A Bride for Keeps (19 page)

“I’m so sorry.” He coughed trying to get himself under control. “Here I thought I’d
share something about my past, and I came up with that.” He pressed his lips together
and swiped at his eyes, but laughed again.

She smiled. “I’ve never had a cat. Always wanted one.”

He sobered up and smiled back. “Then I’m glad I get to be the one to make that dream
come true.” Maybe in time, he could discover some other wishes she’d been denied and
provide them as well. Though he had no need for a pony, he’d keep a look out for a
white horse.

“Don’t exhaust yourself, Helga.” Julia grabbed one of the water pails from her friend,
who insisted on doing more chores on her last day than Julia could do in a week.

“I need help you.”

“Of course you can help, but I want to talk too. Enjoy our last day together.” Julia
turned the corner.

Sticky teetered on the porch stair, then her hind feet went almost perpendicular to
the ground before she fell over.

“How did you get out?” She needn’t ask. With the door’s broken hinge, the cat could
escape as easily as varmints could get in. She shuddered. Good thing Merlin slept
on the porch at night.

And a good thing the dog wasn’t around now to scare her cat up a tree. Julia put down
the pail and snatched up Sticky. The kitten mewed and clambered up her arm until she
teetered precariously on her shoulder.

Helga cooed at the kitten as she passed by on the stairs. “Pretty, pretty kitty, you
will be lost out here.”

“Ah, I see she has escaped again.” Everett came up behind her carrying a crate. It
was the same box they’d had her in, but with the slats redone. “I put her in a pot
while I fixed this, but that obviously didn’t work.” He passed them up the stairs
and bumped through the door.

“She got out of the box?”

“Yep.” He slid the crate into the corner above the pallet where Julia had slept since
Helga took the bed.

Julia knelt down on the tick—the scent of which reminded her every night that Everett
wasn’t there—and placed the kitten inside. Along with the dirt box, there was another
empty box of about the same dimensions. “What’s this for?”

“I figured you could put something soft inside for her to sleep on.”

Helga passed her a tin cup of milk. “Oh, I shall make it. I know how much you not
like sewing.”

“But I don’t have any extra fabric, so Sticky will have to wait until I pick something
up when I take you to the train.”
She nudged the kitten’s nose in the milk to encourage her to lap. Sticky resisted
and drank nothing, preferring the bottle method.

“Find something in my trunk to cut up.” Everett poured himself a glass of tea and
downed it in a gulp.

Julia eyed him. He’d give up a usable piece of clothing for a cat?

“I best get back to work.” He stooped down to pat the cat’s head. “I might be late
for dinner.”

She caught his sleeve before he straightened. “Thank you.”

He stared into her eyes for a second, but did nothing more than smile and nod.

When the door shut behind him and his boots cleared the stair, Helga
tsk
ed. “He need kiss for that.”

Julia’s face warmed. She busied herself with putting Sticky’s little snout in the
milk again. She did need to be nicer to Everett . . . but not too nice—not kissing
nice.

Or was a simple kiss something she should think about giving him?

She wrapped her arms about her stomach and stared at the tabby’s whiskers, frothy
with milk, blinking up at the human insisting she do things her way.

“Mew.” Sticky’s little pink tongue quivered.

Me
, she was saying.
My way.

Julia knew what was best for the cat, but did she know what was best for herself?
She had thought so until she ended up here, married and confused.

“You should kiss him when he comes back.” Helga sat down with a humph and removed
the boot that constricted her still-swollen ankle.

Kiss him in front of Helga? No. “How about a cake? Everyone loves cake.”

Helga shook her head vehemently. “Don’t stoke the fire in here more, please. I am
wet all over.” She pulled her shabby valise onto the bed. “I will get my needles.
You get something from trunk.”

Thankful that she’d dropped the kissing advice, Julia scooted across the floor before
Helga started talking about rewarding Everett again. “I don’t know what to sacrifice
for the cat. It’s not like I can easily replace Everett’s wardrobe with my sewing
skills, and it’d be a terrible waste.” She ducked under the bed to pull out Everett’s
trunk, but the mystery trunk loomed in the shadowed corner. She’d forgotten about
it. Most of the things in that chest had been in good shape, plus they weren’t doing
anything useful—just getting musty. But what if it remained untouched because Everett
wanted it so?

“What is wrong under there?”

Julia grabbed the trunk full of secrets. Maybe she’d glean some information as she
rifled through it. “I forgot about this trunk.” Kneeling on the floor, she wiped off
the dust and opened the lid. In case Helga became curious as to why a much larger
woman’s clothes were hidden under the bed, she didn’t pull anything out. “There’s
a yellow dress I don’t think I could easily refashion.”

