Smoke River Bride (19 page)

L
eah had just puffed out the kerosene lamp and turned to crawl into bed when an unwelcome thought invaded her mind. She had seen something she could not understand in Thad’s troubled expression and the confusion that shadowed his eyes. Something that had nothing to do with his wheat field.

He was not being honest with her. Was it because he did not understand his own mind? Perhaps he was not being honest with himself, either. How could a man as intelligent as Thad MacAllister be so blind to what was happening to their marriage? Did it not matter to him?

She knew she would not sleep, so she padded into the kitchen. A pan of thick cream
waited in the pantry to be churned—just what she needed, something to do with her hands. She rinsed out the wooden churn with hot water from the teakettle, dried the interior and poured in the cream. The blurping sounds decreased as the churn filled up; she attached the wooden paddle and began to turn the crank.

As she worked she thought about Elvira Sorensen. The woman was obviously struggling to live with some kind of unhappiness, and Leah felt more than a tug of sympathy. Perhaps Mrs. Sorensen, too, was married to a man who did not love her?

Leah’s thoughts turned to Thad and herself. She knew she was not what he had expected when he’d sent for her; he had married her out of decency and kindness. But she had grown to love him and, after that night when they had made love, she’d thought he cared for her, as well.

She tried to concentrate on the sloshing sounds inside the churn, to clear her mind, but her thoughts went roiling on. How could she live with a man who did not care about her?

Would she end up like Elvira Sorensen? She slapped the paddle against the inside
of the churn, and Teddy’s face appeared over the loft railing.

“Whatcha doin’, Leah? It’s gotta be past midnight.”

“I am churning butter,” she said steadily. “Go back to sleep.”

“Can’t.”

She rested her arm for a moment. “Why not?”

“Someone’s trampin’ around in the barn. I kin hear it through my window.”

“Probably your father. Go to sleep.”

Teddy’s head disappeared from the railing and then instantly reappeared. “How come Pa’s in the barn so late?”

Leah closed her eyes. So Teddy had not realized his father slept in the barn rather than in the bed with her.

“Didja have a fight? I heard voices on the porch, but you weren’t yellin’ or nuthin’.”

“Not a fight, exactly,” Leah said over a tight throat. “Merely a…misunderstanding.”

The boy’s eyes widened. “What about?”

“About…well, about…” What
was
it about, exactly? About Thad’s blindness when it came to his wheat field? About her fear that she did not matter to him?

“About grown-up things, Teddy. Things between a husband and wife.”

“Huh. I knew Pa shouldn’ta married you. You’re smarter than he is.”

Leah gasped. Unsure whether to laugh or cry, she said nothing, and after a long moment, Teddy’s voice rose again.

“Hey, Leah? You got any more books like
Ivanhoe?”

She could not answer. Books like
Ivanhoe
. Oh, if only she did, then she could immerse herself in something more important to her than her day-to-day life with Thad. That must be what sad-eyed Mrs. Sorensen had done over the years—built a separate life for herself.

Suddenly Leah felt cold all over. Tears blinded her. She bent her head so Teddy would not see, and a wave of clarity washed over her, as if a bucket of ice-cold spring water had been dumped on her brain.

She slammed her open hand against the wooden churn and the paddle whooshed to a stop. This marriage might not be important to Thad, but it was important to
her—more
important than anything else.

She lifted her arm, closed her fingers around the wooden handle and again started
to churn. They would need butter for breakfast. But after breakfast, she must decide what to do.

She had two choices: live the rest of her life like Mrs. Sorensen…or leave.

But she must do something—anything—to avoid simply giving up.

Thad lifted his head from the bed he’d made in the straw and sniffed the air. Coffee! What the…He crawled to the edge of the hay-filled loft and looked down.

The barn door stood wide open, admitting a swath of sunshine that reached to his ladder, and in the middle of it stood Leah, her straight black hair gleaming in the light. In one hand she gripped a mug of coffee and in the other she balanced a plate of…flapjacks! Lord bless her!

“Thad?” she called, her voice uncertain.

“Up here. In the loft.”

She tipped her head up. “I brought you some breakfast.”

“Well, thanks, Leah. I’ll come down.” He descended the ladder, and at the bottom, turned to face her.

