by Kit Morgan
Biscuits – that would be a good place to start. She’d seen Anson’s frying pan when she dressed that morning. How hard could it be to make biscuits?
She went into the house and set the frying pan on the stove, then thought better of it and moved it to the table. No sense letting it heat up when there wasn’t anything to put in it yet.
She dug the recipe out of her reticule and began to study it. “Oh dear,” she said as she looked at the different abbreviations Bertha had jotted down. She knew they had to be measurements, but wasn’t sure what each represented. “C” had to be a cup, but what were the others?
“Oh for Heaven’s sake, I can’t believe I’m having so much trouble with this!” “Inadequate” didn’t begin to describe how Zadie felt in that moment – “helpless,” maybe? “Hopeless”? “Pathetic”?
“Stop it, stop it,” she chided herself. She’d had enough embarrassment for one day. She took a deep breath, read the recipe again, and hearkened back to her childhood, asking Father’s cook Mrs. Dundee how she made her sugar cookies. Mrs. Dundee would smile and say, “oh, a pinch of this and a pinch of that – toss it in the bowl and stir it all together. There’s not much to them, really.”
“A pinch, eh?” Zadie said to herself. “Well, I can do a pinch. Or two, or … whatever.” She gathered what she thought she’d need and put the ingredients on the table, then stoked the fire and added more wood. She couldn’t find a mixing bowl, so she used the pot she’d heated the beans in the other night.
It didn’t take long to mix everything together, and Zadie studied the gooey mess. “Well, it looks like dough … I think.” She’d seen Mrs. Dundee make biscuits once or twice but hadn’t really paid attention, never thinking she’d need to understand the process. As a child, she’d only been interested in the end result that came out of the oven.
“Well, here goes,” she said, setting the frying pan on the stove. She dropped in a tiny bit of lard, watched it melt, then plopped spoonfuls of dough into the pan, wondering if she should be putting the dough in any sort of pattern. “Too late now,” she muttered as she covered the pan with a matching lid and hoped for the best. With any luck, her first batch wouldn’t be a total disaster.
With no sign of Anson’s return, she began dragging the tub toward the porch, but finally gave up halfway – she’d come back to it later. She retrieved the bucket, went to the pump to rinse it out and fill it, then used the water to wash the pot out. Not an easy task, removing sticky dough from a pot with cold water, but there wasn’t enough room on the stove for the bucket and the frying pan. At this point she wasn’t sure which she wanted more, a bigger bed or a bigger stove.
She dried the pot with a clean rag she found and put it on the table, having no other place for it. Then she looked around and scowled. Anson had one chair, one table, one cot and one shelf. It was a home fit for a single man, not a man with a wife. Which meant she, for the moment, was out of luck.
How was she supposed to learn to be a good wife when she didn’t have the tools to work with? Come to think of it, right now she didn’t even have the husband! Who knew where Anson had run off to?
She sighed and went to check her biscuits.
* * *
By the time Anson returned home, it was dark and his dinner was cold. Disappointment and worry clouded Zadie’s thoughts when he finally came through the door, and her reaction was harsher than she liked. “Where have you been?” she called from the cot.
Anson looked at the pot of beans on the stove, then the pan full of biscuits on the table. “The river. I’m sorry I was away so long – I had no idea you planned to fix supper.” He went to the table and studied the biscuits. She’d cut one out for herself and eaten it with a bowl of beans earlier. “You made these from Bertha’s recipe?”
“Yes,” she said, then looked away. She thought they’d turned out all right, but what would he think? She felt proud of her accomplishment after taking her first bite – a little on the dry side, perhaps, but otherwise wonderful. Yet she could hardly bear the thought of him eating one. Oh for heaven’s sake! she silently scolded. It’s not going to be the end of the world if he doesn’t like them.
He didn’t give her a chance to serve him, doing it himself. He sat at the table, smiled at her and took a bite… of the beans. She knew those were okay – they’d come from a tin. All she’d done was heat them up. She tried not to fidget as he eyed the two biscuits he’d taken. “I couldn’t find any butter,” she said quietly.
