by Kit Morgan
“No indoor plumbing,” she mused. “No place to bathe.” She met his gaze and tried to smile. “I’ll make the best of it.”
He sighed and smiled back. “If it’s any consolation, I do have a decent privy.”
She fiddled with the jerky in her hand. “That’s something.” She straightened and smiled again. She hoped it didn’t look forced, even though it was. She’d already given herself one “talk” about having to toughen up and be a good wife.
But she was slowly realizing there was no turning back. She was married to this man and even if she’d had a little money, would it make a difference? Maybe the house was such that no matter what they did, it wouldn’t support indoor plumbing. For all she knew they were lucky to have water. Speaking of which … “Is there a pump?”
Anson, who was fiddling with the saddle, faced her. “Water pump? Yes, out back.”
She smiled again, even as tears pricked the back of her eyes. His letters described a grand hotel in town, a ladies’ sewing circle she could join, a fine mercantile, the annual town picnic each summer. Clear Creek even had a Fourth of July Parade, dance and fireworks. It wasn’t Denver, but it still sounded heavenly. Anson Jones had painted a lovely picture of her future life.
But that life was hundreds of miles away from the Montana Territory.
She studied the surrounding prairie, the mountains in the distance, a far-off tree line. A cold wind swept past, stirring the spring grasses and the expanse of the land around her. An odd loneliness crept into her heart and began to squeeze. There would be no town picnics or parades here. No chance to entertain women from a sewing circle in her home. Not from what she’d heard about life here so far.
She closed her eyes. You can do this – you just have to be tough!
“Zadie?”
She opened her eyes.
Anson’s face was concerned, as if he knew her every thought. “Are you ready to go?”
A stone settled in her gut. By nightfall she’d be in her new home, such as it was, and would just have to make the best of it. She nodded, wrapped her shawl more tightly about her and went to stand next to Hamlet. Anson helped her climb on, then mounted and settled himself behind her.
This time when his arms came around to hold her, no thrill of excitement went up her spine. He was warm and the heat of his body gave her some comfort, but the thought of having her life sucked away by a loneliness she’d never endured left her chilled. What had she got herself into?
Maybe that’s why Anson was being so attentive during their ride. Downright flirtatious, now that she thought about it. Perhaps he was trying to soften the blow.
She sighed and looked at the land spread out before them. Right now the prairie grasses were green, with early spring flowers dotting the landscape along the road. She tried to imagine what this same spot would look like in the summer. Would it be bleak and brown from the sun, or would patches of green fight for every drop of moisture to stay alive? And in winter … no, in winter it would be stark, white, lifeless.
She had a sudden vision of herself after a day of back-breaking work, Anson coming into the house complaining that she didn’t have supper ready. She swallowed hard and gripped her satchel. She hated when her mind started to run away like this. Her blasted imagination had kept her awake at night while waiting for Anson to show up. Now it was taunting her on the journey. When they finally did reach her new home, she’d be in despair, no doubt.
“I bought some seeds the last time I was in town.”
Zadie shook the thought off. “What?”
“Seeds. I bought some seeds when I got your note saying you were in Sweetwater Springs.”
Her mind began to clear. “What kind of seeds?”
“Flowers, mostly.”
Zadie smiled as the bleak images she’d just had in her head dimmed. “Flowers.”
“I thought you’d like to plant some around the house. It’s not too late, I’m told.”
She glanced over her shoulder at him. “You’ve never planted flowers?”
“No, but my mother and aunts do all the time. I figured you’d know when to plant them.”
She laughed. “I’m afraid I don’t. I’ve never planted anything in my life.”
She felt him lean down to put his mouth at her ear. Not again! “Then we’ll plant them together.”
He straightened, and she had the sense he was smiling again. He could have berated her for her lack of gardening skills. He could have acted annoyed. But no, Anson Jones didn’t do those things. Instead, he came alongside her to say they would work together. It was then she realized she was looking at her situation the wrong way. This wasn’t about her, but the two of them.
She had never seen his hometown, but he’d chosen to leave it to start a new branch of his family’s business. What she’d left behind in Denver was an empty shell of a house, its contents sold off and everyone in it gone. There was nothing for her there – she was looking forward to someplace new. But Anson … he’d left his home, his family, everything he knew to come to this wild land. How lonely had he been since he arrived? No wonder he went to Morgan’s Crossing to use the bathhouse. It meant getting to see people. It meant not being alone.
Zadie smiled. “I’d love to plant flowers with you, Anson.”
He sighed contentedly. “I’m looking forward to it.”
* * *
“Zadie, wake up.”
Zadie blinked the sleep from her eyes. Between Anson’s warm embrace and Hamlet’s gentle gait she’d been lulled to sleep. “Are we here?”
“Yes, we are.” He brought Hamlet to a stop near a small cabin.
Zadie squinted at it in the fading sunlight. Sure enough, it wasn’t much bigger than the one they’d spent the night in. There was a porch in the front and a door, with a window on either side of it. It looked bleak and cold. She took a deep breath as if to keep her heart from sinking at the sight of it.
