Bartered Bride Romance Collection (12 page)

His voice went harsh. “I don’t accept charity!”

She arched her brow. “Oh, yes, you have. Charity’s my name, and you’ve taken me on.” Sensing she’d dented his pride, she then curled her hand around one of the prairie schooner’s riblike bows. “Please, Mr. Cole, let’s not quibble. I’m stranded without your help, so I’m thankful you’re willing to let me ride with your family. If I cannot contribute, I’ll feel as if
I’m
accepting charity. I’d feel so very wrong. There is so little I have to offer. You must accept what I am able to give toward our eventual success.”

“We’ll see about that.”

Charity pursed her lips. “We have work to do, Mr. Cole.”

He rubbed his beard. “We’re going to be shoulder to shoulder for the next few months. This formal business strikes me as being ridiculous. I’d rather have you call me by name. I’m Ethan.”

“And you’ll address me as Charity?”

“Only by your leave.” She nodded, and he looked from wagon to wagon then jumped down. “Fine, then. I won’t be gone long. Don’t go lifting anything heavy.”

During the night, Charity had already repacked her trunk. Dear friend that she was, Banner sacrificed her sleep and had come to help. They’d gone through Charity’s belongings and even winnowed through her mama’s things. Charity held up fairly well until they came across a muslin-wrapped length of pure white satin in the bottom of Mama’s trunk. Carefully included in the folds was Mama’s wedding veil. As Charity began to weep, Banner made a soft hushing sound. She simply placed the bolt at the very bottom of Charity’s trunk and started layering in clothes. “Some dreams you don’t give up on. Your mama left you that. It goes along.”

Charity felt relieved she’d already seen to the intimate details of choosing clothing and packing her personal belongings. She’d have been mortified to have Ethan watch her do so. When he came back, he pitched right in, helping her make decisions; but to his credit, he didn’t get nosy. He cleverly determined their washtubs were just an inch different in diameter, so he nestled them together. “We’ll both have tubs when we reach Oregon!”

At one point, he caught Charity tracing her finger over the dainty flowered edge of a teacup. “Charity, we’re going to have to leave some duplicate things behind. Space is limited. It would gall me if you thought I’d arranged to take you on so I’d have your high-class wares, but since you’ll be doing the cooking, it’s only fair you keep your better household goods.”

She gave him a shaky smile. “You’ve been most generous. I sensed your reticence last night when you told me the news, and I know you’re not a grasping man. Naturally, we both worry about having to replace things once we reach Willamette, so I’ll do my best to fit as much in as I can without weighing down the wagon.”

He helped her out and watched for a moment as she opened the cook boxes hanging from the tail ends of both wagons. Skillets, dishes, and towels filled them. She whispered, “Please go look through Daddy’s trunk while I keep busy here.”

When she’d finished with the dishes, Charity climbed back into the wagon. “Can you make use of Daddy’s things?”

Ethan looked at her for a minute before answering. “First, sit down.”

“What’s wrong?” She hesitantly sat on a barrel.

“I need to know: Will it bother you to see me in your pa’s clothes or using his things?”

“I’ve saved many of Mama’s clothes to wear myself.”

“That didn’t answer the question, Charity. They are two entirely different situations. Life has been hard enough on you lately,” he said softly. “I wouldn’t want to add to your grief.”

She looked at him.
He has such kind eyes. A kind heart, too, if he’s willing to forgo having clothes he really needs just to spare my feelings
. She felt compelled to return that consideration, and in realizing it, no longer felt the misgivings that flitted through her mind earlier when she’d originally made the offer. “Daddy would want you to have them. I’ll try to think of it as him passing his mantle of protection on to you.”

The smile on his face made her decision worthwhile.

“Gal, I think we’re going to make this work.”

Chapter 3

S
moke, food, and coffee. Every morning, Ethan awakened to those same scents; but for a solid week they had come from other wagons, not his own. He’d farmed the children off for breakfast and satisfied himself with reheated mush. The aroma of coffee wafted over and teased him. Ethan burrowed in for a second more before he opened his eyes and realized Charity was up already. He hiked off to the shrubs then ran his comb through his hair and beard. By the time he returned, Charity was ready to dish up his breakfast. Lydia hadn’t been half as attentive. He’d needed to awaken her each morning.

“Do you take anything in your coffee?” Charity asked as she handed him a steaming mug.

“I like it black. Thanks. It smells wonderful.”

She flipped three flapjacks onto a plate, added bacon, and passed it over. “When do the children wake up?”