Anson nodded and made a face. “That’s my fault – I forgot to put it on the list. When we go to town on Thursday, I’ll be sure to get us some.”
“I didn’t see any for sale at the store,” she pointed out.
“One of the women in town makes it – we’ll buy some from her. We’d best look into buying a cow, too – you’ll want milk for cooking and other things, no doubt.” He picked up a biscuit, and Zadie stiffened. This was it …
Anson took a bite, chewed, took another…
“Well?”
He nodded as he chewed. “Not bad. Congratulations, you’ve made your first supper.”
Zadie let out the breath she’d been holding. “Thank you. I wasn’t sure how they’d turn out.” She got up from the cot and went to stand next to the table. “Anson, I’m sorry …”
“So am I,” he interrupted.
“You? What are you sorry for? I’m the one that overreacted when you came in the house earlier. I should’ve let you know what I was going to do, but I was so desperate for a bath that I …”
“No, that’s not what I meant,” he said. “I’m not talking about that.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Everything. I didn’t mean for you to come here because –” He waved a hand at the room. “– there’s nothing here for you. It’s going to take some time to make this place decent. I hope you don’t mind the wait.”
She smiled with relief. “So long as you don’t mind beans and biscuits for awhile, at least until I learn to make something else.”
He reached over and put a hand on her arm. “You’ll be making more than canned beans and biscuits by the time we get a decent stove. I’m more concerned about a bed.”
She glanced at the cot against the wall. “Oh, yes. That.”
He slid his hand down and took hers. “I don’t mind sleeping in the barn for a while, Zadie. If that’s what you need me to do.”
“But you shouldn’t have to! You can just as easily make up a bed in here. I know the cot is too small for both of us, but …”
“No, I made my decision – I’ll use the barn for now. But we’ll make a trip to Sweetwater Springs to order what we need, and El Davis will let us know when they arrive. The stove will have to be shipped by train, of course. The bed too, if my guess is right.”
“A stove and a bed? You’re going to order them at the same time?”
“Among other things. But those are the biggest items.”
She smiled again. “Once we have a decent bed and stove in here, there won’t be any room to sit. We might have to put the table and chair on the porch.”
“And we need another chair.” He chuckled, stood and pulled her into his arms. “But I can probably make that.”
“It would be nice to sit together during mealtimes,” she said. Anson wrapped his arms more tightly around her and Zadie felt a sudden peace settle in her heart. She then noticed he smelled of soap. “Did you bathe at the river?”
“I did. I keep some soap in my saddlebags.”
“I saw that you were gone and wondered where.”
He kissed the top of her head, then rested his cheek against her hair. “I’m sorry I took off and didn’t tell you.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t let you know I was going to bathe. I shouldn’t have yelled at you like I did.”
“It seems we need to learn to communicate better, Mrs. Jones. So why don’t we promise each other something?”
“What?”
He
lifted his head and gazed down at her just as she drew her face up. “From now on we look out for each other. That means I know where you are and you know where I am. We’re alone out here, remember? And if something were to happen, we only have each other to rely on.”
What he said was true. “You have my word.”
Anson lowered his face to hers. “And you have mine.” And he sealed it with a kiss.
Thirteen
Zadie awoke early Thursday morning full of excitement. She and Anson had spent the last few days talking and getting to know one another. And he was teaching her the basics of ranching: how to saddle a horse, how to hitch up the wagon, what to feed the animals. After all, if something ever happened to Anson, she’d have to get the job done herself.
She had a little trouble at first, of course, but after a few days of practice, saddling Hamlet and hitching King Lear up to the wagon had become second nature. “Do all rancher’s wives know how to do these things?” she asked on the ride to Morgan’s Crossing.
“Most do. And the further away from folks you are, the better it is to learn them. You grew up in the city, so there was no need for you to know how to saddle a horse. Or even to own one, I suppose.”
