Roses for Mama (11 page)
“Gus might like his cup of coffee now,” Angela prompted.
Charlie swore softly under his breath. “I fergot all about it,” he murmured, rising quickly and lifting a big mug from the cupboard shelf.
Angela let herself out and started for home deeply troubled. It was clear that Charlie was about at the breaking point. She wished there were something she could do.
She was so absorbed in her thoughts that she did not hear the approaching horse until the rider had reined in beside her.
“Good afternoon, miss.”
Angela jumped in surprise.
“My apology, Miss Peterson,” the young Stratton quickly responded, stepping down from the horse with one smooth motion. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you quite all right?”
He took her hand and drew her toward him.
Angela flushed and stepped back. “Oh, I—I’m fine,” she faltered. “You—you just caught me off guard for a minute. I was too deep in thought, I guess.” She took another small step backward and he released her hand.
They stood there—face-to-face—assessing each other.
Angela watched his eyes move from her bonnet to her shoes and back to her face. He smiled approvingly, and she wondered if that meant she was as pretty as the city girls he knew.
Angela used the time to take a full look at the young man before her. He was even taller than she had realized. He was not dressed in the finery of their first meeting. Instead, he wore western garb—and wore it well. His clothing was newer and more expensive looking than the working clothes worn by most of the local young men. His chaps were still highly polished dark leather, his shirt unfaded from the summer sun. His wide-brimmed hat was not yet stained from rain and snow, nor his gloves hardened into the shape of curled fingers. He removed a glove and reached up to lift his hat from his head. He stood before her, dark hair glistening in the sun, dark eyes softened with concern for her welfare. Angela found him most appealing.
“I was—was just checking on your—your father—and Charlie,” Angela said suddenly, taking one more step backward.
He was suddenly the young man she had met before—in spite of his change of outfit.
“I’m hurt,” he said. “I was hoping you had called to see me.”
Angela had regained her composure, realizing that she probably made a rather striking picture in her Sunday dress and bonnet. She turned her blue eyes directly on the young man and allowed her lips to curl into a teasing smile. “I assumed the boss would have little time for afternoon tea parties,” she countered.
The young man tipped his head to one side and his eyes studied her face. Angela felt her cheeks glow under the close scrutiny.
“I must apologize for my appearance,” he said at last, “but if you will give me a few minutes, I will rid myself of the dust and filth and be happy to share that cup of tea.”
He offered Angela an arm, and for one unguarded minute she was about to accept it.
“Oh, I was only teasing,” she admitted. “I—I must hurry home. I’ve got a thousand things to do.”
“What a pity!” His voice sounded as if he meant the words, but Angela still couldn’t read his eyes. She felt confused, knowing that he was testing her, yet realizing she didn’t understand his meaning.
“Another time then?” he asked. Angela wondered if she sensed an arrogance in the young man.
She tipped her head to one side and looked at him candidly. She was not flirting now. She had recovered from her moment of youthful foolishness. “I’ll give it some thought,” she replied simply. “I may call on Charlie again.”
She turned to go, but he caught her arm, his grasp gentle but definite.
“And what about me?” he asked in a low voice. “What if I should wish to call?”
Angela felt her pulse racing. She hardly knew how to respond. No young man had ever asked her if he could come calling. She cocked her head as though considering—when in fact she was trying to once again gain control of her emotions.
“It hardly seems the proper time to be calling—when—when your father is so—so ill,” she responded at last.
“Of course. Of course, I meant later. After he is—well again.”
Angela wondered if he was very deeply concerned about his father. He didn’t seem to be embarrassed that he had suggested calling when the man lay desperately ill. Nor did she believe for one minute that he expected his father ever to be well again. A shiver passed through her. She didn’t think she cared much for the man, after all—even if he did think he was such a fine gentleman.
Angela eased her arm from his hold and gave him one last look. She was about to take her leave when she remembered her mama. Mama would never have allowed her children to respond to poor taste with poor taste. The young man had paid her a fine compliment and she was about to walk away in a huff.
