by Linda Ford
“I couldn’t sleep for worrying about her. I’ll stay. You go.”
“I won’t leave her.”
Stella’s gaze burned through his, rich with what he took for as approval. Because he cared about his aunt? Or was it because he was willing to stay? Given her worry about him leaving he assumed it was the latter and hoped she would realize he wasn’t a leaving sort of person.
“You sit here, and I’ll get a chair.” He stood and let her take his place on the edge of the bed then brought in a chair. He parked it close enough that he and Stella were elbow to elbow. He wanted to reassure her. Strange as it was, given their short acquaintance, he also wanted the comfort of her presence. Something about her—her words, her pleasure in home and family, her very being—had consumed the time he would normally need to feel this connection to another person. Not that he’d ever felt it. Certainly not with Louella.
Of course, being married helped the process. Gave him the right to hope for more.
Aunt Mary shot up in bed. “You rascals. Get away from my shed.” She shook her fist at unseen intruders.
“She’s remembering when someone set fire to her shed. All because of me. She paid a price for taking me in.”
“She loved you. Loves you still. I think she would say it was worth whatever it cost her.”
The lamplight filled Stella’s eyes with golden light. Warm and welcoming. He wasn’t quite willing to believe it wasn’t his imagination that thought so. “I wonder if you will regret marrying me simply to get back here.”
“I don’t think Aunt Mary regrets having given you a home. Nor do I.”
Was it possible she meant he was welcome on a level deeper than a marriage for business benefit only? Or was it simply the midnight hour making him think the impossible was possible?
They finally settled Aunt Mary, and Bruce eased his thoughts back into the reality of the life he and Stella had agreed to.
For a time, Aunt Mary was quiet. He was about to suggest again that Stella return to her bed even though he didn’t want to spend the rest of the night alone, when his aunt called out and again reached for things in the air.
A little later, she quieted, and dawn reached into the room. He turned the lamp out and yawned. “She hasn’t stirred in quite some time.”
Stella stretched. “If you stay with her, I’ll get dressed and make coffee.” She slipped from the room.
Bruce watched her go. With her departure, the air had grown strangely thin, making it impossible to get a satisfying breath into his lung.
“Bruce, what are you doing here?”
He turned his attention to his aunt. “You had a rough night.”
“I remember awful dreams. People coming and going.” She looked around the room. “There was no one here but you?”
“And Stella. We stayed with you to keep you safe. You tried to get out of bed. How are you feeling now?”
“Tired.”
Stella heard them and returned to the bedside. “Are you in pain anywhere? Do you need more laudanum?”
Aunt Mary shuddered. “No more of that stuff. It does strange things to my mind. Now go away so I can get up.” She shooed Bruce from the room.
The aroma of coffee filled the air. He poured himself a cupful and waited as Stella took care of his aunt. They emerged and Aunt Mary hobbled to the chair. Stella helped her get settled.
Bruce poured a cup of coffee for his aunt.
The children exploded from the bedroom. “Mama, can we go see Tippy and the cats?”
“Yes. But come when I call breakfast.”
“Yes, Mama.” Donny took Blossom’s hand as they trotted to the barn.
Stella and Bruce watched them. Simultaneously, they yawned. He grinned at her. “I might be needing more than three cups of coffee this morning.”
She chuckled. “I’m not sure there’s enough coffee in the world to help me.”
He held her gaze. The night spent at Aunt Mary’s bedside had taken them down paths that converged, united into one. A path bright with sunshine.
And he had grown fanciful and melodramatic. He blamed it on needing more coffee and hurried to the stove.
Stella was on his heels. She put a fry pan on the stove and began cutting cooked potatoes to fry.
“Is it possible the laudanum was responsible for last night?” He hoped she would understand he meant how Aunt Mary acted, not his changing feelings, though she would be unaware of the latter.
“It’s possible. And likely. Though I will keep a close eye on her to make sure there isn’t something else happening.”
He made a noise of agreement and moved aside to nurse his cup of coffee.
Aunt Mary watched him, a question in her eyes.
“What?” he asked, after waiting a moment for her to voice what was on her mind.
“Nothing.” She grinned. “Just thinking you aren’t going to need two weeks.”
“Aunt Mary, perhaps you could forget that notion of yours.” Knowing Stella had heard his aunt, he kept his back to the kitchen.
“There would be no fun in that. Besides.” Her expression went from amused to serious. “I want to see you happy. Both of you. In fact, all of us happy.”
“Aren’t we?”
“You don’t know happiness until you know love. Real love. Lasting, abiding, and sacrificing love.”
“You mean God’s love.” He hoped she would understand he didn’t want her to suggest anything else.
“God made us to love each other. Doesn’t the Bible say, ‘Love each other as I have loved you’?”
He didn’t respond, knowing that in Aunt Mary’s mind quoting a Bible verse clinched any protest.
Behind him, Stella clattered utensils. Was it her way of informing Aunt Mary she didn’t agree? He couldn’t bring himself to look at her, perhaps see her displeasure at how persistent his aunt was about seeing them fall in love.
