His wife knew nothing about housework. What was worse, he wasn’t sure she was aware of the fact of just how little she knew. She attacked everything with an optimistic vivacity that remained unfazed despite her missteps throughout the day. It truly boggled his mind how a woman so obviously intelligent could be so clueless about the most basic things. He needed to talk to her. He’d been trying to all day but hadn’t managed it yet.
It wasn’t that he’d been speechless. He could think of a lot of words to say. He just knew that saying them was going to get him into trouble, which is why he’d initially kept his mouth shut. Then they’d picked up the children from the O’Briens and hadn’t had a moment alone since.
Having completed the evening chores, he heaved a sigh and trekked from the barn into the house. Sunday had become the night when he put everyone to bed early—including himself. A fact he realized he’d forgotten to mention to Helen when he found the three older children enthralled by the book she was reading to them in front of the fire. Olivia had long since succumbed to sleep and so had Quinn, though he’d somehow managed to stay on his feet. He waited until Helen paused to take a breath before interrupting. “It’s past time for bed, you three. Go on now.”
Clara, usually the only one he could count on to obey and enforce his rules on the others, rebelled with a groan. “Please, just a few more minutes, Uncle Quinn.”
“I’m almost to the end of the chapter.” Helen smiled as if that should solve everything.
The boys added their pleas, Reece verbally and Trent with his puppy-dog eyes. Quinn wavered—not because of their resistance but because he was contemplating the idea of going to bed now and leaving Helen up to put the kids to bed alone. She ought to be able to manage that since Clara and Reece knew what to do even if she didn’t. Quinn would talk to her in the morning. After all, the situation wouldn’t change before then.
Quinn nodded. “All right, then, but morning comes early and we don’t want to be late for school, so y’all had better finish up soon. Good night.”
He ignored the hint of surprise in their voices as they returned his farewell. The bedroll he stretched out on in the boys’ room was no worse accommodation than it had been during the two years he’d traveled from ranch to ranch helping with brandings and roundups in Texas cattle country, saving up money for his own spread. It was comfortable enough for him to drift to sleep immediately...until a pint-size foot landed square on his chest. Quinn opened his eyes to find Reece grimacing down at him. “Sorry, Uncle Quinn. I slipped. Just trying to blow out the lamp.”
“No problem. I’ll do it,” Quinn murmured with a sleepy slur as he stood and glanced over to make sure Trent was in the bed that the boys shared. The boy’s small form was burrowed completely under the covers in preparation for the coming darkness. Quinn wasn’t sure what to do about the boy’s fears, since leaving a kerosene lamp burning all night would be a safety hazard. He could only hope that eventually Trent would realize he was perfectly safe.
The lamp had only been out a few seconds before Reece’s voice broke the quiet. “Why are you sleeping in here and not in your own room?”
Quinn slid back into his bedroll. “It’s your aunt’s room now. That’s why.”
“That’s not fair!” The boy leaned over the edge of his bed. “It was your room first. She ought to share. I share with Trent, and Clara shares with Olivia.”
“Get back in bed before you hurt yourself.”
Reece obeyed, then there was a thoughtful silence that could only mean trouble. “How come we have to share with you if she doesn’t?”
Oh, boy. He needed to play his cards right or he’d find himself sleeping in the barn. “It isn’t about sharing. Ladies need privacy.”
“For sleeping?” Reece’s tone said he wasn’t buying what Quinn was selling.
The barn was getting more attractive by the second. “Yes. Now, go to sleep.”
“But why?”
Quinn rolled onto his side, feeling the hardwood floor through the thin padding. “I’m tired, Reece. If I don’t get some sleep tonight, I’ll be dragging the whole week. Now, I don’t want to hear any more questions from you tonight.”
“What if it isn’t a question?”
Quinn smiled even as he rubbed a shaking hand over his face. He should have known better than to try to go to sleep before the boys were dead to the world. He stood and edged toward the door. “Go to sleep. I’ll be back in a minute.”
He passed the door to the girls’ room then Helen’s, but he didn’t stop at either of them. He kept going until he walked out the front door, down the porch steps and toward the wooded hills. He made it to the middle of the clearing before the invisible weight pressing on his shoulders dropped him to his knees. He battled the urge to pray. What good would it do to cry out for help? He’d done that once. Now it seemed that he had even more of a challenge on his hands than before.
He lifted his confused gaze heavenward then couldn’t look away. The dark sky was clear, showing off the innumerable stars shimmering above. It was an awe-inspiring sight. More than that, it was fearsome. It served as a blatant reminder of his insignificance and the power of a God big enough, calculating enough, to create it all. Pastor Brightly had preached about it at church this morning. “And he is before all things, and by him all things consist.” Of course, the pastor had tried to put a positive spin on that verse, but Quinn knew the truth about God’s power. Nana had made sure of that.
Her body may have been growing weaker during those last few days of her life, but her fervor for sparing him from the fires of damnation had been stronger than ever. He could almost hear her wispy voice as clearly now as he had when he’d knelt at her bedside. You’ve got to work out your salvation with fear and trembling, boy. You hear me? Your father and brother succumbed to that heathen greed and left me to die. I don’t want to be the only one from my family in heaven. You’ve got to make it there, too.
