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

  “Myles!”

  Shading his eyes with one hand, he looked back. Beulah ran behind the jolting wagon, her bonnet upon her shoulders. Water sloshed from the bucket in her hands. “You didn’t get your drink. You can’t work in this heat without it.”

  Myles hauled in the mules and wrapped the reins around the brake handle. She hoisted the bucket up to him. Myles took it, holding her gaze. “Thank you.” Lifting the dipper several times, he drank his fill.

  “Why didn’t you come talk to me?” she asked. “I’ve hardly seen you for days and days. How is Pushy? Any kittens yet?”

  “Not yet. She’s healing well. She…she sleeps between my feet.” Myles lost himself in the beauty of Beulah’s eyes.

  “Myles, are you feeling all right? Maybe you’ve had too much sun.” Accusation transformed into concern. “Why don’t you come inside for a while. Your face is all red.”

  Temptation swamped him. What would it hurt to relax for a short time? When Beulah’s gaze lowered, he realized that he was rubbing his belly again. She smiled when he began to button his shirt. “Don’t bother on my account. You must be roasting.” She touched his arm. “Your skin is like fire. Maybe you need another dunk under the waterfall.”

  Startled, Myles met her teasing gaze. “I washed in the trough. I’ll be all right. Buck is waiting for me.” His skin did feel scorched where her hand rested on his arm, but it wasn’t from sunburn.

  The smile faded as her eyes searched his face. “If you’re sure…Myles, what’s wrong?”

  “I can’t talk with you, Beulah. Not until—You don’t even know me, who I really am.”

  “I know all I need to know. Did my mother tell you not to talk to me?” She sounded angry.

  He studied her delicate hand, wondering at its power to thrill or wound him. “No.”

  “You’re still coming to our music party Friday, aren’t you?”

  “I’ll be there.” He handed her the bucket. “Better get back to work.” Holding her gaze, he tried to smile. “You, too. Lots of thirsty men around here.”

  She nodded and watched him drive away.

  Streams of milk rang inside a metal pail. Al spoke from the next stall. “I’ve got to leave soon in case we get an early snow. Thanks for all your help preparing this place for winter.”

  Myles grunted.

  “I’ve given up on marrying Beulah. I don’t know why I ever thought she’d make me a good wife. She’s pretty, but looks aren’t everything. A man wants a woman to be his friend and companion. Beulah flirts one minute and treats me like anathema the next. She about snapped my head off this afternoon. Something was tweaking her tail, that’s certain.”

  Myles chewed his lip. “She hasn’t been herself lately. She’s got lots of good qualities.”

  Al snorted. “At the moment I’d be hard-pressed to name one.”

  “She’s your friend. Don’t say anything you’ll be sorry about later, Al. Just because she isn’t meant to be your wife doesn’t mean she’s not a good woman.”

  Al grumbled. “I know you’re right. But still, I’m thanking the Lord that He prevented me from proposing marriage. What a fix I would be in if she had accepted!”

  Myles leaned his head against a tawny flank, fixed his gaze upon the foamy milk in his bucket, and drew a long breath. “I’m thanking Him for the same thing.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I said I’m thanking God that you didn’t propose to Beulah.”

  “Thanks. Say, when did this come about, you talking to God?” Al’s grinning face appeared above the stall divider.

  “Recently. Been talking to Buck a lot. I’ve got a past that isn’t pretty, but I know I need to make things right. I wrote a letter to my grandmother. Plan to mail it tomorrow when I go to town.”

  “Will you be able to keep my farm going this winter?”

  “Not sure I should make promises at this point, Al.”

  He sighed. “I guess I understand. Wish I had peace about going to California. I don’t feel right about it, and God isn’t answering my questions.”

  As soon as he was alone, Myles allowed a grin to spread across his face. He punched the air in delight, kicked his feet up and stood on his hands, then dropped to his knees. “Thanks, God! I can hardly believe it, but thanks! Soon as I gave in to You and wrote that letter—whizbang! Al is out of the running! Now if I can sell my part of the soap business and buy Cyrus’s farm, then…”

  “Myles, good to see you.”

  Pausing on the boardwalk in front of the general store, Myles stared at the speaker. The voice was familiar, but the face? “Sheriff Boz?”

