It had only been a few days, and it was torture to cook and bake for him and the children without eating most of it. All she’d allowed herself was enough to keep her alive and give her enough energy to still do her chores.
Her stomach grumbled.
Ellie came to stand beside her. “Why is there a noise coming from inside you? Did you eat too much? My tummy makes noises sometimes, too, and Aunt Ruth says it’s because I eat too much.”
Anger clawed at her. She’d sometimes wondered why Ellie seemed to pick at her food, rarely finishing what was on her plate. The little girl used up so much energy during the day that it had surprised her to see she didn’t have a good appetite. Now she understood why, and it infuriated her.
She’d heard the same words from her mother more times than she could count, that she should curb her appetite, always “for her own good.”
At the time she’d tried to eat less, but eventually she’d given up. Would she be slim enough now to make John want her if she’d listened to her mother? Possibly, but she wouldn’t allow anyone to make Ellie feel that she needed to be thin to catch a husband.
Heavens, the girl was only five years old. She had years before she had to worry about what a man thought of her.
Miranda crouched to meet Ellie’s gaze evenly. “My tummy rumbles when I don’t eat enough. Maybe you could try to eat a little more and see if it stops.”
“But Aunt Ruth—”
“Isn’t here,” Miranda interrupted. “It’ll be our secret for now, okay?”
Ellie nodded, then scampered away.
Now all Miranda had to do was find a way for her own stomach to stop complaining about the lack of food.
***
It had been raining for two days, but finally the clouds had disappeared and the sun shone again. Miranda lifted the rag out of the bucket of vinegar water and wrung it out. The windows were filthy, and she’d set aside the entire afternoon to clean them. A pot of stew simmered on the stove inside, and two loaves of bread were rising on the worktable.
Miranda had barely started when she heard a squeak as the front gate opened behind her and a familiar voice called out. “Good afternoon, Miranda.”
Miranda let out a sigh. Not today of all days. Still, she plastered a smile on her face and turned to face Ruth as she came up the walk toward her. “Good afternoon, Ruth,” she said as pleasantly as she could manage. “On your way somewhere?”
“No,” Ruth replied, setting her reticule on the rocking chair near the door. “I haven’t looked in on you all for a few days and I wanted to see how you were faring without me?”
Miranda bristled. “We’re doing fine, Ruth,” she said. We haven’t starved to death yet, she wanted to add.
“How are the girls?”
“They’re out playing right now and likely won’t be back for some time.”
“I see.”
“I’d offer you some tea, but the window is streaking. I need to finish —”
“You don’t have enough vinegar in the water,” Ruth put in, leaning over and sniffing loudly. “I always add plenty and the windows sparkle when I’m through.”
“It’s enough,” Miranda contradicted. “I’m sure they’ll be clean when I’m done. So if you’ll excuse me—”
“It would have been wise to sweep the porch before you started,” Ruth went on. “That way, any water that drips won’t turn the dust to mud.”
“I prefer to mop the floor when I’m done.”
“Well … that’s not the way I would do it …”
Miranda noticed her grip tightening on the rag and had to consciously loosen it. “That’s the way I do it.” She turned away and while Ruth looked on, she ran the rag over the window in long strokes.
“You’re welcome to come inside,” she said when she was finished. Leaving the rag in the bucket, she opened the door and went inside. She held back a sigh when she heard Ruth’s footsteps behind her.
“I’ll make tea if you like,” she offered.
Ruth sat down. “Yes, please.”
She was just finishing up when Hope and Ellie raced into the house. While Hope’s dress and hair were still clean and tidy, Ellie’s hair had escaped her pigtails and her face and dress were streaked with mud.
“Look what we got,” Ellie said, proudly holding out her hand to show Miranda the tiny tree toad in her mud-covered palm.
“Ellie!” Ruth’s voice was sharp. “Where did you get that thing?”
“It was in the grass near the trees over there,” she said, pointing to a stand of trees at the end of the street.
