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 guess so. I…” Al gave her a sideward glance. “Why?”

  “I wondered why he left so abruptly right after you advised him to ‘make his move.’ ”

  One side of Al’s mouth twitched. “No matter what the man says, I think he’s afraid of women. He’s all right with girls like you and Eunice, but a real woman scares him speechless. Maybe I’ll give him more advice and see if I can help.”

  Beulah reared back. “Albert Moore, I’m eighteen now, and I’ll have you know that I’m just as much a woman as Marva Obermeier is!”

  “Don’t you think I know you’re a woman? Beulah, that’s what I’ve been trying to talk with you about these past few weeks, but you’ll never give me a chance.” On the parsonage steps, Al pulled her to a halt and gripped her shoulders.

  Beulah flung his hands off. “That was a cruel thing to say, Al,” she raged. “Myles doesn’t see me as a little girl, even if you do! Leave me alone. I don’t want to talk to you tonight.”

  The door swung open. Violet appeared, pulling on her gloves. “Is the party over? I was just heading that way—Beulah?” She stepped back as Beulah rushed into the house, gripping her head between her hands.

  Chapter 6

  Casting all your care upon him; for he careth for you.

  I PETER 5:7

  Beulah was in her kitchen garden picking yet another batch of green beans for supper when Al caught up with her late the following afternoon. “I did it.” He slapped a pair of leather gloves against his thigh.

  “Did what?” Beulah asked coldly, adding two more beans to her basket.

  “I finally told Cousin Buck about my mother’s letter and my plan to go to California. He’s disappointed in me for ‘running out on my responsibilities,’ as he phrases it. But, Beulah, when will be a good time to go back? My parents will die of old age before it’s ever a convenient time.”

  “It is a difficult situation for you,” Beulah agreed, trying to forget her grudge and be courteous. “I imagine Papa will calm down and begin to see your side of the situation. Presently he is thinking only of the work involved for him in keeping two farms running. Do you think you might sell off stock?”

  “Our Jerseys? Never! We’ve worked years to build up our herd. Now that we have a silo for storing feed, we can keep our cows producing milk over the winter. This is not the time to cut back.”

  “But if there is no one to milk the herd, I can’t see—”

  “Myles will be here to milk them. Now that the creamery has opened, our farms should start pulling a profit instead of barely keeping us out of debt.”

  “Then this is poor timing for you to leave your farm, Al. It sounds to me as if you need to make serious choices about which is more important to you, your farm or seeing your parents.”

  “Nonsense,” Al said. “After we bring in the crops, one man can keep the farm going over the winter. There’s no reason Myles can’t keep things rolling until my return. He should be pleased to have a steady job. During the past few winters he’s had to cut ice blocks on the lakes or work up north in the logging towns to support himself.”

  Beulah turned back to her beans. “Papa Obie says Myles has worked hard for three summers and has little to show for it. Papa thinks you and he ought to grant Myles some land to start up his own farm, or at least give him a partnership. I heard him talking about it with Mama.” There was a buoyant feeling in her chest when she spoke Myles’s name.

  A line appeared between Al’s thick brows. “I don’t like that partnership idea. Myles is a good fellow, hardworking and honest, but the Bible says we should not be unequally yoked together with unbelievers.”

  “Myles is not a believer?” Her voice was dull, giving no evidence that an ice pick stabbed at her heart.

  Al lifted a significant brow. “Buck hopes that in time God will reach Myles’s heart, but I haven’t seen any change.” He reached over to pick himself a ripe tomato. “If Myles wants land of his own, he should homestead somewhere. There is plenty of land for the taking in this country if a man has the ambition to find it for himself. Why should I give him any of mine?”

  “I thought you wanted him to stay here and milk your cows. He can hardly homestead for himself while he’s doing your work.” Myles cannot leave, not ever!

  “True,” Al admitted. “But he has plenty of time; he’s not old.” He tossed and caught the tomato with one hand.

  “You’re younger than Myles,” Beulah observed.

  “Why are you so interested in Myles Trent?” The tomato slipped from his hand and smashed into the dirt. “First last night, and now today.”

