A Promise for Spring (25 page)

As she set the plates at three chairs, she thought about the pleasant picnics she had shared with Jim and Chris on the porch. Maybe she should carry the dishes outside . . . but no, it wouldn’t be the same without Jim’s chatter. Besides, picnicking had been Jim’s idea; picnicking without him seemed cruel in a way she couldn’t define.

A scuffling sound at the door let her know the men had arrived for lunch. Lifting the skillet from the stove, she glanced toward the doorway. “I prepared a simple lunch, but—”

Geoffrey entered the kitchen. Alone.

Her lips trembled. “W-where is Chris?”

“I asked Chris to stay with the sheep while I ate. I do not like leaving them in the far pasture untended. When I go back, he can come in.”

“Oh. Well . . .” With shaking hands, she set the skillet in the center of the table and reached for the bean pot. If only Chris were here, too! Why did Geoffrey’s presence make her want to flee? The next months would be agony if she could not set aside the self-conscious prickles that assaulted her whenever he was around. “J-just sit down,” she told him. “I . . . I neglected to get butter from the springhouse. I shall be right back.”

Lifting her skirts, she walked toward the door. But Geoffrey didn’t step aside, and she came to an abrupt halt. She stared at the top button of his shirt and waited for him to move. His Adam’s apple bobbed in a swallow, shifting the button slightly.

“I like your dress.”

She fussed with the skirt. “Th-thank you.”

“I am glad to see you have recovered from the loss of your uncle.”

What did he mean by that? Had he thought she was wearing the black dresses as a sign of mourning? Truthfully, after the initial shock of Uncle Hedrick’s unexpected passing, she hadn’t thought much about her great-uncle. They had never been close.

Geoffrey’s approving gaze swept from her neckline to her toes and back again. “Your mother understood the necessity for simple attire on the plains. It is an excellent choice.”

She had more than one misconception to clarify. Pressing her hands to her stomach, she said, “Mother did not send this dress. I bought it today in the Stetler mercantile.”

Geoffrey’s brows dipped slightly.

“Actually, I bought three. Two work dresses and one for Sunday. I . . . I needed them.” But how to explain why they were needed when he had seen her trunk full of frocks? “I also bought a Bible. I hope you find that satisfactory.” Heat seared her face while she awaited his response.

“If you wanted to read the Bible, you could have borrowed mine.”

Was he upset with her for making the purchase or was he merely offering to share with her? She could not tell by his tone or expression. “If I take yours, you will not have one to read. I believe it is better to have my own. But if you feel it is an unnecessary expense, you may return it.”

Instead of replying, he slipped his fingers into his shirt pocket. When he withdrew his hand, he held a wilted lavender bloom. “I found this in the pasture. It matches the flowers on your dress.”

Tears sprang into Emmaline’s eyes. Blinking rapidly, she pointed to the counter. “P-please lay it there. I must get the butter.” She dashed past him before he could speak another word.

In the springhouse, she pressed her palms to her hot cheeks and closed her eyes. A fervent prayer rose from the depths of her soul.
Not now. Please don’t let him give me flowers now. Not when I’m
determined to leave in the spring!

But it was too late. The image of that sweet little bloom, cradled in the palm of his hand, was permanently etched in her mind.

Geoffrey walked amongst the sheep, having sent Chris to the house for lunch, but Emmaline filled his thoughts. If he’d previously managed to squelch any of his feelings for her, they’d been immediately reignited by her appearance in that pretty yellow dress—the color of sunshine.

The contented bleats uttered by the sheep at rest, normally soothing no matter what troubled his mind, did little to settle his rambling thoughts. Her mention of needing her own Bible so she wouldn’t take his had provoked an odd feeling. Emptiness, maybe it was. When had he last opened his Bible and sought peace and guidance from God’s Word? In most of his years building this ranch, he had rarely gone more than a day without reading Scripture. Sometimes it was only a verse or two, but reading the Bible had been as much a part of his day as eating, sleeping, working. . . . But the habit had slipped away. And he didn’t know why.