“Get rid of it this instant!”
Ellie’s smile faded. Hope took a step backward. “But—” Ellie began.
Miranda dropped the rag into the bucket and sent a withering look in Ruth’s direction. Then she crouched to Ellie’s level. “It’s a pretty toad,” she said quietly, “but it probably misses its family—”
Ellie shrugged.
“You want to get warts?” Ruth’s voice demanded.
“What’s warts?” Ellie asked.
“Ugly bumps that will pop out all over your body?”
Miranda wasn’t going to listen one second longer. “Ruth, I don’t think—”
Ruth paid no attention to Miranda, her whole focus on the two little girls.
Ellie’s eyes widened and she turned to her sister. Hope’s chin was quivering, and her eyes were filling with tears.
“And look at you,” Ruth went on, “covered in dirt and mud. Why can’t you be more like Hope. How will you ever grow up to be a lady—?”
Miranda had had enough. “Ruth!”
Ruth turned to face her. “What is it, Miranda? How can you let them—?”
Miranda took in a slow steadying breath to control her temper. “We need to have a talk, Ruth,” she said as calmly as she could manage, then turned to the girls. “Why don’t you take the toad back where you found it? I’m sure its mama is looking for it.”
Both girls nodded and hurried off.
“What is it Miranda?” Ruth asked once the girls were out of earshot. “Are you upset about something?”
Upset didn’t come close to the anger that had been festering inside Miranda since the day she arrived. She’d tried. Lord knew she’d tried, but this was the last straw and it was time to settle things once and for all.
Growing up, Miranda hadn’t been able to stand up for herself. In service in the Tolliver household, again she’d been treated as less than a person worthy of respect. Even here in Sapphire Springs, she’d allowed Ruth to make her feel as if she was lacking.
Until this moment, she’d never been strong enough to stand up for herself, to announce to the world that she might not be slim and pretty and feminine, but no one had the right to treat her as less than a woman because of it.
But now, she had a reason. The children. Her children! It was up to her to protect them from people like her mother, like Ruth, and like other people who would look down on them or try to change them. As long as the girls grew into women who were kind and responsible, no one should make them feel inferior. Especially Ellie.
“I’m very upset.”
Ruth frowned. “What is it, dear?” she asked. “You know you really should—”
“Stop!”
“Excuse me?”
“Just stop!”
“What …? How dare you speak to me that way!”
“You’ve given me no choice,” Miranda began.
“I don’t know what you mean—”
“I’ve tried to be a good wife to John, to be a good mother to the girls, and even to be a friend to you. I understand that it was difficult for you when I got here, and I’m sorry if you felt as if you were pushed aside. But since the day I arrived, you’ve criticized me, both to my face and behind my back …”
She paused as she noticed a flush seep into Ruth’s cheeks.
“You didn’t think I heard you, did you?”
“Why—”
“
You belittle my efforts, no matter what I do. Believe me, I know how to make a bed properly and how to sweep a floor, yet you always found fault with every single thing I did. That I could put up with, even though I didn’t like it. But when you criticize the girls—”
“I’m only trying to teach them. It’s for their own good—”
Miranda ignored Ruth’s comment. “I kept quiet out of respect for John, but I will not keep quiet any longer. I will not tolerate what you’re doing to those little girls. I won’t let you make Ellie feel inferior to Hope. They are two different people, and they should be allowed to be different. You will not compare them to each other. Ever.”
“John’s children—”
“They’re my children now too.”
“I don’t have to stand here and listen to this.”
“That’s right,” Miranda said. “You don’t. You’re welcome to leave any time. You’re also welcome to come back and visit us at any time, but only if you can restrain yourself from criticizing or commenting on how I take care of the house or raise the girls.”
Ruth snatched her reticule off the chair and marched toward the door. “We’ll see what John has to say about the way you’ve spoken to me today.”