  “What are you talking about?” Her cheeks flamed, but perhaps Al would not see. “I simply think your attitude is selfish. Kindly stop destroying my produce.”

  For a moment she heard only puffing noises as Al struggled to restrain hasty words. When he spoke again, his voice was humble. “I’m sorry I said that about Myles; he’s a good fellow. Beulah, please…I didn’t come here to argue. I need to talk with you. It’s important.”

  “Al, I’ve got to go make supper; I’ve taken far too long picking these beans. Mama must be wondering if I ever plan to come back inside.” She moved along the row of vegetables toward the house.

  His mouth dropped open. “But, Beulah—” He started trotting along the outside edge of the garden to intercept her. “Honey, I tried to talk with you last night and you put me off. We can’t go on like this! I’ve got something important to ask. Don’t you want to hear?”

  “Some other time, Al. I’ll see you later.” With an insincere smile, she darted up the steps.

  Staring after her openmouthed, Al suddenly flung his hat to the ground and let out a roar. “That cuts it! I’m not even sure I want to marry you anymore, you…you…woman!”

  “So when are you getting married?” Eunice asked, plopping down on Beulah’s bed.

  “What?” Beulah stopped brushing her hair and stared at her sister.

  “Didn’t Al ask you to marry him?”

  “Whatever gave you that idea? Do you want me to marry Al?”

  “If you marry him, he can’t go away.” Eunice wrapped her arms around her knees and flung her head forward. Her brown hair, several shades lighter than Beulah’s, draped over her knees and arms, hiding her face.

  Beulah began to braid her hair. “I don’t want to marry Al, Eunice.” Red-rimmed eyes gazed from the mirror. Lack of sleep was catching up with her.

  The girl’s head popped up. She stared at Beulah between wavy locks. “That’s silly. Everyone knows you’re in love with Al. He’s been courting you almost since we arrived in Wisconsin.”

  “I’m not in love with Al, and I don’t want him to court me.”

  Eunice tossed her hair back. Anger sparked in her ice-blue eyes. “You’re afraid to go to California, aren’t you? I wouldn’t be afraid. I’d go anywhere with Al.”

  “Then you marry him.” Beulah smacked her brush down on the dressing table and rose. Her nightdress fluttered around her legs as she paced across the room. “I don’t want to marry Al whether he goes or stays, Eunice. He is not the man I love.” She rubbed her hands up and down her bare arms. What had happened to her gentle little sister? What had happened to the entire world? Everything seemed strange and mixed-up.

  “Then who is? I can’t imagine anyone nicer or handsomer than Al. You haven’t got a heart, Beulah. I don’t think you’ll ever get married.”

  Beulah swallowed the lump in her throat. “I would rather be an old maid than marry a man I don’t love. What has gotten into you, Eunice? This isn’t like you.”

  Biting her lips, Eunice sprang from the bed and rushed out of the room. Beulah heard the girl’s feet thumping along the hallway.

  Beulah lay in bed, staring toward the ceiling. It’s not as if I’ve never bickered with Eunice before, but this fight was different. What is wrong with me? Why do I hurt so much inside?

  There was a quiet knock at the door. “Come in.”

&nb
sp; Light streamed from the candlestick in Violet’s hand as she peeked into the room. “I’ve just come from Eunice’s room, and she told me of your quarrel. Beulah, do you need to talk?”

  Beulah nodded, and a shuddering sob escaped. Rolling over, she buried her face in her pillow and cried out her misery. Warm hands rubbed her shoulders and stroked her hair.

  At last Beulah turned back, mopping her face with a handkerchief. “Oh Mama, I’m so unhappy.”

  “I know. Papa and I have been concerned about you.”

  “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Tell me.”

  Beulah blew her nose and propped up on one elbow. She thought for a moment. “I don’t know where to begin.”

  “Why not begin with what hurts?”

  Beulah bit her lip. “I’m in love, Mama…and oh, it hurts so much! He sees me as just a girl—at least, Al says he does. And I think he doesn’t respect me anymore because I touched him too much. And Al says he isn’t a believer—but I can’t believe he could be so nice and good if he isn’t.”

  Violet frowned. “That cannot be true. Al has always proclaimed his faith in Christ, and we have no reason to doubt him.”