“Anytime now.” He wolfed down the food and grinned broadly. “Mmmm!” Folks had been kind enough to provide meals for them yesterday so they could finish combining their wagons. This was his first sample of her cooking, and it more than pleased him. “Someone did a fine job of teaching you to cook.”

She flipped a flapjack and caught it midair in the heavy cast iron skillet. “Miss Amanda’s had a French chef.”

“A fancy finishing school?” When she nodded, his heart sank. She didn’t just have some of the expensive doodads and trappings of money. She’d been reared in privilege. That would put even greater barriers between them. He muttered wryly, “Imagine that. Finishing schools hold a course on flapjacks.”

Charity arched a brow. “Not precisely. I liked the chef. Much to Miss Amanda’s dismay, I’d slip off to the kitchen in my spare time. I learned how to make crepes first then several other dishes. I’ve had to adjust a few recipes for the trail.”

Most of the day, her words played over and over in Ethan’s mind. Charity was a lady, born and bred. She’d been trained in all of the finer things. Gals like her were social butterflies. Pretty, bright, and spoiled. Right now she was playing at a new game. Would she soon tire of minding the kids and cooking? He didn’t want to judge her wrongly, but he needed to evaluate the matter carefully. His kids’ welfare was at stake.

Her name certainly fit. She’d virtually given away four oxen and a wagon yesterday, and her pa’s clothing—everything from shirt to boots—fit Ethan perfectly. She had a bit over two hundred dollars; he, on the other hand, had forty measly dollars to his name. Ethan worried about the finances, but there was no way around it. A man did his best and trusted in the Lord. His family had always been blessed with their daily bread, and the move to more fertile ground would ensure that it would continue. It also meant that there would be some mighty lean years ahead until things were established.

At midday he pried Cricket away from Charity’s side and tucked her in atop the new feather bed Charity brought along. Every last thing Charity owned was grand. To her credit, she’d never once turned up her nose at his things.

Goodness only knew, Charity was blessed with more than anyone he’d ever known. Still, it tugged at his pride a bit when he took off Cricket’s sunbonnet and spied a rose-embossed pink satin ribbon in her hair. She smelled dainty, and her skin didn’t have any of the little red, rough patches it usually did since Charity used her own violet-scented glycerin soap to bathe his daughter last night then shared her skin cream, much to Cricket’s delight. He’d never had money to buy such fripperies.

It took no time at all before Tad and Charity were thick as thieves. They sat by the fire together and looked at her button string. She’d praised Tad for his new skill at multiplication and let him make marks in the dirt to practice ciphering.
Nine hundred eighty-two. Eighteen to go. Who is the lucky man who will give her the thousandth button and become her husband?

Charity walked most of the day, but she’d driven the wagon for a short while this morning as he rode out with a few of the men to hunt. Ethan had taken along the new Colt rifle with her blessing and even lent her mare to Steven Adams since his gelding had gone lame. Charity congratulated them warmly on their successful hunt, but she’d turned three shades of green and disappeared when he unsheathed his knife and started to dress and butcher the pair of pronghorns he’d bagged.

A few days later, Tad caught a fine pair of trout. Ethan happened upon Charity as she valiantly tried to gut them. At first, he thought she was simply inept, but then he noted how pale she’d grown, so he simply took them from her and finished the chore. “I’m sorry,” she said thickly.

“Gal, no one can do everything. If it makes you queasy to dress out meat, I’ll handle it. All you had to do was say so.”

She kept her hands clasped in front of her and stared out at the horizon. “I’m so gutless, we ought to serve me for supper.”

“You’re too hard on yourself.” He handed back the fish. As she walked away, Ethan marveled at her. It was the only time he’d seen the fancy lady balk at anything.

The rhythm of trail life continued on—rising before dawn, hitching up the oxen, eating, and traveling until midday. Nooning break for man and beast, then dusty travel until they reached the spot their scout designated for evening. Wagons circled, supper eaten, and men holding watch over the camp and livestock by night. Charity stepped in beat to that rhythm, but she sang in a different range. They tried to be mindful and adjust so harmony reigned. Still, for the first time in his life, Ethan felt discontented. He simply didn’t measure up, and the glaring disparity between her polished ways and fine goods and his common holdings made it clear he was second-rate.

Charity knelt in the creek bed as she rinsed out the laundry. The cold water felt delicious after the heat and dust of the last several days. Farther down the creek, men watered the livestock. The captain of the wagon train strictly enforced the rules governing water usage. Whenever they reached a stream, water for drinking was taken from upstream. Once the drinking water was dipped out, folks could fish from upstream, too. Bathing and laundry was at midstream, and livestock drank from downstream. So far, no one had gotten cholera, so the rules seemed beneficial.