by Linda Ford
Mrs. Kinsley stepped into the hall. “Her leg will have to be splinted, and she’ll have to stay off it for several weeks. Six at least. Given her age, it will likely take longer.”
Six weeks or more. They’d be at their destination before she was better. Somehow, he’d have to do all the camp chores, take care of Aunt Mary and tend the animals as well. Plus keep his aunt comfortable. He’d be sure and stock up on medical supplies, including laudanum.
He followed Mrs. Kinsley back into the kitchen. The long wooden table had been set with white china plates, reminding him of Aunt Mary’s home and what she’d been forced to give up. A big steaming pot sat in the middle of the table alongside a platter piled high with golden biscuits. The aroma filled his nostrils. His stomach growled loudly. Donny giggled, and Blossom gave a Bruce a shy smile.
Bruce shifted his gaze to their mother, who studied him with what he perceived to be warning, though why she should feel a need to warn him, and of what, was a mystery.
A tall man with graying brown hair and piercing gray eyes entered the house and smiled at the others. His gaze rested on Bruce.
Mrs. Kinsley drew the man forward. “Jacob, this is Mr. Reynolds. He’s brought his aunt who has burns and a broken leg. I’ll need some splints.” She turned to Bruce. “My husband, the preacher.”
Bruce had known this was the preacher’s house. But now, seeing the man face to face, knowing without a doubt he was a man who wouldn’t abide careless living, his insides grew brittle, even though he’d done nothing to earn this man’s judgment.
But then, he’d done nothing to earn judgment of the preacher back home either, and it hadn’t made any difference.
The preacher smiled. “Welcome. Glad you found us.”
Bruce’s tension eased a bit, and they shook hands. The preacher then returned his attention to his wife. “Do I need to get the splints immediately?”
“No, Miss Rivers is resting at the moment. After dinner will be soon enough. Mr. Reynolds, please join us.” She indicated a chair at the table, and, with a word of thanks, he sat.
The preacher washed his hands then sat at Bruce’s left. “Is this all that will be joining us for the meal?”
Mrs. Kinsley sat at her husband’s left. “Mrs. Andrews and her girls rented a wagon and have gone north to see if they can locate her husband.”
Mrs. Norwood sat across from Bruce with her children on either side of her. Again, that warning look. Reminiscent of the many judging looks back in Kansas, it was enough to make him squirm. Why was Mrs. Norwood so ready to judge him? Thankfully, the preacher announced he would ask the blessing, and Bruce bowed his head.
“Amen.”
He’d not heard a word of the prayer. Hopefully the preacher wouldn’t know that.
“Stew?” The preacher held a ladle full over Bruce’s plate. His noisy stomach growled again.
The preacher chuckled. “I think that means yes.”
It was all Bruce could do to wait for everyone to be served before he began to eat. The flavors of tender venison and fresh vegetables exploded in his mouth. “This is good. Thank you to the cook.”
“That would be Stella,” the preacher said. “She’s a great cook. She made the biscuits too.”
Bruce had just taken a bite of one, and it practically melted in his mouth. “I’d say she was an excellent cook.” He knew his eyes brimmed with approval. Enough to make her dip her head.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
He again sensed her disapproval, though he could not guess as to its cause.
“So, young Mr. Reynolds.” The preacher’s voice drew Bruce’s attention. “Tell us about yourself. Where are you from, and what brings you to the little town of Glory, Montana Territory?”
“He comed in a wagon,” Blossom said, favoring him with a bright smile.
Everyone chuckled at her innocent cleverness, then Bruce felt all eyes upon him. “I’m on my way to Washington Territory.” How could he explain why he was going without giving people reason to question his character?
“You won’t be able to travel now.” Mrs. Kinsley seemed quite certain of the fact. “Your aunt will need to recover.”
“I thought…” He swallowed hard, aware of three adults watching him. “Well, I have my wagon. She’ll be comfortable in that.” He spoke more out of hope than assurance. There was no way he could prevent her from jostling about as they navigated the rough terrain.
“People certainly have traveled with broken limbs.” Mrs. Kinsley’s voice was gentle, but Bruce wondered if there was steel behind them. “However, given her age and the fact she has burns as well, I would caution you against putting her in those conditions. Let her rest until she’s healed is my advice. Normally, I would invite you to stay here, but we are full.”
He stared at this empty plate. “I have only my wagon.”
“There is a hotel in town, though it wouldn’t be ideal. She won’t be able to climb the stairs.”
“I couldn’t afford to pay for six weeks there.”
“Stella,” the preacher said. “What about your place? Couldn’t they stay there?”
Stella—Mrs. Norwood—stared at the preacher. She opened her mouth as if to speak then closed it without uttering a word. She sucked in air. “I’m hoping to return home soon.”
“Surely there is room for all of you.”
Bruce couldn’t believe the preacher seemed to think this was the solution to his need. An unmarried man and an unmarried woman living in the same home was most certainly not a good idea. Even with his aunt living there as well.
“Ma.” Young Donny leaned forward in his chair, eagerness in his expression. “If Mr. Reynolds was there, you’d have help. We could all go home. Please, Ma. Say yes. Pleeeeease.”