  “Yes, but he says Myles isn’t. Mama, do you think he really wants to marry Miss Obermeier?”

  Her mother blinked. “Beulah, do you mean to say you’re in love with…Myles Trent?”

  Beulah nodded.

  “Oh my!” Violet’s shoulders drooped. “I had no idea. Papa told me…”

  “Told you what? Don’t you like Myles, Mama?”

  “Of course I like him. He’s a good man. Obie thinks highly of him. It’s just that…” She couldn’t seem to put her thoughts into words.

  “He’s only about twenty-five, and I’m eighteen now. Oh Mama, just looking at him sets my soul on fire! I know he isn’t handsome like Al, but he’s so…so…”

  Violet sighed. “I understand. He has the same masculine appeal as your papa. It’s something about these cowboys, I guess. What did you mean by ‘touched him too much,’ Beulah?” Her voice sharpened.

  Beulah studied her wadded handkerchief and confessed the waterfall story. “He didn’t kiss me or anything, Mama, but I wanted him to.” Her eyes closed. “Mama, he’s so strong and gentle! It was the most wondrous moment of my life…and the worst. I can’t help thinking about him all the time and wishing he would hold me again.”

  Violet brushed a hand across her eyes. “Oh dear. I had no idea…What kind of mother am I to let this go on under my nose?” Her hand dropped to her lap and her shoulders squared. “Darling, you know that Myles has told your papa little about his past. It’s not that we don’t like him, but I fear he may be hiding from the law—you know, under a false name.”

  Beulah bolted upright. “Mama, how can you say such a thing? Myles has always been honest. Papa and Al trust him. And he is so polite. I know he has an air about him—sort of mysterious and dangerous, I guess—but that doesn’t mean he is a criminal!”

  The line between Violet’s brows deepened. “I don’t mean to accuse him, dearest, but we cannot be too careful with our daughters. You are a beautiful young woman, and it sounds to me as if you tempted Myles almost beyond his strength to resist. If he does intend to marry Marva—which would perhaps be best for all concerned—you need to leave him alone.”

  “Mama, how can you say it would be best for him to marry Marva? I told you that I love him!” Beulah caught her breath on a sob.

  Violet stood up and began to pace across the room. “But Beulah, what about Al? Eunice tells me that you don’t want to marry him, but, darling, he is steady and dependable—he’s your friend, and he loves you. I can’t help thinking…Well, to be perfectly candid, my dear, you have a tendency to be contrary. Are you certain you’re not deciding against Al simply because everyone expects you to marry him?”

  Beulah wrapped her arms around her knees and glowered. “Mama, Al is my friend, but he is more like an irritating brother than a lover. When we first met he treated me like fine china; then he got used to me and started acting like himself, and, honestly, Mama, he is so immature and annoying! I can think of few prospects worse than facing Al across the breakfast table every morning for the rest of my life.”

  Violet stared, shaking her head. “Oh dear,” she repeated. “I must talk with Obie. We may have to let Myles go…and that would be difficult, what with Al leaving for California soon. How could we find a replacement?”

  Beulah scrambled to her knees, clasped her hands, and begged. “Mama, please don’t send him away! He has done nothing wrong—it was entirely my fault!” She thumped a fist into her quilt. “And why shouldn’t I marry him if I love him? Even if he sinned in the past, he is an honest man now, and he would be a good husband to me.”

  Violet seemed to wilt. “Beulah, how can you even consider marrying a man who does not love and serve God? I knew you had strayed from the Lord these past few years, but I thought you understood how vital shared faith is to a marriage.”

  Beulah sat back on her heels and hung her head. “You won’t even give Myles a chance, will you, Mama? How can you be so sure he isn’t a believer? He doesn’t drink or swear or gamble, and there is goodness in his eyes.” Resting her head upon her knees, she began to cry again.

  Violet sat down and stroked the girl’s long braid. “Beulah, I do want to give Myles a chance—he is a fine young man, and I can see why you admire him. I will ask your papa to talk with him about his faith and about his intentions toward you. But in the meantime, I think it would be best if you spent more time with your girlfriends and stayed away from Myles Trent. Not that we will ban him from the house, but…”

  “Do you mean I have to hide if I see him coming?”

