A Promise for Spring (10 page)

Chris mused, “It seems a strange agreement to me, having her here but not marrying her.”

Geoffrey sucked in a calming breath, once more filling his senses with the odor of Chris’s pipe. The smell transported him back to evenings spent in his father’s study while the man drilled him on his schoolwork. Perfection—Father had always demanded perfection. Yet the man had not exercised that standard himself.

Geoffrey coughed again. “I admit, the situation is less than ideal. Of course I would prefer to have married Emmaline immediately. But a gentleman does not force himself on a lady.”

He stared up at the sky. “She needs time to reacquaint herself with me and to become accustomed to this new land. She waited five years for me; I can now wait for her.”

Chris stepped off the porch, turned his pipe upside down, and tapped it on the railing. Bright embers fell to the ground and scattered. He stomped out the glowing coals. “Will you need us to move anything from the house out to the bunkhouse for you?”

Geoffrey thought of his large bed and feather mattress. He would leave that for Emmaline. “I shall make use of Ben’s bed and dresser.”

Jim stood, shaking his head. “I sure looked forward to getting my own room. . . .”

“Hush, Jim,” Chris snapped. “You just mind the boss.”

The boy fell silent, but he jutted his chin sullenly. He stomped through the open doorway to his side of the bunkhouse.

Geoffrey, watching him, frowned. The boy was obviously annoyed. He didn’t like the arrangement either, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. Eventually Jim would accept the situation, just as Geoffrey had. They would do it for Emmaline.

TEN

J
IM COTLER FLOPPED onto his lumpy rope bed but left one bare foot dangling on the floor. After almost two years of sleeping on the straw-stuffed mattress, it fit his frame like his worn, broken-in boots fit his feet. Across the room, Chris broke into a rattling snore. Jim stared at the ceiling and let out a huff.

Mr. Garrett had promised him his own room. He did a man’s work, but he earned a boy’s wage. Having his own room would have made earning less money a little more tolerable. He should have argued. He should have said, “Mr. Garrett, you promised me my own room and, by thunder, I’m going to have my own room!” He punched the air with his fist, finding release in the fierce jab. But as quickly as it rose, the rebellion dissolved. He lowered his arm to the crackly mattress and sighed.

Jim knew better than to argue. His father—God rest his soul— had taught him and Chris that a wise man respected authority. Whatever the boss commanded, Jim obeyed. Geoffrey Garrett was a fair man, but he was also a man who didn’t mince words when it came to giving orders.

Mr. Garrett made pretty good decisions. In his five years of living with the man, Jim couldn’t remember a time Mr. Garrett had given an order that turned out to be a mistake. Even though Mr. Garrett didn’t have any experience with sheep ranching when he came to America, he had prospered at it. Jim didn’t know anybody smarter than Geoffrey Garrett.

Even before the first fifty head from Spain arrived on the train, Mr. Garrett could tell a person anything he wanted to know about the Merino breed. At night in the dugout, while they wove fibers into rope or built furniture to pass the time, Mr. Garrett had filled his, Chris’s, and Ben’s heads with information about the breed of sheep that would make his ranch the best in all of Kansas. Thick wool! Easy lambing! Flavorful meat! Jim smiled as he remembered how much his boss had praised the Merinos. Yep, Mr. Garrett knew a lot about sheep, there was no doubt about that.

But it sure seemed like Mr. Garrett didn’t know much about women. Jim’s heart thudded as he pictured Emmaline Bradford’s heart-shaped face and big brown eyes. After all of Mr. Garrett’s descriptions, Jim had expected Emmaline Bradford to be pretty.

But now that he’d seen her himself, “pretty” didn’t seem like a good enough word to describe her. She was tiny, like a sparrow, and the minute he saw her up close something inside him had wanted to protect her. He’d never experienced such a feeling toward a girl before. Mr. Garrett was a fool not to have married her the moment she stepped off the train. What was he thinking, waiting until next spring?

Jim rolled fully onto the mattress and faced the wall. He shouldn’t be thinking like this about Miss Bradford. She belonged to Geoffrey Garrett, and the Bible was pretty clear that a fellow shouldn’t harbor possessive thoughts about another man’s intended bride.