She hadn’t moved. Her eyes met his and a fist began to pummel his gut. Jumping jennies,
all he had to do was look at her and he wanted to fold her into his arms.

“Leah—”

She didn’t let him finish. “I brought coffee, strong like you prefer it.”

Thad moved toward her. “That’s darn nice of you, Leah.”

“I am doing what I can,” she said, her voice so soft he could barely hear it. “I am trying to be a good wife.”

Oh, Lord. She looked small and defenseless, and his heart was doing somersaults. He clenched his teeth so hard his jaw hurt.

Leah was like no other woman he’d ever known—delicate and resilient at the same time. He prayed it was the resilient side he was seeing now.

“Thad.” She looked up at him, her face calm but her eyes suspiciously shiny. “Tomorrow I would like you to eat breakfast at the house. With Teddy and me.”

He wanted to. Wanted to watch her flitting about the kitchen, humming the way she always did. But something dark and heavy inside kept him from agreeing.

“I…I’ll try, Leah.” He cringed at the lie.

“I do not believe you,” she said quietly. “I
do not believe that you want to be with us. With me.”

Something in his chest tightened, then started to crack apart. He couldn’t lie to her again.

“I do want to be with you.”

She tried to smile. “But no matter what you say, you are
not
with me. And the way you avoid me…well, it tells me something.”

“Yeah? What?” He didn’t want to hear this. He wanted to tramp away from her, over the pasture to his wheat field, but he couldn’t leave it—her—like this.

Her smile faltered. “It tells me that…that our marriage does not matter to you.”

His stomach plunged toward his boots. “Leah, believe me, it does matter. It matters so much that I—” His voice went hoarse.

He had to get out of here, away from her small, honest face and the anguish in her eyes.

She didn’t say a word, just waited.

He shifted from foot to foot. “I guess we need to talk this through, huh?”

Very slowly, she bent her neck in a nod.

He drew in a shaky gulp of air. “Leah, you think there’s enough potato salad left over for supper on the porch tonight? Together?”

Her gaze locked with his and again she tried to smile. “I think so.”

Suddenly Leah wanted to wrap her arms around him, ease the worry lines deepening in his forehead. In his eyes there was an anguish that tightened her throat into an ache. She knew she loved this man, but she had not realized how deeply until this moment.

Thad MacAllister had won her admiration from the first hour she had spent on his ranch, watching him wrestle the sewing machine up the porch steps. And oh, the expression on his face that first night when he’d looked down at the plate of
chow fun
.

But did he care about her? She remembered his boyish hunger the night he had made love with her, his strength and gentleness. She remembered his look of pride and concern when she had tumbled off the mare and then finally managed to ride it to the pasture fence and back.

Her feelings for Thad went bone-deep, and nothing,
nothing
, would ever change them. But what about
his
feelings?

“I am riding into town this morning, Thad. I want to see how the vote on Uncle Charlie’s bakery came out, and whether he is all right.”

“Charlie should be fine. I gave him my revolver last night.”

“You did? You really did?” Leah stepped close, stretched up on her toes and brushed her lips across his scratchy cheek. “Thank you, Thad.”

He snaked out an arm and caught her around the waist, then instantly released her. “I thought Teddy and I’d ride over to the Halliday place, maybe see about borrowing—” he hesitated “—borrowing a plow horse. For, um, for my wheat.”

He half turned away from her and gazed out the barn door toward the field. Her throat closed. In its dried-up state, the wheat was lost. He would be forced to plow it under, along with everything it represented to him.

Her eyes blurry with tears, she turned toward the stall where her mare waited.

The closer she drew to the mercantile and Uncle Charlie’s bakery, the more delicious the air smelled. Her mouth watered at the aroma—something cinnamony with a trace of lemon.

Short, slightly plump Uncle Charlie, clad in his white apron, was working in front of his
establishment, industriously sweeping litter off the board walkway.

“Ah, Niece Leah.” His round face beamed up at her.

“Uncle Charlie, did you win the vote?”

“I still here. Vote was close, but six more votes for yes. Bakery stays.”

“Oh, Uncle, I am so glad.” She pried one of his hands off the broom handle and squeezed it hard.

