“Think of this situation. A wife accompanies her husband while he buys…I don’t know, a rake or a hammer. She sees bakeware and remembers her favorite cake pan got scorched, so she buys one.” She rubbed a towel over the metal surfaces. “Up on that tall shelf, she would have never noticed it. Now, ye’ve served two types of customers and moved more inventory.”
Before he could protest, the deed was done. The bakeware—three round pans, two square pans, and a half dozen flat sheets—sat next to the rearranged implements. She’d substituted push brooms and shovels for snow removal for rakes and hoes used for spring planting. As the day progressed, Anson marveled at the way his Supplies Needed list grew longer as the displayed items sold.
Fiona sat near the stove, knitting and watching the transactions with a smile.
On the ride home after having a quick meal at the café, Fiona was silent.
“Are you okay?” Anson patted her arm under his left hand.
“Just thinking. As a customer to your shop, I’d say ye lack feminine items.”
He snorted. She still didn’t understand the concept of a hardware store.
“Ye need to stock sewing machines.”
“What?” He stiffened and tossed a frown over his shoulder. “Do you know how expensive they are?”
“Probably fifty dollars or so.”
Could be that high. He’d never studied that section of the Montgomery Ward catalog. “Nothing else in my store costs that much. Besides, it’s hardly a spontaneous buy. People have to know how to operate one.”
“Just imagine setting up the machine near the window with me sitting at it, sewing curtains or a shirt.” She squeezed her grip and started humming. “We take home the finished products to add to our household, and all the while, I’d be demonstrating how easy the machine is to run.”
He opened his mouth to contradict her then snapped it shut. The initial outlay of cash would put a dent in his profit margin, but he couldn’t argue with her logic. People were more likely to buy something that they’d seen working. Fiona had him eating differently, rearranging the inventory at his store, and yearning for love poems. What change would happen next?
Chapter Seven
A week later, Fiona stood in the kitchen, bouncing on her toes as she waited for Anson to finish saddling Brownie for their trip to the Rutherfords. Through a message passed between Chad and Anson, Vika extended the invitation for Thanksgiving dinner. Fiona accepted, promising to bring potato rolls, brown sugar-glazed carrots, and an apple cake. Now that the day was finally here, she could hardly wait to visit with their friends.
Anson stomped into the house, blowing on his hands. “Those saddlebags are not meant to hold a cake pan horizontally.” He shook his head. “I should really see about buying a second horse.”
With widened eyes and a gaped jaw, she rounded on him. “Don’t you like me cuddled right behind you?” She’d already agreed to ride astride to help balance the laden saddlebags.
Grinning, he sidled close and wrapped both arms around her. “Of course, I do.” He leaned down and planted a quick kiss on her lips.
Fiona stretched on tiptoes to lengthen the touch of his sweet mouth that sent shivers through her body. “Good. Because I think we should save up to buy a buggy.”
He tapped a finger on the end of her nose. “We’ll discuss it later. Now, get bundled up. I’ll lock the front door.”
The ride through the foothills was breathtaking. True, the air had a wintry bite that chilled her skin, but the scenery was nothing like she’d ever seen before arriving in Colorado. The mountain peaks created a jagged white outline across the clear blue sky. The cold here was different…more penetrating. As soon as the sewing machine arrived, she’d have to make herself a set of flannel undergarments. She was already knitting stockings that she intended to reach her thighs.
The discomfort of the trip was forgotten the moment she stepped inside the ranch house and was enveloped by friendly greetings.
A small dog danced around the foyer, barking, until Vika scooped it up and scratched under its chin. “Shush, Biscuit. Fiona is a friend.”
Fiona accepted help from Lance and Guinie on where to put her coat and hat.
Grabbing onto her hands, they pulled her toward the stairs.
“Vika, do ye need help in the kitchen right now?”
She appeared in the doorway past the dining table. “Take a few minutes with them. They’ve been so excited about having visitors.”
