Brides of Texas (12 page)

“It makes no difference,” she said in a tone that sounded as heavy as her heart felt. “There are no answers.”

“I’ve noticed something. Christians who grow up as believers most often come to a crisis at some point in life. ’Tis then all they were told is stripped away. All they have left is a skeleton of faith. Just as your grandda has had to work to build up his wounded muscles, you have to build up your strength of faith so you can continue on your walk with the Lord. ’Tis by asking the questions, praying, and reading the Word that you will succeed.”

I can’t get past asking the questions. Praying and reading the Bible—I can’t
. As soon as she told herself that, something inside shot back,
Can’t, or won’t
?

“Here is your book.” Mercy’s voice was barely audible as she palmed the tiny leather book to Robert.

He casually tucked it into his pocket and surveyed the huge assortment of crates and dishes in the back of her buckboard. “You brought enough food to feed an army for a year.”

“Everyone is talking about your house kit. I expect a whole army of men to come help. They would come anyway, but their curiosity will have them arrive early and leave late.”

“Hot as it’s been, it makes sense that we start early.” Rob hefted the closest crate. “Do you have any particular order to this?”

“That one can be stored back—it is for late in the day. This one,” she said as she started to lift another, “I will need—”

“Put that down.” Rob’s throat ached with restraint. It took every shred of self-control not to roar the order at her.

“It is not heavy. I—”

He shifted the crate he held to one side and jerked the other from her. “Go open the screen door.”

She scampered ahead. Once inside, Rob set down the crates and turned on her. “You canna be lifting things like this.”

“I’m not weak. I put them all in the wagon myself.”

“Miss Stein, it has nothing to do with strength. Your delicate condition—” The color flooding her cheeks left him feeling crass and mean. He’d made his point, so he changed tactics. “Three men live here. We’re strong of muscle but feeble in the kitchen. Stay here and direct us as to where you want each crate to go.”

“Cabbage and carrots in this one,” Duncan announced as he carried in a bushel basket.

“Go ahead and put those wherever you want,” Chris said as he entered on Duncan’s heels. “I’ve got strudel here. I’m taking it upstairs. If either of you says a word about it, you won’t get a bite.”

Mercy shook her finger. “Christopher Gregor, you behave yourself.”

“I am. I offered to share this with my brothers.”

“You will share it with all of your brothers in Christ tomorrow morning.”

“If any is left, I will.” Chris sounded downright reasonable.

Mercy smiled. “You cannot always have whatever you grab for.”

Chris scowled at Rob. “She’s teasing, right?”

Mercy’s head dipped. “I am not that kind of woman.”

“Hey—I didn’t mean—”

Rob swiped the strudel and set it on the cramped “kitchen” table. “Chris, you’re thinkin’ with your belly instead of your brain. Mercy, you’d think the man’s never eaten a single morsel.”

“Your logic is flawed,” Chris snapped back. “It’s because I’ve eaten Mercy’s strudel that I’m claiming it. She should be flattered by that fine praise.”

“Mercy, Chris is too dense to apologize properly.” Rob tapped the toe of his boot a few times. “But now that Chris has given it consideration, he’s wanting to let you choose another piece of gingerbread for the house.”

“I am not!”

Duncan slapped Chris on the back. “We should have known you’d be in a generous mood, Chris. Mercy, he wants you to choose two.”

Mercy’s head was still bowed. Rob glared at Chris to make him watch his words, then pasted on a smile. Tilting Mercy’s face upward, Rob asked, “So what do you think?”

“I think you Scotsmen are crazy.”

“Not as crazy as my house is going to look,” Chris muttered.

“
Our
house.” Duncan shoved Chris toward the door.

“I’m going to have the last word,” Chris growled. “Just you wait and see.”

Rob stepped closer to Mercy. Her eyes widened and the pulse at her throat pounded far too fast.
I’ve got to teach her she’s safe with me
. “I have to tell you something secret.”

Y
ou do?”

He nodded and crooked his finger. She hesitated for a moment, then leaned the tiniest bit closer. Rob cupped his hand and leaned toward her ear. “Chris and I have an agreement.”

Her brows puckered.

“He decided to give all of the gingerbread to Duncan, and I agreed—other than all of the pieces he owes you.”

“Duncan does not know this?” Mercy started to pull away.

Rob closed the space and whispered, “Duncan doesna know yet…but the jest is on Chris. He wasna mindful of his words when we came to the pact. Duncan gets all the gingerbread—but Chris didna think to say where Duncan had to put it.”

Mercy’s lips parted in surprise.

“Whatever this is,” Chris declared as he returned with two large pans, “it smells good.”

“It is not for you.” Mercy scooted past Rob and swiped a pan from Chris.

