ventured, “what are you planning on for today’s dinner?”
“You’ll hae to wait and see, Mr. Gailbraith.” Rosalind shifted closer to the counter. “Though, if you had a request, what would it be?”
“After the pork ’n beans and shepherd’s pie, I’d gladly tuck into any dish you set before me.” His smile reached up to brighten his green eyes. “Though I must admit I bear a certain fondness for Irish stew.”
“As do I, Mr. Gailbraith.” She watched as the shopkeeper tallied their order.
“Seems we have a lot in common.” His voice lowered so only she could hear, and the deep rumble sent a thrill down her spine. “Irish heritage, smithing families, and now favorite dishes.”
“Here you are.” Mr. Acton claimed her attention as she completed the transaction.
“Luke!” She called him away from the corner where he’d been admiring a few fancy toys. “We’re ready to get going.”
Is it my imagination, or was he looking at me as he said that? A giddy little bubble filled her heart at the idea, only to swiftly deflate as she remembered her mother’s words—a woman could never be too careful with a strange man. What lies ahead could be dangerous.
That sobering thought cast a cloud over the beautiful day.
Lord, You hae written that You love a cheerful giver, and Ewan lends a hand without thinking about it. How can I meet his selfless generosity wi’ suspicion? Return distrust for help so freely given? And yet, Your Word tells that we are to seek wise counsel. How to behave around a man so strong and good-natured as Ewan, ’tis certainly beyond my own experience. If ’tis possible to joincaution wi’ caring, ’tis what I must do, though I cannot see how the two align. I’ve not the time to dwell upon the matter just now, but ’twill be in my thoughts. I ask for the wisdom to see and follow Your will.
“Oh!” Marlene’s gasp caused Rosalind’s gaze to follow hers. The modest buckboard, loaded down with their many purchases, was filled to bursting. Even the narrow bench up front for the driver held one of the crates of vegetables.
“ ’Tis a small matter,” Rosalind assured her. “Luke may drive it ahead, and we’ll follow on foot.”
“And what of dinner? We haven’t the time to walk for a half hour before unloading the wagon and beginning.” Marlene’s voice came out low and rapid. “More time has passed while we were in the store than we planned for.”
“Ewan and I are glad to come along,” Mr. Mathers pronounced loudly, his eyes fastened on Marlene’s upset expression. “We’ll unload everything.”
“Thank you!” Marlene seemed all but ready to hug the man, and Rosalind swiftly linked arms with her to avoid that catastrophe.
Luke drove the buckboard back to the outdoor oven that was the hub of the diner, and the other four followed more slowly on foot.
“Oof!” Marlene suddenly lurched forward, dragging Rosalind away from her thoughts and toward the hard-packed dirt.
Rosalind jerked her arm back, attempting to compensate for Marlene’s lack of balance. The maneuver was successful, and neither of them landed facedown in the dirt, though Marlene seemed to feel the incident to have been very traumatic.
“I tripped over a root, just there!” Marlene pointed to a bare, even patch of earth, and Rosalind’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. Marlene must have noticed, because she hastily swayed the tiniest bit to grasp hold of Mr. Mathers’s arm. “Perhaps it was a rock that moved. Oh, I think I’ve turned my ankle.” Her light lashes fluttered as though valiantly holding back tears, and Rosalind immediately regretted her uncharitable thoughts.
“Are you all right, Marlene?” She tried to loop Marlene’s arm over her shoulders, but her friend pulled away and clung to Mr. Mathers instead.
“I’ll be fine,” she asserted a bit breathlessly as the young man slipped a supporting arm around her waist. “Yes, that’s…better.”
“I’d be glad to help you walk the rest of the way, miss.” His offer couldn’t have come any quicker, and he seemed loathe to let go of Marlene anytime soon—a fact Rosalind noted warily.
“How gallant of you,” Marlene breathed, leaning gracefully against his stalwart support. “I’ll be fine in no time at all. Usually I’m far more nimble.” She cast her gaze to Rosalind, obviously expecting her friend to back her up on this.
“Yes,” Rosalind agreed drily. “By far.”
“Well, if Miss Freimont is up to it”—Ewan’s voice had the vaguest hint of doubt—“we’d best continue. Miss MacLean?” He politely proffered his own arm to Rosalind, as was proper.
“I think ’twould be best.” She tucked her hand in the crook of his arm, feeling the warmth of his strong muscles through the thin cambric of his everyday shirt. Suddenly feeling slightly out of breath herself, she gulped in the fresh mountain air in what came out as a sort of heavy sigh.
“Don’t fret,” Ewan patted her hand comfortingly. “Your wee little friend will be fine, of that I bear no doubt at all.”
“Of course,” she murmured, looking at the couple slowly making their way before them. Although Marlene leaned against the support Mr. Mathers so readily offered, her step showed no sign of an injured ankle.
Rosalind bit back a comment.
