A Handyman for Helen

by Amelia C. Adams

“If I wasn’t blind, would you still be proposin’?”

  “Well, no. It would be your job.”

  He smiled. “Let me ask this a different way. If I weren’t blind, would you still want to marry me? Or are you only marryin’ me so I’ll have someone to walk me to the outhouse?”

  He heard an intake of breath. “Zeke Turner . . . wait. Your name is Turner, isn’t it?”

  He grinned. “Yes, it’s Turner.”

  “Zeke Turner, how could you even suggest such a thing? As if I’d let an outhouse decide who I was going to marry!”

  “Well? You haven’t answered my question. I told you how I feel about you—now it’s your turn.”

  She paused. “It so happens that possibly, and probably presumably, I’m in love with you too.”

  “Oh? But not definitely?”

  “I . . . I think that’s something we could discuss.”

  He knew where her hand was, because he was holding it. He could tell where her voice was coming from . . . as for the rest, he’d have to guess. He slid his arm around her waist, grateful to discover that it actually was her waist he’d grabbed and not the chair or a tree stump, and pulled her closer. He was a little concerned about finding her lips from there, but she made it very easy by melting into him, and all he had to do was lower his head.

  He kissed her long and hard, then soft and sweet, and when he finally lifted his head, he said, “Is that the sort of discussion you had in mind?”

  “Yes, that was very effective,” she replied, her breath soft on his neck. “Marry me, Zeke, for whatever reason.”

  He chuckled. “All right, Miss Ashby. I think I can oblige.”

  Chapter Nine

  “I have to say, I’m a little miffed,” Wynonna said as she hung a new shirt on the clothesline. “Does this mean the first cabin won’t be mine after all?” She gave a little wink to indicate that she was joking.

  “The first cabin is for us unmarried ladies.” Rowena pretended to wipe her eyes. “It’s our consolation for being overlooked and unwanted.”

  “And what if we’re happily unmarried?” Fiona retorted. “I’m pleased for you, Helen, but I’m quite glad it’s not me.”

  Helen grinned. “And I can’t believe it is me. I didn’t want to come out here in the first place, if you recall.”

  “Oh, I recall,” Wynonna said. “You nearly shackled me to a tree to keep me from coming—I remember every minute of it.”

  “There were no shackles involved.” Helen shook her head. “I just used every persuasive argument I could think of. I must not be as persuasive as I’ve always believed myself to be, though—you came anyway.”

  “And you’re glad of it,” Wynonna said. “If you were still back in Pennsylvania, you never would have met Zeke.”

  “So, when is the wedding?” Cora asked.

  Helen wrung out the next shirt. “As soon as one of the cabins is finished. Sully tried to rearrange everyone again and make room for us at Mike’s, but try as he might, it just didn’t work, and we weren’t about to make anyone go sleep with the cows.”

  “We appreciate that,” Fiona said wryly.

  Billy, Tenny, and four other men had ridden out to Topeka early that morning to purchase more supplies for the cabins. They’d be renting wagons from the livery stable this time, not leaving anything to chance, and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Once they returned, the construction could begin in earnest.

  Helen pinned that shirt to the line as well, then noticed Big Mike exiting the bunkhouse, his arms full of clothes. He walked over to them and dumped his load on the ground next to the washtub.

  “Sorry I didn’t bring this out sooner,” he said. “Got held up with some extra work this mornin’.”

  “But we’re just about done,” Fiona said. “I was about to pour out the water.”

  “Then I guess it’s good I got here when I did,” he replied.

  Fiona pulled in a breath. “Mr. . . . Big Mike, we asked you all to have your laundry ready for us by eight o’clock this morning. Just as you have a schedule to maintain, so do we. We can’t be spending all our time doing laundry because you got sidetracked.”

  “I was sidetracked by a cow who got tangled up in some loose wire and nearly sliced herself through trying to get free,” Mike replied, his jaw tense. “And there’s no need to act like you’re doin’ our wash out of the goodness of your hearts—you’re gettin’ paid just like any of the rest of us, so you can save your holy attitude for someone else.” He spun on his heel and tromped off.

