Cassandra Austin (13 page)

The knock was repeated, and she heard Noella’s shrill voice from the parlor. “Cally! Get the door.”

“I was halfway to the door before you screeched,” she muttered. She caught herself muttering a lot lately.

She quickly called to mind the proper way to greet a guest.
Good morning. May I help you?
It wasn’t as if Noella hadn’t drilled it into her, it was just something she hadn’t had to use but once or twice. The old ladies didn’t get many callers.

Cally turned the knob on the big door and dragged it open. “Good morn—” The words died on her lips.

“Good morn, yourself, Cally,” Andrew said. “Can I come in?”

“No.” The word came out a croak. She quickly stepped through the door, pushing Andrew precariously close to the edge of the porch as she closed the door behind her. She couldn’t imagine why he was here. She hadn’t seen him for three days, not since she had spied on him. “I told you not to come here.”

The man just grinned. “I want to ask you on a picnic tomorrow afternoon.” He didn’t even keep his voice down.

She tried to set an example by whispering, “You know I can’t do that.”

“But Cally, tomorrow’s Sunday. Surely you get Sunday afternoon off?”

Cally just stared at him. The Gwynns hadn’t suggested she take any time off. Perhaps she was supposed to ask. It just hadn’t occurred to her. She had never taken a day off on the farm.

She shook herself. What was she thinking? She didn’t want to take time off to be with
him!
“No!”
she said with emphasis, reaching for the doorknob behind her.

“But Cally, tomorrow’s your…”

“Cally! Who’s out there?” The door swung open just as her fingers closed over the knob, and Cally nearly stumbled into Noella.

Andrew actually smiled! “Good morning, Miss Gwynn.”

Cally was dragged back across the threshold before she could even turn around. She was thrust behind Noella, who then ignored her and turned to Andrew.

“Good morning, Sheriff,” Noella said. “What brings you to our door?”

Cally tried to lean around the old lady and shake her head at Andrew but Noella blocked the way. She heard Andrew say, “I came to call on Miss Dubois,” and rolled her eyes to heaven.

Easter, probably attracted by the small commotion, an event in this household, came into the hall. “Do we have a visitor?” she asked.

Noella barked “No,” over her shoulder. “Is it business, sir?” Cally thought she nearly barked that too.

“Well, no. I just—”

“I’m sorry, Sheriff. Cally has work to do and no time to entertain callers.”

“But when can—?” Andrew’s question was interrupted by the closing of the door.

Noella turned her haughty nose toward Cally. “You are not to receive male callers.”

“I didn’t receive him,” Cally protested.

“You were talking to him, and he looked quite happy to me.”

“I was trying to tell him to go away,” Cally protested. Really, these women were impossible to please.

Noella rose to her full height. “Don’t you suppose saying no and closing the door would have been more effective than stepping out with him?”

Cally considered telling the old woman she could have spit in his face, that in fact she had a time or two, but she knew the look of horror that was so rewarding would be followed by some especially unpleasant housecleaning. Instead, she tried to act sorry. “He is the sheriff,” she reminded Noella.

“She’s right,” said Easter, wringing her hands. “He is.”

Noella seemed to think it over. “I suppose it is understandable for you to be intimidated by Mr. Haywood because of his office. You can be forgiven for thinking you needed to talk to him. Now you have seen my example and will follow it in the future. You may return to the polishing.”

Cally knew she was supposed to be grateful for getting off so easily. She was expected to lower her eyes and thank the old woman for her kindness. A curtsy wouldn’t hurt. Cally looked her in the eye for a good five seconds before turning toward the dining room. She heard Noella’s sharp intake of breath and expected to be called back.

But she wasn’t. Cally had to smile to herself. The poor old lady found her particularly hard to train. She had overheard her telling Easter this morning that she suspected Cally of being slow-witted. Easter, in protesting that she seemed bright enough to her, had almost let the reading lessons slip.

Noella hadn’t been listening, anyway. She had half a mind, she told Easter, to complain to Haywood about sending them such a foolish child. Well, she had had her chance a minute ago. Had she complained?

She wished she could have seen Haywood’s face when Noella closed the door. He wasn’t used to being treated like that. She wondered if he was angry, surprised or determined to try again.

Cally sighed as she picked up the rag and reached for another knife. She almost hoped he would try again. A picnic on Sunday would be delightful. Even with Haywood, she forced herself to add.

