Mail-Order Haven

by Linda Carroll-Bradd

  Standing, she reached for his place setting to stack with hers. Maybe she could help with the dishwashing before Angela awoke. The aches and pains from the stagecoach accident had been soothed by the luxury of daily hot baths. Her belongings were settled into their proper places in the master closet and also into the bureau in her bedroom. She’d experienced a particular thrill at hooking her clothes over the row of pegs within inches of Fitz’s attire. Although plenty of space remained in her half because she’d never owned many changes of dresses, skirts, or blouses. The sight gave the appearance of an intimacy that she hoped time would create.

  Through trial and error, Angela’s routine had been figured out. Now Tavia knew she’d have about ninety minutes free twice a day while the baby napped. Added to that, she enjoyed a precious couple of hours after supper to read or do needlework in the den. Carrying the dishes, Tavia walked down the hallway to the kitchen.

  At the bin table stood Edlynn, kneading a mound of bread dough.

  “Baking day?” As she walked to the counter, Tavia breathed in the scent of rich yeast. From the time she was ten or so, she could remember wishing to be included in the task. She’d stand quietly in a doorway, watching as the mother of whatever household she was living in performed the chore, often including her own daughters. Instead of what looked like fun activities of molding and working the dough, Tavia had been assigned the boring tasks of peeling potatoes or chopping vegetables.

  “The task got moved to today. Usually do so on Tuesdays and Fridays but…”

  Tavia knew the housekeeper’s schedule had been thrown off since her and Angela’s arrival. “I’ll keep that in mind. When you’re caught up and back on schedule, could you teach me to make bread?”

  The older woman stopped and gazed over her shoulder. “Teach you? That’s my job here at the ranch.”

  Edlynn’s defensive tone made Tavia approach with a shake of her head. “I don’t intend to take over, but I was never taught.” She shrugged. “Always thought the skill was a basic one every woman should know.”

  A hearty laugh escaped, and Edlynn’s dark eyes sparkled. “Spoken by someone who has never been responsible for baking nineteen or twenty loaves twice a week. Sixty a week at round-up and branding season.”

  Forty a week? Tavia couldn’t help flashing a wide-eyed expression. “That many?”

  “The cowhands can go through a loaf and a half at each meal if the work has been especially hard that day. Ned and I finish off a loaf every second day, same as this household now that meals are being made for two.”

  For the last year that Clarice had been ailing, she’d been finicky about what she ate. Tavia didn’t think, between the two of them, they finished a loaf per week. Plus the bread had been delivered as part of their order from the commissary. “You know, I haven’t met the ranch hands yet. I’ve only seen your Ned a time or two. Fitz keeps urging me to ride out with him.” With a start, Tavia realized how focused she’d been on the baby. I need to make an effort to meet these men who work the cattle.

  “Any time you want to help me carry out a meal to the bunkhouse, you’re welcome to.” Edlynn folded over the slab of dough and pushed it away. She reached into a small bowl and tossed a sprinkle of flour over the dough.

  “I’ll need to do that soon. I can’t plan for their holiday presents if I’ve not met them and seen what they might like.” One thing she’d learned from living in so many households was that no one should be overlooked at Christmas time.

  A frown creased Edlynn’s brow as she kept kneading. “I’m not so sure about that plan.”

  “I’ve heard Fitz’s feelings on the subject, but I have my own opinions. Besides, he keeps telling me that I’m allowed to make changes.” She couldn’t repress a smile that followed those words. Being in charge of even something as small as knitting scarves or mittens to give away felt so good.

  For several moments, the women chatted about menus and recipes. Tavia watched the mass grow smoother as Edlynn worked it.

  “I’ll cut this mound into four pieces so the balls fit into those prepared bowls.” She jerked her chin toward the counter as she worked each of the cut portions into a ball.

  Nodding, Tavia spotted four large crockery bowls that looked shiny inside.

  “With a towel as covering, these bowls will set atop the warming oven for an hour or so. Then I’ll shape them into loafs, and the dough will rise again.” Her hands formed into a rounded arch. “Some I’ll put into pans and some will be free-form rounds.”