“To my way of thinking,” Ewan said, his deep rumble soothing her ire, “ ’tis simply an example of something I was taught long ago.”
“Oh?” Rosalind quirked a brow, wondering what wisdom the handsome blacksmith would share with her. A man like Ewan Gailbraith must know all sorts of things I wouldn’t.
“Sometimes,” he bent his head closer to hers and spoke with a conspiratorial grin, “when it serves a purpose, people seem worse than they truly are.”
Chapter 7
Ewan hefted a bag of flour into the old smokehouse the girls were using for storage. When he returned for another load, he was caught by the sight of Rosalind as she untied her sunbonnet and drew it off.
A soft breeze tickled the springy tendrils around her face while her hair caught the sun’s light and burned with a brightness bold enough to warm a man’s heart. He quelled a surge of disappointment when she dutifully donned the bonnet once more to conceal her crowning glory and protect her fair skin.
Lord, You truly hae made everything beautiful in Your time. ’Tis struck I am to see the loving stroke of Your hand around me, and the bearer of Your stamp so unaware o’ it. Beauty is one thing; beauty wi’out the stain of pride gives even more pleasure.
“Are you certain?” Johnny, eagerly bringing Miss Freimont some cool water, sounded genuinely anxious. Young pup.
“Certainly.” Marlene pointed the dainty toe of her boot downward, then flexed it upward, causing the frills of her petticoat to froth over her ankle in a flagrantly feminine display. It worked, too. Johnny watched the motion, transfixed.
Ewan rolled his eyes. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say the minx had “tripped” on purpose to garner more attention. But surely no woman would use such an obvious ploy…. He saw her laughing charmingly at something or other a besotted Johnny had said. The girl certainly had her eye on the lad. Would she?
He carried more sacks to the converted smokehouse, after taking a moment to clear his head. When he got back to the unloading, Ewan practically bumped into Rosalind as she came out of the tiny structure. Ewan quickly stepped back, getting a firmer grip on the goods he held lest they topple upon her pretty little head.
She gave him a ghost of a smile and sidestepped, obviously concerned with getting the work done in time to begin dinner. The tip of her braid bounced against the slim curve of her back as she walked the few steps to the wagon and reached up.
Now, there is a woman who wouldn’t need to resort to petty wiles to catch a man’s attention. She carries herself like a lady.
And she was carrying another sack back toward him. While she’d continued working, he’d stood and stared like an imbecile. Ewan swiftly deposited his load and strode past her to gather the last of the items. He cast an irritated glance to where Johnny still paid court to no-longer-maimed-but-not-helping Marlene.
“Oh no.” He felt Rosalind’s small hand press against his forearm where he’d rolled up his sleeves at the same time he heard her sweet, clear voice.
He almost dropped what he carried. “What’s wrong?” He craned his neck to look down at her upturned face. Ewan watched in fascination as her cornflower blue eyes widened and her mouth opened in surprise at the unexpected intimacy of the moment before she yanked her hand back as though the brief contact had scalded her as it had him.
“I—I put those things aside so we could use them today.” She looked toward the summer kitchen. “They need to go over there.”
“Fine, then.” He smiled, then looked at the bounty in his arms as his stride covered the short distance. Among other things, he held a mode
st crate filled with potatoes, onions, and carrots. A small sack held some precious spices, most likely salt and pepper. He cast a glance over his shoulder to see her exiting the old smokehouse with a piece of meat. He squinted to see it—lamb.
She’s making Irish stew, just like I asked. The realization flooded him with unexpected warmth. Pretty Rosalind wi’ the dancing braid and twinkling eyes wants to show her thanks for our help, and she found a circumspect way to do it. Aye, the lass is every inch a lady.
Yes, he’d do well to keep a watch over Rosalind MacLean—and it wouldn’t be a hardship to do so.
“Don’t worry!” Rosalind turned Marlene away from where she stood staring at what seemed an impossible apple harvest.
Bushel upon bushel of the fruits filled the barn, emptied of its usual occupants to make room for this new purpose. Tart, yellow-green apples sat apart from their sweeter, deep red cousins, the bounty almost overwhelming.
All right, Lord. Truth be told, ’tis overwhelming. Every year the apple trees Delana brought here yield more and more fruit. Give us hearts grateful for Your provision, rather than thoughts of aching shoulders.
“This will take days!” Marlene frowned. “We’ll have to shut down the diner.”
With a pang, Rosalind realized she wouldn’t see Ewan—Mr. Gailbraith, Mr. Gailbraith, Mr. Gailbraith, she reminded herself harshly—until Sunday meeting. Which was, if she recalled rightly, to be held in this very barn.
Can we finish the work wi’ only Mam, Delana, Marlene, Grandmam, Mrs. Parkinson, and the Twadley girls? She stared at the abundance of apples once more. Surely not. And the men work at harvesting this time of year. ’Twas good of them to help pick the apples! Rosalind sighed.