That evening when Cally went to Haywood’s to do the chores, she found a picture tacked to Belle’s stall. It showed a quilt spread on the ground under a tree. A man and woman sat on the quilt. A building easily recognizable as Haywood’s barn was in the background. She carefully folded the picture, tucked it in the bib of her apron and tried not to think about it as she did her chores.

It rustled when she bumped it. It poked her when she bent to lift the milk bucket. It warmed her skin with the memory of his touch.

Back in her bedroom at the Gwynns’ she lit a lamp and sat with the drawing in her lap as she took the pins out of her hair. The man in the drawing was in his shirtsleeves. Cally knew he was handsome, though his face was turned toward the woman. She wore a white apron over a pencil-shaded dress. They each held a glass while bread and fruit were scattered between
them on the blanket. The drawing was an invitation she didn’t want to refuse.

But she must, she knew. Even though she missed him terribly, she couldn’t let herself fall into his arms again. The fever came back to her every time she thought about that night, which was every time she thought about
him.
Which, she realized, was nearly all the time. And with the fever was this empty feeling, because he didn’t want to be with her always.

Cally stood and dropped the sketch into her trunk. She mustn’t think about that night, or Andrew, or kisses. But she had little else to think about. She felt more and more restless every day. And more lonesome.

She gave herself an hour to try to sleep, then gave up. She quietly dressed and slipped out of the house.

As she slid Andrew’s barn door open, she tried to think of an excuse for raiding her garden tonight. She didn’t need any more squash yet, though the Gwynns certainly enjoyed it. It sold fairly well at Lafferty’s, and she would have harvested it all if there had been a way to bring that much back to town.

Perhaps she simply needed to get away from the old ladies’ house and see her farm again. It couldn’t possibly be that she wanted to see Andrew. Of course not. She never wanted to see him again.

She jumped on Jewel’s back and tried to adjust her dress so she wasn’t quite so uncomfortable. She rode out of the yard without more than a glance at the house. No lights were shining through the windows anyway.

As soon as she was out of town, she voiced all her problems to Jewel. “It’s not fair, none of it. I don’t
want to be a maid. I miss working in my garden. I miss the soddy, too. The bed may be nicer at the Gwynns’ but it isn’t
my
bed! I miss having Royal by my side. And you and Belle and Queen, too, of course. I even miss chasing off Andr…Sheriff Haywood.”

To top it all off, she couldn’t stop worrying that she might be carrying Andrew’s baby. She had tried to call upon all her limited knowledge of the subject. Her restlessness itself was reassuring, when she considered Belle. In order for the cow to keep producing milk, she had to be bred about once a year. Cally always knew it was time to take her to Ned, who would put her with his bull, when the normally placid cow became restless and flighty. Cally thought she knew the feeling. When she brought Belle home again the cow would have settled back down, and Cally would know she was bred.

Cally didn’t feel settled down! She felt more restless than ever. A good sign, she hoped.

However, when she thought about breeding Belle it worried her, too. Belle had
always
been bred. She always had nice little calves that Cally had to turn over to Ned as payment when they were just a few weeks old.

By the time she reached her farm she was having a regular pity party, as Pa would have said. She left Jewel at the creek and approached on foot. She was almost to her garden when she stopped to study her house. It felt empty, the same as it had before. Yet something was different.

Odd shadows in front of it caught her attention, and she stepped closer to investigate. She couldn’t help
the sudden intake of breath. An enormous supply of lumber had been stacked here and there around the yard. Someone was building a house!

The gambler had sold the farm, or he had decided to stay. Either way there was no chance now of her getting it back. It would never be her farm again! She turned and ran to Jewel, scrambled onto her back and started her toward town.

What was she going to do? Would she have to spend her whole life as a maid? It was easy to guess what the sisters would do if she had a baby. They would throw her out. Where would she go? Somehow she had convinced herself that she would get her farm back; if she had a baby, she would raise it there. But now that chance was gone forever.

By the time she rode Jewel into Andrew’s yard, she felt desperate. How and when would she know if she was pregnant? How long could she keep it a secret? Her knees shook when she dismounted. For some odd reason she wanted to run inside to Andrew. He was the cause of all her troubles, she reminded herself. Why should she want to lean against his chest and feel his bare skin against her cheek? How could it help to have his arms around her?

As she led Jewel to her stall she realized she knew the answer to those questions. None of the rest, not the farm, not the baby, would matter if Andrew would marry her, if she could be his forever. She was so caught up in her misery as she left the barn that when she found Andrew waiting for her outside, she went straight into his arms.