Helga shook her head. “Too nice for cat.”

She shrugged. “Too nice for Kansas.” And it would look awful on her.

“Is there something soft?”

She rummaged through the items, bypassing a shawl. That could be useful. A flannel
wrapper lay in the bottom, worn, as if a favorite. “Here we go.”

Helga raised her eyes at it, shook it out, but quickly nodded. “Much better for kitty.”

Julia went in search of scissors, but then realized Helga had a set and had started
cutting. She frowned as fabric fell away onto the bed. Would Everett be mad? “I could
pull some feathers from my pillow.”

“No, too nice for kitty. Enjoy your feathers. We fill with straw.”

Of course. If left up to her, Sticky would be spoiled rotten within a week. The kitten
scratched at the sides of the box, as if looking for a secret escape panel, tempting
Julia to pick her up.

Helga cut strips from the skirt instead of an even square.

“What are you doing?” She picked up a narrow piece.

“I not cut so you can’t wear, just take from bottom. It is very long for you.” And
without any more words, she returned to her task.

Did Helga wonder about the other woman’s things as much as she did? “I’ll go gather
the padding.”

In the barn, she could hear tines scraping against wood, but she couldn’t see Everett.
Hoping not to disturb him, she climbed into the loft and stuffed some hay in a gunnysack.

“Can I help?”

She peeked over the edge. “Just getting hay for the cat.”

“I’d rather you used straw. Hay’s better for the animals to eat.”

———

Everett scrambled up the ladder and headed toward the straw. “Over here.”

Though tomorrow they’d be alone again once Helga left, Everett couldn’t neglect the
chance to join Julia in the hayloft, though she likely wished he wouldn’t.

“Can I ask you a question?” Julia stumbled in the hay behind him.

Thankfully, for once, she was asking a question. “Sure.” He turned and took her elbow
as she tried to walk across the pile with a bit of grace.

“Whose trunk is under your bed?”

He frowned at the dusty sunbeam obscuring her face. “Mine or yours?”

She stopped moving. “The trunk engraved AGG.”

His eyebrows moved with the scurrying of his brain. AGG. An extra trunk. He swallowed
hard.

The extra trunk.

He coughed, more to clear his constricted throat than against the irritants floating
in the haymow. “Ah, that would stand for Adelaide . . . uh, something, Gooding.”

“Who?”

“A woman.” He took a deep breath to calm his tremors. When she asked a question, she
made it count. He’d rather tell her his favorite color was pink. But then, he’d decided
only hours ago he had to tell her everything. Might as well be now.

Not that this conversation could be anything but awkward.

He pulled her over to a short pile of hay and sat.

Julia perched precariously on the edge beside him. “I’ve begun to wonder if I’ve missed
something everyone else knows. Helga said something about you that didn’t quite make
sense. Like she’d been . . . attached to you somehow. And Carl Hampden seems to think
you have feelings for his wife. And this trunk—does this Adelaide have something to
do with them?”

“Yes.” He dragged off his hat and flipped it around on his finger, trying not to roll
it as he normally did, since a split where the brim and top met had recently appeared.
“It’s a long story.”

Would she turn silent again once she’d heard about his
brides? He swallowed. It didn’t matter how she reacted, she had the right to know.
And he’d told William just a couple days ago that if a man loved a woman enough, he’d
change even though it hurt. “When I first moved here, I was smitten with Rachel’s
sister. Never declared myself, but it was understood. I decided I needed a decent
house for her, so I built my cabin so I’d—”

“You think that thing is decent?” She screwed up her face as if questioning whether
he knew the definition of the word.

He grimaced. “It was when it was new.”

She tucked her hands between her knees. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to hit a sore spot.”

“I admit the shack is run down. But only after years of neglect during the war. And
I’d built it in a hurry.” He released his death grip on the hat. So much for not making
the split wider.

“So what happened to Rachel’s sister?”

“Before the war, some fellow asked for her hand before I did, and she moved back east.”

She raised an eyebrow. “But she left her trunk?”

“No, that’s not hers.” He sighed. “I think you know from Rachel’s letters I was looking
for a wife?” At her nod, he continued. “I was drowning in crop failure and needed
help desperately. Droughts had made it near impossible for me to care for everything
by myself, so a woman agreed to come. A Miss Gooding. I’d forgotten I shoved her trunk
under the bed. She died on the train, and I didn’t know what else to do with it.”

