The Heirloom Brides Collection

by Tracey V. Bateman

  “I enjoyed my talk with Clara.” Ma shook her head, clicking her tongue on her teeth. “For someone raised in the city, she has certainly learned the meaning of hard work. But I worry she is getting in over her head. When I spoke of butchering animals for meat, her face became so white, I feared she might faint. She wants a large garden, but she’s only grown tomatoes and strawberries in the past. How will she know when to put out the seed onions and potatoes or how far apart to set the cabbages? Will she know to grow the corn on the south side of the garden so it doesn’t shade on the other plants? How will she ready the ground?” A weary sigh left Ma’s throat. “If only she were part of our church. The women of our congregation take seriously the admonitions found in the book of Titus about older women teaching the younger ones. They would offer advice and counsel to Clara.”

  Titus crunched his brow. “You keep calling Miss Frazier ‘Clara.’ ”

  A smug look crossed Ma’s face. “Yes, I do. She invited me to call her Clara instead of Miss Frazier.” She bumped Titus’s arm. “I like her, Titus. I think she likes me. And…” She winked, her lips twitching. “I think she likes you, too.”

  Heat attacked Titus’s cheek, and it wasn’t from the bright sun. “Ma…”

  “No, it’s true. I watched her when you were near. She tries not to look at you too much, but her eyes deceive her and she casts glances your way. Each time she does, admiration glows in her eyes. Whether she likes you because of the things you do for her father, or if she likes you for you, I can’t say for sure yet. But I can say with certainty—she has a high regard for you.” Her expression sobered. “That gives you a great responsibility, my son, to set a good example at all times. But I need not worry. Your father and I raised you to be honorable and trustworthy. Clara’s esteem will not be misplaced.”

  Titus transferred the reins to one hand and put his free arm around his mother. “Thank you, Ma.”

  She pasted on a mock frown and wagged her finger at him. “Just remember to keep your mind on your work while you’re at the Frazier place. I also noticed how you look at Clara. She is a very pretty girl, and she could steal your focus if you aren’t cautious.”

  “I’ll be cautious, Ma. I promise.”

  Her grin returned. “You know, I think on Monday I’ll send Andrew with you. While you work in the field, he can start clearing a piece of ground for Clara’s garden. Don’t we have a roll or two of the fine mesh wire left over from protecting the apple rings as they dry in the sun? After the ground is ready for seeds, you boys can use the wire and put a fence around the garden. It wouldn’t do for rabbits to eat up her tender plants before they have a chance to produce.”

  Titus laughed. “You think any rabbits will come around with Rowdy there?”

  Ma laughed, too. “Oh, that coyote of hers, such a cunning little thing! His belly is so round, I can’t imagine him needing to catch a rabbit for his supper. I think Clara feeds him plenty well.” Worry crinkled her brow. “Son, that is something else about which someone should give her warning. The other farmers might not take kindly to her raising a coyote for a pet. And to be honest, I can’t say it is a wise idea. Although he seems tame now, he’s still young. As he grows to an adult, his wild ways might overtake him. He could be a danger to Clara or their livestock.”

  Titus’s chest went tight. Clara—now that Ma called her Clara he couldn’t think of her as Miss Frazier—loved Rowdy. He couldn’t crush her by giving her a warning even if it was for her good.

  “Maybe you should say something to her father.”

  Titus sighed. Yes, he’d talk to Mr. Frazier. Then Clara’s father could find the best way to let Clara know the dangers of keeping a wild animal. The joy of the early afternoon faded a bit when he thought of Clara’s wistful admission, “He’s good company for me.” She depended on Rowdy for companionship. But maybe if she came to see him and Ma and some others in town as friends, her need for Rowdy would lessen and it would be easier for her to let the creature return to the wild. It wouldn’t bother him at all to see her gaze at him with the affection she bestowed on Rowdy.

  He flicked the reins again. “Come on now, Buck and Topper. Hurry on home.” Maybe the rattling wagon would shake loose some of his concerns for Miss Clara Rose Frazier. No amount of rattling would make him lose his attraction for her, though. Only God could remove those feelings.