“I glad, too. You bring young Teddy to wash front window?”

Leah’s gaze fell on the spotless multipaned glass and she smiled. Uncle Charlie did not need help from Teddy; he simply liked to have the boy around. Of course, Teddy liked sampling the cookies.

“Thad and Teddy rode out to the Hallidays’. Something about a workhorse to plow—” She closed her mouth with a snap. Lord in heaven, she couldn’t say it—that Thad was giving up on his wheat.

“What matter, Niece Leah? Your face white as clean apron.”

She managed a smile. “It is the heat, Uncle.” She dropped her gaze to the ground.

Uncle Charlie stepped forward. “You come inside. Drink water and rest.”

Inside the fragrant-smelling bakery, Charlie folded her hands around a glass of cool water, which She gulped down. Then he offered a platter of her favorite cookies, the ones with lots of raisins. She was chewing on a cookie when, through the front window, she spotted Verena Forester bustling down the walkway.

Leah rose and, surprising herself, purposely stepped out into the dressmaker’s path. “Good morning, Verena.”

The tall, bony woman halted in front of her and peered at the platter of Uncle Charlie’s cookies in Leah’s hand. “Why, that’s odd. That’s the same platter I saw at the mercantile yesterday, loaded with cookies.” She looked closer. “And the same kind of cookies, too.”

Verena confronted Charlie, who was hovering in the doorway. “You were buying votes, weren’t you, Mr.—?”

“Ming Cha,” Third Uncle replied in a quiet voice. “But in America, call myself Charlie.”

Verena pursed her lips. “I see.” She gave the small Chinese man a thorough once-over. “Come to think of it, something else is odd, as well. Something that occurred the night of the town meeting.”

“No cookies at meeting,” Charlie said
quickly. “I hide in secret place with Mr. MacAllister.”

Verena nodded. “The night of the meeting,” she said slowly, “I hurried downstairs so I wouldn’t miss anything. I was in such a rush I even left my supper dishes in the sink.”

She turned a frown on Charlie, who began edging backward into the bakery. “When I came home after the meeting, all those dirty dishes had been washed and put away.”

She pinned Leah with blue eyes hard as stones. “I don’t trust you, Leah. Something is going on that I am unaware of.”

Leah masked her tattered nerves behind a placid expression. “I do not trust you, either, Verena. So we are even.”

“Well, I never!” The older woman lifted her skirts and marched on down the walkway. “Never in my entire life…” Her voice faded as she stomped up the stairs to her apartment and slammed the door.

Leah stared after the woman until another voice, this one soft and hesitant, spoke up. “That woman is rude because she is unhappy. She has no one to love.”

Leah glanced behind her. “Mrs. Sorensen!”

The woman inclined her sunbonnet-covered head. “Mrs. MacAllister, isn’t it? Leah?”

Leah nodded. “How are you, Mrs. Sorensen?”

“Just fine, I’m sure. And I will be finer after a slice of lemon cake. Such small pleasures make life worth living.”

“Oh, but surely—” Leah bit her tongue.

“Sometimes life isn’t a happy thing, my girl. An occasional slice of lemon cake can make things tolerable.”

“Y-yes, of course,” Leah stammered.

The birdlike woman studied Leah with an intent expression, and then a ghost of a smile flitted across her lined face. “You are young, my girl. There is much of life ahead of you. We must all learn to find small pleasures to sustain us.”

Leah stared at her in silence.

The woman gestured at the bakery window. “This is what I do to survive,” she said. “And now I will bid you good-morning.” She swept through the doorway.

All that morning Leah thought about her chance encounter with Mrs. Sorensen, and about her words. The woman was right; small pleasures, like the scent of honeysuckle or the feel of Teddy’s curls under her hand when she trimmed his hair—such things were lifesaving.

She did her shopping at the mercantile under the icy glare of Carl Ness, ran her hand over the snowshoes on display and purchased three pairs of winter socks for Teddy.

On her way past Uncle Charlie’s shining window, she recalled what Mrs. Sorensen had said, and on impulse turned her steps into the bakery. Thad loved Charlie’s lemon cake.