After she’d admired rocks, pressed flowers, fossils, and a jackstraw game, Fiona excused herself and joined Vika in the kitchen. The scent of roasted meat filled the air. “What last-minute task can I do?”
“How good are ye at making gravy?”
“Handy enough. Does the kettle there have water?”
“It does, and here’s a bowl of flour.”
Humming, Fiona scraped crusty bits of roasted skin loose from the pan of drippings then added flour to the grease and stirred. When the roux darkened, she added dribbles of water until she was sure the flour and grease wouldn’t clump before pouring in two cups or so and letting it boil for several minutes. “Done.” She glanced to the side. “What’s next?”
Vika surveyed the pots on the stove and bowls on the counter. “Start carrying to the table.”
Fiona eyed the golden wild turkey that she learned Chad shot yesterday. “Let me carry in the platter. I don’t want yer husband mad at me for not taking care of ye.”
Vika laughed and lifted a bowl heaped with mashed potatoes. “Very light, I promise.”
After removing the rolls from the warming oven, Fiona dumped them in a bowl and covered the pile with a clean dishtowel. She stepped into the dining room in time to hear the men laughing from where they stood in front of the fireplace.
“Dang if those baking pans haven’t sold out, and I’ve put double the original quantity on order. More brooms and shovels have gone out the door, too, than last season.” Anson caught her gaze and winked.
Like the advice she received on her wedding day, helping ease Anson’s burden had brought them closer. Her heart swelled. He listened to her suggestions and noted the little things she’d done around the house that made it more of a home. Eyes burning, she set down the bowls at opposite ends of the table then hurried back to the kitchen. Pressing a hand to her chest, she slowed her rapid breaths. Could she have already fallen in love?
Following the blessing Chad spoke where all hands clasped around the table, everyone dug into the delicious meal, and compliments for the cooks resounded.
After watching Anson eat two servings of clootie dumpling, Fiona wanted Vika’s recipe. Although no one could eat another bite, everyone lingered at the table and spoke of what they were grateful for. Fiona made sure to look directly into Anson’s hazel eyes when she shared hers. “I’m grateful to Anson for having the courage to place his ad. Otherwise, I’d not have met ye friendly and loving people, nor made such good friends.” The squeeze of her left hand was her husband’s response.
Minutes stretched in pleasant conversation, the men at one end and the women at the other.
The children dashed to their rooms, with Biscuit on their heels, and brought back books.
Fiona couldn’t resist their pleas for her to read aloud. Feeling a bit nostalgic for her former students, she tucked into the deep cushion of the long davenport and turned the first page. She hadn’t reached the end of the initial chapter of Margaret Stanley’s Five Little Peppers before the children were dozing.
Vika beckoned her to come back to the table for a cup of tea.
All too soon, Anson signalled her with a jerk of his head before he stepped out the front door.
She set down her almost-empty tea cup and turned to her friend. “I hate to end this wonderful day. Thank ye so much for having us.”
Vika moved Biscuit from her lap and levered herself out the chair. “Say no more. I understand about the demands of tending farm animals.” Smiling, she rubbed a hand on
her belly. “Although Chad is allowing me to do less than usual.”
Chad stepped close and slipped an arm around his wife’s back. “Of course, I am. We can’t risk you slipping on a patch of ice.”
Moments later, Anson rushed into the house and stamped his feet on the mat. “The temperature must have dropped another ten degrees. Fiona, we need to leave right now.”
Vika laid a hand on Chad’s chest. “Gràdhán, can we lend them one of your thick wool blankets for the trip?”
Anson nodded. “We’ll gladly take the loan.”
When she could no longer wave goodbye, Fiona leaned forward and stretched to whisper in Anson’s ear. “I feel very happy today.” A nervous tingle made her stomach jump. “I believe that the time is right tonight.”
A couple weeks later, Fiona hummed as she sashayed around the store, making an adjustment to a display before moving to a shelf and realigning the inventory. Since Thanksgiving, her bond with Anson had grown so strong that she was tempted to proclaim her love, but something held her back. In all her favorite novels, the hero always said the words first. The looks in his eyes and his gentle touches were what she’d always yearned for. But he remained silent.