He stared at the shadowed wall. But what if Emmaline didn’t become Mr. Garrett’s bride? A lot could happen in ten months. Maybe Miss Bradford would decide she didn’t want to marry Mr. Garrett. Maybe she’d want to marry somebody else. He sucked in a lungful of air as another thought flitted through his mind. He was growing like a weed these days. Chris complained about having to buy him new britches every other month. Maybe if he were man-sized, Miss Bradford would see him as a man and—

He shouldn’t think such things! Miss Bradford belonged to Jim’s boss, and a man respected his boss. Slamming his eyes closed, Jim focused on the rhythmic wheeze-rattle of his brother’s snoring. But somehow images of Emmaline Bradford’s big brown eyes and pretty face still crept through.

Emmaline sneaked back into the house after visiting the washroom. Although it was very early—the sun a mere slit on the horizon— she was wide awake. After examining the selection of frocks in the closet, she chose one of her black traveling dresses. The other items in her wardrobe buttoned up the back, making it impossible for her to dress herself without assistance or contortions.

Tying her own corset proved challenging, and the strings were not as tight as a maid would fasten them, but it would have to do. The looser corset layered with pantaloons and petticoats made the dress fit more snugly than was comfortable, but she refused to ask any of the men for help.

Fully clothed, she wound her hair into a braid and twisted it to form a bun on the back of her head. She smoothed her fingers over the coil of hair, assuring herself that it was secure. She must speak with Geoffrey about purchasing a small mirror for her use. In the kitchen, she splashed water from the pump on her face, completing her morning ablutions. Then she stood in the middle of the dusky kitchen with her hands clasped in front of her, wondering what she should do next.

Geoffrey had indicated she would serve as housekeeper. She assumed this included cooking duties, but what did the men prefer to eat for breakfast? And more importantly, would she be able to prepare it? Her cooking skills were woefully limited. The family cook prepared meals at home, and the woman had been territorial concerning the kitchen. Emmaline could boil eggs and butter bread. Did Geoffrey have eggs and bread available?

Moving to the built-in cupboards, she opened each door in turn, seeking the needed ingredients to put breakfast on the table. Many of the cupboards were empty, but in one she found a variety of dry goods, including corn meal, flour, sugar, and tea leaves. Pulling out the tin of tea, she opened it and sniffed the dried leaves. The rich aroma enticed her into taking a deeper draw. Her stomach rumbled with desire. She placed the tin on the table so she could steep a pot of strong tea.

In another cupboard she located a sparse assortment of canned goods—mostly beans. She found nothing that would serve as breakfast fare. Frowning, she turned a slow circle, searching for clues. Where might Geoffrey keep eggs, bread, or meat?

Suddenly the kitchen door burst open, and Emmaline let out a squawk of surprise when someone rushed into the room. Then she recognized one of Geoffrey’s hands—Jim, the young boy who was the good shearer—and she nearly collapsed in relief. “Oh my, you startled me.”

A wide, friendly grin broke across his face. “Oh. You are awake.

I came to light the stove. It’s one of my chores.”

She grimaced. “Certainly it is my task now. . . .”

The boy shrugged. His movements were jerky, as if he had more energy than he could contain. “I can do it for you. I don’t mind. Not at all.”

Emmaline stepped aside. “Please do. I shall watch and learn.”

With wide strides, Jim crossed to the stove, giving her another big smile as he passed her. Crouching down, he used a small shovel to transfer black lumps of coal from a bucket on the floor into the stove’s combustion chamber. Then he straightened and removed a wooden match from a jar on a shelf near the stove, swished it against the sole of his boot, and placed it on top of the coal.

Emmaline leaned sideways and watched each step carefully. “That doesn’t appear too difficult. I shall manage it tomorrow.”

The boy rose to his feet and whisked his hands together. Long and lanky, he stood at least five inches taller than she. “You have to keep adding coal as it’s burnt up.” His gaze bounced from the empty tabletop, to the stove, and then back to Emmaline. “Do you want me to help with breakfast?”

“Might you show me where to find eggs or some breakfast meat?”

The boy charged out the kitchen door, and Emmaline followed. He led her to a mound of dirt behind the house. A wood-planked door lay snug against the gentle hill. Grasping a knotted rope attached to the door, he gave a tug. “We keep milk, cheese, and butter in the springhouse, but the eggs, meat, and vegetables are in the cellar. I like going into the cellar. It reminds me of a cave, and it stays nice and cool down here even in the summer.” His grin twitched. “Sometimes, when it’s very hot outside, I like to go down and just sit. It’s a good thinkin’ place.”

Emmaline stared into the dark hole. A musty smell rose from the cavern, and she wrinkled her nose. Despite the warmth of the morning, she had no desire to enter that black hollow. “Food is stored down there?”