She’d spent the last of her strength instructing him on how to do that as if she hadn’t drilled it into him long before that. Then the woman who’d been so afraid of being alone had left him behind. He’d been fourteen. Twelve years later, he was still doing his best to follow her advice. That’s why he’d lived life hoping that if he left God alone, God would let him alone. Then he’d gone and messed everything up by asking for help.
“Quinn?”
He closed his eyes at the sound of Helen’s soft voice. “I’m fine, Helen. You can go back inside.”
She didn’t move. Silence stretched between them until it broke with her whisper. “I know you aren’t fine, Quinn. Just as surely as I know I’m at least one of the reasons why.”
He finally turned his head to look up at her. She was bathed in moonlight. Her dark hair fell to her waist, a shiny backdrop to the turquoise Sunday-best gown she still wore. Forgetting for a moment that all of heaven was watching, he caught her hand and guided her down to the grass in front of him. “Why didn’t you tell me that you didn’t know anything about living on a farm or doing chores?”
“I thought you knew that I hadn’t lived on a farm before.”
He shook his head, realizing again just how little he actually knew about the woman he’d married. “Even so, some things like cooking don’t require a person being on a farm to learn.”
“Breakfast was terrible, wasn’t it? I can see why you accepted the O’Briens’ invitation for dinner and insisted on cooking supper yourself.” He could see her blush even in the moonlight. “I’m afraid there’s a lot I didn’t learn growing up. You see, my family had servants to handle pretty much everything regarding the household.”
“Servants?” The word was foreign to him, like something out of a fairy story he couldn’t read. How wealthy did a person need to be to have everything done by servants? He couldn’t even fathom it. He stiffened. “Wait. What do you mean everythi
ng?”
She gave a hapless shrug. “I mean the housework.”
“Like cooking, cleaning, washing clothes, mending...” Her every nod filled him with more trepidation and confusion. Why had God sent Helen if she couldn’t be the helpmeet he needed?
The question must have shown on his face, for Helen reached up to cradle his jaw with her hand, riveting his attention back to her. “I’ll learn, Quinn. I promise you that.”
“I’m sure you will.” They didn’t have a choice. She had to learn—and as quickly as possible. He caught her wrist and gently tugged her hand away so that he could think clearly as he made his own promise. “I’ll show you what little I know. What I don’t know, we’ll have to find someone to teach you.”
She smiled. “I already asked a couple of my friends for help at church. They agreed to give me a few lessons this week. See, Quinn? It will turn out all right.”
He was relieved that she seemed to be eager to learn. Did that mean God intended her to turn out to be a helpmeet, after all? Or a hindrance? Or just plain temptation? Maybe all three options were right. Perhaps He’d sent Helen as some sort of test. If so, Quinn wouldn’t falter. He wouldn’t start caring about her as anything more than the helpmeet she was supposed to be. Not that he’d ever had a chance with her, anyway. That much had been made even clearer tonight for, despite her frustrating lack of practical skills, she was so far beyond him on every other level, it made his proposal and subsequent marriage almost laughable. Somehow he didn’t find it funny—only confusing. He’d prayed for a helpmeet and God had given him a princess. How in the world could Quinn even endeavor to deserve that?
Chapter Six
Helen drew back the faded curtains from the window in her room the next morning to see the orange haze of daybreak stealing across the tops of the farm’s eastern hills. That was the only sign of morning as she gave herself one last cursory check in the mirror. The reflection of determination on her face couldn’t replace the memory of seeing Quinn sink to his knees on the fog-covered ground last night. She wasn’t ignorant about the frustrating lack of skills she’d exhibited yesterday. Nor had she been unaware of the gradual strain it had seemed to be placing on her husband. However, she hadn’t realized its true impact until that moment.
She was prepared to put her best foot forward today. The shadows under her eyes spoke of how much thought she’d put into doing exactly that last night. She grabbed the short stack of index cards she’d had the foresight to take to church with her yesterday and tiptoed across the hall into the living room. She stopped short at the sight of Quinn sleeping in a bedroll near the hearth where a banked fire dimly glowed in the fireplace. When he’d said he would be sleeping in the boys’ room, she’d assumed that meant in a bed. Apparently not. He worked too hard to be relegated to the floor. Something would have to be done about that. She just wasn’t sure what.
She stoked the fire in the cookstove, silently thanking Nathan Rutledge for teaching her how to manage the cantankerous stove in the schoolhouse. Next, she turned to the first index card, which happened to be written by Nathan’s wife, Kate. It was entitled, How to Make Coffee. She followed the directions carefully and quietly. She taste tested the resulting brew and was pleasantly surprised to find it quite tasty. She closed the stove’s damper to keep the brew warm for Quinn. Now to conquer the chickens...
A few minutes later, she set the egg basket near the door to the chicken coop and laid out most of the feed in one area of the yard before opening the door. A couple of tosses showed the chickens where the feed was, which freed her to ward off the aggressive rooster with a few nudges of the broom, as Ellie Williams had suggested. He soon grew bored and left her alone. Confidence growing, she picked up the basket and entered the coop to find the red hen stubbornly sitting in her roost.