Before Miranda had a chance to respond, Ruth threw the door open. It slammed against the wall as she stormed out.
Miranda leaned back against the counter, sucking in deep breaths. Her heart pounded in her ribs and her legs trembled so badly she was afraid they’d buckle beneath her. She’d never spoken to anyone that way before, and it still shocked her that the words she’d heard had come from her lips.
She was frustrated … and oh, so hungry. Too hungry to resist the plate of cookies on the counter beside her.
Snatching up one, she popped it into her mouth, letting out a groan of delight as the chocolate filled her mouth. She’d go back on her diet tomorrow. Right now, she needed the comfort only chocolate could bring.
Two more cookies, and finally, she straightened, wondering what John would have to say about the whole situation when he got home.
Chapter Twelve
“Want to tell me what happened today?” John asked later that night once Hope and Ellie were asleep.
He’d heard Ruth’s side of the to-do that had gone earlier when she’d stormed into the café and started railing about how rude and ungrateful Miranda was, and how henpecked he was to let his wife speak to his aunt that way.
According to Ruth, Miranda had practically attacked her for no reason, and he’d do well to take her in hand before she became a complete shrew.
John had promised his aunt he’d have a talk with Miranda, but he was sure her version would be a whole different story.
He’d noticed Miranda had been unusually quiet during supper and she’d barely touched her meal. That wasn’t unusual these days, though, he mused. What she was eating would barely keep a bird alive. He’d also started to notice there was a pallor to her skin and that the sparkle in her eyes was gone.
Miranda glanced up from the sock she was darning. “I’m sorry, John. I tried, but I just couldn’t stop myself. I’m sure she told you everything.”
“One thing I’ve learned over the years is to listen to both sides of an issue before I form an opinion. I’ve heard Ruth’s. I’d like to hear yours.”
“Fine.” Miranda laid the sock down in her lap and threaded the sewing needle through it. Then, clasping her hands and putting them on top of the sock, she told him what had happened. “John, if Ruth criticizes me, I can accept that. I don’t like it, but I can deal with it.” She let out a short laugh. “Heaven knows I’m used to it. But I can’t sit by and watch her talk to the girls the way she does, especially Ellie.
“I was very much like Ellie growing up. I was bigger than most of the other girls my age. I had a … healthy appetite, and I preferred playing outside to working on embroidery and learning to speak French. Which I’ve never once had occasion to use, by the way.”
John dragged the rocking chair he was sitting in across the floor to face Miranda. He sat down and reached out to take her hands in his, his understanding gaze meeting hers.
“I told you about it before, the night you criticized me for praising the girls so much.”
“I wasn’t criticizing—”
“Yes. You were. And I understand you don’t want the girls to grow up to be vain. But I know what it’s like to be on the receiving end of criticism every day. My mother compared me to my sister every day,” she went on. “I should be slim like her. I should act like a lady like her. I should be smart like her. That no man would ever want me because I was too big, too fat, too ugly.”
“You’re not—”
“My sister was dainty, and pretty, and spoke with a melody in her voice,” she interrupted.
“I’m sorry I never got to meet her,” John said, giving her hands a gentle squeeze.
Miranda swallowed back the lump of grief settling in her throat. “I loved my sister, but I wasn’t her. I couldn’t be her, no matter how much I tried. The older I got, the more inferior I felt, as if I wasn’t worth anything. I’d hoped that coming here would be a fresh start. But it wasn’t. Ruth continued where my mother left off when she died.”
“I’m sure she doesn’t mean—”
“Of course not,” she replied, unable to hide the sarcasm in her voice. “She’s always just trying to help. And I’ve sat quietly and taken all her ‘helpful’ comments. But today … today she started comparing Hope and Ellie. And when she asked Ellie why she couldn’t be more like Hope, it brought back all those memories. I … lost my temper.”
John released her hands and leaned back in the chair, scrubbing his beard-stubbled chin with one hand.