  “Well,” Fiona exclaimed, watching him go.

  “Oh, the poor cow. I hope she’ll be all right.” Cora picked up Mike’s clothes and tossed them into the washtub, forgetting to shake the dust from them first. Helen hoped she hadn’t just created a mud bath.

  “Yes, of course, the cow. I’m sure we’re all worried about her. But what about the rest of it—our holy attitudes? Whatever did he mean by that?” Fiona grabbed a new bar of soap and tossed it into the water with the clothes.

  “I don’t think he meant ‘our’ holy attitudes . . . I think he meant one in particular,” Rowena pointed out.

  “How is that helpful?” Wynonna frowned. “We’re supposed to be calming her down, not riling her up!”

  “Maybe I don’t want to be calmed down,” Fiona retorted. “It makes no difference to me what Mike does or does not say about me, or how he feels or does not feel. He’s barely a human, let alone a man, and may I just say, his shirts are by far the dirtiest?”

  “Probably because he works the hardest,” Cora said.

  “Well, as the foreman, it’s only right.” Fiona picked up one of the shirts and started scrubbing it extra hard on the washboard. “I’ve heard that on some ranches, they don’t even do their laundry very often. They just get dirtier and dirtier and dirtier.”

  “I don’t know how things used to be out here, but I can’t imagine Margaret approving of any such thing,” Wynonna replied. “Maybe she took them in hand that much.”

  “At any rate, whether we’re being paid to do it or not, I’m glad these men are a bit tidier.” Fiona grabbed the next shirt. “I wouldn’t want to be associated with a collection of Neanderthals, and they would stink up my dining room something dreadful.”

  Helen smiled, listening to her friends go back and forth. A few weeks ago, none of them would have cared about the laundry habits of a ranch full of bachelors, and now, it was of the utmost importance.

  “Hello, ladies,” a voice called out, and she turned to see Zeke coming toward them, being led by Frisco.

  “Hello,” she replied. “I was just telling everyone our news.”

  “Oh? What news is that?”

  “You know what news. You can’t be backing out on me already, are you?”

  He grinned. “Not a chance. And it turns out that I have some news of my own.”

  “News that’s different from my news?”

  “Yes. Jack’s been giving me one of his concoctions, and the pain in my head is going away.”

  “Oh, Zeke, that’s wonderful. I’m so glad.”

  “So am I. I actually got some sleep last night.”

  “And I believe him because he snored,” Frisco said, sounding exasperated. “May I leave him here with you for a bit? Mike just asked me to come put down a cow that got hurt earlier.”

  “What?” Fiona dropped the shirt she was holding back into the water. “Is this the one that got tangled in the wire?”

  “That’s right. There’s no way to patch her up, Miss Fiona—she’s too far gone. That wire acted like a blade and just cut her to bits.”

  Fiona shuddered, and Frisco held up a hand. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said so much. She’ll be out of pain shortly, I promise—this is the most humane way to deal with her.”

  “You’ll do it quickly?” Fiona asked.

  “I always do. Part of my job. And I’ll make sure you get the meat quickly—it’ll make for good steaks for dinner.” He gave a nod bef
ore heading off.

  Cora grabbed an empty washtub and turned it over for Zeke to sit on, but no one spoke.

  “I thought Mike was just trying to irk me,” Fiona said after a long minute. “I should have taken him more seriously.”

  “You couldn’t have known,” Wynonna told her.

  “No, but I could have trusted him. And now I’m making steak for dinner.” Fiona grabbed the shirt, wrung it out like she was wringing someone’s neck, then marched over to the line and hung it up. Helen didn’t know what to say or do to help her. They all felt the gravity of the situation, she was sure, but there didn’t seem to be much of a solution for it.

  “Do you put animals down often?” Cora asked Zeke.

  “No more than we have to, but it does happen,” he replied. “It’s best not to let an animal suffer. If it’s not going to get well . . .”

