Now it looked like more trouble was coming Hannah’s way.
Jerome was set to whip his team into motion. Halting, he looked over and said, “The baby came too early. We lost her. Just a girl. But my wife . . .” Jerome wiped his hand across his face for a long moment. Finally he looked straight at Mark. “Whitfield, my wife is dead. I came for the doctor because I need him to see to the body, and he’s rushing out there, hoping I’m wrong. But it’s too late for him to help. I came inside from morning chores and found the baby born and my wife still and cold. Tell Hannah her ma is dead and to come on home. I’ll be needin’ help.”
Jerome slapped the reins on his horses’ broad backs and set off—leaving Mark stunned, mouth gaping. How was he to do such a terrible chore? How could Jerome leave that to someone else? And Mark was supposed to tell Hannah to walk the miles home and bring her little brothers, too?
It wasn’t the first time it occurred to Mark that Jerome Taylor was a poor excuse for a father.
He stuck his head in the door of the bank, and his own father looked up from his accounts. “Pa, Mr. Taylor just told me his wife died and her baby, also.”
Loyal Whitfield was a stern man with an imperious nature, but Mark was used to him and knew it was mostly bluster. Now Pa set his pen down carefully, his face turning solemn, and why not? A mother dying. A mother with six children, four still at home. It was a solemn business.
“I need to give Hannah the news, then see to calling off school. Can you hitch up the team and bring it around so I can give the Taylor family a ride home? I’d fetch the team, but I’m afraid word will get around and I don’t want Hannah to be the last to know.”
“I’ll get the team right away, son.” Pa, usually dictatorial and brusque, looked more upset than Jerome Taylor. “And I’ll go over to the general store and ask Mrs. Claasen to come and tend the school. You want to wait for me and I’ll come along and help you break the news?”
Mark and his father exchanged a long, sad look before Mark shook his head. “Her pa gave me the job. I’ll see to it.”
Movement drew her attention to the front door. She’d yet to call the students in, so she prepared to shoo whoever it was back outside.
Marcus Whitfield again. Maybe he’d come to finish that sentence.
This time he looked straight at her. She knew from that alone that something was wrong. “Come in, Marcus,” she said.
Marcus came to the front of the schoolroom. With regret in his eyes he said, “It’s your ma, Hannah. The . . . the baby came this morning.”
Hannah shook her head. “No, that can’t be. It’s not due for a long time yet.” Even as she denied it, she knew Marcus wouldn’t be mistaken about something this important. The very fact that Marcus was speaking in complete sentences told Hannah how serious it was.
“I ran into your pa and the doctor running from his office. Your pa said for me to tell you to come home. The baby was too early, Hannah. She didn’t make it.”
“A little girl,” Hannah whispered sadly. She knew she’d have to call off school and help Ma full time for a few days. Hannah prayed silently for this to be the last baby. Ma just wasn’t up to it anymore.
“It’s not just the baby, Hannah.” Marcus swallowed hard. The gravity of his voice pulled Hannah away from her thoughts about caring for Ma and her sadness over a lost baby sister.
“It’s not?” she asked faintly. Her stomach twisted because of the look in Marcus’s eyes.
“No, it’s your ma. It was . . . she was . . . your pa said she . . . she . . .” Hannah watched Marcus force the words past his lips. “Your pa said it was too late for the doctor to help y-your ma, too. Hannah, I’m sorry. Your ma d-died birthing the baby.”
“No!” Hannah rose from her chair and sent it crashing against the wall behind her. She faced Marcus as if he were a wild, dangerous animal. She shook her head. “No, Ma was tired, but she’s always tired. No . . .” Hannah’s voice got higher and louder. “Don’t come in here with that kind of talk.”
“Your pa and the doc have already ridden out. Let me get you home, Hannah. Pa’s hitching up the team. Mrs. Claasen is on her way to take care of the school. My pa will stay until Mrs. Claasen gets here. It might be best to keep your little brothers away from home for a few hours.” Marcus came toward her, his hand outstretched. Hannah backed away until she collided with the blackboard.