Donny’s mother studied her son, her smiling daughter, Mrs. Kinsley’s nodding approval, then lastly brought her gaze to Bruce. But before she could say anything, he pushed his empty plate away. “Thank you for the meal. I won’t be staying at a widow’s farm.” Not that she’d offered, but he didn’t intend to give her the chance. “I’ll wait out at my wagon.” He crossed the floor in long strides and went out the front door. He climbed to the wagon seat and sat there. He couldn’t leave without Aunt Mary. From where he sat, he watched the busy comings and goings of the small town. A block away, several wagons, riders on horseback, and more than a few people on foot, going about their everyday business.
That’s all he wanted. To get about his business.
Still trying to decide what direction he should go, he heard the sound of the nearby door opening. Mrs. Norwood. She spoke to her children, who followed her then closed the door, shutting them in. She carried a dish with a generous portion of chocolate cake and a cup of coffee.
“I thought you’d like dessert.”
He jumped to the ground and took the offered items. “Thank you.” After several swallows of coffee, he decided to address the tension crackling in the air between them. “I’m sorry the preacher put you on the spot like that. It never crossed my mind to ask to stay at your place. I don’t even know where your place is.”
“It’s a homestead less than half an hour from town. No one has been living there for several months.”
“Since your husband died?” He understood her reluctance to be on a farm by herself with two children.
“No. I managed pretty well at first, but this spring the children and I got sick. I was so weak I couldn’t tend the animals, get to town for supplies, or even take care of us.”
He watched lines fan out from her mouth as she pressed her lips together. He knew she’d had a rough experience.
She continued. “If the preacher’s daughter, Flora, and her husband, Kade, hadn’t found us when they did, we would have surely died.” The final words were gravelly.
He wished he could say something to comfort her, but words failed him. “Life can be tough. Even unfair.” The words were barely a whisper. He’d been talking to himself as much as to her.
“Or others manufacture them for us.”
Their gazes went on and on, full of both caution and interest, at least on his part. He wondered what her specifics were.
She sucked in air. “The thing is, I need to get back to my place. If I don’t…” She lifted her hands. “Well, I could lose it, and I don’t intend to. I have promised myself that I will provide my children with a home where they can put down roots clear to bedrock.” Her voice rang with conviction.
For some reason, Bruce thought she meant the words as a warning to him. But there was no way the ugly gossip had reached this Montana town.
She continued. “I’m anxious to get back, but I realize I might need temporary help. I don’t want to overdo it and end up sick again. Nor can I leave the children unattended while I do farm work.”
“Why not get a hired man?” He’d finished the delicious cake and rich-tasting coffee and set the dishes aside.
Slowly, she brought her gaze to him, and he stepped back before the force of it.
“You need a place for your aunt to rest before you continue your journey. I would be willing to give you accommodation and care for your aunt in exchange for your help.”
He gulped. “Are you suggesting I live with you?”
Fire blazed in her cheeks. “Not in that sense. I have enough room that you would have your own quarters. I can promise you things would be circumspect.”
On a small farm, away from town. But not away from speculation and judgement.
He crossed his arms, felt his jaw muscles bunch into a knot. “I couldn’t.”
“I see.” She grabbed the dishes and hurried to the house before he could add anything.
“Wait. Let me explain.” As soon as the words were out, he wished he’d kept them inside his head.
She paused. Took a second then turned to face him. “What’s to explain?”
Only good manners made Stella wait for an explanation when everything in her said she should return to the house. She’d embarrassed them both by making such a rash offer. Though her only thought had been it would enable her to get back to the farm and provide a temporary home for Miss Rivers to heal.
Mr. Reynolds scuffed his boots in the dirt. “I’ve learned to my sorrow that a person can be living a righteous life and be obeying all the rules, but that doesn’t stop people from jumping to their own conclusions.” His voice was hoarse, and she knew something had happened that affected him deeply.
“It’s why we are on our way to Washington Territory.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “It’s why I can’t accept your offer.” A weary sigh hung in the air between them as if neither cared to disturb it with words.
Just when she thought the conversation was over, he spoke again, his words low enough she strained to hear them. “If I tell you what happened, you’ll understand why I must refuse your very generous offer.” Another long, heavy silence.
She would have left except he had aroused her curiosity. And it wasn’t just idle curiosity. She wondered what could have happened to send this man to Washington Territory with his aunt. Or was it an excuse such as her pa would have used in an attempt to convince them that moving was necessary? She’d heard more than her share of such.
“Back home the preacher’s daughter set her sights on me. I ended up courting her. But then I realized she was not sweet. She spoke ill of others. Flaunted herself before men.” He shrugged.
“Suffice it to say that she wasn’t the sort of girl I wanted to associate with, and I broke it off. She was stung by my refusal to see her and spoke unkindly about me. I ignored it. But then she told her father that I had tried to take advantage of her. Her father—the preacher—began a vendetta against me. I would have ignored it even when dirt was thrown on Aunt Mary’s porch. But things grew worse until it wasn’t safe for her. She’s had to leave a home she’s had for as long as I can remember. I intend to make it up to her by getting her to her sister who has offered her a home. Best I keep moving and fulfill that promise.”