T
he closer Thad drew to the Halliday spread, the more unsettled he felt. Teddy had wanted to go fishing, but Thad had put him off. He wanted to talk to Wash about his wheat. About Leah. About…everything.

But he hadn’t a clue where to begin. It went against a man’s grain to talk about personal matters, even to a friend. But he knew he had to do it.

He set his jaw, rode the black gelding up the long lane to the Double H ranch house, and dismounted. Wash Halliday strode out onto the wide front porch.

“Good to see you, Thad. How’s that colt working out for Teddy?”

“Colt’s fine. Teddy brushes him three times a day and feeds him apples and sugar lumps.”

Wash grinned. “Sounds like true love.” Something must have shown on Thad’s face because Wash peered at him and frowned. “What’s on your mind, Thad? Come to buy another pony?”

“Uh, no. I came to, uh, borrow a plow horse.”

“Plow horse! Bit late in the season to plow, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, maybe. Trouble is…”

Wash’s wife, Jeanne, stepped off the porch and came toward them, a mug of coffee in each hand. Thad touched his hat brim.

“Morning, Jeanne. Coffee sure smells good.”

Jeanne Halliday looked into his face with piercing gray-green eyes. “Ah, something is on your mind, is it not? I see it in your face.”

Wash touched his wife’s shoulder. “Now, Jeanne…”

“She’s right,” Thad said. “Must stick out all over.”

Jeanne glanced from her husband to Thad and back again. Then she nodded and gave them a half smile. “You men have some talk to do,
n’est ce pas?”
Tactfully she turned
away, disappeared into the big white farmhouse and shut the front door with a decisive click.

Wash drew him over to the front fence and planted his elbows on the top rail. “What’s on your mind, Thad?”

Jumping june bugs, what
wasn’t
on his mind? He hooked his boot heel on the bottom rail and leaned one knee into the rough-cut wood. “What’s on my mind is, well, mostly it’s my wheat experiment.” He stopped and swallowed hard. “Nah, that’s not it. Mostly it’s Leah.”

“Trouble comes in brigades, doesn’t it?” Wash said evenly. “I’ve got to tell you, every rancher in the valley thought you’d gone loco when you planted that wheat field.”

“Yeah, they made that plenty clear.”

“And when you married Leah, every spinster in the county was mad as a wet hen.”

Thad worried his boot against the fence rail. “I don’t think I’m crazy for either one, Wash. But, dammit, nothing’s working out right.”

“Something going wrong with Leah?”

“Oh, hell no. She keeps Teddy well fed and cared for, and she keeps the house the cleanest it’s been since I built it. I’m damn proud
of her. She washes our clothes each week and irrigates her garden with the used water. She’s learned to cook dishes I’ve never heard of, things called cauliflower ah grat-something and beef bour-gone-none. Names are funny but they sure taste good.”

He broke off and looked away. “That is, until I stopped eating meals at the house. And started sleeping in the barn.”

“That bad, huh? A woman can sure tie a man in knots.” Wash shot him a look and chuckled. “Jeanne thinks you’re putting your money on the wrong horse.”

“She does, huh?”

“Depends on which horse is most important, I guess—Leah or your wheat field. ‘Wheat cannot love you back’ is the way Jeanne put it.”

“Ah, hell, Wash. I’ve wanted to try wheat for years. Trouble is, it got so important that I—well, I guess I paid more attention to my field than my wife.”

Wash snorted. “Maybe you are loco! Now you’ve gotta decide whether to cut and run…or stay and fight.” He slapped the fence rail. “What’s it gonna be?”

Thad bit his lower lip. “Wish I knew.”

“Kinda chancey, ridin’ two horses in the same race, isn’t it?”

Thad glanced away from his friend’s piercing gaze. “Yeah. Seems like I’m doin’ it all wrong. Maybe Jeanne’s right. I put my money on the wrong—”

“Hold on a minute, Thad. It happens I don’t agree with Jeanne. I think both the wheat and your wife are important, so I say a man has to put his money on both of them. And then pray like hell.”

Thad said nothing, just looked out across the fenced pasture land.

“That’s why you want the plow horse, isn’t it? You’re giving up.”

“Yeah. I’m starting to see things clearer now. I’d—I’d rather lose the wheat than lose Leah. And…”

Wash pivoted and put his spine against the fence. “And?”