Perhaps his city ways are different than the ways out here
, she reminded herself.
And remember, he has never really known his father. That man—sick in bed—unable to think or speak—that really has been a poor way to meet the man who should have earned his respect and love
.
Angela turned back to the young man, a friendly smile on her lips. “I do think that it is proper to attend the house of the Lord on any occasion,” she said quietly. “And it would likely be quite in order for the neighbors to invite one home for dinner following.”
He paused a moment as if to sort out her meaning and then nodded. “And where do I find your church?”
“It’s the only one in town,” she replied.
“Next Sunday?” he asked.
“Next Sunday,” she nodded. “The family will be expecting you.”
She turned and without a backward glance headed determinedly home.
Her cheeks burned as she walked. What had come over her? She had acted like—just like she had seen Trudie act with Thomas. She had not appreciated it in Trudie and she did not appreciate it in herself.
I refuse to act like a silly schoolgirl
, she scolded herself.
If he does show up for church, then we shall all treat him as a dinner guest. But I will not—absolutely will not—flirt with him again
.
Angela’s face burned even more deeply as she thought of her coy looks and teasing smiles. “Whatever came over me anyway?” she said aloud with impatience. “I have never—never acted so foolish before. I can’t for the life of me imagine what I was trying to do.”
Though it was still just a feeling she couldn’t quite put into words, Angela was beginning to realize that buried deep within her was a young woman longing for special attention—special love.
Angela felt agitated as she prepared for church on Sunday morning. She should have been elated—relieved—as Thomas was, for the harvest was all in the bins and the crops had done well. Thomas was set to relax and be thankful. The family would have their needs met for another year.
Angela was thankful too. It was a relief to know that she could now shop for the needed material from which to sew winter garments. It was wonderful that they would be able to get new footwear for each family member. With thanksgiving she would buy the wool for mittens and heavy socks. But even though Angela knew she should be humming a tune of praise, she fidgeted and fiddled and felt her nerves strung tight.
She had told no one of her invitation to the young Stratton for Sunday dinner—not even Thomas.
Mr. Stratton probably won’t be at church anyway
, she told herself,
and I did rather make that the stipulation
.
But just in case, Angela had two young roosters prepared and in the roasting pan and the table was set with Mama’s good china.
“I see we are celebrating,” said Thomas, and when Angela nodded her head, he smiled. Angela was sure that Thomas felt it quite appropriate to celebrate.
If he should happen to come—and I’m sure he won’t
, Angela reminded herself,
I will not act like a smitten young adolescent. I will act like the young woman Mama would expect me to be
.
Angela took a bit more time with her grooming, and when she finally appeared and announced that she was ready, the rest of the family was waiting for her.
“Thane’s birthday gift looks nice with that dress,” said Thomas approvingly as they walked out to the wagon. Angela nodded in agreement, wondering about his rather knowing smile.
It was not a long drive to church, and soon they joined the others gathering for the service.
The Merrifield brothers joined their little procession into the church, and Angela feared they were going to try to crowd in the pew beside her. With a bit of maneuvering she managed to place herself between Sara and Louise, and she smiled a polite greeting to the two young men as they passed on by.
The Andrews family was across the aisle. Angela waved a hand as discreetly as possible to signal that the lovely cameo was resting against the bodice of her pale blue calico. Mrs. Andrews smiled and Thane looked pleased.
Angela turned her attention back to the Sunday congregation.
Trudie came in with a rustle of skirts and a flip of her red hair and seated herself directly in front of the Petersons. She turned to say hello to Angela and to give Thomas a cute smile. Angela again reminded herself that she would not encourage such a manner.
The service was about to start when Trudie turned and whispered to Angela, “Look. Over there.”
Angela stole a glance to the side indicated by Trudie’s bobbing head, and there was the young Mr. Stratton, planted firmly in a church pew. At Angela’s glance he nodded his head slightly, and she felt her face flush. She turned her full attention back to the front of the church, relieved that Pastor Merrifield was taking his place behind the pulpit.
