Heartbreak Creek (11 page)

But Edwina knew different. She had heard the talk and seen the resentment in the eyes that followed Pru. And the hunger. Pru was a beautiful woman of mixed blood—an unforgivable thing to some. She was also better educated than most white men and carried herself with a quiet dignity that roused spite and envy—in whites and blacks.

It was sickening. Edwina’s instinct was to lash back, show them such evil talk didn’t matter, brazen it out. But she didn’t dare. She wasn’t about to risk her sister’s life, or her own, just to stay in a place that held no meaning for them anymore. There had to be a better way, a better life waiting for them somewhere.

Was this it? Here on this lonely ranch with this unruly family and awkward man? Edwina didn’t know. But for now, at least, she and Pru were safe. It was a start. But if Pru left her, it would all be for nothing.

“I worry about you, Pru. And about me. What if I made a terrible mistake?”

After stirring molasses, a can of tomatoes, and a big pinch of ground mustard into the beans, Pru wiped her hands on her apron and turned to face Edwina with a smile that was both sad and determined.

“And what if you haven’t? It’s obvious this family needs you.”

Edwina gave a broken laugh. “It’s you they need. Not me.”

“Then make them need you.” Pru must have seen the tears Edwina was trying so hard to hold back. Blinking against her own, she walked over and put her arms around her. “And how could they not grow to love you, little sister? You’re sweet, kindhearted, fiercely loyal, smart—”

“Stop,” Edwina said, laughing in spite of herself. “You’re making me sound like a spaniel.” Putting some space between them, she swiped at her cheeks and put on a wobbly smile. “Just promise me you’ll stay until I get my feet under me. Otherwise, I’m going with you, I swear it.”

“I promise.” Still gripping her shoulders, Pru gave Edwina a hard look. “But you must promise me that you’ll give this marriage a chance.”

Edwina sighed. “He doesn’t even like me, Pru. You’ve seen the way he looks at me.”

“Then make him like you.”

“How?”

“By being more likeable. And maybe rubbing up on something other than his furniture.”

“Pru!”

Her sister met her outrage with a laugh. “Go on, now.” She gave Edwina a gentle shove toward the door. “Call your family to lunch. I think I saw a triangle dinner bell hanging beside the door when we came in.”

Shaking her head at her sister’s audacity, Edwina turned toward the door just as it opened and her new family trooped in.

And they didn’t look happy.

A
s Declan ushered his pouting children into the kitchen, he was greeted with the delicious smell of fried pork, onions, and baking muffins. His dour mood immediately lightened.

The place was clean, too, he saw, looking around. And the women were smiling in welcome. At least one of them was; his wife looked as if she’d been crying. He hoped it was because of the onions. He didn’t need another scene after what he’d just gone through.

R.D. and Lucas had taken the news of their new mother well enough. R.D. asked if she was a better cook than Chick, the ranch hand who now did most of the cooking. Lucas just looked at him in silence, that same, sad look on his thin face. As expected, Joe Bill had strenuously insisted he already had a mother and didn’t need another one—a tired refrain. Even after four years, the boy still wouldn’t accept that his mother was dead. Brin had simply echoed whatever Joe Bill said, except at a shout and with tears.

“Children,” he said now, putting on his best smile while gripping Brin’s and Joe Bill’s shoulders in warning. “This is the new ma I told you about.”

Brin tipped her head back to frown up at him through the dark tangled curls poking out beneath her tattered slouch hat. “Which one?”

“The one with the light hair.”

“I like the chocolate one better. What’s wrong with her hand? Why is it different colors?”

“She’s not chocolate,” Joe Bill argued. “She’s butterscotch.”

“She’s Prudence Lincoln,” Declan cut in, feeling his control of the situation already start to unravel. “And she’s not chocolate or butterscotch. She’s Negro. And the other lady,” he went on before they could make any more unmannerly remarks, “is your ma.”

“I ain’t calling her ma,” Joe Bill said. “I already got a ma.”

“Joe Bill—”

“I ain’t calling her ma, neither,” Brin seconded, crossing her arms over her thin chest. “I don’t like her.”

“Brin—”

This time his wife cut him off. “Then you may call me Edwina or Pricilla.” She stalked forward with that combative look Declan had come to recognize. “Or Mother, or Mrs. Brodie, or Queen Victoria. I don’t care which, as long as you do it with respect.”

The children inched closer to his side as she stopped and studied each of them in turn. “I will not tolerate poor manners or unkind remarks directed at me, or my . . . friend, Miss Lincoln. Is that clear?”

Without waiting for them to respond, she lifted her gaze to Declan and smiled. It wasn’t a friendly smile. “And I’m sure your father will back me up on that,” she added, “since he has paid dearly in time and money to get me here, and is doubtless indisposed to making the long trip back to Heartbreak Creek today.”

A threat?
Declan scowled at her, unsure how to respond and wondering where his cowardly, complaining wife had gone. Maybe his children did need to be chastised for their rude remarks, but they were
his
children, and
he
should be the one to do it. But before he could point that out, Prudence Lincoln stepped into the breach with another of her overly bright smiles.

“Please, please, come sit down everyone. The corn muffins are just about ready.”

Magic words, as far as his children were concerned. The test of wills instantly forgotten, they scrambled into chairs around the table.

It was a tense meal, although that didn’t seem to put a damper on his children’s appetites, Declan noticed. Brin’s complaint that Thomas had fed them nothing but pemmican must have been right. He wondered why Chick hadn’t fed them as he usually did, then realized he hadn’t seen either Chick or his other ranch hand, Amos, since he’d gotten back.

“Where’s Chick?” he asked.

“Joe Bill burned his leg,” R.D. said through a mouthful of beans. “Trying to make smoke signals. Went to cut a new one.”

