by Vivi Holt
She heaved herself up from the creek bed, the weight of the water dragging at her full skirts. Stumbling forward, she climbed up the bank to the level field. With a few swipes of her hands, she did her best to wipe the mud and sticks from her gown, but stared in dismay at her sodden leather boots. Oh well, it couldn’t be helped. She’d just have to dry them out, oil and polish them the first chance she got. Hopefully Brent had some leather oil and shoe polish on hand.
Limping along in her wet boots, Christy made her way back. The sun was high in the sky now and she’d lost track of time. It had to be near lunchtime, and she really should prepare something to take to Brent. He was working somewhere on the property, no doubt wondering why he’d ever considered marriage.
She hurried into the yard and was walking up the front steps when Brent emerged from the house, almost running her over. “Excuse me,” he said, placing his hands against her shoulders. He noted her disheveled appearance and suppressed a smirk. “What on Earth happened to you?”
“Well … I went for a walk, fell in manure, some kind of big rat barked at me and I fell into a creek.”
He chuckled. It lit up his face and brought a sparkle to his blue eyes. “A rat? Maybe a prairie dog. They’re not usually aggressive, though. Are you okay?”
“Well, I suppose, but it did give me a fright. Otherwise I’m fine, just a bit wet and dirty. Thank you for fixing my trunk, and for washing my clothes. You really didn’t have to do all of that. It was very kind.”
“I don’t mind. It was my fault, after all. I should never have asked you to hold Patty.”
“No, it wasn’t your fault at all, it was mine. But thank you.”
Brent’s nose wrinkled. “I don’t mean to be rude, but …”
“Oh yes – the manure.” Christy sniffed her hands and drew back in disgust. “I tried to wipe them clean, but I suppose I need a bath.”
Brent laughed and pulled his hat from his head. “I’ll draw a bath for you. While you’re waiting, why don’t you check out the chicken coop in back?” He strode back into the house.
Christy shoved her soiled hands behind her back and wandered from the verandah around the outside of the house. The garden in front was large, but overgrown. Tomato bushes ran wild alongside a massive pumpkin vine and an assortment of herbs, vegetables and gargantuan weeds. She shook her head in dismay – it would take a lot of work to get it back into order.
Behind the house stood a well-maintained chicken coop full of plump brown- and black-feathered chickens. They strutted around the coop clucking and crooning, pecking at the ground and scratching with their long claws. A rooster perched on a branch that angled across the top of the coop on one side, its ends poking out through the wire fencing. His bright plumage stood out against the plain colors of the hens.
She pulled the door of the coop open, crouched down and crept through. A feathery smell overpowered the scent of her hands, which was a mercy. She picked her way through the coop, careful where her feet fell. A large timber box, accessible through a hatch door, held the nests.
Lifting the door, she reached inside, finding several warm eggs that she squirreled into her skirt pockets. But as her fingers discovered another egg, a hair-raising squawk came from within the nesting box and she found her hand under attack. A hen flew at her, pecking and scratching with fury. She pulled back with a scream and stumbled from the coop. With a bang, she slammed the door closed behind her and stood panting outside. Her hand was scratched, and she even saw a little blood on one finger.
Farm life was more challenging than she’d realized. If she even had the chance to stick with it.
13
“Bath’s ready!” Brent called from inside the house.
Christy sighed with relief and hobbled to the back door. Brent met her there with a towel to dry her feet. She set the eggs in a bowl on the kitchen worktable, wrapped herself in the towel and followed him to the bedroom, where a large claw-footed tub sat behind a white folding screen. She blushed, not realizing before that it was there. The bed was now neatly made, and a rocking chair had been brought in, with another towel sitting on it. It’s like he thinks of everything, she thought.
“Feel free to get what you need from your bags,” he told her. “I’ll be outside working, so don’t slip in the tub.” He chuckled again and left the room.
She could hear him whistling as he headed for the barn, and felt her cheeks warm. There was something very attractive about Brent Taylor. The way he laughed so playfully at her, then took care of her without a second thought. How he whistled as he went about his work, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. She smiled, remembering the look on his face when she’d told him about the prairie dog.
She collected the clothing she needed and returned to the bath, where she noticed Brent had thoughtfully provided a cake of soap and a washcloth. He’d even set a foot towel beside the tub to keep her from slipping on the floorboards when she was done.
She undressed and slipped into the warm water, exhaling as it enveloped her tired body. It’d been so long since she’d had a bath like this – since leaving Philadelphia, she’d had to wash in small basins and bowls. It was such a relief to be able to sink into a full tub. The warmth soaked into her bones, and she felt a renewed sense of peace.
When she emerged from the tub, she smelled of soap and the lavender sachets she always stored with her clothing. With a fresh work dress (courtesy of the Pokes) and wet hair, she felt like a new person. She smiled, strolled out to the kitchen – and was reminded with a look around how much work the house needed. Between that and the garden, it could keep her busy for months if she stayed.
She frowned and rolled up her sleeves. “Hmm … where should I start?”