Royal had awakened Andrew when Cally first came into the yard. He had considered following, but
there was no one at the farm to bother her. Let her make her midnight raid, he had decided. Then he had lain awake worrying about her. He had been so relieved to see her come back that he had gone to meet her without a second thought.

He hadn’t expected her to walk into his arms. At first he was elated, then he was concerned. This wasn’t like her. “Cally, sweetheart, what’s wrong?” She shook her head and let him guide her to the house.

Inside his kitchen he lit a lamp. “Are you hurt? Cally, please talk to me.”

All she did was shake her head. And cling to him.

Lord, what could have happened? He held her away at arm’s length and studied her face. She was fighting tears or terror, he wasn’t sure which. “Cally, did someone hurt you?”

She shook her head.

“Then tell me what’s wrong.”

She seemed about to speak then shrugged. “It’s nothing,” she said, collapsing back against his chest.

Andrew cradled her in his arms and stroked her hair, knocking pins loose until it all fell freely over her shoulders. He tried to think what could have caused her such worry. “Cally,” he whispered. “Was it something I did?”

She shook her head. Then she nodded, pounding a small fist ineffectually on his chest. In a moment she was clinging to him again.

Quite suddenly it occurred to him. She was pregnant!

O
f course knowing she was pregnant would make Cally too upset to speak. And he had refused to marry her! Andrew felt like a worm.

“Sweetheart, it’ll be all right,” he crooned. “I’ll take care of you.” He smiled to himself. It felt good to say it. He said it again. “I’ll take care of you.”

She pulled away and delivered one more punch to his chest. “I don’t want you to take care of me.” It came out just above a whisper. She took a deep breath. “I can take care of myself,” she said more firmly.

“But if there’s a baby…” he started.

“I don’t know if there’s a baby. I don’t know how to know. Belle never showed for months, but I’m still restless. Maybe it’s different, but I can’t talk to anybody.” Her voice had grown softer until it was a whisper.

Andrew thought he understood most of it. The key points at least. She didn’t know how to know? Obviously her father had neglected her education. Hadn’t she had any women friends? Andrew cuddled her
against his chest. He wanted to convince her that whatever happened he loved her. But he could understand her need to know.

“Your…uh…monthlies, Cally. When was the last one?” He took her shoulders gently and turned her toward him when she would have turned away. He had put it as delicately as he could, but she blushed bright red. He would have thought it looked rather cute if the subject weren’t so serious.

She glared at him, evidently angry that he had embarrassed her. Lord, she was difficult to understand. Finally she spoke, trying to sound tough. “It just finished, but I don’t see how that matters.”

Andrew hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until he let it out all at once. At least their shaky relationship didn’t have that to deal with at this point. She eyed him suspiciously. He explained, “That’s how you know, Cally. When you’re…with child, your monthlies stop.”

Her eyes had narrowed. Her worry had turned to anger. What now? Then it occurred to him; she knew he was relieved. Well, she should be, too. But it wasn’t quite the same.

He watched her straighten, toss her hair over her shoulders and turn away. He reached out to catch her. “Cally?”

She didn’t turn back and he didn’t follow. She didn’t believe he loved her, and he didn’t know how to convince her. He let her go.

“‘I’ll take care of you,’ he says. ‘
If
there’s a baby,’ he says. He doesn’t care about me. Easter was right. They don’t want to make a baby, but they like
to…to…practice.” Cally realized she was muttering out loud and tried to calm herself. It wouldn’t do to be caught coming into the Gwynns’ house talking to herself.

At least there wouldn’t be a baby. She should be relieved. The knowledge did take away most of her fear. But she had been thinking about all of Belle’s cute little calves she had turned over to Ned to raise. And she had even started picturing a tiny version of Andrew she could love forever.

Besides, she still wanted her farm, and she wanted to get away from the old ladies. Before their great dinner party, if possible. She would think of something.

She lay awake the rest of the night. She realized that if she left, she would miss Easter’s reading lessons. What she was trying to teach her had just started to make sense. But that was all she would miss. And she thought she had a plan.

The next afternoon, Cally told Easter that she would have to skip the reading lesson. She had planned to demand time off since it was Sunday, but at the last minute she said she had some extra chores to do. She knew Easter wouldn’t ask any questions. Neither old lady wanted to know any more than she had to about the livestock. They were glad to drink the milk and eat the eggs, squash and canned tomatoes, but they wanted to pretend they provided it. Cally would have sold it all at Lafferty’s to avoid serving any to the old ladies if she hadn’t wanted to eat some herself.