Instead, he went to the window. “Donny and Tippy are tumbling around on the ground. Tippy is trying to lick Donny’s face, and Donny is trying to stop him.” He laughed to see the pair.
Dishes rattled as Stella set the table.
“Now Blossom is carrying the kitten out with mama cat following. Kade says the milk cow is due to freshen any day. It will be nice to have milk. I’ll start plowing today.” He realized he rattled like a loose shingle in a strong wind and clamped his mouth shut.
Stella opened the door and called the children. As she turned, their gazes caught, held like they were locked together. The air sizzled between them, full of possibility, bursting with an awareness of something budding between them.
Aunt Mary chuckled, and they both jerked away, he to watch the children head for the house, Stella to return to the stove.
Was it only Aunt Mary’s continued suggestions taking root? Or was there something real and vibrant developing between them?
Huh. He shook his head. It was nothing more than the result of a long, sleepless, worry-filled night befuddling his brain.
Stella scooped the potatoes into a bowl. She did the same with the rest of breakfast though she did so mindlessly, not even aware of what she served.
What a night they’d had. One thought had outdistanced all else. If Aunt Mary had infection, would she survive? And if something happened to her, Bruce’s reason for entering into this marriage would be gone.
The specter of him leaving sucked her hollow. He’d promised to stay, but she’d heard promises before.
At least Aunt Mary saw him as staying. But falling in love? That seemed unlikely.
But if it happened… Did she mean him falling in love with her or her with him?
The children burst inside, thankfully putting an end to her mental wrangling.
She sat facing Bruce. Like she’d thought once before, he had a face she wouldn’t grow tired of. He listened intently to the children telling about their pets
When there was a lull in their excited chattered, he said, “I’ll say grace.” He smiled at each of them, h
is smile perhaps a bit wider for her, and then he bowed his head.
Stella was the last to close her eyes. A lump lodged in her throat. Why did she get all choked up simply by looking at him? Clearly, she needed more coffee and more sleep.
As soon as Bruce said, “Amen,” she refilled her cup and drank half of it before she tackled her breakfast.
“I like that,” Bruce said. “What do you think?”
She realized he spoke to her and that she had no idea what he was talking about. “Sorry, I was thinking of other things.”
Bruce’s eyes narrowed, and Aunt Mary chuckled again. Stella ignored them and hoped her warm cheeks had not colored.
Bruce’s smile seemed to suggest he understood.
What a strange thought. What was he supposed to understand? That her mind had wandered. Given the short night, it was totally understandable.
“Blossom says she wants to call the kitten Mitten. What do you think?”
Stella forced her sleep-starved, wayward brain to consider the question. “Why Mitten? The cat is gray all over.”
Donny leaned forward. “Mama, you remember the rhyme Victoria taught us? ‘Three little kittens they lost their mittens’? That’s why.”
“I remember.”
“I haven’t heard that,” Bruce said. “Tell me.”
“Do you both remember it?” she asked the children.
They nodded. She helped them to say the whole nursery rhyme. When they finished, Bruce and Aunt Mary clapped.
“Mitten is a good name for a kitten,” Stella said, and Blossom beamed.
The meal was over. Bruce reached for the Bible they kept on the nearby shelf. He read a few verses and closed the pages.
“Uncle Bruce, is there anything about cats in the Bible?” Donny asked.
“Well, I don’t know. Aunt Mary?”
“Not that I know of. But that doesn’t mean God doesn’t love cats every bit as much as we do.”
At Blossom and Donny’s look of pleasure, Stella thanked the older woman.
The children left as soon as they were dismissed. Stella decided she would let them go this time, but now that the chickens were back, she would teach her children to feed them and gather eggs.
Bruce downed another cup of coffee before he left the table. “Thank you for everything.” He donned his hat and stepped outside.
“Everything?” She wasn’t sure what he meant.
“Yup. Everything.” Whatever he meant, he sounded mighty pleased about it.
She went to the window to watch him cross the yard and go to the corrals. “He’s going to get the ox and start plowing today.” She hoped Aunt Mary would assume that Stella reported on his activities for her sake.
“He’s a good man, as I think you are learning.”
Without responding, Stella returned to the kitchen and the waiting dishes. A few minutes later, she noticed Aunt Mary’s head tilted back as the woman slept. She smiled. The older woman was good company for the most part, and the children enjoyed talking to her although Stella grew a little weary of her repeated two-weeks prediction. This morning, she was too tired to deflect those comments so sighed with relief to see her sleeping.
She finished the dishes and went out to the garden. The children played near the barn, and Bruce and Brute plowed. Bruce waved at her as she crossed the yard.
At the moment, her world was pleasant, and she hummed as she pulled a few weeds.
Over the next three days, they settled into a comfortable routine. Bruce plowed every day. Because he wanted to work late, she moved suppertime to a later hour. By the time the meal was over, the children went directly to bed, Stella cleaned the kitchen, and Bruce tended to the barn chores. And then they sat outside with their tea.
It became her favorite time of day when they talked about plans for the farm, their past, and how they had come to faith in Christ.