Well, right there was as good a place as any. She found an old apron stashed in a drawer under the kitchen table, wrapped it around her dress and tied it behind her back. With some rummaging, she found everything she needed to bake bread and began mixing and kneading. Before long, she had a long loaf of dough in a pan, ready to rise.
She stepped out the back door and set the covered pan in the sunshine, then gazed around. There were so many brilliant colors in the fields, with flowers blooming everywhere. She gathered as many wildflowers as her arms could hold, brought them into the house and went back for a second load. Cadging some glasses and tall bowls, she turned them into makeshift vases and made sure each room of the house was filled with the sweet scent of wild flowers. “Now, that’s more like it.”
Next, she found some flour sacks and a broom and began dusting away all the dirt and cobwebs, wiping every surface in the house clean. She opened every window that would, and let the fresh breezes blow in the scent of warm grasses. The whole house took on a different character. She allowed herself a moment to admire her handiwork. It looks so lovely now.
But there was still the possibility she’d have to leave the next day. And then what would she do? Where would she go?
Christy sat down at the dining table, letting the tears fall. She knew she was capable of taking care of herself once the inheritance left her by her parents was finally settled. She could make her way to California and study for her teaching certificate, or go back East. But even though she knew she could, she felt more miserable the more she thought about it.
She wasn’t sure why, but there was something about this place that made her want to stay and put down roots. Something about the beautiful countryside and the charming farmhouse – and the gentleman who owned it – seemed like home to her. Even though it had been in such disarray when she first entered it a day ago, she was already imagining spending evenings knitting or reading in front of the hearth, side by side with Brent.
She could picture herself cooking meals in the kitchen for their growing family, surrounded by the laughter and shouts of children that would fill the spacious homestead. She’d begun to believe she never would again feel at home after losing her parents – and yet here in Indian Territory she’d discovered a pl
ace she felt inextricably at peace. She stared out the window at the swaying grasses and clucking hens and sighed. It was a beautiful place.
She shook her head and took a deep breath. There was no point picturing a future for herself there – not until it was clear she’d be able to stay. Brent could toss her on the train to Topeka tomorrow, so she had to consider what her life might look like elsewhere. Maybe teaching would become a passion for her – she certainly enjoyed the company of children. And she’d heard that California was a beautiful and wonderfully adventurous place.
Time to put the bread in the oven. She hurried outside and lifted the cloth from the pan. The bread had risen beautifully, its puffy white dough smelled like yeast and sunshine. She carried it carefully into the house and slid it into the pre-warmed brick oven. At least she’d have this memory to take with her, should she have to leave.
Just after noon, Christy walked out to the front porch to beat the dust out of the living room rug, and saw Brent coming up over the hill with a tall, wiry boy, driving a pair of oxen in front of them. They guided them into the corral by the barn and began bringing out hay for them. She stood very still as she watched Brent and the boy work. The sun beat down hard on them – she could see why their skin was so suntanned.
It must be hard work, running this ranch. If I stayed here, would I be able to help him?
Suddenly her mind raced as she imagined the life they could live together ― Brent rearing and branding cattle and horses, while she decorated the house, making it the perfect sanctuary for him to come home to every night. She sighed again loudly and strode back into the house to return the rug to its place on the floor.
Checking the bread, she looked out the back door and spotted something she hadn’t noticed before: a large lemon tree. Several bright yellow fruits hung from its branches among a myriad of green. She went out, pulled the ripened ones she could reach from the branches and placed them in her apron. She found a basket by the back door – I wish I’d seen that this morning for the eggs, she thought fleetingly – dropped them into it and carried it to the kitchen worktable.
A further search of the kitchen unearthed some cured ham hanging in the larder, and scavenging through the overgrown garden yielded a basket of freshly plucked tomatoes and cucumbers. The bread was done, so she set it out to cool and began preparing sandwiches and lemonade. Filling the basket with the food and a blanket, she carried it out the door to the barn where Brent and the boy were working.
Brent looked up as she walked towards him. He caught her eyes and smiled tenderly at her. “What have you got there?” he asked.
“I thought you might be hungry,” said Christy, shading her eyes with one hand while she held up the picnic basket in the other.
Brent nodded toward a shady spot under a large oak tree beside the barn. “We sure are! Why don’t the three of us picnic over there?”
She smiled shyly and nodded. Under the oak, she set the basket down and pulled the blanket out to spread across the grass and leaves. The two men washed up at the water pump and walked over to join her.
“Christy, this is Kip Harris. He helps around the place and lives over yonder with his parents,” Brent pointed down the road towards Newton.
“Pleased to meet you, Kip.” She smiled at him and handed him a sandwich.
Kip took the sandwich with a nod. “Ma’am,” he said and gulped the whole thing down in just a few bites.
Christy looked over at Brent and giggled at the sight of Kip’s feeding frenzy. Brent returned the grin and they each munched on their sandwiches, sneaking glances at each other.
14
Brent had spent that morning in a temper. He’d snapped at Kip and yelled at the cows, and Patty bore the brunt of his frustration – he was spurred forward, then jerked to turn or stop. Kip watched him with a worried expression but didn’t say anything.