  “We understand, and we do know that the animals you raise here go to slaughter anyway,” Fiona said. “This is just the first time we’ve actually encountered it.”

  “I understand too,” Zeke told her. “The ranching life can be harsh.”

  They finished up the laundry and dumped out the water, then Helen took Zeke’s arm and led him to the front porch of Mike’s cabin so they could sit together for a little while. He rubbed the backs of her knuckles while they talked about nothing in particular. She loved the feel of his fingers around hers, like she belonged to him in the most tender way.

  “How long do you think it will take to build our cabin?” she asked.

  “About a week, if all the men are able to pitch in,” Zeke replied. “Mike arranged it so everyone’s takin’ shifts to care for the ranch and to work on the construction, so we should see some pretty fast progress.”

  “He and Fiona had words right before you came,” Helen told him. “I think they’re both upset about what happened.”

  “Mike’s a good man. He’s built like a grizzly, but he’s got a soft heart underneath. I’m sure he’ll apologize and they’ll be able to patch it up.”

  “This wasn’t a clear-cut case of right and wrong—I think they should both apologize.”

  “And I’m sure they will, but I also think it’ll go better if he starts it off, don’t you?”

  She chuckled. “Yes, you’re probably right.”

  The morning sun was shining on their faces, and she turned toward it with her eyes closed, enjoying the warmth. “Doesn’t that sun feel good?” she asked after a moment. “I could almost curl up and take a nap out here, like a cat.”

  “You’d make a lovely copper-colored tabby cat,” Zeke replied, trailing his fingers up to her shoulder and reaching to touch her hair. She had just relaxed into his touch when he suddenly jerked his hand back with a loud exclamation.

  “Zeke? What’s the matter?” She came to her feet, ready to run for help if he needed it.

  He had covered his eyes with both hands, and for a panicked moment, she was worried that his pain had returned.

  “Zeke, talk to me. What’s wrong?”

  He slowly lowered his hands. “I . . . I don’t know. I think . . . I think something’s changing.”

  She took his face in her hands and looked into each eye. She didn’t know what she was looking for, actually, but it seemed like something she could do in a moment when she felt helpless. They looked the same to her. “How? How are they changing?”

  “It’s not as black anymore. It’s . . . it’s gray.”

  “Gray?”

  “Yes. The blackness isn’t so black. Like, maybe some light is starting to get through.”

  She sat back down with a thump, her energy drained. “But it could just be a fluke, couldn’t it? We shouldn’t get our hopes up.”

  “We should always keep our hopes up,” he said gently. “What’s life for otherwise?”

  “Of course. You’re right.” She didn’t dare let herself think beyond that, though. If this turned out to be nothing . . . Enough. No thinking. She put her head on his shoulder and enjoyed the sunlight, not thinking about anything else. She just couldn’t.

  ***

  Dr. Wayment lifted Zeke’s right eyelid, and then his left. “Your pupils are reacting a bit, and they weren’t the other day,” he said. “Tell me again what you see.”

  “Everythin’s gray,” Zeke replied. “I first noticed it yesterday mornin’—I was sittin’ with Helen on the porch, and suddenly things were dark gray instead of black. Today, the gray seems a little lighter.”

  “Are you able to distinguish shapes or anything?”

  “No, but I’m glad things aren’t so black anymore.”

  “I’m sure you are. It’s a good sign.”

  Zeke sensed Dr. Wayment sitting down next to him.

  “And how’s the pain?”

  “It’s under control mostly. It was bad there for the first few days, but Jack started makin’ me this willow bark tea, and it’s taken the edge off for me.”

  “Willow bark tea?”

  “That’s right.” Zeke paused. It never occurred to him that perhaps he should have checked in with the doctor before he started taking it—he just wanted some relief, and Jack’s idea seemed as good as any. “Am I wrong to drink it?”

  “No, you aren’t. I wish I’d thought to recommend it myself. Willow bark is an old remedy used by the Indians as a pain reliever, but it also reduces swelling. I believe that’s what could be happening, Zeke. The swelling in your brain could be going down, allowing you to see gray rather than black.”