“Ahh, I see.” She frowned. “How sad.”

He glanced over her way for a moment before returning his gaze to his hay-covered
boots. “Then I requested a second bride to come, but she jilted me for another man
on the way here: Carl Hampden.”

Julia sucked in air.

“And then Helga came.”

“Helga?” Julia’s face paled.

“She stayed with Rachel for a time. But she decided my farm was too much work. She
married Ned.”

“Poor Helga,” Julia murmured.

Yes, as humiliated as he’d felt—poor Helga. “The train’s brought me nothing but trouble
since it first came.”

Julia crossed her arms and started to stand, but he shot out his hand to keep her
from getting up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think before I spoke. I used to say that. But
you’re not trouble.” His lips pressed together. Not exactly, anyway. Why did he excel
at making bad situations worse?

She lowered herself back down, and he released her.

He picked up his hat and dusted it off. “Maybe now you’ll understand my hesitation
to welcome you when you arrived.”

He could feel her glare shoot through his ears. “That wasn’t hesitation. That was
out-and-out shunning.”

“I’m sorry.” His neck grew hot, but he forced himself to look at her. Just yesterday
they were getting along decently, laughing over a cat. Now he’d fallen victim again
to her chastising frown. “The hesitation was more before you stepped off the train.
That . . . the shunning, was for other reasons.”

“What other reasons?” Her gaze seared into him, and he turned from it.

“You.”

“Me?” Her voice rose an octave.

“Well, you see,” his voice squawked. He cleared his throat. “You’re beautiful beyond
words. After being rejected by one very pretty gal and three plain women, I figured
I had no hope with you.” And he blew whatever hope he did have. “I was an idiot.”

Her posture relaxed. “You were.”

Well, she could have been a little slower to agree.

“So you didn’t even meet this AGG?”

“No.”

“So do you care what I do with the contents, then?”

Why hadn’t he told her this long ago and given her the trunk? “You can do whatever
you want with it. Perhaps she had some work dresses you could use.”

She nodded, then stood with her gunnysack. “I can use some fabric for a cat bed, so
I’ll need that straw.”

In silence, they walked across the loft. He took her lack of questions as her needing
time to absorb that all together five women had not found him worthy of fully making
him theirs.

Julia drove the team slowly and silently into town. She glanced at the tough woman
sitting stoically beside her. How would she get along without Helga? Granted, it had
only been a week since she’d come to stay with them, but another woman under the roof
had eased the tension between her and Everett. He’d halted his constant interrogation,
and she’d enjoyed Helga’s quiet presence.

She’d been worried Ned would come back in another drunken rage, but Helga seemed certain
he wouldn’t return for her, and she’d been correct. He’d not set foot on their property
since Everett shooed him away at gunpoint. Did Ned not want to deal with Everett again,
or did he care so little for his wife that he decided winning her back wasn’t worth
his rotten breath?

“So we say good-bye today.”

Julia swallowed against the glumness in Helga’s voice. “You will write and let us
know you’ve made it?”

“Yes, of course. I cannot thank you enough for what you do for me.” Tears shimmered
on her lower lashes.

Julia stopped the team in front of the depot and reached
over to squeeze Helga’s hand. “I would have wanted someone to help me if I were in
your situation.”

“You will never need such help.”

True. She couldn’t imagine Everett laying a vicious hand on her. He was gentler with
his horse than most men she’d known, but would she never want to leave? Just the thought
of returning to the farm without Helga made her feel uncertain. The vague, worrisome
feelings stirring within made her want to flee. With her nest egg gone, she had no
choice but to stay. But a small part of her . . . well, a small part didn’t want to
leave, which made her want to run all the more.

Helga gripped her shoulder. “Why are you having so much trouble?”

There was no need to burden the woman; Helga had enough to worry about. “I’ve enjoyed
your company. I don’t want to see you go.”

Helga smiled, the tired wrinkles about her mouth bunched. “I have to, but I mean trouble
loving Everett.”

Loving Everett? Julia was nowhere close to loving him. It wasn’t even possible. She’d
never be able to trust a man, and trust was necessary for love. But why couldn’t she
trust Everett? She stared at the reins in her hands as if she’d find the answer there.

She’d never planned to love the man she married. Hadn’t wanted to. But she couldn’t
tell Helga that. It would sound cruel.

And it was cruel. She groaned. She hadn’t meant to be unkind, just self-protective.
“It has to do with why I came here, but it isn’t something I want to talk about.”
She would never talk about it to anyone. Ned’s actions—based on his suspicion alone—confirmed
how people would think about
her and treat her if she provided any information to turn conjecture into certainty.