Each week, she added more decorations to spruce up the house for Christmas, which he told her he hadn’t celebrated in years. But she’d seen him fingering the ribbons tied around doorknobs or to pinecones suspended from window latches when he thought she didn’t see.
The overhead bell jangled.
Still smiling over the decoration, she turned. The smile drooped but she forced herself to keep a neutral expression at the sight of an unkempt man in ragged clothes. Some of the store’s customers weren’t the richest in town, but she’d not seen this scruffy man before. “How might I help ye?”
“Looking for Anson. He around?” The man kept on his floppy slouch hat and scanned the store.
“Not at the moment.” She didn’t trust the way he looked at the displayed stock.
“Where is he?” His gaze narrowed.
What right did he have to ask? The demand in his tone didn’t sit right, and she walked behind the counter to put distance between them. “Tending to a store errand.”
“Who’re you?”
She squared her shoulders. “Missus Fiona Lorentz.” She gripped her fingers on the counter, needing something solid to hold onto. Where is Anson?
“So, he went and got hitched after all?” He sneered. “And to a dirty Irish molly.”
“Sir, yer being rude, and I’ll have to ask ye to leave.” She jabbed a stiff hand toward the door.
The bearded man planted a hand on the counter and reached into his jacket with his other. “Name’s Renke Lorentz, and I’m Anson’s cousin.”
Fiona gasped then held her breath. What should she do? Anything she might use as a weapon was on this man’s side of the counter. She stepped backward until she butted against the back shelves. Could she reach the crate by the stove and grab a piece of firewood?
“Actually, we’re more than cousins.” He shoved forward a folded tintype. “If you can even read, then see for yourself what that says in this picture of Anson and me.”
Dirt lay in dark stripes under his fingernails, and his clothes gave off a foul odor. From where she stood, she glanced at the grainy image of two grinning men with arms slung over each other’s shoulders. At their feet were mining pans and picks. The caption read Partners Forever, Lorentz Claim, Colorado, 1878. Anson never told her about a cousin. “I read what it says. If you say the men are me husband and yerself, then I believe you.”
“Anson and me, we’re blood. We came to America, promising each other we’d strike it rich.” He leaned back and swung an arm in a wide arc. “Half of this store is mine.”
“What?” A knot clamped in her stomach.
“Oh, he didn’t tell you?” He grinned, exposing yellowed teeth. “I’ve been by the farmhouse and seen all the pretty gussying-up you’re doing. Don’t get too cozy, because I can claim my rights and move myself in just like that.” He snapped his fingers.
The breath left her body in a whoosh. He can take me house? Her pulse raced.
The jangling bell announced another customer. “Good afternoon, Missus Lorentz.”
She leaned left to see who’d entered. The watchmaker still wore his magnifying eyepiece pushed on top of his head. “Mister Hastings, how might I help ye?” Had the watchmaker known she needed assistance?
“If this other fellow needs help, I’ll wait.” The gray-haired man crossed his hands at the wrist in front of his body.
Fiona stepped to the side, out of the direct line of sight from the odious man. “He’s just leaving. We don’t stock what he’s looking for.” Lifting her chin, she stared at Anson’s cousin, even though her knees knocked together.
Shaking a finger where the other man couldn’t see, Renke glared. “Remember what I said.” Then he stomped out of the store and slammed the door.
The bell took twice longer to grow silent.
Fiona needed the extra time for her breathing to return to normal. She mustered a smile. “Thank ye for coming to me aid, Mister Hastings.”
“Gloria spotted him on the boardwalk.” He chuckled. “Doesn’t trust a man sporting a beard. Felt good standing up for a lady.”
“Thanks again.”
He gave a short bow. “No thanks needed. We watch out for our neighbors.” He rested a hand on the doorknob. “Now I’m going back to the comfort of my workshop.”