Marcus kept coming, and Hannah wanted to run away from him, hit him, hurt him for bringing this hateful news. But Marcus reached her, and instead of striking out, she grabbed at him.
He pulled her close, and she clung to him as the first sob escaped her throat.
Chapter 3
Hannah knew she was forgetting important things because her little brothers and Pa kept pestering her to make them meals and find them clean clothes.
Kevin cried for his mama all the time. Abe was white-lipped and too quiet. Jeremy was so upset, Hannah was scared for him, afraid he’d turn bad, as he was always lashing out in anger. She needed to help them, but she couldn’t gather her thoughts together enough to help anyone.
She found herself turning to Ma for advice, only to be caught by a wicked stab of grief. Ma would never be around again. If there was a conflict between the boys, she settled it the best she knew how. If the gravy didn’t thicken, she served it thin with profuse apologies and bowed her head and bore the complaints. Hannah knew how to run a household quite well, but only now did she realize how much she’d depended on her mother.
The winter term of school was lost, and Hannah told them she wasn’t up to teaching the spring term. She was just too addled. Rather than replace her, which wasn’t easy in a town with few single women, Dry Gulch ended up skipping the spring term, too.
The good folks of Dry Gulch agreed to be patient. It was decided that school wouldn’t resume until the next fall.
Hannah had the house running well by then. Pa hadn’t wanted her to go back to work because there’d be no one to prepare his midday meals, but perfect Martha and even the grumbler Nelda were each having him over once a week for the noonday meal. To fill in, though he groused about it, Pa stopped in Rosella Bindle’s diner in town.
Hannah saw her life laid out before her now, raising her little brothers and caring for Pa. She’d always believed she would marry someday, too, like her little sisters, but now she gave that up. Her family needed her, and she needed them.
She hadn’t had the energy to meddle in anyone’s life for a while and she regretted that. She’d really helped some people. She knew Neill Archer and Clara Danvers had left the area together, and Mack Danvers, the old tyrant, regaled the town with stories of his former daughter-in-law, Clara, and his grandson. Grace and Clayton Weber were still near Dry Gulch. Hannah saw them every week at church. Grace and Clayton dealt with each new struggle courageously. Word had gotten back to town that Lucy Benson had married Andrew Simms, the nephew who’d searched for help for his aunt. Hannah had sent poor put-upon Lucy.
Hannah had helped those folks. If she ever found any energy, she’d like to help others. But right now she could barely take care of her own family.
Marcus had taken to bringing the firewood every week. So she saw him regularly, and although he was still awkward, he managed a stilted conversation with her—as long as she did most of the talking. Nothing happened again like that moment they’d shared when he’d fallen. But she remembered his kindness when he’d brought the terrible news of Ma’s death, and his strong arms when she’d cried. She’d leaned on his shoulder during the long ride home to the ranch. He was a nice man, decent and hardworking. Almost a friend, except he was so quiet.
Her life was the exact opposite of what one pictured as the quiet, lonely life of an old maid. She had three children, for heaven’s sake, a crotchety man to care for, and a demanding job that kept her jumping.
If this was spinsterhood, then thank heavens for it, because there was no time for a husband.
Winter was tightening its grip on the T
exas countryside as Hannah finished the long walk home from school, carrying three-year-old Kevin in her arms. Her brothers tagged along after her. She found Pa sitting at the kitchen table with Essie, the only waitress at Rosella Bindle’s diner.
“Essie’n me got married today, Hannie. You’re to call her Ma from now on.” Pa grinned as he gave her the news.
Hannah stood frozen in the kitchen doorway, unable to think of a thing to say, certainly unable to force the word Ma past her lips. Jeremy ran into her back because she’d stopped so suddenly. Kevin wiggled in her arms, and Essie came and plucked him out of her arms. Kevin went easily because he was an outgoing friendly little boy, used to being cared for by all the children at school as well as Hannah. She was too amazed to cling to him, even though the impulse was there.
Jeremy squirmed past her and headed straight for the cookie jar. Abe was right behind and bumped Hannah’s shoulders to get by her. She was incapable of movement.
Pa repeated his announcement. “This here’s my new wife, boys. We got hitched today and she’s yer ma now.”