She knew Aunt Mary had taught Bruce truths from the Bible.
“She did more than teach,” he said, his voice round with fond memories. “She lived what she believed. She helped those in need. She spoke kindly of others. She prayed faithfully. She believes in the power of prayer.”
Stella sighed, a pretend resignation. “Do we stand a chance?”
Their gazes connected, and they both laughed. Her laughter fled at the darkness in his blue eyes. The air between them filled with the scent of wild flowers. There were no flowers nearby. Was this the aroma of—?
She slammed the door shut on the idea.
It was Aunt Mary’s fault for constantly talking about them falling in love.
Saturday was different only in the fact that she bathed the children and helped Aunt Mary with a sponge bath.
“I’m going to have a bath,” she warned Bruce after supper, feeling the heat rush to her cheeks. But the only way she could get privacy was to warn him to stay away from the house.
“I’ll go to the river and have my own bath.”
She wanted to protest that he could heat water and bathe in the barn, but he was gone before she could drag the words from her uncooperative mouth.
Alone except for the sleeping children and Aunt Mary, Stella hung a sheet between the living area and the kitchen so she wouldn’t be nervous about someone stepping into the house. Then she lowered herself into the tub of warm water. Ahh. It felt good. If a little cramped. Perhaps bathing in the river had its advantages.
She washed her hair and then donned her nightgown and wrapper. She dumped the water out the back door. The kitchen tidy, she sat outside in the warm evening air to brush her hair and let it dry.
Bruce sauntered back to the house, wearing a clean shirt and pants and carrying the soiled ones. “Is tea made?”
“I didn’t know if—”
He didn’t let her finish. “I can’t imagine ending the day without our tea and talk. You stay here and tend your hair. I’ll make the tea.”
She couldn’t imagine not sharing this special time of evening either, but she hadn’t wanted to presume to know his wishes. She smiled as she listened to him in the kitchen. Somehow, she had never imagined a man pampering her like this.
Her arm grew idle, the brush forgotten in her hand. She should go to her room. Not allow herself the pleasure of an evening that had nothing to do with the business agreement between them.
But before she could persuade herself to do so, he emerged, carrying a mug of tea for each of them. She thanked him.
Later, she would sort out this mess in her head. Put a stop to her wayward thoughts before she got herself in so deep, she couldn’t get out.
Except, did she want out?
And why did her thoughts hanker back to her father? Bruce wasn’t anything like him. He had stayed in Kansas with his aunt, leaving only because of threats to her.
If it wasn’t the specter of him leaving that unsettled her, what was it? Why did this nameless fear circle her brain, making her want to keep their relationship strictly business even though her heart argued it wasn’t what she wanted?
What did she want? If only she knew.
13
It was Sunday, and out of respect for the Lord’s Day, Bruce did not hitch Brute to the plow. He did the necessary chores and then went to the house. Stella had made breakfast and cleaned up and now sat outside with Aunt Mary. The children played nearby with Tippy and Mitten. Mama cat lay close to the children, purring.
“Mind if I join you?” he asked the ladies.
Stella patted the log at her side. Where they sat every evening. Last night, she had seemed unusually quiet, and he hadn’t been able to discover the reason. He’d gone over everything he’d said and done and could see nothing that would have made her withdraw as she had. He’d finally put it down to wishing she could attend church.
“Are you missing town? The Kinsleys? Church?”
She shrugged. “I would enjoy going to church, but only when we can go together.”
Aunt Mary patted her splinted leg. “I’m feeling better every day. Perhaps
by next Sunday I’ll be able to contemplate a ride to town in that bumpy wagon.”
“No need to rush it.” Stella sounded content enough, so perhaps he’d only imagined a strangeness between them last night.
The morning passed slowly. “Let’s have a look around,” Bruce said when he could take no more of sitting and making idle conversation.
“Sure.” The way she jumped up, he guessed she was as restless as he.
They walked past the garden, past the corrals where the horses whinnied to them, and past the pasture. The children followed. They reached the end of the lane where it joined the road, and they stopped.
“Someday, I’ll ride west and see what is over that direction. Maybe you’ll come with me.”
“I’d like that. But we’ll have to wait until Aunt Mary is better.”
Or maybe he’d ask Flora if she’d come by and stay at the house so he and Stella could go somewhere on their own. The idea rooted firmly. But when would he get a chance?
Lord, I’d like to do this. Could you please send Flora to visit?
He grinned to himself as he thought of how Aunt Mary reminded him over and over of answered prayers. Never before though had he felt the right to ask on his own behalf. “I just realized something.” The words burst from him, but he didn’t regret it. He’d learned that he enjoyed sharing his thoughts with Stella and appreciated her attention and responses.
“What’s that?” She indicated they should sit on the grass while they talked, and the children played.
“Aunt Mary has taught me the value of prayer and yet, until today, I have never asked for something for myself. I suppose I thought it selfish to do so.”
“Or maybe…” She tipped her head to study him, her gentle smile like a balm to his soul. “Could it be you didn’t think you were worthy?” Her gaze offered kindness, not judgment.