Stella thought she’d heard every excuse imaginable, but this one was new. Was the man serious, or building a somewhat-believable scenario? Blossom liked him. That almost convinced Stella to believe him.
Though what difference did it make?
He had refused her offer. He was set on continuing his journey.
She couldn’t go back to her farm. That was that.
She gathered up the dishes and returned to the house.
The preacher was in the parlor. Miss Rivers moaned. Stella shuddered, knowing she was getting her leg splinted. No matter what had happened to her nephew to make him pull up roots it wasn’t fair to put a woman through the pain of travel.
Mrs. Kinsley murmured to Miss Rivers.
Stella continued to the kitchen, where her children waited for her.
“Are we going home?” Donny asked.
“I’m afraid not.”
“Why not?” Her son pressed his lips together. Someone who didn’t know him would think he was being stubborn. She knew he was holding back tears. He’d made no secret of his longing to return to the farm.
Blossom’s eyes widened. “He come wif us?” She looked down the hall as if watching for Mr. Reynolds.
“No, sweetie. He has other plans.”
Blossom’s eyes pooled with tears.
Stella pressed back a sense of failure. She’d disappointed her children. If she didn’t soon return to the farm, she stood a good chance of losing it, and that would be an even bigger disappointment. To keep herself from sitting down and wailing, she gathered up the dirty dishes and took them to the cupboard to wash. “You two can help me.” She handed each of them a drying towel. To Blossom, she gave silverware to dry. To Donny, a plate.
“What game shall we play?” They usually played pretend.
“I don’t feel like playing,” Donny said, keeping his head down so she couldn’t see his face.
Blossom didn’t say anything, but she didn’t need words to express her feelings. Her wide eyes and trembling lips said it all.
Stella’s heart felt full of rocks. She’d done her best to give the pair what they needed—security, stability, and roots. It was tempting to return to the farm immediately regardless of Mr. Reynold’s refusal to accompany her, but she had pushed herself before and almost died. She would not put herself or her children in that position again.
Which left her with no other option than to remain here until she was strong enough to manage on her own or could afford a hired man. And how was that to happen when she struggled to pay for the essentials?
Caring for Miss Rivers in exchange for help from her nephew would have been ideal.
But he was right. People would talk.
Someone rapped on the front door. The preacher left the parlor to answer the summons.
“Mr. Reynolds, I’m glad you’ve come back. I hope you and Stella reached some sort of an agreement.” He shifted his gaze to Stella.
“Yes, sir. She understands why I can’t accept her offer.”
“So, what are your plans then?”
Stella wished she could close a door to block out the conversation as Blossom and Donny heard every word. “Children, it isn’t polite to eavesdrop.”
“I can’t make my ears not hear,” Donny said.
“Mine too.” Blossom and her big blue eyes…the picture of innocence.
“Bruce.” A thin voice came from the parlor. “I can travel if that’s what you want to do.”
The man would have to be deaf not to hear the pain in his aunt’s voice.
“You rest for now, my dear.” Mrs. Kinsley left the room, pulling the door closed.
Stella could imagine the look that passed between the preacher and his wife. Knew she was correct when the preacher said, “Mr. Reynolds, could we talk in the kitchen?”
Stella smiled. It wasn’t a request so much as an order. “Children, let’s g
o outside.”
The preacher reached the table. “Stella, send the children out, but I think you might want to be part of this conversation.”
She hesitated. She did not want to be part of it. But she wasn’t about to ignore the preacher’s “suggestion.” “Children, play in the yard.” At least they didn’t need constant supervision. They’d learned the boundaries in the weeks…months…they’d been there.
She sat as the preacher indicated she should.
Mr. Reynolds sat too, his expression wary and guarded. Was he thinking this preacher would judge him as the one back in Kansas had? Stella could have assured him that Preacher Kinsley was a kind, understanding man… but one who brooked no nonsense and struck fear into the heart of many a wayward man.
“Mr. Reynolds—”
Mr. Reynolds held up a hand.
Stella couldn’t believe he had the nerve to interrupt.
“Please, would you call me Bruce?”
“Fine. Bruce, your aunt cannot travel.”
Mrs. Kinsley nodded. “It is too great a risk given her injuries and age. I could put her up in the sitting room, but it isn’t ideal, and I have to be honest. I don’t want to see her exposed to whatever the Zimmerman family has. If she were to get what they have…” The woman held up her hands.
Mr. Reynolds—Bruce—sat very still, his face revealing nothing. “Is there an empty house in town I could rent?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Then I must move on.”
The preacher leaned forward. “I asked your aunt about you, and she assures me you are an honorable man. I’d like to ask you a few questions and hear your answers.”
The preacher often quizzed the cowboys who visited in the home, but it was soon apparent that he wanted to know more than usual about Bruce. To what avail? Stella wondered.
“Your aunt says she found you orphaned and living on the street when you were eight years old. Is that right?”