Jeremy and Abe turned to stare at Essie.
Essie had been a widow. Hannah guessed she was around thirty-five. She’d been waiting tables at the diner and living overhead since her husband died years back. Now Essie stood with Kevin on her hip and said to Hannah with a falsely sweet voice, the kind people sometimes used when they were talking down to children, “Two cooks can’t share a kitchen—you know that, Hannah. Your pa and I have decided you’ll live in my room in town.”
Pa grinned and nodded. “You can keep your thirty dollars a month now.”
He said it as if letting her keep the money she earned was an act of generosity.
“That, with what you have at the bank, will more’n see to your needs.” Pa had banked half of her salary ever since she’d started teaching at age seventeen. He’d kept the other half for the family. Hannah had urged him to take it all. She didn’t need any money.
She barely registered the fact that her things were already packed. The team was hitched up and ready to go. She was so stunned she barely noticed herself being escorted out. Only Pa drawing her along, his hand on her arm, made her move.
“Abe, you stay home.” He pointed at ten-year-old Abe. “No room for you on the buckboard.”
“I’ll take Kevin so you won’t need to worry over him,” Essie said with her perky voice.
“Jeremy, you grab Hannah’s trunk and come along. We need help toting. Essie’ll ride up front with me. Hannah, you ride with Jeremy in the wagon box.”
She glanced behind her and saw Abe in the doorway, white-faced, his jaw rigid, silent. Jeremy had the furious look on his face Hannah recognized from after Ma died. She had hoped that anger was gone forever.
Pa shooed her along as if she were a critter who needed to be herded. When she got to the wagon, because Jeremy hadn’t moved, Pa hoisted her trunk in. Essie had Kevin in one arm and a crate full of Hannah’s clothes in the other.
What a helpmate she was turning out to be.
Pa took the box from Essie and shoved it in by the trunk. Then he caught Hannah around the waist and boosted her into the back of the wagon. Pa escorted Essie to the front of the wagon and boosted her up.
Essie giggled.
Jeremy jumped into the wagon beside Hannah as if she needed a protector at her side. But it was too late to be protected from Pa’s latest folly.
Chapter 4
Hannah’s head still hadn’t cleared when she was plunked down in the seedy little attic.
Pa couldn’t stop looking at overweight, stringy-haired Essie long enough to notice Hannah’s shock or Jeremy’s rage. Rosella Bindle, the short, stout, gray-haired woman who owned the diner and had employed Essie for years, was Hannah’s new landlady. Mrs. Bindle was no genius of a cook, her voice was loud, and she was given to shouting insults at the bachelor cowpokes she fed daily. But the cowpokes seemed to enjoy Mrs. Bindle’s chiding—or at least they pretended to, not wanting to give up their only source of food. And there was no real venom on Mrs. Bindle’s part.
She had a pleasant smile for Hannah.
“Welcome.” Mrs. Bindle spoke at a near shout, even though the room was tiny and all its occupants were utterly silent. The rumor was Mrs. Bindle was nearly deaf, but most people were too afraid of her to tell her it wasn’t necessary to cast her voice quite so wide.
“I’m glad to see you’re moving in.” Mrs. Bindle slung an arm around Hannah that knocked her forward. “I already miss Essie something fierce in the diner, and I liked knowing she was up here. I hate the idea of the diner being empty at night.”
Hannah had no idea what she meant by that. Was Hannah now supposed to guard the place and ward off invaders? That was probably fine. No one much wanted to invade Mrs. Bindle’s diner.
Trying one last time to get her pa to think about what he was doing, Hannah said, “Pa, the little ones need time to adjust to this. They already lost Ma. Shouldn’t we let them get used to the idea of—”
“They’ll see you every day at school,” Essie interrupted, smiling and patting her on the shoulder. “And a spinster lady needs to be on her own.”
Spinster. Well, that about described her.
“What we need,” Mrs. Bindle said, sharing a conspiratorial smile with Essie, “is to find you a husband. It ain’t right that a woman lives her life alone. Why, since my Benny died, I’ve been lonely as all get-out.”