  Monday morning, with Andrew yawning behind him and a drawstring sack of sandwiches bouncing from the saddle horn, Titus hurried Petunia up the road to the Fraziers’ place. He hated to push the poor old horse—she wasn’t used to carrying two riders—but Andrew’s slow start put them behind his usual leaving time of six thirty. Clara served breakfast promptly at seven, and he didn’t want to make her wait. Besides, he needed to get there before Joshua Gosen and Floyd Korfe, who’d promised to arrive by half-past seven to help him burn off the field and the stumps. Their knock at the door would be a shock if he couldn’t forewarn the Fraziers.

  He had a lot of forewarnings to give Mr. Frazier and Clara. Yesterday at the close of the church service, Ma stood up and shared the many needs of their new neighbors—a coat of paint applied to the house’s exterior, grass and flowers planted in the front yard, the roof patched on the barn’s lean-to, ground for a vegetable garden readied, and a pen for a piglet or two built behind the barn. It was too much for one person, but Ma reminded the congregation, Arbeit macht das Leben süz—work sweetens life. So many folks approached her in the yard afterward with offers to help, she had to turn some away.

  Andrew yawned again, ending with a short yelp.

  Titus chuckled. “Aren’t you awake yet? Be careful you don’t fall off back there. I don’t have time to wait for you to climb up again. You’ll have to walk the rest of the way. But then, if you had to walk, maybe you’d be good and awake by the time you got there.”

  Andrew bopped Titus’s shoulder with his fist. “Don’t tease. You know I stayed out late last night at the Friesens’ place with the other young people. You are like an old man already, going to bed with the chickens. Why didn’t you come to the Friesens’ with John and me?”

  Titus grimaced. The unmarried young people of the congregation often gathered to socialize on Saturday or Sunday evenings. He’d given up attending their get-togethers more than a year ago. He was at least two years older than all the others, and he’d grown impatient with the young women’s open flirtation. Now if Clara Frazier were to attend, then maybe—

  “Next week we’re meeting at the Rempels’.” Andrew’s voice carried a thread of excitement. “Luke and Lyle built matching pony carts, and we’re going to take turns racing them with the Mäakjes as drivers. It ought to be great fun. You should come. I bet you would win some of the races.”

  Years ago when he was eighteen like Andrew or even twenty-one like John, he would have considered pulling a pony cart with a girl directing him a fine time. But now it only seemed silly. Still, he wouldn’t hurt his brother’s feelings by saying so. “I will think about it, Andrew, all right?”

  They reached the Frazier yard, and Titus let Andrew use his arm as a support to swing down. He handed his brother the sack of sandwiches. “Wait here, and watch for Joshua and Floyd while I put Petunia in the corral. Wave them over if they come. Miss Frazier doesn’t know anyone besides me is coming, and I don’t want her to be startled if she sees strangers at her door.”

  Andrew grinned. “You are getting kind of protective of Miss Frazier, aren’t you?”

  Usually Titus didn’t mind his brothers’ teasing and he joined right in. But not where Clara was concerned. He scowled. “Just do as I say, Andrew.”

  “All right, all right.” Andrew swung the sandwich bag. “But hurry, huh? There’s a good smell coming from the house. I’m ready for breakfast.”

  Titus bumped his heels against Petunia’s sides and aimed her for the barn. Andrew didn’t know it yet, but his breakfast would be a sandwich. He’d have a sandwich for lunch and supper, too. Ma didn’t want the ex
tra workers she’d sent eating up all of the Fraziers’ food, so she’d made enough sandwiches for Andrew, Joshua, and Floyd. He released Petunia into an open stall and trotted out to join Andrew. Maybe he’d be nice and eat some of the sandwiches, too. Then he got a whiff of what Andrew was smelling—sausage and biscuits.

  Maybe he wouldn’t be nice, after all.

  Titus knocked on the door, and he let out a little huff of laughter when Mr. Frazier, leaning on his crutches, opened it and Rowdy leaped over the threshold to attack Titus’s boot strings. He scooped up the pup while smiling at the man. “Look at you! No breakfast in bed today?”

  Mr. Frazier blasted a hearty guffaw. “Oh no, I’m avoiding my bed as much as possible, thanks to my crutches. Come in, come in.” His gaze landed on Andrew, and his eyebrows rose in surprise. “And who have we here?”

  Andrew whipped of his hat, tucked it under his arm, and held out his hand. “Good morning, sir. I’m Andrew Klaassen.”