Perhaps Angela could have concentrated better on the morning service had not Trudie been so restless. Angela caught her stealing frequent glances in the direction of the young visitor. She seemed to have forgotten Thomas totally.
So that’s how fickle you are, Trudie Sommers
, Angela said to herself. Then she felt anger stirring within her.
Well, if you think you can just throw Thomas aside because you have discovered a fascinating new face, you are wrong. If I have anything to do with it, Mr. Stratton will not so much as give you a “good morning.”
Angela decided then and there that she might do just a bit of flirting, after all, if it would stop Trudie from claiming the attention of the young man.
From then on, Angela had a hard time paying attention to the morning worship service. She chided herself, forcing her thoughts back to what Pastor Merrifield was saying, but at another glance and toss of the red head in front of her, she would lose the train of the message again.
As soon as the service ended, Trudie was at her side. “Did you see him? Did you see him? I wonder who he is.”
“You mean you don’t know?” asked Angela, as though she had known the young man for years.
“Do you? Do you know him?” Trudie was shaking Angela’s arm as she asked the question.
“He’s our neighbor,” answered Angela matter-of-factly.
“Your what?”
“Mr. Stratton,” replied Angela, straightening the sleeve that Trudie had been tugging.
“Mr. Stratton? That’s not him. I know Mr. Stra—You mean the son? That young man is Stratton’s son?” Trudie was shrieking her whisper into Angela’s ear.
“What’s his name? Oh, what’s his name?” Trudie demanded.
Angela suddenly realized she didn’t know, but she wouldn’t have admitted it for anything.
“I choose to address him as Mr. Stratton,” she answered.
“Oh, you must introduce me, you simply must,” Trudie gushed.
Angela stood and nodded to her sisters to allow them to exit the church.
“Very well,” she said to Trudie as they walked down the aisle. “I’ll introduce you if you wish.”
She hoped that by the time they reached the church steps, the young man would have disappeared. But he was making the rounds of the young men, being introduced by Thane. Thane had met the young Stratton on more than one occasion when he came to purchase items from the store. It seemed that the young men of the church were giving the visitor a warm welcome.
As Angela moved down the walk, the young man lifted his hat and stepped forward.
“Good morning, Miss Peterson,” he said politely with a dip of his head. Angela again noticed the deep, cultured voice.
“Good morning, Mr. Stratton,” she responded, almost shyly. Feeling Trudie tug her sleeve, an impishness possessed her. “I trust you can find your way to our dinner table with no difficulty. We are looking forward to having you.” And she gave the young man a warm smile—almost as coy as Trudie would have given.
There was a gasp beside her and then Trudie gave another yank on Angela’s sleeve.
“And before my friend tears my sleeve from my dress,” she went on, “let me introduce you. This is Miss Trudie Sommers. I believe she would like to meet you.”
Trudie’s red face did not keep her from stepping forward and taking the young man’s extended hand.
Mr. Stratton bid her good morning. Then he turned his attention back to Angela.
“May I drive you home, Miss Peterson?” he asked, and Angela flushed slightly. She had not even told Thomas they would be having a guest, and now he was proposing that she ride with him instead of the family.
But Trudie was standing by, her mouth open and her eyes wide with wonder.
“I’d like that,” Angela responded. “Just give me a minute to inform my brother,” and she hastened off to find Thomas.
Thomas was talking with Thane. Angela burst in upon them and blurted out her mission.
“Thomas,” she said breathlessly, “I—I’ve gotten myself in rather a—a strange situation. I invited Mr. Stratton to dinner—if he came to church first—and he is here. He has—has asked me to ride with him, so I will see you back at the house.”
Angela turned quickly without reading the two faces before her. She feared that Trudie, if left too long, might turn the tables on the day’s plans.
The dinner went well enough. Thomas was courteous to their guest and spoke with him easily. Angela learned more about the young man from listening to their conversation.