“All of us brides run away from something. But running from Everett is a mistake.
I believe I know more than all of us. You were more wise not to leave him, but you
are not most wise. You should trust him; he is kind.”

Julia puckered her lip, trying not to let a silly thing like Everett offering Helga
his hand in marriage first bother her. It didn’t matter. “He’s very kind, but I’m
uncomfortable.”

“Don’t be so much. God gives you good gift.”

Why hadn’t He given Helga one as well? She had never talked ill of Ned once he’d left
her, never complained about the gash they’d found behind her ear and the bruises her
sleeves had covered. If anyone was an enduring saint, it was this stolid, persevering
woman.

“And you take the gift, but you need to enjoy it.”

Enjoy? The fear of the physical side of marriage barred her from relaxing in his presence.

“Trust me.”

Could she trust Helga to know since she’d chosen her husband so poorly? “I’ll think
on it.”

They climbed out of the wagon and worked their way to the window to purchase Helga’s
ticket. Julia stood at the bottom of the Pullman’s stairs as the porter announced
that all passengers should board. She gave the stout woman a hug. “I hope you have
an easy journey.”

“It will be much easier than yours.” Helga patted her cheek and frowned.

Julia swallowed against the lump in her throat. Nothing about her life had been easy
thus far, and she hadn’t expected it to be any different when she’d come to Kansas.

She’d always have to be wary lest she be crushed again. If
she opened herself up, she could be hurt more than ever—to her very core.

Everett stopped mucking and listened. A distant rhythmic banging sounded close by.
Gunshots? Another flurry of sounds traveled through the window. More like haphazard
hammering.

Grabbing the shotgun from where it leaned against the barn wall, he slunk to the door.
A week had passed since Helga left for New York, but he still worried Ned would show
up on his property waving pistols and shouting curses.

In light of Ned’s threats and Helga’s recent departure, he’d stayed close to the house.
Julia was guarded and jumpy, and both their meals and nights were strained. He could
protect her from outside threats, God willing, but he couldn’t figure how to protect
her from the emotions churning inside her, closing her off from him again.

But then, he wasn’t much better off. Images of Ned’s hands wandering all over her
plagued his mind, making him angry and jealous. Insanely so.

As his eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight, he listened for more of the hammering
sound. A few seconds later it came—from the top of the shack. Julia swayed atop his
rickety roof. Her tiny frame careened forward as she bent and grabbed something off
the peak.

“What are you doing?” He ran to the house and craned his neck. “Get down this instant!”

Unmoving, she looked at him, a nail sticking out from between her lips.

“Did you not hear me? Get down.” Impertinence. He never realized how much he disliked
that quality before this moment. He glanced around for the ladder.

She pulled the nail from her mouth. “I’m fixing the roof. It’s leaking again. When
I’m done I’ll get down.”

“Do you even know what you’re doing?” He set the shotgun on the porch and ran to the
ladder. He held it tight and stared at the eaves. “Come down. If you want me to fix
something, ask me.” His heart sank. Why didn’t she ever ask him for help? He must
be worthless to her.

Her voice carried over the edge. “I said, I’m fixing it.”

It had actually leaked for years, but he hadn’t bothered fixing that tiny spot because
the new house’s roof was watertight. But why would she think this was her job? He’d
been particularly attentive to household problems this past month, fixing anything
he thought she wanted repaired. He didn’t know the leak in the corner bothered her.
He took a deep breath, settling himself to wait for her, yet sure she wouldn’t come.
After a few minutes, he bounced the ladder a few times, making sure of its stability,
and climbed the rungs.

Careful not to disturb the ladder’s seating, he crawled onto the roof. He’d do anything,
if she’d just ask. Why wouldn’t she?

On her hands and knees at the peak of the roof, Julia spread shingles in a disorganized
fashion. She glanced over her shoulder. “I can handle it.”

A bunch of shingles nailed in a crazy quiltlike pattern meandered up the left side.
He clamped his lips to keep from loosing a roofing lecture. “Why didn’t you ask me
to do this?”

She shook her head. “You have enough things to do.”

“Of course I do. Doesn’t mean you should be doing dangerous things.”

“It needed doing, and I’m here to work.”

Why was she so bent on work? A subconscious jolt reminded him that he’d told her he’d
been ordering mail-order
brides because he needed a helper. He hadn’t asked any of them to come for love.