“Yes, miss. Stay here. I’ll go get some eggs and salt pork.” He turned and hurried down the dirt steps, disappearing below ground. After a few moments, he emerged with four speckled eggs cradled in one hand and a lumpy cloth-wrapped item tucked beneath his elbow.

Emmaline glanced around the yard. She saw no chickens. “From where did the eggs come? Do you hunt for prairie chicken eggs?”

The boy laughed. “Prairie chickens? No, miss.” Jim headed for the kitchen with a rapid gait, and Emmaline was forced to trot to keep up. “Mr. Garrett barters for things we need. We get eggs and milk from the Sorensons and pork from the Martins. Sometimes we trade for vegetables, too.” They entered the kitchen, and Jim placed the eggs and pork on the counter. “But now that you’re here, Mr. Garrett says you’ll do the gardening and we’ll have our own vegetables.”

Emmaline gave the boy a dubious look. She enjoyed gardening, but she preferred to raise roses and nasturtiums. What did she know of carrots and potatoes? “Do you
eat
prairie chickens?”

Jim cocked one hip and slipped his hand into his front pocket. “We never have. Chris brings down geese whenever he can, and he shot some quail one time—they were real good with rice.” The boy smacked his lips. “But mostly we eat mutton and pork and deer meat. Why?”

She pointed to the crock bowl in the sink. “There was some sort of dark, flavorful meat in this bowl. I ate it for supper last night. I thought it was chicken.”

Jim shook his head. “No, that was maw stew. You chop up the organs of a sheep—the heart, lungs, and liver—and cook them in the sheep’s stomach.”

Emmaline’s stomach rolled. “The . . . the organs of a—”

“Of a sheep,” Jim repeated, his cheerful voice a direct contrast to the vile feeling his words conjured. With a short laugh, he added, “We use every part of the sheep except the
baa
, Mr. Garrett says.”

The room seemed to tilt. She clutched her belly.

“Miss Emmaline, are you all right?” Jim grabbed her shoulders and held her upright.

“Jim!”

Jim released her so quickly she nearly fell. She grabbed the edge of the sink as Geoffrey came toward them, a fierce scowl on his face. He stopped beside Emmaline and grasped her elbow. “Is he bothering you?”

She wrenched free, glaring up at him. He had let her eat the
lungs
of a sheep! She lowered her gaze slightly and her eyes collided with his chest. The top two buttons of his plaid shirt were unfastened, as if he were half dressed. Dark, curling hair peeped from the opening.

She jerked her chin upward, drawing on fury to chase away the odd feelings that assailed her. “No, he is not bothering me. He is assisting me. He started a fire in the stove and then retrieved breakfast items since
you
did not advise me.”

Geoffrey’s gaze dropped to the eggs and meat on the counter. He turned his attention to Jim. “I believe you have tasks to complete before breakfast. Miss Bradford will ring the bell when the food is ready to be served.”

Jim scurried outside without a backward glance.

Geoffrey wheeled on Emmaline. “Why were his hands on you?”

“I . . . I felt sick. I thought about . . .” If she allowed herself to dwell on what she had consumed last night, she might embarrass herself by regurgitating on the kitchen floor. “It isn’t important. He was not doing anything improper.”

Geoffrey stared at her in silence for several long seconds. Then he folded his arms over his chest and gave her a stern look. “Emmaline, I must ask that you not spend time alone with either of the hands. Chris is trustworthy, and Jim is still quite young, but they are
men
and susceptible to temptation.”

“I did not deliberately set out to spend time alone with Jim.” Emmaline’s chest tightened as she defended herself, but she maintained an even tone. “He came to the kitchen and assisted in making the needed preparations to begin cooking breakfast.”

Geoffrey’s stern expression did not soften. “All the same, kindly exercise caution in the future. It would not bode well for you to—”

“To entice them? I assure you, that is not in
my
nature, and I resent your implication.”

Geoffrey’s shoulders rose and fell with his great intake of breath. “I was not accusing you, Emmaline, but merely—”

Emmaline picked up one egg and threw it forcefully into the sink. The shell shattered, the contents exploding against the enameled sides of the basin. “While residing here, I will by necessity come in contact with the ranch hands. If you are concerned about the situation, perhaps you should arrange different living accommodations for me.” She spun to leave but then turned back and added, “And kindly button your shirt in the presence of a lady!”