  “Is this the same dough used for making rolls, too?” Once or twice at formal Army functions, Tavia’d been served a cloverleaf roll or one shaped like a knot. A roll seemed more elegant sitting on an individual plate than lifting a slice from a stack on a serving platter.

  “Could be. Although I usually add an egg to the recipe for rolls.” With practiced moves, Edlynn set the dough into the bowl, flipped it, and then stretched the towel to cover and lifted it atop the oven. “But I usually don’t have time to be making all those shapes.”

  Here was her chance. Tavia ran a finger idly through the dusting of flour on the table’s surface. “May I? Will you let me know when to come? When the dough is ready? If I’m not busy with Angela, I’d like to make a dozen rolls for our supper tonight.”

  Brushing her hands together over the table, Edlynn nodded. “Sure, Tavia. I’m not about to refuse any help that lessens my chores.”

  A squeak and a cry sounded from another room.

  Tavia glanced over her shoulder. “She’s awake.” She moved toward the door before turning back. “I’d like to bathe her today. But I’ll wait until after she’s changed and fed.”

  Grabbing the pail from the end of the counter, Edlynn moved toward the faucet. “I’ll set water to heating. Her bottle will be ready by the time you’re done.”

  “Thank you.” Tavia turned and hurried toward the fussing that had intensified to cries. “I’m coming, angel baby.” She rounded the corner into the den and spotted Angela’s hands braced on the edge of the drawer. Sucking in an alarmed breath, she scooted to the back of the sofa and lifted the baby. “Oh, no. You’re getting too active for that sleeping arrangement.”

  Thirty minutes later, Tavia dodged errant splashes as Angela slapped a washcloth atop the water and then burst into giggles. She’d opted for giving the child a bath in the kitchen sink so she wouldn’t have to bend over the bathtub’s edge.

  “Don’t know what it is about babies and water.” Edlynn tickled a finger along Angela’s belly and smiled at the responding laugh. “But they sure love to splash.” She let out a sigh. “I hope my Thomas is thinking about giving me a grandchild sometime soon.”

  Tavia dribbled a cup of water over Angela’s shoulders to remove the last of the honey-almond-scented suds. “Time to get dressed, little one.” Bracing her hands under Angela’s arms, she made sure of her grip before lifting the baby to a stand.

  “Eh, eh.” Angela stretched her hands toward the cloth floating on the surface.

  The back door opened, and boots tromped inside. “Tavia?”

  She turned to Edlynn and whispered, “Does he ever holler like that to get your attention?”

  Edlynn’s lips pressed tight, and she shook her head.

  “In the kitchen, Fitz.” Tavia laid Angela onto the length of toweling spread on the counter and pulled up the edges to wipe away the dots of water on her skin.

  “I thought you’d like to—” His footsteps stopped with a skid on the wooden floor. “Oh.”

  Resting a hand on the baby’s stomach to keep her in place, Tavia looked over her shoulder. “Thought I’d like what?”

  “To ride out to the upper pasture.” His gaze flicked between the baby and Tavia, and his shoulders slumped an inch. “But I see you’re busy.”

  Recognizing the disappointment radiating from her husband, Tavia made a quick decision. Angela was fed and soon would be dressed. She’d play for an hour or so before getting tired again. “Almost do
ne here.” She eased Angela to a sitting position and wiped over her back. “Did you mean on horseback or in the wagon?” From the corner of her eye, she caught the housekeeper’s head shake. Of course, he meant horseback.

  “On horses. Terrain’s too rough for the wagon.” He walked close and leaned a hip against the counter. “I want you to give Daisy a try. She’s the sweet mare I told you about.”

  “All right. I’ll enjoy getting outside for a while.” Retrieving the items as Edlynn passed them over, Tavia diapered Angela, then pulled on knit stockings that stretched to mid-thigh. A matching knit vest covered her small torso before Tavia dropped a dress of green linsey-woolsey that had embroidered flowers across the rounded neckline over the baby’s head and worked her chubby arms into the sleeves. Angela’s mother had probably been a knitter like Tavia. The stockings and vest were of a fine weave and the texture was soft enough to be worn against the baby’s delicate skin. “Remember, though, I don’t have riding boots.” That sounds like an excuse. “But I’m sure what I have will be fine.”