With the whole afternoon to do as she pleased,
Cally headed first to Andrew’s for Jewel, then to her farm. From the cover of the trees, she sat for a few minutes, watching three men work on the new house. In the dark, she hadn’t seen that the house was actually started.

She felt a little apprehensive about carrying out her plan now. She sat up a little straighter on the mule’s back. Whoever meant to live here might need a housekeeper, she reminded herself. She would still be a maid, but at least she would have her garden back.

Deciding that riding in with her skirts hiked up to her knees wouldn’t make a good impression, she dismounted and led Jewel forward. She walked slowly, shading her eyes with one hand and gathering her courage.

“Shame to spend Sunday afternoon working,” she heard one of the men holler over the sound of three busy hammers.

“Once the roof’s on we can slow up a bit.” The older man paused a moment. “We’re getting paid enough to compensate, anyhow.”

Because of the noise, Cally was practically at the house and they still hadn’t noticed her. “Good afternoon,” she called.

All three men stopped and stared. The oldest found his voice first. “Howdy, ma’am. Can we do something for you?”

“Why yes, you can,” she said, trying to sound proper like the old ladies. She was only a step or two from the structure and had to fight the urge to study it. “Who is building this house?” Afraid they might not want to answer she added, “I was just curious, you understand.”

It was the oldest that spoke again. “We’re building this house for the sheriff.”

Cally felt her heart pound and her knees shake with anger. “Sheriff Haywood?” she asked, wanting to be absolutely sure.

“That’s the one.” The man actually smiled.

“Why that low-down, lying thief!”

She turned and stormed into the soddy. It was dark inside. The place was a mess. But the shotgun hung above the door, right where Andrew had left it.

When she walked back into the daylight, the three men were approaching her cautiously. The eldest spoke. “Ma’am? Are you all ri—?” All three stopped abruptly when they saw the shotgun. “Whoa now! Are you daft?”

“I’m not daft,” she said. “I’m furious. Get off my land!”

“But Sheriff Haywood—” he began.

“Stole my farm.” She brought the shotgun to her shoulder and all three men stepped back.

“Now, miss,” the eldest tried again.

“I wouldn’t mess with her, Pa. I say it’s Haywood’s problem.”

Pa seemed to think it over as his sons backed away. Finally, rather self-consciously, he tipped his hat. “Ma’am,” he offered before turning with the others to saddle his horse.

Cally watched them go with considerable satisfaction. Of course it wouldn’t be long before Haywood heard and came to kick her off again. But it would be different this time.

Andrew carefully laid everything out on his kitchen table. Today was Cally’s birthday, and he was determined
that they would celebrate it with a picnic. He had bought bread, cheese, apples and a bottle of wine. He had considered buying a pie from one of the restaurants but knew it wouldn’t be as good as Cally’s own.

He had the lunch together. The problem now was Cally. The reception he had gotten from the Gwynns still worried him. Cally had been serious when she had told him not to call on her. The idea that the Gwynns might have caused her trouble because of him made him angry at the ladies.

He consoled himself with the conviction that she wouldn’t be at their house much longer. Today, somehow, he would get her alone and win her over. Was that being too optimistic? No, he would give her the gift, and when she said she loved him, he would ask her to marry him. He smiled to himself. It was nothing short of amazing how that simple thought could bring him sudden pleasure.

“I want to ask Cally to marry me,” he said to Royal. It sounded good aloud, too.

Just exactly how he would get her to sit down and listen was another matter. Last night’s little confrontation hadn’t gone well. He didn’t think he should knock on the Gwynns’ door again. Perhaps he should wait for Cally to come to do her chores. Unfortunately she had become quite good at slipping in and out without his knowing. He would have to watch for her.

“I don’t like it, Royal,” he said.

The dog cocked his head to one side and pricked his ears.

“By the time she comes to do her chores, her birthday
will be nearly over. Besides, with my luck, I’ll get called away and miss her entirely.”

For a moment, Andrew imagined sneaking in the Gwynns’ back door and kidnapping Cally. He grinned at the image as he packed the food carefully into a basket.

“You know,” he said, eyeing the dog, “it used to bother me that I talked to you.” Royal settled onto the floor, his eyes never leaving Andrew. “Cally’s managed to change a lot of things around here.”

Andrew picked up the little box that had been lying on the table with the picnic lunch. He opened it for another look at the brooch, then placed it inside the basket. Everything was ready for his wildflower.

There was a knock at the door, and Andrew glanced at Royal. He was sure the dog’s reaction would have been different if the visitor had been Cally. It was too much to hope for anyway. He walked through the house to the front door.