  “I simply don’t want you to seek him out, dearest. If he approaches you, be gracious, of course, as I have taught you. Darling, I will be praying for wisdom and guidance—for your papa and me as well as for you.”

  She bent to kiss Beulah’s damp cheek.

  Chapter 7

  Let nothing be done through strife or vainglory; but in lowliness of mind let each esteem other better than themselves.

  PHILIPPIANS 2:3

  Thank you for coming, Mrs. Watson. And thank you for bringing Beulah. Maybe soon we’ll be working on her wedding quilt.” Sybil Oakley waved good-bye from her front porch as Violet clucked her gray mare into a quick trot.

  Beulah waved to her friend until trees hid the girl from sight. “It’s hard to believe Sybil is getting married.” Beulah sighed.

  “She has grown up quickly this past year. You know, many women would have flown into a temper if you’d pointed out flaws in their quilts. Sybil accepted your criticism graciously.”

  Beulah fanned herself. “I wasn’t trying to be unkind.”

  “Neither were you trying to be kind. Darling, you must learn to think before you speak, or you’ll chase away all your friends. You’re gifted in many ways: beauty, talent, and intelligence. You don’t need to point out other people’s faults to make yourself look better.”

  Beulah was silent. The mare’s hoofs clopped along the road, sloshing in occasional puddles. Maple and birch trees were beginning to show patches of yellow and red.

  “I’m sorry, Mama. I’ll apologize to Sybil next time I see her.” Her voice was quiet.

  “I’ve noticed that Al doesn’t talk to you when he comes over. Did you quarrel with him, too?”

  Beulah braced herself for a pothole in the road. “Not exactly. I think he’s mad because I won’t let him talk mushy to me. He tries to get romantic, and it makes me uncomfortable. He is my friend, and that’s it.”

  “Have you told him how you feel?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “No, but if he doesn’t catch on by now, he’s dumber than I think.”

  “Don’t be unkind,” Violet said. “You haven’t told him about your infatuation with Myles, have you?”

  “Mama, of course not! It’s none of his business—and besides, I don’t want to m
ake him mad at Myles. I haven’t seen Myles since the church social.” Beulah felt glum.

  “I did hear that he had dinner with the Obermeiers the other night. I hope he settles down with Marva. She needs a good man to love and spoil.”

  Beulah closed her eyes against a stab of jealousy.

  Singing to herself, Beulah wiped off the table. There was a quiet knock at the open kitchen door behind her. “Samuel is outside. He can play until dark,” she called.

  “Beulah?”

  She spun around, putting a sudsy hand to her heart. “Myles?” It came out in a squeak. “I–I thought you were one of Sam’s friends come to play. Papa Obie and Mama are at Cyrus Thwaite’s house this evening, and Eunice is at a friend’s house. It’s just the boys and me at home,” she babbled. “And the baby is asleep. I haven’t seen you in weeks! Did you need to see my papa?”

  Behind him, the sky was pink and filmy gray. A bat darted above the fruit trees, and a fox yapped in the forest. “No. I came to see you. I brought this.” He held out a book. “Found it in Mo’s pasture this morning. You dropped it that day, didn’t you?”

  That day—only the most important day of Beulah’s life. Feeling conscious of her bare feet and loose braid, Beulah wiped her hands on her apron and reached for the book. “Thank you.” It smelled warm, like sunshine and wildflowers. The cover was warped and the pages looked wavy.

  “It got wet.”

  “I can still read it.” She looked up.

  What would Mama do? Shoulders back. Head high. Cool, even tones. Gracious and hospitable. “Will you come in for coffee and cookies?”

  His boots shifted on the floorboards. “First I need to…to apologize for throwing you in the creek. That’s been weighing on my mind. You were right to be angry—my behavior was inexcusable.”

  Beulah watched his right hand rub circles on his flat stomach. Why did he always do that? It made her want to touch him. I can’t love a man who doesn’t serve God. I can’t! Gracious and hospitable, that’s all.

  “I forgive you. It was my fault, too. I threw water at you first.”