“True,” she agreed. “We certainly didn’t need a wagon. And if we wanted to go anywhere, we simply called a hansom cab.”
“Speaking of which,” he said, handing her the lines, “you drive.”
“Me? Oh no, no …”
“There’s nothing to it. You have to learn sometime, and I’m right here.”
She took the lines into her hands. “What do I do with the reins?”
“They’re called lines too, depending on where you’re from. And you simply hold them. Don’t pull – just hold them the way I was.”
She did as instructed. King Lear must have felt something as his ears flicked in their direction. “He’ll keep walking?”
“Yes, he’s fine.”
Zadie didn’t know why she was suddenly so nervous – maybe because she was afraid King Lear might start running and risk injury to her. Or maybe wanted Anson to be proud of her. He was a good teacher and very patient. She noticed he liked watching her work with the horses, even something as simple as brushing Hamlet. He loved them and wanted her to share that love. And she had to admit, she was starting to – though never in her wildest dreams had she seen herself as a rancher’s wife.
“You’re doing fine,” Anson said, putting an arm around her. “I may even get a nap in before we get to town.” He pulled his hat down over his eyes and started to slouch.
“Don’t you dare!” she gasped.
Anson straightened and laughed. “You worry too much.”
“You tease me too much!”
“It’s good for you,” he said with a smile. “And it keeps things interesting for me.”
She gave him a crooked grin. “You’re impossible.”
“I try.”
Zadie rolled her eyes. Her new husband did love to tease, and she’d discovered over the last few days that she liked it. But she wasn’t going to let on – that might take the fun out of it.
They reached town and parked the wagon in front of the store. Anson wanted to pick up the makings for a chicken coop, then see about purchasing some chickens from Mrs. Copelin, whom he’d heard might part with a few. If that wasn’t the case, he’d have to look elsewhere – maybe in Sweetwater Springs, as they were planning a trip there soon.
For Zadie, that trip couldn’t come soon enough. She felt guilty that Anson was still bedding down in the barn. They still hadn’t consummated their marriage, and she wondered if she’d done something to upset him. But he gave no indication he was displeased with her, and she tried not to dwell on it. Lest her mind come up with all sorts of things she might have done to keep him from kissing her lately. He’d kept his distance in that way too, ever since they’d agreed to keep an eye out for one another.
Yet, she could tell he wanted to. He’d get a certain look in his eye, smoldering and dark. His jaw would relax, his breathing would slow …
She swallowed hard and fidgeted as she handed the lines back to Anson. “Here, you’d best take these.”
He set the brake, wrapped the lines around it and climbed down, then helped her do the same and turned toward the store. “Is there anything you need?” he asked.
“Nothing that’s not on the list. I should head across the street to Mrs. Tisdale’s.”
Anson glanced around as they entered. Good, no sign of Ralph. He gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “I’ll see you later.”
She took his hand and squeezed it. Yes, he had that look in his eye, the one that said he wanted to give her more than a mere peck. Feeling bold, she stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the lips.
His eyes widened at her action. He drew her into his arms and held her a moment, kissed the top of her head, then let her go. “Enjoy your time with the ladies. I’ll join you when I’ve finished my business.”
She nodded, her heart filling with admiration for his patience and his willingness to teach her about his life. Not to mention that he was the handsomest man she knew – and he was all hers, whenever she wanted.
Zadie walked down the street to Mrs. Tisdale’s cabin, stood at the door and waved at him before she knocked. He waved back, then ducked inside the store. She sighed. If she didn’t know any better, she’d say she was falling in love with her husband. And she wasn’t sure she knew better.
* * *
“Let me check those stitches, dear,” Mrs. Tisdale said.
Zadie showed the woman her work. “What do you think?”
Mrs. Tisdale bit her lower lip. “Well … they could be straighter, but not bad at all for a first try.”
“I think she should make a skirt first,” Mrs. Garr put in. “It’s far less complicated than an entire dress.”