“I know it isn’t much, but after you’re done with it, I’m sure it’ll brighten up.”
“Me? What am I going to do?”
Anson slid off the horse. “Add a woman’s touch, what else?” He took the satchel from her, set it on the ground, then held his hands up to help her down.
She glanced at her own hands. “A woman’s touch,” she murmured, barely able to get her leg over the saddle to dismount. She didn’t realize how stiff she was until her feet hit the ground. “Ohhh,” she groaned.
“You’re not used to being on a horse for two days. You’ll be sore for a short time.”
“Short time?” she said, rubbing her backside. “I’ll not sit down for a week.”
Anson laughed. “It’s not that bad. But you’ll be tender tomorrow.”
She felt herself blush at his remark, and was surprised she was able to. She’d done enough of it during the trip to last a lifetime. The man did love to whisper in her ear …
“Tomorrow we’ll make a list of supplies. But we can’t get everything at once - we’ll have to get only what we need to start.”
“Start?” she said as she reached for her satchel. Her back and limbs stiffened further at the movement.
“Of course, you’ll want a few necessities to start. I have a little flour and sugar, a few cans of beans, some coffee …”
“Oh good heavens,” she stated. “You forget, Mr. Jones, I can’t cook a whit. Unless you can, we’re going to have a problem.”
He looked at her as if she’d just slapped him. Maybe he was so happy to be home he’d forgotten about her lack of domestic skills. “I can work with that,” he finally said, his eyes now full of determination. “We can do this.”
His sudden confidence was unnerving. “I’m glad one of us thinks so. By the way, do you know how to cook?”
“I told you, I … wait a minute, did I tell you?”
“I remember you mentioning tinned beans …”
“Yes, I did, didn’t I?”
“But you said nothing about your … culinary skills.”
>
He grinned. “Looks like we have one more thing to fumble through together.”
“Cooking?” she said in shock. “You mean you’re going to learn to cook with me?”
“I guess I’d better,” he said with a chuckle. “Even if I let you do all the work, I’d have to test things to make sure you’ve succeeded.”
A chuckle escaped her, too. Then another and another, and pretty soon she laughed.
Anson smiled. “See, the place looks brighter already.”
Zadie stopped laughing as her heart warmed. “That’s because I haven’t cooked anything yet.”
Anson closed the distance between them and took her in his arms. “There’s no time like the present to start. But first …” Without warning he swept her into his arms.
“Oh!” she exclaimed as the satchel slipped out of her hands and fell to the ground. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m going to carry you across the threshold.”
Zadie wrapped her arms around his neck and hung on. “The threshold?” Good heavens, that was part of getting married, wasn’t it?
He grinned ear to ear and carried her up the porch steps to the front door. He leaned down, turned the knob, then pushed the door open with his foot. “Welcome home, Mrs. Jones,” he said as he gazed into her eyes. Anson then carried her across and into the darkness of the cabin.
Zadie smelled coffee, bacon, leather … and him. She was still deciphering the different scents when he set her on her feet. She watched him wander around a moment before he struck a match and lit an oil lamp. He set it on the stove then held his arms wide. “Here it is. Your new home.”
She glanced around. It really was almost as sparse as last night’s lodgings. There was the cot, and a small table with one chair. The pot-bellied stove was small, big enough for maybe a coffee pot. How on earth was she to cook on it? She thought she’d at least have a decent stove …
She fought against a sigh. This would be harder than she thought.
“What do you think?” he asked.
She tried not to despair. In time he’d be able to provide them with a bigger stove, bed, a second chair …
“Well?”
She forced a smile. “I can work with this.”
Anson laughed. “You’re a very poor liar, sweetheart.”
A tingle went up her spine at the endearment, the first he’d given her. “Indeed. How about … I can work with this for now?”
“Some of this is temporary. You can’t bake with that stove and we’re going to need a new bed.”
“I know you mentioned that on the trip here,” she said, “but now that I see it …”
“You wholeheartedly agree?”
She turned to him. “Oh yes.”
Anson put his hands on her shoulders. “I know you’ll do your best. You didn’t complain the entire trip here.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” she confessed. “I’ve had my misgivings.”
“Maybe so, but you didn’t voice them. We’ll make this place into a home, you’ll see.”
Zadie studied the one-room cabin. Anson’s distinct presence hung in the air, but there was also a loneliness, an emptiness. She wondered who owned the place before he did – a lone rancher? A miner? A widow, perhaps? She shuddered at her last thought then met his gaze. “When do we begin?”
* * *
The next morning, Zadie awoke with a start. She didn’t know where she was and couldn’t remember where she’d been for a moment – only that she’d slept like a dead woman.
Anson was nowhere to be seen, and she remembered him saying he would sleep in the barn. How long was he going to keep this up? He couldn’t sleep out there forever – even she knew that.
She shook her head to clear it from sleep and wondered how long it would take to get a decent sized bed, then realized how warm it was. She glanced at the stove. Anson must have banked the fire well last night. Or had he lit it this morning? She wasn’t sure. Last night, after he took care of Hamlet and the rest of the horses, he got the fire going, opened a can of beans, plopped the contents in a pot and set it on the stove. “There, your first cooking lesson is complete,” he teased.
