Farmer's Daughter Romance Collection : Five Historical Romances Homegrown in the American Heartland (9781630586164)

by Peterson, Tracie; Davis, Mary; Hake, Kelly Eileen; Stengl, Jill; Warren, Susan May

  “I arrived in town Tuesday,” the gentleman replied. “I am George Poole, lately from New York. I have business in this area.”

  “Welcome to Longtree, Mr. Poole.” Cyrus and Myles reached across the table to shake the newcomer’s hand. Poole’s handshake was firm, his gaze steady.

  The sheriff returned to the table and began to shovel food into his mouth.

  “Boz?” Cyrus said. “I lost my mule today—looked like a bear’s work.”

  Sheriff Martin gave the old man a skeptical look, still chewing.

  Cyrus forestalled the inevitable protest. “I know there ain’t been a bear in these parts for twenty years, but I know what I seen. The varmint broke ol’ Hector’s neck and left huge claw marks. I’m thinking you ought to organize a hunt before the critter tears up more stock.”

  Martin nodded and spoke around a mouthful of stew. “I’ll get right on it.”

  “Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Amelia ordered, reaching over the sheriff’s shoulder to place a freshly sliced loaf of bread on the table. Within moments the platter was empty. “You lot behave like hogs at a trough,” the gratified cook growled.

  “Talk of bears puts me in mind…that circus left Bolger this morning,” one diner said. “I heard rumors they lost an animal in this area. Did you hear anything about it, Sheriff? Last thing we need in these parts is a roaming lion.”

  This time Boz swallowed before he spoke. “Nope. Ain’t heard a thing.”

  Again Myles recalled his circus friend Gina Spinelli’s slip of the tongue about a rogue bear, but he said nothing. Surely a missing circus bear would have been reported to the authorities. Or would it?

  Mr. Poole turned his steel blue eyes upon Miss Amelia. “That was a wonderful meal, madam. The best meal I’ve eaten in many a year.”

  Amelia fluttered. “Why, thank you, Mr. Poole. I’m right glad you liked it. I’ve got apple dumplings and cream in the kitchen.”

  “May I take my dessert later this evening? I’m afraid I cannot swallow another bite at the moment.” He laid his folded napkin beside his empty plate and pushed back his chair. When he stood, the top of his head was on a level with Amelia’s eyes.

  Work-worn hands smoothed her starched apron. Myles noticed that her gray hair looked softer than usual; she had styled it a new way instead of slicking it back into a knot. “Certainly, Mr. Poole. You let me know when you’re ready for your dessert.”

  Poole excused himself from the table and left the room, apparently oblivious to the stunned silence that followed Amelia’s reply. “But, Amelia—” the sheriff protested.

  “Not another word from you.” She withered him with a glance. “Not a one of you what cain’t fit in your dessert when it’s offered. A fine gentleman like Mr. Poole isn’t used to stuffing his face, so’s a body must make allowances.” With a sweep of her skirts, Miss Amelia returned to her kitchen.

  Sheriff Martin scowled. “That woman’s gone plain loco. A few bows and compliments, and even the best of women plumb lose their heads.”

  “Jealous, Boz? Maybe you’ll get further with the lady if you try bowing and complimenting.” Old Cyrus chuckled. “Wouldn’t hurt to bathe if you’re right serious about courting.”

  Boz’s already florid face turned scarlet. “Reckon she’d take notice?”

  “A woman likes it when a man takes pains on her account. Amelia likes things clean and neat.”

  “Clean” and “neat” were two terms Myles would never have applied to the sheriff. He was startled by the concept that Sheriff Martin wished to court Miss Amelia. Not that the man was too old for marriage—Boz hadn’t yet turned fifty. But hard-boiled Martin had never struck him as the marrying kind.

  Then again, what made any person wish to marry? A craving for love and companionship, he supposed. The longing to be needed, admired, and desired. The urge to produce children to carry on one’s name. Myles could appreciate the sheriff’s inclination.

  “I’m thinkin’ on asking her to the church social Friday,” Boz growled, shoving food around on his plate. “How you think I oughta go about it, Cy?”

  Enjoying his new role, Cyrus sized Boz up, rubbing his grizzled chin. “You need to head for the barber for a shave and trim, then buy yourself new duds. And no tobaccy. Amelia hates the stuff. Might better drop it now than later.”