  Gone was the tobacco-stained walrus mustache. Looking pounds thinner, Boz Martin sported a crisp white shirt and string tie. The star pinned to his vest sparkled. His gun belt no longer completely disappeared beneath an overhanging paunch. He grinned, showing yellow teeth. Myles had never before seen the man’s mouth.

  “Don’t know me, eh?”

  “I haven’t seen you at Miss Amelia’s in a while.”

  “Been staying away. I’m hopin’ she’ll be surprised, too.”

  “I’m sure she will be. You look…fine.”

  Boz stood taller, puffing out his chest. “Town’s jam-packed with drifters, harvest workers. Lot of riffraff, if you ask me. We had to break up a fight at the Shady Lady last night. You hear about it?”

  Myles shook his head.

  Boz deflated slightly. “I’ll be just as glad when that lot moves on. That New York character, Mr. Poole, left town last week, so I’ve got hopes Amelia will notice me again. Poole was mighty interested in you, Myles. Can’t know why.”

  “How do you mean, ‘interested’?”

  “Asked a lot of questions around town. You going to Buck and Violet’s party tonight? I can’t make it, and neither can Amelia.”

  “That’s too bad. Seems like half the town was invited. The Watsons have a lot of friends.”

  Peering intently across the street, Boz rose on tiptoe, fingering his gun belt. “That Swedish family south of your place lost a pig a few nights back. Looks like Cyrus’s bear ain’t left the county after all.”

  Myles turned to see what was distracting Boz, but saw nothing unusual. “Be glad to help on a hunt. We’ve been keeping our stock close to the barns, just in case.”

  “Ain’t Al headin’ west soon? Hear he’s taking Beulah with him.”

  Myles fingered the letter in his pocket. “Al’s catching the train south tomorrow. He’s traveling alone.”

  Boz shifted to one side, frowning past Myles. “That so? Those two make a purty pair.”

  Blinking in surprise, Myles studied his friend’s vacant expression. Another curious glance over his shoulder cleared up the mystery. On the walkway near the livery stable stood Miss Amelia, conversing amiably with the town barber. Myles shook his head and grinned. “Actually, Boz, I’m planning to elope with Beulah tonight after the party. We’re moving to Outer Mongolia to open a millinery shop for disgruntled Hottentots.”

  “Yup. I saw that match coming almost as soon as she stepped off the train.”

  Myles chuckled. “Never mind. I’ll see you later.”

  Still distracted, Boz waved two fingers. “Later, Myles.”

  When Myles left the general store, Boz had joined the conversation across the street. Smiling, Myles shifted his bundle under one arm. Good old Boz. Hope he gets his Amelia.

  The letter was in the mail. Soon Gram would know both where Myles was and what had happened to Monte. Is that enough, God?

  Cholla dozed at the hitching rail with her eyes half-shut. “Howdy, girl. Bought myself new duds for tonight. Hope you’ll recognize me all duded up.” The horse rubbed her ears against his hand and lipped his suspender strap. Myles’s voice trembled with anticipation. “Think I’ll stop at the barber next and get me a shave. Don’t know if Beulah likes my beard or not, but I’m through hiding my identity. Maybe tonight I’ll tell her about my past. Maybe she’ll like the sound
of ‘Beulah Van Huysen.’ ”

  “Myles!”

  He turned on his boot heels. A buxom figure in a calico dress hurried along the boardwalk. Myles stiffened. He wanted to run, but his boots had grown roots.

  “Goodness, but it’s warm today,” Marva panted, waving a hand before her flushed face. Her eyes were vividly blue. “They say it’s going to storm tomorrow, maybe even snow, but I can’t believe it! The trees still have most of their leaves. Mr. Watson got his corn in, didn’t he? I saw the reaping machine pass our farm yesterday on its way out of town. Papa got our crops in days ago, but then he doesn’t farm that much acreage.”

  She pressed white finger marks into his forearm and shook her head. “You’re so brown, Myles, like an Indian! It’s not good for fair-skinned people like us to take so much sun. I hope you wear your hat and shirt all the time.”