She’d laughed at him, and he’d taken her in his arms and kissed her. She still remembered how surprised she was at how natural it felt. As if they’d been married for ages, not days.
Zadie threw back the blankets, got up and went to the table where a pitcher and wash bowl sat. She noticed them last night and made a mental note to fill the pitcher before going to bed, but forgot about it. Anson had started to tell her stories about his childhood and all thought left her. The man was an excellent storyteller.
She grabbed the pitcher – and discovered it was full. Anson must have put water in it for her. Her chest warmed at the thought. Such a considerate man! But as much as she liked such attentiveness, she’d best make sure she took over such menial tasks. This sort of thing was technically her job.
She washed her face, then opened her satchel. She’d brought one other dress; a green afternoon dress with brown velvet trim on the neck and cuffs. She studied the pretty frock and wondered how long she’d be able to keep it in pristine condition. She was definitely going to have to get her hands on some work dresses – she was woefully overdressed for being a rancher’s wife.
She donned the dress, put up her hair, reached for the coffee pot and to her surprise, discovered it too was full. Had the man made coffee? “I really did sleep like the dead,” she said to herself.
She found a tin cup on a shelf on the wall, poured herself some coffee, then stepped out onto the front porch. The morning was beautiful, and she wondered what time it was. She took a sip of the coffee and sighed. It was good. She hoped the first time she made a pot she didn’t burn it. Could one burn coffee? Well, she’d find out soon enough.
She leaned against a porch post and gazed out at the prairie. There was a peaceful beauty in the landscape that made her smile. She noticed trees scattered here and there and thought of reading a book in the shade they’d provide. The barn was to the left with a corral near it – actually, several corrals. She studied the horses in them. Even from where she stood she could tell they were fine animals.
Zadie decided to explore her new home further and ventured behind the cabin. There was the water pump, a small outbuilding and couple of young trees. She glanced at the cabin. “If only a two-story house stood in its place …” She envisioned a garden to one side of the house, a bigger barn and corrals. Perhaps Anson saw the same thing in his mind’s eye and would bring that image to life. Yes, the place had great potential. They just had to do the work to get it there.
“Good morning.”
Zadie jumped, spilling her coffee. “Oh dear …”
Anson was suddenly at her side, a handkerchief in his hand. He took the cup from her with one hand, wiped the spilled brew from her hands with the other. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“I was woolgathering … I didn’t hear you coming.”
He smiled. “I’m light on my feet when I want to be.”
“You mean you were sneaking up on me?” she asked with a smile.
“Maybe.”
She shook her head at him and reached for the cup. “I’ll take that.”
“I hope it’s still fresh.”
Her eyes widened. “When did you make it?”
“A couple of hours ago. I didn’t want to wake you, not that I could. You’re a sound sleeper.”
“I was tired – I didn’t hear a thing. Thank you for filling the water pitcher by the way.”
He smiled and nodded. “You’re welcome.”
Her eyes flitted here and there before she looked at him again. “This is a beautiful spot. I can understand why the original owners built their cabin here.”
“Yes, it’s one of the reasons I picked it. I’m told the old owner died a few winters ago and the place has been empty ever since. Whoever he was, I don’t think h
e intended to marry and have a family. If he did, he would have built a bigger house. Instead … just enough for one person to live and raise some livestock.”
“And what about you?” she asked. “What are your plans?”
Anson gave her a huge grin. “Well, dear wife, let’s go inside and I’ll tell you.”
Nine
Anson fought the urge to take Zadie in his arms and kiss her until she either swooned or screamed. She was so beautiful! Her dress accentuated every curve, and the color made her eyes sparkle. The frock was impractical, sure, but so gorgeous.
To distract himself, he quickly suggested they make their list of supplies. “Some things I can order,” he said, pulling her onto the cot to sit beside him. “Others we might have to make ourselves.”
“Make? Like what?”
“Another chair, for one. I have a few pieces of wood out in the barn I can work with.”
“You can make a chair?” she asked in surprise.
“I can do a lot of things when I put my mind to it,” he said with pride. “I’m a man of many talents.”
She arched an eyebrow at him.
“Really, you’ll see. Though I can’t sew you a new dress.”
She fingered the brown velvet collar. “Unfortunately, neither can I.”
“Maybe one of the women in town can help you,” he suggested. “I don’t recall seeing any ready-made dresses in the store.”
“Could we order one?”
“Maybe, but I don’t know how long it would take to get here. It would be more practical to sew one.”
Her cheeks reddened and he knew she was embarrassed at her lack of skills. “I feel so … ill-prepared.”
“Don’t feel bad,” he said. “You had no idea what you were getting into coming here.”
“No,” she said and hung her head. “I didn’t.”
Anson’s chest tightened. Was she disappointed? Probably, now that he thought about it. She wasn’t expecting any of this. He’d built up his hometown of Clear Creek and the life she’d have there if she married him. Her life here would be very different. “It will take time to fix this place, but when we’re done, you’ll love it.”