  Boz rubbed his plump jowls with one dirty hand, making a raspy noise. He nodded. “I’ll do it.” Amid raucous ribbing from the other men at the table, the sheriff rose, hitched up his sagging belt, and headed for the door.

  “No dessert, Boz?” Amelia stood in the kitchen doorway, a loaded plate in each hand.

  “Not tonight. Got business to attend. Thank you for a wondrous fine meal, Miss Sidwell.” Boz bowed awkwardly and made his exit.

  Shocked by his unaccustomed formality, Amelia stared after him, shrugged, and plopped dumplings in front of two diners. When she served Myles and Cyrus, she fixed Myles with a shrewd eye. “You takin’ Marva Obermeier to the church social, Myles? She’s counting on it.”

  The fork stopped halfway to his mouth, then slowly returned to the plate. “Miss Obermeier?” His stomach sank. “Why would she expect that?”

  “You’d be knowing better than I,” Amelia snapped and headed back to her kitchen.

  Myles gave Cyrus a blank look. The old man lifted a brow. “It’s all over town, Myles. Didn’t you know?”

  The dessert lost its appeal. “I think I’ve only talked to her twice.”

  “You mean to say you ain’t sweet on her?”

  “No. I mean—yes, that’s what I mean to say; no, I’m not sweet on her. I hardly know the woman.”

  “I reckon you’ll be getting to know her real soon.” Cyrus chuckled.

  Chapter 5

  Wrath is cruel, and anger is outrageous; but who is able to stand before envy?

  PROVERBS 27:4

  Cyrus was no prophet, but he came uncomfortably close. And “uncomfortably close” was an apt description of Marva herself. The blond lady was not unattractive; in fact, in her rosy, plump, blond fashion, she was pretty.

  “I’m so happy to see you here tonight, Myles. You’ve been neglecting church lately.” She wagged a finger in his face and moved a step closer. “My papa says I should claim you for my partner at charades.”

  Myles took a step back. “Why is that?”

  “He says you’re a natural performer. Have you ever been on the stage?” Marva spoke above the noisy crowd, leaning closer.

  “In a way,” Myles hedged, shifting backward. “Have you?”

  Marva chuckled in her throaty way. “I? Not unless you count school recitations. I play piano in church, but that’s different. No one looks at me. Are you warm, Myles? Would you like to step outside for a while?” She stepped closer to make herself heard.

  “No, no, I’m fine.” Myles moved back and bumped into the wall. He cast a desperate glance around, only to spy Beulah across the room. She sipped lemonade from a cup, then laughed at a comment from her companion. Myles felt a pinch in his chest at the sight of Al’s broad shoulders and smooth dark hair. So Beulah had come to the social with Al. The romance must have revived.

  “Myles?” He heard someone repeating his name and struggled to focus on Marva’s blue eyes.

  “Myles, are you all right? You look pale all of a sudden.”

  “Maybe I do need fresh air.” He walked to the door, wishing he could bolt. Across the porch and down the steps, between small clusters of talking, laughing people—fresh air at last. He drew a deep breath and lifted his gaze to the evening sky. A few pink stripes still outlined the horizon; stars multiplied above them.

  “It’s a lovely night, Myles. I’m glad you brought me to see the sunset.” Marva spoke at his elbow, linking her arm through his. “Do you want to take a walk?”

  Considering his options, he accepted. “Why not?” He started across the yard surrounding the building that served Longtree as both church and schoolhouse.

  Marva
trotted to keep up. “Slow down, Myles! We’re not racing. Wouldn’t you like to stroll away from other people where we can talk?”

  “The games will start soon. Wouldn’t want to miss them.” Myles shortened his stride, but maintained a rapid gait.

  Marva began to puff. “I had no idea you enjoyed games so much, Myles. Aren’t we rather old for such things?”

  “You never outgrow having fun. They’re having a spelling competition tonight along with charades.” Fun was the furthest thing from his mind at the moment. Surviving the evening without a broken heart would be challenge enough.

  When they returned to the steps, Myles escorted Marva through the door. A large woman greeted her. “Marva, darling, you look lovely tonight. I’m sure Myles thinks so!” Without waiting for a response, she rambled on. “I was just saying to Ruby that your recipe for corn fritters is the best I’ve ever tasted. You add bits of ham to the mix, right?”