  The cook leaned close, fixed the buttons up the back of the dress then lifted Angela and settled the baby on her hip. “Tavia, we’re set here. You should go and enjoy a ride.”

  With a nod at Missus Hutchins, Fitz lifted down a mug from the cupboard and crossed to the stove to pour from the coffee pot. “A situation we will have to remedy. All ranchers’ wives should have appropriate boots. And a proper hat.” He winked and smiled.

  Rancher’s wife? A thrill went through her that she was somehow, even after only three days, included in a group of women who played supporting roles on Texas ranches. “I’ll get my coat and scarf.” Moments later, she arrived at the back door, breathless from her dash up and down the stairs.

  Fitz settled his hat on his head and opened the door to a blast of cold air.

  She shivered and tugged on her knit gloves. “Will we ride where the ranch hands are working? I was just telling Edlynn that I haven’t yet met them.”

  “Depends.” He cupped a hand on her elbow to guide her across the yard. “They’re working the cattle a bit east of where I’d intended we’d go.”

  The act of being directed around a mud puddle was a simple gesture, and one that Fitz might not be aware he’d performed. But Tavia noticed, and a feeling of being cherished filled her. She gazed out to the paddock of white-washed rail fences containing three horses. Past it was an orchard of a couple dozen or so trees, now bare of leaves but the stark branches allowed a look at the vast prairie beyond. From this perspective of being close to a house and around people, she viewed the prairie to be not as foreboding as when she’d last had a look. The memory of the stagecoach accident and her initial panic at being left on her own pulled at her thoughts.

  “Let me get this.” He stepped forward to open a door and ushered her inside.

  “Thank you.” Scents of hay and animals waved over her, but within seconds, she was used to the earthy odors. She unknotted her scarf and let the tails hang loose as she looked around at the tall ceiling, the open loft above, and the double row of stalls. “This building is so big.” From the front, the barn hadn’t appeared like it housed so many animals. Everywhere she looked evidenced a wealth she hadn’t expected. Why hadn’t she taken more notice of the expensive cut of his suit on the day they’d met?

  Realizing Fitz had walked ahead and now gestured toward the stalls, she scurried to follow and make sense of the terms he spoke. Truly, she watched as he instructed her in saddling the mare, but the straps and buckles were more confusing than accessories on a woman’s garment. Good thing he accomplished the task with speed. Before she knew it, she had her foot on a stump and Fitz’s hands on her waist boosted her to the horse’s back. He rattled off a list of instructions—reins in the left hand, right hand on a thigh, balls of feet on the stirrups, lean slightly forward. Then they trotted the horses along the corral fence, past the fields lying fallow, and out onto the sage-covered ground.

  With one hand gripping the pommel for stability, Tavia did mental checks on her body position, praying Daisy would be kind to her novice rider. Fitz rode a foot or so ahead, and she admired how he looked to be an extension of the horse’s movement.

  Nudging the mare forward, Tavia drew abreast of Fitz. “What types of trees are in the orchard near the house?”

  He flashed a grin. “Got a good harvest of peaches and pecans last year. I’m hoping for the first crop of apples next fall.” He pointed to a copse of trees not far ahead. “Wild plums grow on those trees, and Missus Hutchins turns the fruit into a tasty jam.” He chuckled and smacked his lips. “So tasty we finished all the jars before Thanksgiving.”

  Tavia looked around and saw abundance like she’d never imagined. Purchasing items from a store didn’t lend to thoughts of where the foods originated. Of course, she’d read about people gathering nuts or climbing ladders to pluck apples from trees. She’d just never seen or done those tasks herself. “I look forward to learning how to make jam or find recipes for peaches.” Her thoughts went to the crates of books that had not yet arrived. A recipe book was one of the few items of her mother’s she’d held onto through the years, and she was anxious about using it to create new dishes for her husband.

  “Ready to step up the pace?” Fitz looked her way and cocked his head.

  “All right.” Only fair to give everything a try at least once. She tightened her grip on the pommel and tapped her heels against the horse’s sides.