  “So if I keep drinking the tea, I might get my sight back?”

  “I can’t promise you anything of the sort—let’s be very clear about that. I do think you stand a chance, however.”

  Zeke tried to suppress the joy mounting in his chest. He’d encouraged Helen to remain hopeful, but he’d done that in an attempt to buoy her spirits. He didn’t know if he believed in this possibility, but maybe, just maybe . . .

  “Thank you, Doctor. I appreciate that.”

  “Just keep doing what you’re doing. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go check in with Margaret. I have a bag of romance novels to deliver.”

  ***

  It had been almost a week since the construction on the cabins had begun, and Helen and Zeke had fallen into a comfortable rhythm. The men from the ranch were still taking turns helping with his personal care, and she guided him around and was helping him learn the distance from one room to the next and one building to the next. They ate their meals together, they spent time planning how they wanted to decorate their cabin—she talked, and he listened—and every day, she was becoming more excited about spending her life with this man. It made her laugh to think about how much she’d detested him at first because now she recognized those feelings for what they were—intense attraction, and her own unwillingness to admit it.

  As he learned his way around, she admired how quickly he was remembering the number of steps from the front door to the porch railing and from the door of the dining room to the first table. His incredible ability to do math in his head was definitely proving to be a blessing, and she felt that even though he was blind, he’d be able to remain independent in several different ways. That was important to him, and it was important to her, too—as much as she loved him, she worried about her weaknesses and doubted her ability to take care of him should he become any more incapacitated. She wasn’t a patient person, and while she was trying her best and learning how to school her reactions, she sometimes feared that she wouldn’t be the selfless sort of caregiver he most needed.

  As they stood together near the site of their cabin, she looped her arm through his and squeezed it. “They’ve gotten a lot of work done today,” she told him. “Two walls are up now, and they’ve framed in the windows.” She paused. “Zeke, did you plan for a fireplace?”

  “Not originally, but I asked them to add one in,” he said. “I thought you might like that.”

  “Of course I do! There’s nothing better than a fire on a cold night.
They’ve started piling the rocks next to the foundation—that’s what gave it away.”

  “It’s hard to keep things like that a secret.” He grinned. “You’ll have a stove, too, but you’re right—nothin’ beats a fire.”

  “It’s going to be wonderful. I can’t wait to move in and start living here as your wife.”

  “How are the curtains coming along?” he asked.

  “They’re almost done.”

  “Did the mud wash out of the fabric?”

  “Well . . .” she hedged. “We aren’t using the yellow after all.”

  “We aren’t?”

  “No. After everything we went through that day, I just couldn’t bear to have that reminder in front of us all the time. I sent a note into town with the men and asked Alice to choose out something nice.”

  “What color did she choose?”

  “A very nice moss green. I hope you don’t think I’m being wasteful—all that fabric, and we aren’t even going to use it.”

  He tugged her a little closer and gave her a squeeze. “You know how I feel about waste, but I don’t have any objection this time. Truth be told, I always hated that yellow.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes. It looked like mustard.”

  “Is there something wrong with mustard?”

  “Not as a food item, but yes, there’s somethin’ wrong with having mustard on a window.”

  She laughed and laid her head on his chest. “Then I’m extra glad we’re not using it. The green is softer anyway. It will make the rooms seem more mellow.” She knew such things wouldn’t matter to him, but he liked to hear about the things that mattered to her. That was one way she knew they’d overcome their earlier disputes—instead of bickering over their opinions, they were learning to share their reasons for feeling the way they did. It was quite helpful, and she wished she’d thought of it long before.

  “And what color is your dress?” Zeke asked.

  “My dress?” That was an odd question.

  “Yes. Would you say it’s more blue or purple?”

  She took a step back, moving so quickly, she almost knocked him over. “What do you mean?”

  He grinned. “I think I can make out the color of your dress, but I can’t decide if it’s blue or purple.”