“Time to get on home, Essie.” Pa held the door for his new bride, his glowering son, and the chipper landlady.
Mrs. Bindle said, “Yep, a man is just what you need. I’ll put my mind to it.”
Hannah was distracted from her shock at being tossed out of her home by the horror of imagining what kind of man Rosella Bindle might think was a good match.
Hannah had vowed long ago to only marry another believer. Yes, there were plenty of single men around, but she wouldn’t consider one who didn’t practice the faith, and that didn’t describe any of the raucous men who ate at Rosella’s diner.
As Essie left, she looked back and said, “A husband is just the thing for you. If you won’t see to it, maybe you’d better let Rosella and me scare up a man. Time’s a-wastin’, Hannah. It’s time to grow up.”
With that, pushing a recalcitrant Jeremy along in front of them, Pa, Essie, and Mrs. Bindle left Hannah in her attic room, closing the door firmly behind them.
Hannah sank into the threadbare chair Essie had so generously left behind, along with a small bed, a tiny potbellied stove, and a single plate, bowl, and cup—all tin—and one pan.
“Grow up?” Hannah said. “I’ve been mothering my little brothers and sisters since I was six. I’ve been running Pa’s house since long before Ma died. I’ve been a schoolmarm since I was seventeen. Grow up?” Her voice echoed in the nearly empty room.
She’d never been alone before. The urge to cry hit her, but she couldn’t manage a single tear. The shock ran too deep. She sat in the chair as darkness fell and, still dressed, stared into space, too stunned to move.
Hannah showed up at school out of pure habit. She’d undergone such a radical shift in her life, she was still trying to figure a way to straighten things out.
Jeremy came in with Abe. Essie kept Kevin at home. Of course. Three-year-olds didn’t go to school.
Anger etched on his face, Jeremy came up to Hannah and gave her a fierce hug. He pulled away and put strong hands firmly on her shoulders. Hannah realized she was looking straight into his eyes. Jeremy was as tall as she was. “We’re going to fix this. You’ll be home again before you know it.”
Hannah nodded and agreed with him because she wanted to lessen his anger. Then she held the still-silent Abe and told him not to be upset. It wouldn’t be long before she was back home. It sounded so good she believed it.
She got through the day by doing what had to be done for her students. But she felt none of her usual joy in teaching, nor even the usual daily aggravations. She was too num
b.
After leaving school, she caught herself after just a few steps, walking home to Pa’s house. Her brothers always ran straight for home, so by the time Hannah got the school tidied and closed up, she always walked alone. It was not carrying Kevin that jarred her back to reality. She had to stop, close her eyes, and remember where in the world she lived.
Turning toward the diner, she forced her feet to carry her to that drab little room. When she passed the bank, the door slammed open and Marcus Whitfield stumbled out. Poor man. He was so awkward.
Pausing, he met her eyes for a split second. “Hello, Hannah.” He came out of the bank, closed the door, and walked up beside her. “I’m going for coffee.”
“I’m living above the diner now, did you hear?” Hannah found herself wanting to pour her heart out to Marcus . . . of all people. Better she should talk with her sisters, but they weren’t there.
“Yep.” Marcus said nothing else. He didn’t ask how she liked it there or what happened. He didn’t comment on Pa remarrying.
Hannah wondered exactly what form her pa and Essie’s courtship had taken. Had everyone in town known? Had it been going on long? Or had Pa decided yesterday to remarry, picked Essie out from the short list of unmarried women in town, and proposed over lunch, to be married after dessert?
Did Marcus know about this?
He took one step, and Hannah realized she was holding him up on his quest for coffee. He probably only got a short break.
She walked along beside him, aching with loneliness, but nothing about Marcus’s demeanor seemed to offer her an opening to talk.
When they arrived at the diner, he reached up, and Hannah thought he was going to tug on the brim of his hat to say good-bye without the chore of actually talking. Except his hat wasn’t there.
“Good-bye, Hannah.” Marcus went to turn the doorknob, but his hand slipped right off, like maybe his palm was sweaty. He quickly grabbed it again, nearly fighting his way into the diner.
A Match Made in Texas Page 25