He was shocked at what Miranda had told him. He knew she didn’t have much confidence in herself, but he’d had no idea how her mother’s words had hurt her. And he’d brought her here to deal with a woman who rarely had a good word to say to anyone.
He was well aware of his aunt found fault with everything and everyone. Hell, that was one of the main reasons he’d advertised for a bride in the first place. He’d seen for himself how her attitude was affecting his children.
Taking her hands in his, he brought Miranda to her feet and wrapped his arms around her, drawing her to him until her body pressed against his. Her lavender scent washed over him, her hair tickling his chin.
He lowered his head and kissed her gently. “I hate that you grew up feeling as if you weren’t good enough.”
“I don’t want Hope and Ellie to ever feel that they’re not good enough,” Miranda said once John released her “Especially Ellie. I want her to grow up to be the woman she wants to be, not to try to be something she’s not just to please a man. I’m sorry I upset your aunt, and I’m sorry if I’ve caused a rift between you but—”
“You were right to speak up, and if there’s a rift, it’s her doing. She did admit you told her she’s still welcome here.”
Miranda nodded. “But only if she curbs her criticism of me and the girls.”
“I’ll talk to her and make sure she understands that.”
“Thank you. Now I’m going to get ready for bed.”
John watched her walk away. She’d almost reached the bottom of the stairs when he called out to her. She stopped and turned to face him.
He closed the gap between them.
“What is it, John?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”
Hell, Miranda was more than good enough. His love for her swelled inside him, and it was time he told her so. “In case you still think you’re not good enough, I want to tell you that you are. You’re more than good enough. In fact, you’re perfect, especially for me, and I … I think I’m falling in love with you.”
Miranda’s eyes widened and he heard the sudden intake of her breath. “You are?”
He nodded. “Honestly, I don’t want to, and I don’t … can’t offer you a real marriage—”
Miranda gently pressed a finger aga
inst his lips. “It’s all right. It’s enough that you care about me. I understand why you don’t want to …” A flush tinged her cheeks. “Well … you know …”
“You do?”
She nodded. “Perhaps one day that will change, but for now, you’ve made me very happy.”
***
Miranda sat gazing out the window as the first rays of sun cast a glow over the mountains in the distance. She’d barely slept, her emotions in a whirl. Life was almost perfect. Almost. He loved her, and the knowledge that a man cared for her made her feel as if she might burst with the joy inside her.
No, he didn’t want a real marriage, and she understood why. But once she lost enough weight, surely that would change too. She was already starting to see that her dresses were looser than they used to be. Another few weeks might be enough.
Her body tingled at the realization that one day he might want her the way she’d heard other men want women. Not that she knew exactly what happened between a man and a woman. She’d heard it was painful and unpleasant, but somehow, she didn’t believe that John would ever hurt her.
And once they had a real marriage, he wouldn’t have any reason to go to the saloon to satisfy his needs. She’d take care of every one of them right here at home.
***
John looked on as Miranda ladled the chicken and dumplings into a bowl in the kitchen of the diner after the supper rush was over. She carried it carefully to the table, then set it down in front of Hope. Ellie already had hers and was blowing on the steaming liquid.
As she leaned over, John noticed how thin her arms were, barely skin over bone. Something was very wrong with his wife. She was losing weight so quickly that her work dresses hung loosely on her now. She didn’t seem to be sick, though, not like Nancy was. But if she wasn’t sick, why had she lost her appetite?
“It’s very hot,” Miranda said to Hope, “so you’ll both have to wait a few minutes before you eat it. If you’re very hungry, you may have a slice of bread and butter until your soup cools.”
Straightening, she saw John watching her and gave him a smile. “Are you almost ready to go home?” she asked.
“I’ll be another couple hours,” he replied, “so there’s no point waiting for me. Once the girls are finished eating, you may as well take them home.”
Mail-Order Miranda (Brides of Beckham) Page 10