  Titus added, “Ma suggested I bring Andrew today to begin clearing the area for Cl—Miss Frazier’s garden.” Clara was at the stove, her back to them, busily stirring something in a frying pan. He gestured to the bag Andrew held. “But you don’t have to worry about feeding him. Ma sent plenty of sandwiches to carry him through the day.”

  Mr. Frazier chuckled. “Your mother thinks of everything, doesn’t she?” He eased back a few inches, balancing himself on the crutches. “Come in and have a seat at the table. Clara Rose will set out an extra plate for you, Andrew. You can save those sandwiches for later.”

  Andrew aimed a triumphant grin at Titus and hurried to the table. He sat in the chair Titus had always used. Swallowing a growl of aggravation, Titus set Rowdy on the floor and chose a different chair. Mr. Frazier stumped across the room and dropped into the seat across from Titus. He laid the crutches on the floor beside him, chuckling when Rowdy crouched and growled at the lengths of wood, and turned to Clara. “Daughter, we’ll need another plate.”

  She flashed a weak smile over her shoulder. “Certainly, Papa.”

  Titus rose. “You’re busy, Miss Frazier. Let me get it.” He crossed to the shelf near the stove where stacks of plates, bowls, and cups were neatly arranged. Clara kept house with as much care as she kept herself, always in a clean dress with her hair swept into a braided coil. He forced himself to glance past her enticing appearance to the pan on the stove. Thick, creamy gravy bubbled, releasing the rich aroma of sausage with each pop. He licked his lips. “That looks wonderful.”

  While continuing to stir, she sent a brief sidelong look in his direction, a hint of a smile tipping up the corners of her lips. “Thank you. If you’d like to take the biscuits to the table, they’re on a plate in the warming hob. I’ll bring the gravy in just a minute or two.”

  If she asked for his help, she must be starting to relax with him. The thought sent a tremble through his belly. He smiled. “Of course, Miss Frazier.” He removed the filled plate from the hob, his mouth watering at the sight of the light, fluffy, perfectly browned biscuits. He retrieved a plate from the shelf and a fork from a little basket on the possum-belly cupboard, then settled himself at the table.

  Clara scurried over, carrying a rose-painted bowl filled with the gravy. Pepper flakes dotted the creamy expanse, and chunks of sausage formed dozens of little islands. Titus couldn’t wait to pour that gravy over biscuits and dive in. Clara slid gracefully into the remaining chair at Titus’s right. At every other meal, he’d sat across from her. Having her near enough to reach out and clasp her hand made his pulse gallop.

  “Titus, would you ask the blessing?”

  Mr. Frazier expected him to form a sensible prayer when his senses thrummed like a bee caught in a jelly jar? Titus swallowed the knot in his throat. “Y–yes. Sure.” Lord, help me out here, huh? He bowed his head and hoped everyone else did, too. “Dear Lord, we thank Thee for Thy care. We thank Thee for the food before us, and for the h–hands that prepared it.” Don’t stammer! “Bless it—the food—to our nourishment. Amen.”

  “Amen,” Mr. Frazier echoed. He offered the biscuits to Andrew.

  Andrew took three biscuits and passed the plate to Titus. Titus only took two, even though he wanted three. While they passed the food, he reined in his nervousness enough to speak coherently. The clock on the wall showed five minutes past seven, so he needed to let the Fraziers know about those who would arrive soon.

  “Mr. Frazier, some men from town are coming out today to help burn your field. My pa suggested burning those stumps down, too, then hacking them out rather than trying to pull out the roots and leaving a big hole in the field.” He aimed an apologetic look at Clara. “I know you usually do wash on Monday, but I advise you to wait until tomorrow, or maybe even Wednesday, so your clothes don’t pick up the smoke smell.”

  She frowned. “How many men are coming out?”

  “Don’t worry about feeding them.” Titus hoped his words would remove the look of concern creasing her pretty, heart-shaped face. “My mother sent sandwiches for them.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not thinking about the meal. Who will be here?”

  Her consternation raised Titus’s nervousness. “Two men from our church, Joshua Gosen and Floyd Korfe.” He faced Mr. Frazier, hoping his explanation would put the daughter at ease. “Burning a field is never a one-man job. You want several people watching the fire. An out-of-control fire is not a good thing on the prairie. I’m sorry I didn’t ask beforehand, but…”

  Clara’s uncertain expression remained intact.