Straightening from rubbing the nubby head of a young ewe, he looked past the sheep to the barren landscape. As summer gave way to fall, he saw little change on the prairie. Their hot, dry summer had given the land the brown, brittle appearance of late autumn long before the calendar indicated it was so. The devastation of the grasshoppers, which had robbed the trees of their green leaves, had brought the appearance of winter. It was enough to make a man feel hopeless.

“When are you going to send rain, Lord?” he asked the sky. There was a recalcitrance in his tone, but he decided to be honest with God and not apologize. Rain had been too long denied; prayers had gone unheeded. Perhaps that was part of the reason he had separated himself from God over the past months. God, apparently, had turned a blind eye to Geoffrey Garrett, and maybe even all of Kansas. The desolate vista proved it.

Once more, the image of Emmaline danced in front of his eyes. Why had her arrival created such a sense of loss rather than fulfillment? So many hopes had rested upon her coming to him— hopes that remained unfulfilled.

“Mr. Garrett?”

Geoffrey jumped at the sound of Chris’s quiet voice. He hadn’t even heard the approach of the horse.

“I finished lunch. I’ll take the flock to water if you need to do something else.”

Biting his bottom lip, Geoffrey considered his waiting tasks. The most pressing was balancing his account book after his trip to purchase feed. One thing he’d learned from his father was the importance of keeping accurate financial records. But how often had Franklin Garrett juggled the figures to cover up the vast sums lost in unscrupulous habits such as the consumption of his company’s product?

Pushing thoughts of his father aside, he turned his focus to Chris. “I do have some paperwork requiring attention.” He moved slowly between the resting sheep, careful not to disturb them with sudden movements. When he reached his horse, he paused. “Chris, did the doctor give you any indication when Jim might be released from his care?”

Chris’s suntanned face pinched into a worried scowl. “He didn’t know. He said he would send a messenger if Jim took a turn for the worse. I just hoped . . . well . . .” He rubbed a finger under his nose. “I hoped I might drive in every day and check on him.”

Although this meant leaving the ranch short-handed, Geoffrey would not deny Chris the privilege of time with his ailing brother. “Of course. You may go each morning for as long as it is needed.” Then something else occurred to him. “Tomorrow when you go, have the telegrapher send a message to Moreland inquiring about the feed I purchased. It will arrive by train, and I will need to arrange transport from the station to the ranch. When you send the message, instruct the railroad workers to cover the bales with a tarp or canvas to keep them somewhat protected from insects and wind.”

“Very well.”

Geoffrey rode to the bunkhouse and settled at the desk in the corner by the window. He opened his ledger and carefully penned the amount spent on food, train fare for himself and his horse, and the bales of hay. After balancing the figures, he glared at the amount at the bottom of the column.

Paying for Emmaline’s first-class accommodations on the S.S.
Wyoming
and ensuring she would have maid service had taken a sizable portion of his ready cash. He couldn’t imagine why she’d needed new dresses, unless the ones in the trunk were inappropriate for work. The three dresses and the Bible she added to his account at the mercantile this morning had unquestionably increased his debt.

There had been too many unexpected purchases of late: Jim’s doctor bills, the hay and the travel expenses, Emmaline’s dresses . . . And if he had to buy food to compensate for the grasshopper-damaged garden—not to mention the wasted food from Emmaline’s early cooking disasters—there might not be enough money to carry them through to the next sale of wool and lambs.

When he had come to America, he had made a promise to himself not to accumulate debt. Debt was his father’s downfall— debt brought on by gambling and drinking, two things Geoffrey Garrett would
never
do. But looking at that paltry amount of dollars and cents printed in his neat penmanship, he wondered if he would be able to keep his promise to avoid debt.

Closing his eyes, he pressed his thumbs to his eye sockets. Stars exploded behind his lids, but they couldn’t erase the image of the amount at the bottom of the ledger page. Releasing a grumble, he slammed the leather-bound book closed.

But then he remembered something. He had access to a substantial sum of money: Emmaline’s dowry. He had vowed not to ask her for the money until they were legally wed, but no one would think ill of him if he used it now. Even if she broke their betrothal and returned to England, ethically the money would be his compensation. A big part of him resisted touching it, but if it came down to keeping the ranch going or being forced off his land, he would use it. But there could be no more “unexpected expenses.”