“And…” Thad groaned. “And I hope like hell it’s not too late.”

Wash nodded. “Want to know what else Jeanne thinks?”

No, he didn’t really want to know. But Wash was already speaking.

“Jeanne thinks a lot of your wife, Thad. And knowing Jeanne, that’s saying something.
She says Leah is not made of fluff. Leah has a lot more courage and toughness inside than shows on the outside.”

“That she does,” Thad muttered.

“I think you both have guts to do what you’ve done, and that includes getting married.”

“It didn’t take guts for me, Wash. I liked her from the start.”

Wash blew out his breath in a sigh. “Maybe. But it takes even more guts to make things work out in a marriage.” He clapped Thad on the shoulder. “I’ll bring the plow horse over tomorrow.”

Thad mounted and rode on down the lane. The last thing he wanted to do was give up on anything; it went against everything he lived by. But right now his back was against the wall. He hated the thought of plowing his wheat under. But when he thought about losing Leah…

He took the long way home to give himself time to think things through. On his way through town he stopped in to check on Uncle Charlie.

“How Niece Leah?” Charlie took one look at Thad’s face and propped his hands at his
ample waist. “Better question, how Niece Leah’s husband? Look like fighting dragons.”

Worse than dragons, Thad acknowledged. He was fighting himself.

Leah pumped the last dribble of water from the sink spout into the teakettle and set it on the stove. It was too hot to stay indoors, waiting for her tea, so she stepped through the back door screen and picked up the two buckets of water she’d saved from the washing.

Lugging one in each hand, she walked out to her kitchen garden and plunked them down without sloshing at one end of a row of withered carrot tops. The bush beans climbing on the lath structure she and Teddy had built looked droopy, and the small yellow squash sheltered under the spreading green leaves hadn’t grown an inch since she last looked. She had planted potatoes, as well, but the aboveground foliage had not yet sprouted.

The beets and radishes, even the turnip tops, were wilting, but if she waited to water until evening, when it was cooler, she’d lose them all. It would be an uphill battle to save them, but she had to try. Once she decided something was worth saving, she never gave up.

A voice nagged in her brain. Did that apply
to Thad, as well? her feelings of happiness with him and hope for their future together were withering, just like her vegetables.

A single question rang over and over in her head:
What should I do?

She dribbled another scant cup of wash water onto the row of radishes, then sat back to assess the entire plot.

Everything was dying. Even her heartbeat, inside her tightening chest, was sluggish.

Again she dipped the tin cup into the pail and portioned out the life-giving water, until her temples began to pound under the violent sun overhead.
What should I do? What should I do?

What did she want for herself in this life? Long ago in China, Father and Mother had decided they wanted each other. For the rest of their lives the two of them had struggled, shunned by her mother’s family but unable to desert Father’s Christian mission. Still, they had found joy in being together and in raising Leah. But how difficult it must have been.

She emptied the first water bucket and started on the second. Oddly enough, she thought of Mrs. Sorensen. The strained face of that unhappy woman had lodged in her mind since yesterday.

Could she, like Elvira Sorensen, survive without the nourishment of love? If Thad did not care for her, what then?

Leah dipped and poured, dipped and poured, her throat aching. Finally she let the tears come, but even then, she kept on watering. At the end of a row of turnips she sat back on her heels and let her hands fall idle.

I could leave
, she thought miserably. Leave Smoke River, and Thad, and go…where? There was no place for her in China now, and she knew San Francisco was too dangerous for a lone female. And how would she live?

What about Portland? She could take the train east and do…what? Teach school?

She swiped her forearm across her wet cheeks. No, she could not. She could not abandon Teddy, as his mother had when she died. Leah could not abandon Thad, either, not after the kindness he had shown by marrying her.

And, she realized with a sigh, she could not do that to herself. She loved Teddy. And, heaven help her, she loved Thad.

Idly she ran her hand over the bean leaves, noting the soft, scratchy feel of the undersides. Even if her husband did not care for her as she cared for him, perhaps she could learn
to survive with half a life, learn to make her own happiness.

But she had to let Thad know the cost. She knotted her fingers together so tightly they began to tingle.