  Titus cleared his throat. “I suppose I should also tell you, next week—on Saturday—a group of men and women are coming out to paint your house.”

  Mr. Frazier drew back, his eyes wide and jaw dropping. “They are?”

  Clara rose so quickly, her chair legs screeched against the floor. Rowdy let out a yelp and darted through an open bedroom doorway. Clara pinned Titus with a glower. “Please tell them thank you, but that Papa and I are capable of taking care of our house on our own. Tell them…”

  She closed her eyes, grimacing as if a pain stabbed her. She looked at him again, and to his chagrin, tears swam in her brown eyes. She gulped. “Tell them not to bother.” She hurried through the same doorway Rowdy had exited and shut the door behind her.

  Titus turned to Mr. Frazier. “I apologize, sir, for offending you.”

  Andrew scowled at the closed door. “It was Ma’s idea. She thought it would help.”

  Mr. Frazier sighed. “Andrew, your mother is very kind for arranging a house-painting. And, Titus, we aren’t offended. I appreciate you being concerned for safety and asking for help with burning the field. My daughter is—Clara Rose only—” He picked up his crutches and struggled to his feet. “Please, excuse me.” He made his way to the bedroom door, knocked, and then entered the room.

  Andrew blew out a little breath. “She sure is a strange one.” He jammed the last bite of his gravy-covered biscuit into his mouth.

  “Don’t be unkind, Andrew.” Titus, his hunger gone, pushed his nearly full plate aside and stood. “Come on. Time to work.”

  Chapter Nine

  Clara stroked Rowdy’s ears and pretended Papa wasn’t standing at the door, scowling at her. Why, just when she was beginning to appreciate Titus Klaassen, did he have to do something so unsettling?

  “Clara Rose, you didn’t eat your breakfast.”

  The concern in Papa’s voice stirred Clara’s guilt. She peeked at him through her eyelashes. “I’m not hungry. Not anymore.”

  Papa sighed and thumped across the floor. He eased himself onto the edge of the bed next to her and buried his fingers in Rowdy’s thick ruff. “The promise of a kind act robs you of your appetite?”

  Wasn’t she being a ninny? She wished she could explain why the thought of people she didn’t know swarming her home bothered her, but she couldn’t find the words. “Oh, Papa…” She leaned sideways and rested her head on his shoulder.

  Papa tipped his templ
e against her forehead. “Clara Rose, when I bought this farmstead, it was with the intention of giving us a fresh start. I know it was hurtful and difficult for you to be the girl from the Washburn District who’d lost two beaus.”

  Clara swallowed painfully.

  “But no one in this town knows your past. You have no reason to hold yourself away from the people of Wilhelmina.”

  She found her words. She sat up and shifted to face her father. “You’re wrong. Look at me, Papa. I’m twenty-four, not a girl anymore. Every other twenty-four-year-old woman I know is married with a family. I’m… different.” Oh, it hurt to say it out loud.

  “Because you turned down proposals from two beaus?”

  She nodded.

  A slow smile curved Papa’s cheek. “Some would call you wise beyond your years. It takes strength to wait for the right person when everyone around you is half of a pair.”

  Clara nibbled her lip. “You think I made the right choice, saying no to both Brant and Clifford?”

  Papa made a face as if he smelled something rancid. “Oh my, yes. Brant was too stuffy for you, walking around with his nose in the air. And Clifford’s hands were always sweaty. I’ve never trusted a man with sweaty palms. It makes me think he’s nervous because he has something to hide.”

  Clara raised her eyebrows and gazed at him. “You never acted as if you didn’t care for them.”

  “Well, I didn’t want to be rude, my dear daughter, if you were fond of them. But truthfully, I wasn’t unhappy to see you part ways with either one of those men.” Papa squeezed her hand. “They weren’t special enough for you, Clara Rose.”

  She hung her head. It would take a very special man to understand she couldn’t move far away and leave her father alone. He nearly mourned himself to death after Mama died. He needed Clara. And she needed him. No man would take a wife who insisted her aging father must be part of their family, too. She muttered, “Even if they don’t know about Brant and Clifford, I’ll still be different. I’ll still be the only woman in her midtwenties without a husband or children.”