  While the women discussed cooking, Myles melted into the crowd. “Pardon me. Pardon,” he repeated, trying not to be pushy. Arriving at the refreshment table, he reached for a glass of lemonade.

  “Hello, Myles.” His outstretched hand froze in place as he recognized the pink taffeta dress across the serving table. Slowly his gaze moved up a slender form to meet eyes like chips of black ice. Beulah held a ladle in one hand, a cup in the other. “Are you having a pleasant evening? Miss Obermeier looks particularly lovely tonight, flushed from the cool night air.”

  Myles wanted to return a snappy remark about Beulah’s equally blooming complexion, but his mouth would not cooperate. Was it her beauty that immobilized him, or was it her chilly stare?

  “Would you like two cups of lemonade?”

  “One will do. Uh, do you need help? I mean, with serving?” He worked his way around the table until he stood at her side. Was this a good time to apologize for throwing her into the pond?

  She studied his face with puzzled eyes. “No, but you could offer to fetch more lemonade. Mrs. Schoengard and my mother are mixing more at the parsonage. We spent half the day squeezing lemons. I never want to do that again. Caroline Schoengard, you know, the pastor’s wife?” she added in answer to his blank look.

  “Oh. Yes. Are you having a nice time?”

  “It’s all right. Far more people showed up than were expected. Poor Mrs. Schoengard was distraught until Mama offered to help. Will you get the lemonade for me? This bowl is nearly empty.”

  “Right away.” He thought he heard Marva call his name as he stepped out the back door, but he pretended not to hear. What a joy this evening would be if he could spend it at Beulah’s side! How he longed to partner her at games, to share casual conversation and develop a friendship, to have talk circulate town that Myles Trent was sparking Beulah Fairfield.

  Violet met him at the parsonage door. “Why, Myles, how nice to see you!”

  He doffed his hat. “Beulah sent me to help. Is the lemonade ready? Her bowl is empty.”

  “Wonderful! Caroline,” Violet called back over her shoulder, “people are drinking the lemonade even without ice.”

  “I haven’t heard any complaints,” Myles said. “Lemonade is a treat. Just right to wash down the sandwiches and fried chicken.”

  “Hello, Myles.” The pastor’s wife appeared in the kitchen doorway, wiping her hands on a towel. “A Chicago friend of my husband shipped the lemons to us. Wasn’t that kind? Far more than our family could use.” A lock of blond hair clung to Caroline’s forehead.

  “You must get off your feet for a while, Caroline,” Violet fussed over her pregnant friend.

  “I’m fine.” Caroline ignored her and led Myles to the kitchen. “Thank you for the help, Myles. We were about to send for someone to carry this kettle.”

  Myles wrapped his arms beneath the kettle’s handles and lifted. Lemonade sloshed against his chest. Violet gasped. “I knew we should have put it into smaller containers. I’m sorry, Myles. That thing is so heavy—”

  “It’s all right. If you’ll open the door…” Myles walked through the house, across the dark churchyard, and up the church steps. Violet and Caroline called further thanks after him, but he was concentrating too hard to reply.

  Beulah backed away from the serving table while Myles emptied his kettle into the cut glass punch bowl. Only a few drops trickled down the kettle’s side to dampen the tablecloth. Several gray seeds swirled at the bottom of the bowl. “There.” Myles set the kettle on the floor and brushed at his shirt. Already he felt sticky.

  “You’ve spilled lemonade all down the front of you; but then, you’ve probably noticed,” Beulah remarked.

  “I couldn’t help it. Did pretty well coming all that way with a full kettle.”

  Beulah picked up a napkin and rubbed at his spotted sleeve. “Yes, you did. Thank you, Myles.” Her gaze moved past him. “Marva is looking for you.”

  He cast a hunted glance over one shoulder. “Guess I’d better run. If she asks, tell her I got covered in lemonade and decided to go home.”

  “You mean, for good?” Beulah’s eyes were no longer icy. Her hand touched his forearm. What was it about her mouth that made him think of kissing every time she spoke to him? “Won’t you come back?”

  Myles placed his other hand over hers and squeezed. “By the time I came back, the party would be about over. It’s all right. I’m no socialite anyway. Never have been.”