Chris let go, but he got a fierce look on his face and held fast to the second one. “Why not?”

A smile lifted Mercy’s lips. “Because you do not like gingerbread.”

“I’ve never seen such a mess,” Mercy said that noon.

“Ooch, ’tis true.” Rob wiped his brow. “But ’tis an organized mess. Since Chris has gotten everyone working on a specific portion of the kit, the chaos has ceased.”

Mercy heaved a sigh. “You are a man of science, Robert. An intelligent man. How can you stand in the midst of this madness and hold out any hope that such confusion will build your house?”

“I have faith.”

Mercy gave him a dubious look.

Rob motioned toward the lot. “The frame is almost done, and the external walls are coming along. Suddenly, everything will fit together. Wait and see.”

“Two days. It has been two days, and still, it has so far to go. Do you know that these same men who are helping you all get together and put up an entire barn in just one day?”

“By tomorrow, the bulk of the work will be done. The rest, Chris wants to do on his own. He’s gotten excited by the challenge.”

“Excited? Is that what you call it when he complained about the bay window? Or is excited when he stubbed the toe of his boots against the scalloped shingles for the bottom half of the front wall?”

“Nae, lass. Those moments were just mild irritations. Excited was when he bellowed because you’d bested in that bargain you struck.” Rob chortled softly. “I dinna think Chris will e’er eat strudel again without thinking on how he agreed to put that onion top on the turret instead of the plain cone design he planned on.”

Mercy grimaced. “In truth, Rob, I thought that was all a joke. I did not think your brother took me seriously.”

“It served him right. His greed got the better of him.”

“Are you saying that because he ate that whole strudel all by himself?”

The doctor’s mouth kicked up into a rakish smile. “I’m not going to answer. Just you wait, though—after tomorrow, the house will be well on the way. And better still, after that, Chris will be so busy with constructing the rest, he’ll not be restless and underfoot all the time.”

“Perhaps I should make more bargains with him. Was there any special piece of the gingerbread you liked?”

“Let’s see. You have the fan at the apex of the eaves, the onion top on the turret, and the bay window…and there’s the fish scale clapboards in the middle third of the front…and the spindled veranda.”

“Don’t forget the pretty scrolled gingerbread in the upper corners of the windows.”

“I couldn’t forget that.” The doctor’s grin grew wider still. “That was when Chris started moaning that the place was going to wind up looking more like a wedding cake than a house.”

“I think you are enjoying this,” Mercy accused.

“And I think, Mercy Ellen Stein, that you are a very smart young woman.” The doctor walked off, calling, “Chris, Mercy and I were just talking…”

Chris let out a groan that sounded over all the hammering.

“What a pretty new apron!” Carmen greeted from her veranda.

“Thank you.” Good manners demanded Mercy acknowledge the compliment, even though she’d hoped no one would notice her apron. Instead of the bibbed, tie-in-the-back aprons she’d always worn, this one reminded her of a pretzel. The front hung from neck to hem, but the back pieces swooped up to the opposite shoulders. Instead of accentuating a slender waist, this one was meant to hide a tummy that now bulged outward.

“Everything’s ready.” Carmen hobbled down the walkway. “Duncan Gregor brought over canning jars last night.”

“Good.” Relief flooded Mercy. She didn’t want to have to walk down the street and into the mercantile. Ever since the week of threshing, people had changed. The women didn’t avoid or shun her anymore—but they took pains to avoid the topic of childbearing, babies, and child-rearing. That left awkward silences and tense moments whenever Mercy was around.

Her hand slid into her apron pocket. The doctor’s little red book was there. Every couple of weeks, he’d slip it to her. She’d pore over the pages at night in her room. Each time she returned the book, Mercy felt as if she’d lost a friend. Every time the doctor left it in her keeping, solace blanketed her.

“What are you daydreaming about?”

“Oh!” Mercy jumped. A thought flashed through her mind. “I cannot remember if I took the iron off the stove.”

“In this heat, you shouldn’t be ironing anything other than Sunday-best clothes.” Carmen linked arms with her and started dragging her across the street.

“This is the wrong way,” Mercy said in a wry tone.

“I suppose I’d better warn you, we have more to do than we’d planned on.”

“Why is that?”

“The doctor’s been paid for several accounts in the past week.”

“I see.”

Carmen giggled. “Mercy, you’re too nice. Ismelda’s been moaning all morning about it.”

“She decided she liked the pickles we made last time with the cucumbers.”

“But this time, it’s—well, you just have to see this for yourself.” Carmen led her around the side of the doctor’s office to the yard between it and the fancy new house as she whispered, “I didn’t want to miss this.”

Mercy took a look and started to shake.