“True, but she might want a dress,” Mrs. Tisdale countered. “What do you think, Mrs. Jones?”
Zadie stared at them. Sewing was nothing like embroidery. “I do need a work dress …”
“Have you any fabric yet?” asked Mrs. Garr.
Zadie smiled. She liked the woman’s southern accent. “No, not yet.”
“There’s not much selection at the store,” Mrs. Garr said. “But it’s better than what it used to be.”
“Thank Heaven for that!” Mrs. Tisdale said. “Thanks to Mrs. Morgan, this town has shaped up.”
“What about Sweetwater Springs?” Zadie asked. “Do they have a nice selection there?”
“More than here,” Mrs. Tisdale said. “They have more of everything there. Why, are you planning to go there soon?”
“Yes – Anson and I need to order some things for the ranch. A new stove, for one.”
“Oh, you poor dear,” Mrs. Tisdale said. “I forgot that old place hasn’t but a pot-bellied stove. Hard to feed a man when you don’t have the proper equipment to cook with.”
“You’re right,” Zadie agreed, “it is. Especially when I can’t cook very well to begin with. I’d love to be able to bake a batch of cookies.”
“Those are easy to make,” said Mrs. Garr. “Once you have a decent stove, you’ll be able to make just about anything.”
Zadie smiled as she sewed. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed the company of women – she hadn’t had much the last year, being too busy taking care of her father.
The three chatted about their homes, sewing, cooking and – most of all – married life. Zadie itched to ask them some things, but felt she needed to get to know the ladies better before bringing up such private matters. What would they think if she told them that she and Anson still hadn’t …
“And when do you think you’ll have your first child?” Mrs. Garr asked.
Zadie blanched. “Child?”
“Yes, how many are the two of you hoping for?”
Zadie looked from one face to the other. “We … we really haven’t discussed it yet.”
“Oh, you’ll get around to it
,” Mrs. Tisdale said. “But if you’re anything like most young couples, you’ll have a little one soon enough.”
Zadie smiled weakly. Maybe something was wrong – was that why Anson hadn’t taken her to his bed? Well, cot. What if he didn’t want children? But then, why get married?
“My Bobby is ten now, and such a joy,” Mrs. Tisdale continued.
“Bobby?” Zadie pulled herself back to the conversation.
“My grandson,” Mrs. Tisdale explained.
“Oh, yes. I think Anson and I may have seen him the first time we came into town.”
“That’s possible. Now, let’s talk about that dress you’re going to make.”
Zadie listened to the other two as they jotted down instructions for her, how much fabric she’d need, thread, needles, buttons … the more they talked, the more apprehensive she became. Would she be able to make one by herself?
“Sweetwater Springs will have everything you need,” Mrs. Tisdale said, handing her the list.
“Thank you,” Zadie said and took it. “Maybe I can make another visit to town and one of you can help get me started?”
“Of course, dear,” said Mrs. Tisdale. “I’d love to help.”
“I can if I know you’re coming,” Mrs. Garr said. “I don’t always have a lot of extra time.”
“Speaking of which,” Mrs. Tisdale said. “Can you come to town Saturday? We thought it would be a good day to have that tea I talked with Mrs. Morgan about.”
“I don’t see why not, but I’ll have to check with my husband,” Zadie said. The word “husband” seemed to hang in the air around her. She wasn’t used to hearing herself say it, but she liked the sound.
“Wonderful. Ask him before you leave for home, and be sure to let me know,” said Mrs. Tisdale. “Then Mrs. Morgan and I will make the arrangements.”
“Arrangements?” Zadie asked.
“She means inviting a few other folks,” Mrs. Garr put in.
“Oh, yes,” Zadie said with a smile. In Boston or Denver, “arrangements” meant sending out formal invitations, deciding on the menu, what to wear and so on. Around here it meant walking down the street and knocking on a door to offer an invite. She doubted anyone dressed for the occasion – or could.