Brent knew that there was a good chance Christy would want to hop the train to Topeka the following day, and he felt powerless to do anything about it. She was so beautiful that he almost became tongue-tied when he was around her. His heart would beat rapidly and his face grow flushed and his words come out all wrong. It seemed everything he said upset her one way or another.
It was all turning out wrong. He’d been so happy to stand beside her at the courthouse and marry her, imagining how their life might be when they returned to the farmhouse. But the ride home had gone awry due to that stupid snake, and since then everything had gone from bad to worse.
And then she emerged from the house with a packed lunch for them, and he felt a tremble course through his body. They sat close together on a blanket under the shade of a majestic tree, her with her legs curled up beneath her. A breeze blew a strand of curls against her white neck, and he could think of nothing other than kissing her skin there. He admired her rounded figure, how stunning she looked with the sun shining down on her, the way it seemed to pick up the golden highlights streaking through her red mane. She looks lovely.
And soon she might be lost to him forever. How unfair was that?
“I assume the hen is doing much better,” she commented.
That stirred him from his musings. “Sorry, what?”
“The hen. When I collected eggs this morning, I couldn’t tell that any of them had been ill. They were all walking around the coop as though they’d never been sick at all.”
He nodded and swallowed the last of his sandwich. “She’s good as new today, not that I can really take the credit. Later on, maybe I can point out which one it was.”
Christy smiled shyly and set her sandwich down. “I’m sure you’re very good to your animals, Brent. I was watching you from the window …” She stopped short.
“Y-you were?”
Christy blushed. “I mean, I was watching you with the two cows – just for a few moments. But I saw how gentle you were with them, making sure they were comfortable.”
He nodded and grinned. “Thank you.” He felt his neck beginning to flush red and feared that it would travel to his face, giving away his true feelings for her. He coughed into his hand and gazed across the field in front of them.
She took a last sip from her glass of lemonade, then stood up. “I’d better take these dishes back to the house.” She gathered the empty items into the basket and turned to leave. “I’ll see you back there for supper. If you like.”
He raised his eyebrows. “You’re going to cook?”
Christy smiled. “Yes. If that’s all right with you.”
He grinned, stars in his eyes. “I’ll be looking forward to it the rest of the day.”
She returned his smile with a look of relief, then walked back to the house. Brent watched her skirts sashaying as she moved across the lawn and wondered what he could possibly do before tomorrow to convince her to stay. He’d only known her for a day, but he didn’t want her to leave, not yet. Not before he had a chance to get to know her. He lifted his hat from his head and scratched, thinking on the matter, then shrugged and spun on his heel to return to work.
He saw Kip watching him with a sly grin. Oh well, it couldn’t be helped. Brent shook his head and he whistled as he walked back to the fields.
Christy was daydreaming as she stirred the stew on the stovetop, her mind returning to the thought of Brent’s lips. If only we could share a kiss before I leave. I wonder what it would be like. She imagined the firmness of his arms around her, pulling her close to his thick chest. Mam would have scolded her for such thinking. She shook her head and tried to ponder something else, but she couldn’t help it. She could not think clearly with him around.
It was for the best if she was to leave the next day. She didn’t know how she’d get anything at all done if she were to live with the man. She’d spend all her time woolgathering about his muscled arms and never get a moment’s peace. It would be torturous.
A bubbling sound broke through her reverie, and she saw the stew was about to burn. She took it off the stove quickly and tasted it, praying it
wasn’t ruined. It was fine, and she breathed a sigh of relief. The last thing she wanted to do was to ruin the one supper she might ever make for Brent. If only there could be more. Here I am just getting settled in, and to say goodbye already …
Christy gazed out the window over the sweeping property and wished for a chance to make a home here. Already, she loved the lemon tree by the back door, the wide verandah around the house, the useful little kitchen, the hens clucking nearby. But most of all, she loved to see the smile on Brent’s face as he watched her. And she loved watching him at that moment, the curve of his muscular arms as he swung an axe to split the firewood they needed for the evening’s fire.
I have no home anywhere – that’s likely the reason I find this place so inviting. I must remember to keep my wits about me. Brent doesn’t want me here, and I don’t belong. Mam would tell me to get my head out of the clouds and stop wishing for things that are never going to happen. I’ll be back on the train tomorrow, and that’s that.
When Brent finally tramped in the door that night, he was met with more than one surprise. First of all, he was taken aback by how pleasing the house looked. It wasn’t sparkling clean, but most of the dust and cobwebs were gone and there were fresh flowers in every room. Then came the savory scent of the ham stew Christy had prepared. He was hungry after a hard day’s work on the ranch, and that warm, comforting aroma drew Brent to the table.
Christy served him an extra-large helping before they sat down to say the blessing together. She bowed her head and closed her eyes, and he took a moment to drink in the slope of her neck and the curve of her full lips before he closed his eyes to pray. After the blessing he took a bite as she watched expectantly. “It’s delicious. I have to admit, I’m surprised to find you can cook so well.”
Christy tasted it too. “I was taught to cook by my Mam. Did you really think she would let me grow up without knowing how to make a satisfactory meal?”