  Someone asked for a cup of lemonade. Beulah poured it with shaking hands while Myles admired the downy curve of her neck. The pastor stood up to announce the start of the spelling match, and the milling crowd began to shuffle.

  “If you leave, how will Marva get home?” Beulah asked beneath the buzz of conversation. He bent to listen, and her breath tickled his ear. His hand cupped her elbow. Did he imagine it, or did she lean toward him?

  “The same way she came, I guess. Why?”

  Beulah bit her lip, studying his face. Myles swallowed hard. Suddenly she bent over the table to wipe up a spill. Her voice quivered. “People never will learn to clean up after themselves. Thank you for your help tonight.”

  “My pleasure. And Beulah…” His courage expired.

  “Yes?” She looked up for an instant, then dropped her gaze and licked her lips.

  “Miss Beulah, may I have some lemonade?” Across the table, a little girl smiled up at Beulah, revealing a wide gap between her teeth.

  “Certainly! Looks like you’ve lost another tooth, Fern. Are you competing in the spelling bee tonight?”

  “Of course, Miss Beulah. You sure do look pretty. Wish I could put my hair up.”

  “It won’t be too many years until you can. And thank you.”

  Beulah filled another cup. “You were saying, Myles?” She took hold of his wrist and pulled his hand away from his stomach. He hadn’t even realized he was rubbing it again.

  Heat rushed into his face. “Nothing important. I’ll see you around.” He didn’t want to sound like an echo of little Fern. Beulah wasn’t just pretty, she was beautiful tonight with her gleaming knot of dark hair, satin skin, full red lips, and those eyes that took his breath away…but he had no idea how to tell her so without sounding foolish.

  She faced him. “Oh. Well, good night.” Her lips puckered, suspiciously resembling a pout. A fire kindled in Myles’s belly, and his hands closed into fists. The intent to drag her outside and bare his soul, come what may, began to form in his mind.

  “Ready for the spelling bee, Beulah?” Al asked, sliding behind the table to join them. “Hey, good to see you here, Myles! I saw Marva a minute ago. Better start making your move; you know, like we talked about.” He gave Myles a wink and an elbow to the ribs.

  “Oh. Yeah.” Myles said.

  “Myles is just leaving,” Beulah said in a voice like ice cracking. She linked arms with Al. “I’ve been looking forward to this all day,” she cooed, gazing up with limpid eyes.

  Al blinked in surprise, then grinned. “Me, too!”

  Myles stared, his f
ists tightening.

  “Don’t stand there like a stone statue, Myles; go find Marva,” Al advised. “You and I have the prettiest gals in town.”

  Myles skulked out the back door, his heart dragging in the dust. He vaulted to his mare’s back and wheeled her toward the street.

  “Leaving already, Myles?”

  “Sheriff Boz? What are you doing out here?” He reined Cholla to a halt. She champed her bit and pawed at the gravel road.

  “Patrolling the town. It’s my job.”

  “Miss Amelia turned you down,” he guessed. “I saw her with that New York man tonight.”

  Boz hooked his thumbs in his sagging gun belt. “Marva turn you down?”

  “I’ve never asked her anything,” he grumbled. “Better luck next time, Boz.”

  “Nothing to do with luck. I been praying for a good wife, and Amelia’s the one God showed me.” He rubbed his chin. “It’ll just take time to convince her.”

  “But, Beulah, you promised to be my partner!”

  “I told you, I’ve got a headache. Ask Eunice; she’s good at charades.” Beulah slumped into a chair behind the serving table and rubbed her temples. “You already won the spelling competition. Isn’t that enough?”

  Al propped big fists on his hips. “How can a headache come on that fast?”

  She shot him a sour look. “You expect me to explain a headache? It’s all this noise, and I can hardly breathe.”

  He folded his arms across his chest and stared down at her. “I’d be happy to take you outside. Beulah, the games won’t be any fun if you don’t play. I’ll sit with you until you feel better.”

  “No! Please leave me alone. I think I’ll go over to the parsonage and ask Mrs. Schoengard if I can lie down.”

  Al helped her to her feet. “I’ll walk you there.”

  He was so considerate that Beulah could not be as uncivil as she felt. As they passed the line of tethered horses and buggies, she looked for Myles’s spotted mare. Cholla was gone. “Does Myles really plan to court Marva?” The question could not be restrained.