And she was determined not to have any feelings for him whatsoever. He planted himself
on his backside and resigned himself to watch.

She stared at him with raised eyebrows and then returned to work.

She’d almost become human with Helga around, relaxing from constant work to chat and
take walks with her friend. But she was back to her old habits. He didn’t want this
driven woman trying to prove herself through hours of back-breaking labor. He wanted
the woman who laughed, who hummed off-key, who talked to herself when she thought
no one was around. She’d shown up for a while but had left as if she’d traveled away
with Helga on the train.

Julia had proven she intended to stay—at least bodily. But this was not how he envisioned
living with her for the rest of his days. She’d drive him insane. “I don’t need you
to work so hard, especially if you could get hurt.”

She glanced up in between a hammer blow, but kept pounding until the nail lay flattened,
nice and sideways. She sat back on her heels. “That was the deal. You provide for
me. I work for you. What else do you need me to be doing?”

Warming me at night, laughing with me, sitting under the stars and dreaming up names
for our future children.

I want you to live with me.

How could he tell a woman so attractive, so distant, what he desired? When he didn’t
answer, she returned to her task.

He picked at the dirt under his fingernails. Why couldn’t he charm Julia like he had
Rachel’s sister?

Patricia had shadowed him at church and every time she found him in town. She clung
to his every word when he
visited. Her eyes told him she couldn’t wait for him to whisper in her ear when he
said good-night.

Until he had his house built, he’d kept those words bottled, but he’d known she’d
say yes. And say yes she did—to another man. A man who hadn’t waited until everything
was perfect and ready for a wife. And without a word to him, she settled onto the
wagon seat beside her husband and headed back east.

Everett stopped cleaning his nails and glanced at the new house. He’d finished adding
the furniture two days ago. He was completely ready for a wife now.

Julia’s tiny form scooted across the rooftop near the edge. Everett held out his hands
for support, but she ignored the offer. He let out the breath he’d been holding when
she quit backing up. “This is ridiculous.”

Julia dropped her nail, but kept her eyes on the roof. “If I’m doing that poor of
a job, you could tell me how to fix it rather than insult me.”

He crawled over and snatched the nail. “That’s not it. I mean how we’re acting. We’re
ridiculous.”

She looked up at him, her delicate eyebrows arched. How he wanted to run his finger
across them and down to her cheek, her mouth, her neck. Her fake cough made him glance
up from where he’d been staring. A twitch pulled at his lip. “I’m sitting here, thinking
how nicely you’re put together—” he rolled the nail between his index finger and thumb—“and
all you’re thinking about is needing this nail so you can get back to work.”

She swiped the nail from his hand. “Yes, I need to get back to work. I’m more than
just a pretty face, you know. Men like my looks. You like my looks. That’s nothing
new. Still doesn’t mean I’m incapable of doing anything besides being displayed in
a china cabinet.”

“Actually, I don’t like your looks.” Her looks drove him mad, made it hard to get
stuff done, to stay in his celibate cocoon, to think about anything else.

She dropped her nail, which skipped down the shingles and off the roof. “You don’t
like me for the work I do. You don’t like me for my looks. I’ve got nothing.” She
stood, brushed off her dress, and grabbed the hammer.

He stood with her.

“Since you don’t need me for anything, I’m going to go visit Rachel.” She turned her
body parallel to the roof’s edge to slip past him.

He grabbed her by the elbows when she passed inches from him. What thoughts ran through
her head, making her this skittish? “That’s not what I meant.” His thumbs caressed
the crook of her arms. “I said I didn’t like your looks . . . because they distract
me.”

She stiffened.

His hands slid to her wrists and then clasped her hands. “Why are you being so stubborn?
You act as if I’m invisible.”

She tugged against his grasp, but when he didn’t let go, she looked away. “Don’t think
I don’t notice you.” Her neck turned a nice shade of pink.

So she did notice. He’d been attentive, protective, admiring, but still she pushed
him away. What else could he do to prove himself trustworthy?

She whipped her head around to face him. Her eyes narrowed into tiny slits. “Why can’t
you stay out of my thoughts? Why can’t you leave me be? I’m working as hard as I can.”

He examined the hands he held and her bare ring finger. “I appreciate the work you
do for me, but it’s not enough.”

She huffed and shook her head, her mouth constricting into a tiny line.

He tried to capture her gaze, but she wouldn’t look at him. “Actually, it’s not enough
that way too. You work hard. I work hard. But we’d need to have a whole army of children
to keep up with the work on this land. If we expected our efforts alone to be enough,
we’d be fools.”