  Behind Marva, the Watson buggy stopped at the railing. Samuel and Eunice remained in the buggy while their mother stepped down and tethered her horse.

  “Hello, Marva, dear. So good to see you. Hello, Myles,” Violet said in her gracious way.

  “I’m looking forward to the party tonight, Mrs. Watson,” Marva said as Myles tipped his hat. He tried to smile, but his face felt like dried clay. Marva chattered on, “This will be the social event of the season, I’m certain. I’m inviting Myles to join our family for supper before the party.”

  Violet gave Myles a look. “How nice! I look forward to seeing your parents, Marva. Is your mother better?”

  “Much better, thank you. She and I have practiced a duet, and my papa brought out his fiddle for the occasion. I also look forward to hearing Myles sing. He has a marvelous voice.” Marva took Myles by the elbow and pressed close.

  Myles attempted to disengage his arm, but she clung tenaciously. Heat rose in his face.

  He saw one delicate eyebrow lift as Violet met his gaze. “I, too, anticipate hearing you sing, Myles. Good day to you both.”

  Without moving away, Marva rattled on as if she had never been interrupted. “I’m sure you must be longing for good home cooking. It’s been weeks since you visited us, and my papa keeps asking where you’ve taken yourself. I told him you’ve been harvesting for nearly everyone in the county, but he won’t be happy ’til you join us for a meal. We can have supper first, then drive to Fairfield’s Folly together.” The dimple in her right cheek deepened. “What’s your favorite pie?”

  “Blackbottom. My grandmother used to bake it.” Pushing at her hands, he detached himself from her grip. “Miss Obermeier, I really don’t—”

  “I’ll do my best to equal your grandmother’s pie. Where are you from, Myles? You seldom speak about yourself.” Her gloved hand rested on his chest.

  “There’s little to speak of.” Myles tried to slide the conversation closer to his horse. “Miss Obermeier, I don’t think you—”

  Marva followed. “Good friends don’t use titles, Myles. Please call me Marva. I like to hear you speak my name.”

  “I must go now. Work doesn’t wait for a man.” Perhaps it was rude to mount Cholla then and there, but Myles was desperate to escape. Tonight was the night to let Marva know that his heart had already been bestowed elsewhere. His problem was how to communicate any message at all to a woman who never stopped talking.

  “Be there at five.” Marva rested her hand on his knee in a proprietary way. “Don’t forget.”

  “I’ll come after the cows are milked.” He spun Cholla around.

  Eunice and Samuel waved as Myles passed their buggy. “When’s the wedding, Myles?” Eunice teased, and Samuel clasped his hands beside his face and batted his eyes in a fair imitation of Miss Obermeier. Had Myles not been so irritated, he might have been amused.

  Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Marva laughing and waving at him. What had gotten into the woman?

  Cholla sensed his anger and wrung her tail in distress. As soon as she passed the outskirts of town, Myles let out a “Yah!” Cholla leaped into a full gallop.

  Chapter 10

  Beloved, let us love one another: for love is of God; and every one that loveth is born of God, and knoweth God.

  1 JOHN 4:7

  Miss Obermeier finished playing a hymn. A patter of applause trickled through the room as she returned to her seat between Myles and her mother. She leaned over to whisper to Myles. He inclined his head to listen. Marva’s pale hair gleamed, and her fair skin contrasted with Myles’s ruddy tan.

  “Wonder why Myles didn’t wear his new duds,” Al muttered as Cyrus Thwaite began a mouth organ solo of “Camp-town Races.”

  Beulah met Al’s gaze. “He bought new clothes?”

  He nodded. “Today. A fancy suit, like for a wedding. Told me he had an announcement to make. I’m guessing there will be a wedding soon.”

  Beulah jerked as if she had been slapped.

  “Maybe it didn’t fit,” Al mused. “Too bad. Marva looks like a queen, and Myles looks like…like a farmhand. I’ve got to help the man loosen up.”

  Eunice leaned around Al, frowning and holding a warning finger to her lips. “Don’t be rude!” she whispered.

  Beulah took shallow breaths. I won’t look. I cannot bear to see Myles sitting with that woman. Her heart had started aching the moment she saw Myles hand Miss Obermeier down from a buggy, and the pain grew steadily worse. Marva’s parents already seemed to regard Myles as a son-in-law.