Thad dismounted at the pump in the yard to wash up before supper, but a few strokes of the handle brought up only a scant half cup of water. He removed his hat and bent to splash the water over his face and hands; he hated to be near Leah smelling of horse and sweat.

After the afternoon with Wash Halliday, trying to hash out what to do about his wheat, and about Leah, he’d ridden home thinking over what his friend had said. Two things stuck in his brain: first, Thad could borrow the plow horse. And second, he was a damn fool.

Jeanne had been even more blunt. “You are a good man, Thad, but you do not see the big goose that flies right in front of your nose.”

He hung the dipper back on the hook and stood up. The early evening light spread a shimmery golden haze over the pasture, and when he gazed at it, his breath caught. At times his land was so beautiful it made his throat hurt.

In the barn he unsaddled the gelding, fed him some grain and brushed his dark hide until it shone. He spent as long as he could with the animal. He’d built this barn, and with its familiar plank walls and earthy smells, he felt safe here.

But dammit, he had to face up to other things that didn’t feel so safe. He squared his shoulders and tramped over to the porch.

Leah sat in a tree-shaded rocking chair. He started up the steps, but her voice stopped him. “I watered my garden with wash water this morning,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone. “The well is going dry.”

“Yeah, I know,” he murmured. He settled into the empty chair beside her and stretched his legs out in front of him. “Where’s Teddy?”

“He came home about an hour ago. He ate his supper and now he’s up in the loft, reading
Last of the Mohicans.”

With relief, Thad latched on to the neutral topic. “Good book. You ever read it?”

“Oh, yes. Father had me read all kinds of books, even the poems of Wordsworth.” She blushed prettily and studied her toes. “Are you hungry?”

Thad grunted, afraid to speak for fear his voice would sound unsteady.

“I will bring our dinner plates.” She disappeared through the screen door. Before he could stop himself, he found himself beside her in the stifling kitchen.

“Leah, I—”

“I made coffee,” she said quickly. She unhooked two mugs from the shelf and handed them to him.

A queer little stab of joy danced through him. He liked this, being in the kitchen with her. He liked it a lot. Maybe too much, but at this moment he felt so worn down he didn’t want to analyze it. He just knew he liked it.

“Thanks for making coffee. Guess you’d rather have—”

“I am learning to like coffee,” she said quietly. From the pantry she brought two already loaded plates, and snagged a couple of forks from the cutlery drawer. Thad poured coffee into both mugs.

They ate on the porch without talking, listening to the night sounds. A breeze shushed through the two maple trees shading the house. An owl’s cry echoed from the barn. In the darkness, the scent of earth and growing things cleansed the air. Thad shut his eyes. The sounds and smells were clean and strong with life.

He snatched up his fork and shoved a huge mouthful of potato salad past his lips. “Tastes different tonight. Better.”

“I added a chopped apple from our tree. It makes it crunchy and adds some sweetness—at least that’s what Miss Beecher says.”

“Who’s Miss Beecher?”

Leah laughed softly. “Miss Beecher is our cook. Have you not noticed? Miss Beecher and I are becoming good friends.”

Thad shifted in his chair, crossed and recrossed his legs, and drew patterns on his plate with his fork. The connection in his mind between the wheat field and Leah was still fuzzy, but it was growing clearer. One thing he knew for sure—he was damn scared.

“What is troubling you, Thad? You are as jumpy as Teddy’s colt.”

He couldn’t answer because he wasn’t sure. Or maybe he was sure, but he didn’t know how to say it.

“I—I’m trying to work up the nerve to tell you something.”

She looked at him with wariness in her eyes. “Why do you not just say whatever it is? As soon as possible, please. When you get that look on your face, I cannot stand not knowing what you are thinking.”

He could tell from her voice that she was trying hard to smile. Thank the saints for that. His wife was not nervous and high-strung like Linda-Lou Ness. Leah might be upset, but she was not a weeper.

“Leah, there’s something I want you to know.”

“Oh?” She sounded maddeningly calm.

“Yesterday you said, well, that our marriage didn’t seem to matter to me. I need to tell you that it does matter to me. you matter to me.”

She was no longer trying to smile. “Yet you have withdrawn from me.”