She held her position until the bell stopped then she slapped her hands on the solid counter and sucked in deep breaths. That man could take away her house? Her security?
The moment Anson returned to the store, he knew something happened in his absence. Customers demanded his time so he couldn’t speak to her in private, but he watched her keep herself busy with tasks that didn’t need doing. Then she sat by the stove and knitted. She only moved the needles that fast when she was mad about something. He couldn’t even entice her to help him set out the shipment of cut tin ornaments she ordered. “Are you feeling all right, sweetheart?”
“I’m just dandy.”
He’d heard some women got a bit emotional when they experienced their womanly time of the month. Maybe everything would go back to normal in a few days. He waited, being as patient as he could. He missed her humming, he missed her meeting him in the barn to share chores, and he missed her smile. Most of all, he wanted to see again the love shining in her eyes during the time after they truly became married. But she refused to return to help him in the store and grew increasingly fretful with each night’s sleep that passed.
One night, she jumped out of bed. “Don’t put me out of me home.”
Anson shook his head and peered at the clock. Two ten. He rolled to her side of the bed. The half moon cast enough light to see she stood with fists clenched, her hair wild and tangled around her face. He stretched out a hand. “Fiona, sweetheart, you’re having a bad dream. Come back to bed.”
“Traitor!”
What could she mean? Arguing with her in this state never worked. He had to calm her. “Shh.” He shoved himself to his feet and took a step forward.
“Nay.” She swung an arm upward then stumbled.
Ducking back, he bounced on the balls of his feet like when he boxed. He had to reach her and contain her movements. She could punch the wall or the bedframe and hurt herself. “It’s just a dream, Fiona. Whatever you think is happening isn’t real.”
She snorted. “Renke said.” Then she swung again.
How does she know his name? Anson danced around and embraced her from behind, hooking his chin on top of her head. “You’re all right.” Her body was as tight as the fishing line when he caught his ten-pound black bass. Keeping his left arm around her middle, he massaged her shoulder and neck with the other. “You’re fine, my girl. Nothing bad will happen. I love you, Fiona, I love you forever.”
From long years ago, a lullaby surface--one his mutter sang when he was
young. The translation from German to English flowed from his mouth.
“The moon has risen,
The little golden stars shine
In the heavens so clear and bright
The woods stand dark and still
And out of the meadows rise
A wonderful fog.”
He couldn’t have told anyone all the soothing words he spoke until finally her body sagged limp in his arms and he laid her in bed. As soon as he crawled in the other side, he scooted to the middle and pulled her against him. Rocking a few inches each way, he crooned, “You’re safe.”
“Nay.” She pounded a fist on his chest. “’Tis a lie.”
The sound of her plaintive sobs crimped his heart. If she knew Renke’s name, then his cousin must have made an appearance at the store and frightened her in some way. No one threatened his wife…his dear Fiona. Clenching his jaw, he vowed to get to the bottom of what happened.
The next morning, when the alarm rang, he rolled over to turn it off and sat up, rubbing hands over his face. “Fiona.”
“Humph.” She snuggled deeper into her pillow.
He pulled on the pillow edge until it was free. “Wake up.” He wiggled her shoulder. “Come on, wake up.”
“Why aren’t ye exercising?” She shoved hair away from her face and sat, hugging the quilt over her shoulders.
“Because talking about what happened last night is more important.”
Her eyes rounded. “What happened?”
“Your bad dream and how you wanted to fight me.”
“Nay, I didn’t…I wouldn’t.” She glanced up and then picked at a stray thread on the cuff of her nightgown.
“But you did. Stood right there and took two swings at my head.” He jammed his pillow behind his back and stared at her face. “What do you remember of your dream?”
Tearfully, she looked up, her chin trembling. “I trusted ye.”
The hurt in her eyes pinched his chest. “Of course, you can trust me. I’ve pledged before God and witnesses to honor and protect you.”
A Promise for Christmas Page 7