Helen made sure to keep to the side as she reached under the troublemaker. This time when the hen launched from the roost, Helen was out of its trajectory. She gathered the rest of the eggs and was soon headed back to the barn unscathed. She was standing outside the cow’s stall with a rope and the milking bucket contemplating her next move when Quinn’s deep voice eased into her thoughts. “What exactly are you planning to do to Bessie?”
She turned around to find him standing behind her with his arms crossed and a half amused, half concerned smile on his face. She lifted a brow in response. “I’m going to milk her, of course. The rope is to keep her from moving around the stall.”
He frowned. “She is usually pretty content to stay in one place when I milk her.”
“Well, I was probably doing something wrong.”
“Probably.” He gave her a wink then returned the rope to the tack room before setting the milking pail and stool in place for the chore. He beckoned her into the stall with a quick tilt of his head. He crouched down beside her once she was seated. “First thing you want to do is to prod or rub the udder so she’ll know it’s time to let the milk down.”
“Down from where?” She tried to follow his example, but the cow sidestepped at her touch. “See? That’s what happened last time.”
He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “Give me your hands.”
“What? Why?”
He took one of her hands in both of his and began to rub it. “They’re too cold. That’s something you have to watch out for the closer we get to winter. Although, I’ve been thinking that I should keep doing the milking since dealing with the chickens, cooking breakfast and getting the children ready for school is a lot for anyone to handle in the mornings.”
She spoke over the sound of her heart thundering in her ears. “You did all of that and more before I got here.”
“Which is why I know it’s a lot to handle. Besides, it will go faster if I do it.” He switched his ministrations to her other hand. “You should still learn how to milk the cow, though. It’s an important skill to have on a farm.”
“Did you find the coffee I made?” She asked the question to the top button of his shirt, which she discovered was a far easier feat then looking into his eyes at such a close distance.
“Sure did. It was nice and hot. Thanks for making it. I also saw that you collected the eggs. How did the rooster treat you?”
She shrugged, wishing he’d hurry up and finish with her hands. “I handled him.”
“I don’t doubt it.” He chuckled then lifted her hands to his cheeks to test their warmth. “Better.”
She froze. Her gaze drifted upward to meet his. How could he be so completely unaffected by her when she could hardly even think? It didn’t seem fair. Her thoughts must have shown in her face, for his eyes widened then deepened. She felt his jaw tighten beneath the day-old stubble. He abruptly released her hands. His words seemed directed more to the ceiling than her. “Sorry. I guess you could have done that yourself. I wasn’t thinking.”
“It’s fine.” She turned to face the cow. “What now?”
She nearly winced at the sound of her breathless voice. She was embarrassing herself. He’d made it clear that he wasn’t interested in her as anything more than a mother for his children. There was no need to turn into a ninny just because he deigned to warm her hands. Quinn’s arm brushed hers, jolting her from her reverie as he demonstrated the proper hand position for milking. “You’re going to want to squeeze from top to bottom to draw out the milk. Don’t pull or you could stretch out the teat. Stay alert. You don’t want the cow to kick you or the milk pail.”
“No, I certainly don’t.” She copied his movements and jumped when a stream of milk hit the ground. “I did it!”
He grinned. “You sure did. Just try to get the next one in the pail. Once you’re comfortable, try milking two teats at once by alternating.”
After two or three minutes, she’d developed a slow rhythm. She glanced at Quinn, who still hovered a bit too close for comfort. “Quinn, I thought you had a
real bed to sleep in.”
He seemed a bit taken aback by the sudden change of conversation. “A bedroll will do just fine for me.”
“You work too hard to be relegated to the floor. Can’t something be done about it?”
He rubbed his jaw. “I was thinking about expanding the house. I could add another bedroom. I also thought a room for the kitchen might be nice instead of just a corner in the house. Then we could put the table in there and have more room in the living space. What do you think?”
She paused to glance up at him, both surprised and impressed by how much thought he’d already put into solving the problem. “You know how to do that? Build part of a house, I mean?”
“Sure I do. I traveled around Texas doing whatever honest work I could find until I saved enough to buy my own piece of land.” He shrugged. “It made me one of those jack-of-all-trades folks are always insulting.”
She laughed. “I guess you must have seen a fair bit of Texas with all that traveling.”
“That’s a fact. Of course, nothing beats this place.” His lips stretched into a lazy grin. “Want to know why?”
“Why?”
“Because it’s mine.”
She smiled. “That’s a good reason.”
She focused on the milking again and was proud that she seemed to be picking up speed. “After all that traveling, how did you end up settling down here?”
“I was passing through Peppin in between jobs and heard that the man who owned this place was looking for a farmhand. He was an older widower who was having some trouble running the place by himself, so he hired me on. About a year later, he decided to move a few towns west of here to live with his older son. I bought the place and most of the furnishings from him.” His gaze turned curious. “What about you? You didn’t need to work, so why did you leave home to become Peppin’s schoolmarm?”
The Texan's Inherited Family Page 7