  He never made me any promises, yet I thought there was something special between us. Maybe he does think of me as a child to be amused.

  Biting her lower lip, Beulah smoothed the skirt of her sprigged dimity frock. She had been so proud of this dress with its opulent skirts and tiny waist. Violet had fashioned a ruffled neckline that framed the girl’s face, revealing the delicate hollow at the base of her throat and a mere hint of collarbone. Now the white ruffles seemed childish.

  Marva’s royal blue satin gown showed off her white shoulders. Beulah wondered that Marva could keep her countenance in front of Reverend and Mrs. Schoengard. “I think her dress is improper for an unmarried lady.”

  Al gave her a wry look. “Trust you to say so.”

  “Shhhh!” Eunice leaned forward again.

  Beulah flounced back in her seat. I was excited to have Myles come tonight. Now I wish he had stayed home. I wish I had never met the horrible man.

  David and Caroline Schoengard rose to stand beside the piano. Violet settled on the stool and opened her music. “We will sing ‘Abide with Me,’ ” Caroline announced in a trembling voice.

  Beulah watched the pastor shape his mouth in funny ways as he sang the low notes. Mrs. Schoengard was now heavily pregnant. Their voices were pleasant, but once in a while Caroline strained for a high note and fell short.

  Al shifted in his seat and tugged at his stiff collar while the Schoengards returned to their seats. “Is it almost over?” he whispered.

  The only people present who had not yet performed were Al, Myles, and Obie. Beulah knew her stepfather could not carry a tune. He attended Violet’s party to be an appreciative audience, he said. And Al would “rather be dead than warble in front of folks.”

  “Myles, will you play for us?” Violet requested. “Don’t be shy; none of us are music critics.”

  Myles rose, approached the piano, and turned to face his small audience. Candlelight flickered in his eyes and hair. “I’ll play, but I have something to tell all of you afterward.” His gaze came to rest upon Beulah. “Something important.”

  She sucked in a quick breath, lifting one hand to her throat.

  Myles placed the piano stool and seated himself. He drew a deep breath and flexed his fingers, seeking Beulah’s gaze. The message she read in his eyes at that moment banished her jealousy and insecurity.

  He began to play a lively composition. His hands flew across the keyboard with complete mastery. Broad shoulders squared, heavy boot working the pedal, he looked incongruous, yet perfectly at home. His very posture denoted the virtuoso.

&nb
sp; Myles completed the piece with a flourish. “Schubert,” he said into the ensuing silence. A murmur stirred the room’s stuffy air as people audibly exhaled.

  “Wow,” Al said.

  “That was unbelievable, Myles,” Violet said. “Never before in my life have I heard—”

  “I had no idea you knew how to play piano,” Marva protested. “You always let me play and never said a word!”

  “You never asked me,” Myles said. “This is what I planned to tell you all tonight. My true name is Myles Trent Van Huysen, and during my childhood I was a concert pianist and singer. At age sixteen I ran away, and many years I have wandered the country seeking purpose for my life. Thanks to Buck Watson, I found that purpose here in Longtree. I apologize for keeping my identity a secret all this time. I was wrong to deceive you. With God’s help, I am doing my best to make reparation to those I have wronged.”

  Obie and Al approached Myles with outstretched hands. Beulah watched the men clap Myles on the shoulders and embrace him, expressing forgiveness and acceptance. Soon everyone had gathered around the piano, eager to greet this new Myles.

  Beulah joined the crowd, trying to appear happy. What did this mean? Was Myles planning to leave town and return to his concert career? He suddenly seemed far away and beyond her.

  “Sing for us, Myles,” Violet pleaded.

  “Yes, please do,” other voices chimed in.

  “A love song,” Marva requested.

  “A love song.” Myles appeared at ease in his new role of entertainer…but then, the role was not new to him. Acrobat, pianist, singer—what other surprises did the man hold in store? Was there anything he could not do?

  Beulah recognized the tune he began to play, but never before had she heard such elegance in the old, familiar words. Myles affected a Scot’s accent that would fool any but a native. His voice was smooth, richer than butter.

  “O, my love’s like a red, red rose,