  Daisy lengthened her stride to follow Fitz’s Bridger as they headed toward a low hill in the distance.

  Muffling a squeal, Tavia kept her gaze focused on Fitz’s back, telling herself that with enough practice she might learn to like horseback riding. For now, all her concentration hinged on staying in the saddle and remembering to breathe. Then she scrunched her eyes shut and just held on tight. After a few minutes, the horse slowed, and Tavia eased open her eyes. As they approached where Fitz waited, Tavia was glad Daisy knew when to slow and then come to a jolting stop abreast of where Bridger had stopped.

  “You doing all right?” Grinning, Fitz lifted his hat then resettled it.

  “Hmmm.” Tavia couldn’t unclench her teeth just yet.

  Fitz angled his head to glance at her arrival. “Steer Daisy around so she faces the same way.”

  Before she processed his instruction, she watched him take hold of Daisy’s bridle and guide the mare in the opposite direction. Someday, she could only hope to be at ease like that around these beasts. Now, she had a distant view of the landscape and all of the wide open space. Her stomach jumped like when she’d lost her footing on the stairs. For a moment, she swayed in the saddle, because her life had been spent in confined spaces with the closeness of buildings and shops and houses—solid structures that gave her a sense of boundaries.

  “Over there, we’ll plant oat and alfalfa fields in the spring.” He extended a hand toward their left.

  If she squinted, she could make out rows of fencing. The lump lodged in her throat kept her from forming a word. “Uh huh.”

  “I want to try a field of cotton to the west.” He shifted and gestured in the other direction. “Not that I’m an experienced farmer, but I’ve read of great yields coming from Texas soil to the north. Good prices are paid by textile factories back east.”

  Moving her head in every direction, she scanned the horizon. Except for the ranch, she saw no other buildings. Her stomach knotted. “But, Fitz—” She bit her trembling lip until it stilled.

  He glanced her way, leaned close, and frowned. “What, Tavia?”

  Unable to keep the escalating fright from her gaze, she stared into his blue eyes, hoping to find her anchor there. “Where are our neighbors? Are we out here in the wilderness all on our own?”

  ~**~

  Hours later on his ride into town, Fitz reflected on his wife’s shock at the expansiveness of his land holdings and the size of Texas ranches as a whole. Once he translated the distances to the adjacent ranches int
o travel time, he’d seen her panic ease. Unfortunately, not enough for her to agree to a second ride. Instead, he’d left Tavia and Angela cuddled on the sofa in the front room with a couple of his old childhood books and a slim volume he didn’t recognize. Must be a book of Tavia’s.

  Clouds built on the northern horizon, but the sky to the west was clear. A cold breeze cut across the back of his neck, and he shivered. As often as he tugged up his collar, any movement he made folded it right back into its original position. Anxious to get errands done, he gave Bridger a nudge with his boot heels and clucked his tongue. “Hup. Let’s get on to town.”

  The gelding lengthened his stride into a canter.

  Within ten minutes or so, Fitz rode abreast of the Star Palace at the outskirts of Dorado. He tightened his grip on the reins to keep the horse at a sedate walk as he traveled down the wide street. At the last shop on the town’s main business block, he turned his hand to the right and pulled back. “Whoa, Bridger.” Above him was a large carved sign proclaiming “Shipley Carpentry” with raised letters and a border that replicated the twisted texture of a length of rope. Exacting workmanship. After tying off the reins, Fitz crossed the wooden boardwalk and strode into the shop. Familiar scents of fresh shavings and linseed oil teased his nose. Other than spicy apple pie and fresh-baked bread, these two scents were his favorite.

  He glanced around quickly to see if the item he desired was on display. A small desk with a cantilevered top stood off to his right. Scattered throughout the shop were rows of several different types of chairs and two small tables with an inlaid pattern on the surface. In front of the first chair leaned two shelves with a rod underneath, similar to the one he had nailed to his kitchen wall. Along the interior shop wall ran shelves holding various types, thicknesses, and lengths of lumber. In the farthest back corner, a simple coffin stood upright. No small-sized items of any type could be seen.