Dean Olson stood on his steps, and his two sons waited by their horses on the street. All three looked more than a little worried.

“Is there a problem, boys?” Andrew asked.

Dean took off his hat and scratched the back of his head before answering. “Well, sir. I hate to sound like a coward, but it seemed better to leave it to you to handle.” He paused a moment. “I just let a little gal run us off your farm.”

Andrew closed his eyes. “Cally,” he breathed.

“She was only about yea high, red hair….”

“I know what she looks like.” Andrew took a deep breath. Realizing the carpenters were still eyeing him with concern, he added, “I’ll take care of it. Thanks.”

As he closed the door, he heard one of the boys say, “It looks like we get Sunday off, after all.”

Andrew’s long strides carried him though his house toward the back door. In the kitchen he turned back and grabbed up the basket. “Now that’s optimistic,” he muttered as he and Royal went through the back door, letting Queen out to lie against the doorsill.

What, he wondered, had gotten into Cally’s head this time? He had his horse saddled before it dawned on him. She had seen the house! He had hurt her again.

Cally waited at the door of the soddy when Haywood rode into the yard. She raised the shotgun to her shoulder. Royal had been trotting alongside the horse, and Cally was pleased to see him leave Haywood to run to her. She spoke to the dog without taking her eyes off the sheriff. Royal sat down beside her, his tail thumping against the packed dirt.

Andrew dismounted a little awkwardly, and Cally noticed a basket hung from the saddle horn. She didn’t take more than a moment to wonder about it because the sheriff was walking toward her. She kept the shotgun trained on him.

“Seems like old times,” Andrew said.

He grinned, and Cally clenched her teeth. “It’s not quite the same, though, is it?”

He continued to walk toward her, speaking softly. “Cally, put the gun down.”

She felt her resolve start to waver. “You planned to steal the farm all along, didn’t you? You used me to get it.” She hoped to remind herself as much as accuse him.

Andrew was close enough now to touch the barrel of the shotgun. With one finger he eased it aside. “I didn’t use you.” His voice dropped to a husky whisper. “Your father lost the farm. I bought it. I didn’t need you for that.”

Cally lowered the stock from her shoulder; it seemed to have become unbearably heavy. Of course he knew she wouldn’t shoot him. Yet she had wanted to let him know how hurt she was. Instead she got all melty inside and forgot why she was here.

She watched a smile start to curve his lips and knew he had read her thoughts. “I love you, Cally,” he whispered.

Cally brought herself back to the present. “I don’t believe you,” she said. “And I’ve decided not to believe there was a gambling debt, either.”

“Why?” asked Andrew, suddenly alert.

Cally shrugged, only mildly curious about his reaction. “I’ve decided you would lie to me. I can’t read so I had to believe you.” She leaned the gun against the soddy and put a few paces between them.

Andrew took so long to answer that Cally started to lose her resolve. Finally he asked, “Cally, is that what you really think?”

Cally’s lips quivered, and she turned away. “Since you’re the sheriff and stronger than me, I guess I’ll have to be content to work for you.”

Andrew actually chuckled! She spun to stare at him as he asked, “You want to be my deputy, too?”

“Of course not!” she declared, stomping her foot.

In seconds Andrew stood in front of her, tipping her chin up. “Talk to me,” he whispered.

She looked into his eyes a full minute before she
spoke. Then it all came out at once. “I miss my garden. I don’t like being a maid. Easter is teaching me how to read, but I have to milk Belle in a dress. Noella’s a sour pickle, and I can’t have Royal anymore. I know it’s stupid, but I thought I’d get the farm back, somehow. Now it’s yours, and you’re building a house, and I’ll never get it back.” She took a deep breath. “Can I be your housekeeper?”

“My housekeeper?”

Cally stepped away, hoping she sounded convincing. “I could clean your house and cook your meals and do all the things I do for the old ladies except I’d have my garden and I’d be with…uh…Royal and the others.”

She glanced at Andrew in time to see him grin. “Don’t you mean you’d be with me?”

Her chin came up again. “I could suffer through that, I suppose.” Unfortunately her voice quavered when she said it.

Andrew chuckled. He stepped toward her, placing his hands gently on her shoulders, the tingling warmth preventing her from moving away. “What else would you be willing to do as my housekeeper?”

His voice was so honey-smooth she couldn’t meet his eyes. “I could live with you in sin…if I had to.” She punctuated this offer of a terrible sacrifice by leaning into him and closing her eyes.

“If you had to?” he asked before kissing her gently. “But you wouldn’t want to.” Another kiss brought her up on her toes.