“It was just laying there in the barn,” Joe Bill defended. “How was I to know it was his leg?”

Declan was wondering what else Joe Bill might have burned other than his front hair and Chick’s leg when he caught the looks of horror on the ladies’ faces. “Chick McElroy,” he explained. “Cooks and helps out some. Lost his leg to snakebite and now wears a peg leg.” Turning back to his eldest, he asked, “Amos with him?”

R.D. shook his head. “Drunk. Tried to baptize Thomas.”

Joe Bill laughed out loud, spewing bits of cornmeal onto the table. “Uncle Thomas baptized him instead, ain’t that right, R.D.?”

Brin hooted and waved her spoon, slinging beans on Prudence Lincoln’s apron. “You shoulda seen it, Pa! Amos kept hollering and sputtering every time Thomas shoved his head under. Looked like a giant fish the way he flopped around.”

Declan stared morosely at his plate rather than face the looks of disgust he was sure the ladies were aiming at him and his children. Not that they didn’t deserve it, but he was too weary to deal with his children’s behavior or his wife’s complaints right then. He still had a wagon to unload, horses to unhitch, and three days of chores that had piled up while he was gone.

He sighed and spooned more beans onto his plate. Since that odd moment in the bedroom when Miss Priss had given him a friendly smile instead of her usual condescending smirk, he’d been hoping things might yet work out. But ten minutes in his children’s company had likely shot that hope to hell. Finishing off his beans, Declan reached for the last corn muffin. At least the food was good.

After the merriment over the river scene died down, when Declan was thinking the rest of the meal might pass without further incident, his wife finally chose to speak. “Are you enjoying your meal, children?”

“Oh, dear,” Prudence Lincoln muttered.

Declan looked up.

As did the children, eyeing their new ma with expressions of belligerence, laced with distrust and a trace of wariness. Smart kids.

“I hope so,” Miss Priss went on in a friendly tone. “As it will be your last in this house. Unless . . .” Letting the word hang like an executioner’s ax, she paused to take a dainty bite of muffin, set it back on her plate, dabbed at her mouth with a napkin—where had she found a napkin?—then looked up with that terrifying smile. “. . . you improve your table manners.”

Silence. The children looked at one another, then at Declan. He saw expectation in their eyes and knew they were waiting for him to do something to show he was solidly in their camp and ready to send this usurper fleeing. He wasn’t surprised his children and Miss Priss would butt heads; he just hadn’t thought it would happen so soon.

“Pa . . . ?”

Chewing slowly so as not to aggravate the headache thudding behind his temples, Declan looked at his daughter’s bean-smeared face. “Yes, Brin?”

“She can’t do that, can she? Starve us?”

Declan shifted his gaze to his wife’s determined face and realized how thoroughly he had underestimated this woman. She was definitely not a coward. He admired that, even though it rankled that she had forced this little showdown without giving him prior warning. “Apparently, she can.”

“That’s not fair!” Joe Bill slapped his spoon onto the table so hard beans flew up to catch on the crinkled ends of his singed blond hair. “Pa, tell her!”

“I have no intention of starving you,” Miss Priss said calmly. “You will be fed as you deserve.” That smile again. “Slops in the barn.”

“Slops?” Joe Bill looked at Declan. “Pa!”

Brin turned to Lucas, who sat beside her, watching the exchange in silence. “What’s slops?”

“Pig food.”

“Pig food? Pa!”

With a sigh, Declan stepped reluctantly into the fray, hoping to hell he was picking the right side. “Act like a pig, eat like a pig.”

“Pa!”

Then things really got loud, and everyone started shouting at once, and the pounding in Declan’s head built to a deafening thud against the inside of his skull, until finally with a bellow of exhaustion and frustration, he shot to his feet. “Enough, damnit! You sound like a pack of wild dogs!”

Stunned silence.

Hands on hips, he scowled down at the slack-jawed faces gaping up at him. “You children shame me with your mean-spirited bickering. I raised you better than that. And you”—he glared down the length of the table at his wife—“you’re supposed to bring order to my home, not chaos!”

His wife opened her mouth, but Declan cut her off before she could speak. “You’re right. They need better manners. And schooling, and whatever else you can teach them. I’m not sure this is the way to go about it, but I’ll back you up . . . to a point. I’ll send them to the barn if you say so. I’ll even take them to the woodshed if need be. But don’t you raise a hand against them, or belittle them, or turn them against one another. And don’t come crying to me if it all blows up in your face. I’ve got no time for it. You started it, you finish it. I’ve got a ranch to run.” And turning on his heel, he stalked from the room.

Edwina’s sense of triumph lasted until the door closed behind him and Brin wailed, “But I don’t wanna eat pig food!” and burst into tears.

Joe Bill sent Edwina a look that promised retribution. “Now see what you did.”

R.D. reached over and patted his little sister’s shoulder. “Quit crying, Brin. It’ll be all right.” Rising, he took Brin’s hand and motioned to his brothers. “Come on. We got to help Pa unload the wagon.”

With a final knife-edged glare at Edwina, Joe Bill followed his older brother and little sister out. Lucas, bringing up the rear, paused to give Edwina a puzzled look, then trailed after them.

As soon as the door closed, Pru pushed herself to her feet. “That went beautifully.”

“Do you think so?” Edwina had her doubts. If it went so beautifully, why did she feel like casting up her lunch?

“No. I don’t know.” Pru gathered spoons and plates. “Something must be done. Those children are in desperate need of guidance.”

“You don’t think I can give it?”

Pru chuckled. “Oh, I’m sure you can.”

Rising, Edwina carried a pile of dirty plates to the sink. Resting her hands on the counter, she looked out the window to see R.D. disappear with a sack of potatoes into what she guessed was a cool room or root cellar beneath the house. “You think I was too harsh with them?”