He rose from the desk and headed outside. By now the sheep were enjoying their afternoon drink, and soon Chris would bring them in for the evening. At supper, he would visit with Emmaline and Chris about the importance of frugality. And maybe he or Chris could take a hunting trip. A deer—or even better, a bear, although sightings were rare—would stretch their food sources.

Ordinarily he kept several lambs after butchering, but that wouldn’t be an option this year. With fewer ewes, he would have fewer lambs. That meant less money coming from the sale of meat. His stomach twisted with worry.

Tapping his fingers against his thigh, he decided it would be wise to take an inventory of their current food stores. He crossed the yard with a wide stride and went directly to the cellar. As he made his way down the stairs, the cooler air washed over him and sent a welcome shiver down his spine. He reached the bottom and stood still, inhaling deeply. The familiar odors of earth, vegetables, and smoked meats were pleasing.

When his eyes adjusted to the dim underground interior, he moved to the bushel baskets lining the west wall. Three were brimful of dirt-encrusted potatoes; two more overflowed with turnips and beets. A peek in the raisin basket showed last year’s supply was nearly depleted, but he found a basket of some sort of wrinkled, dried fruit sitting nearby on top of an overturned crate. He plucked out a piece and bit off a little. Apple? It carried a bit of a tang, yet the flavor wasn’t unpleasant. He put the remainder of the piece in his mouth. Where had they gotten dried apples?

He turned, still chewing, and his jaw dropped at the sight waiting on shelves built into the opposite wall. Dozens of jars bearing beans, peas, carrots, and tomatoes sat in neat, organized rows. He lifted one jar of sliced carrots and bounced it in his palm. There was more here than he’d expected. Perhaps he needn’t worry about winter food, after all.

Suddenly his heart began to pound. He spun around, once more taking in the abundance spilling out of baskets and filling the shelves. All of this food—it must have been purchased. How else could their cellar be so well stocked? What kind of debt must he owe by now?

He charged out of the cellar. He needed to speak with Chris and Emmaline immediately.

TWENTY - SIX

E
MMALINE STEPPED ONTO the stoop outside the kitchen door and braced to toss the pan of murky wash water across the dry yard. But when she saw Geoffrey emerge from the cellar, she balanced the pan against her hip and waited for him to approach.

“Where did you purchase those vegetables in the cellar?”

The harsh note in Geoffrey’s voice made her take a step backward. Without waiting for an answer, he railed, “You can’t spend money like this, Emmaline. We have to stretch every penny. I realize this morning I gave you permission to purchase whatever you needed, but I must retract that statement. If you believe you have need of something—food, clothing, books—come and ask me for approval before you buy it.”

What had happened to the man who, earlier that day, had tried to slip a little purple flower into her hand? Once more she faced a demanding, impatient stranger. Angry, defensive words formed on her tongue. But before the words spewed forth, snatches of a conversation she’d had with Tildy flitted through her mind: “
We
was
committed
to each othuh. . . .Over time, that man become my whole
world. That kind o’ feelin’ don’t come on right away, Miss Emmalion,
but it do come on when you look to the good Lawd to help you honor a
commitment.
”

Emmaline had committed to staying and serving as Geoffrey’s housekeeper until spring.
Help me honor my commitment, Lord, and
help me not harbor anger with Geoffrey.

Squaring her shoulders, she met Geoffrey’s stormy gaze. “Very well, Geoffrey. If you deem it necessary to return the Bible”—her heart twisted with desire to keep it, but she could always ask to borrow Geoffrey’s—“then I shall accept your decision. However, I do need the dresses. All of my dresses from England, with the exception of the black travel dresses, were designed with the idea of a maid offering assistance in dressing.”

“Oh.” The simple statement, coupled with the bob of his Adam’s apple, spoke volumes.

She drew in a deep breath, striving to keep an even, unruffled tone. “As for the vegetables in the cellar, they are the fruit of our own garden. The grasshoppers were unable to destroy what was already in the springhouse or what was under the ground. While you were away, I learned how to preserve them for the winter.”

He stared at her, his left eyebrow arching high.

“So there was no expense in accumulating the vegetables. I did, however, ask Jim to purchase the jars from the mercantile.”