by Kit Morgan
He slipped into the kitchen and found her there, ironing a man’s shirt. “Oh, excuse me,” he said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
She set down the iron and wiped her brow. “You’re not interrupting. In fact, I’m almost done.”
Jonathan noticed shirts and trousers hanging on coat pegs near the back door. “Yes, I see.” He looked at her. “Are you hungry?”
She lifted the iron from the shirt and stared at him, as if surprised he’d bothered to ask. “I’ll get something when I’m done.” She returned to her work, moving the iron over the fabric faster than before.
“You’re going to leave a crease,” he commented.
She stopped again. “Excuse me?”
“A crease. The shirt’s uneven. Here, let me show you.” He went around the ironing board and snatched up the shirt.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Here, like this.” He positioned the garment differently on the board. “Trust me, I have years of experience.” He pointed to the iron. “May I?”
She stared at him as if unsure of what to do, shrugged and handed him the iron.
“Now watch.” He got to work.
After a moment or two she made a tiny sound – not a sigh, not a gasp, but a mix of the two. He wasn’t sure if it meant, “oh, so that’s how you do it” or “no one has helped me in years.” Maybe both. “See, if you move the iron over the fabric this way, with the shirt lying so, you don’t run the risk of creasing.”
“I do see,” she said as if it was some great revelation. “How did you get so good at ironing?”
Jonathan set the iron down with a sigh – definitely a sigh. “How much time have you got?”
Five
As it turned out, Miss Woodhouse didn’t have time for that long a story. She hung up the shirt he ironed for her, picked up the piles of neatly-folded sheets and coverlets, and bid him goodnight. He watched her go and wondered if she was afraid she’d spent too much time alone with him. He supposed it was improper to be with her in the kitchen for so long, but his concern had gotten the best of him.
Just how far gone was her mother, he wondered? Judging from the yelling he’d heard coming from their room earlier, he’d say pretty far. He remembered the first time he yelled at his father without feeling remorse. Pa was being unreasonable – over what, he couldn’t remember – but he remembered how his father acted, and how he’d decided he’d had enough of it ...
He went back through the dining room, across the front hall to the parlor, and once again looked for a book. He found one on botany, plucked it off the shelf and sat in a chair.
“Do you like gardening, Mr. Bridger?” Mr. Martensen asked.
Jonathan thumbed through the book, flipping pages back and forth. “I haven’t in the past, but it would be nice to have a garden. Might as well read up on it.” Really, he wanted to go upstairs and remind Miss Woodhouse that she still needed to have supper. Good grief, would the woman even get the chance to eat?
“I’m not much of a gardener myself,” Mr. Martensen commented. “But I am helping my friends build their home. They’re going to farm, y’know.”
Jonathan set the book aside. “There’s a big difference between gardening and farming, sir.”
“Oh yah, sure. Which is why I stick to gardening and help him build his house, not plant his crops.”
Jonathan smiled and nodded as he left his chair. “I think I’ll turn in.”
Mr. Martensen pulled out his pocket watch and flipped it open. “This early? Or are you gonna take your book upstairs and read?”
“Good idea,” Jonathan agreed. He picked the book up, tucked it under his arm and headed for the staircase.
When he reached the end of the hall he stared at Miss Woodhouse’s door. Should he knock? But when she answered, would she think he was prying into her affairs? Maybe he should just leave them alone ... but dagnabit, the woman had to eat! He crossed the hall, raised his hand ...
... and the door swung open. Jonathan jumped back. “Oh, I’m sorry, am I disturbing you?”
Miss Woodhouse gaped at him a second. “What are you doing out here?”
“I was just about to go to my room, but wondered if you’d had a chance to have supper. Mrs. Whitehall set some aside for you.”
Miss Woodhouse glanced quickly over her shoulder before she stepped into the hall and closed the door softly behind her. “Yes, I know. She usually does if I haven’t done it for myself.” Her jaw was tight and he could see the strain in her eyes.
He smiled, doing his best to radiate peace and tranquility. “The chicken and dumplings are quite good.”
Her smiled was more labored. “Yes, I know. I’ve had them before.”
“Oh yes.” He sighed, as if he’d been holding his breath. Good grief, had he? “Of course you have. You’ve been here a lot longer than me.”
“Almost a year. In case they hadn’t told you yet.”
“They?” He gave the stair landing a sidelong glance. “Oh, they. Well, to tell the truth, they did mention it.”
Her shoulders shook with silent mirth. He was glad to see her amused, especially since he was the cause of it. “Mrs. Whitehall doesn’t mean to gossip, but ...”
“She manages well enough,” he finished for her. “And I think they’re truly concerned about the two of you.”
She lowered her eyes and leaned against the door. “I’d imagine,” she mumbled.
Jonathan looked at her door and back. “Is your mother sleeping?”
“No, she’s mending. In fact it’s best I get downstairs and eat, so I can return as soon as possible. I need to help her get ready for bed.”
He took several steps down the hall and she automatically followed. “Is she unable to help herself?” he asked softly.
“She ... struggles,” she said as they approached the stairs. “All I can do is help her.”
Jonathan stopped. For propriety’s sake, it was best he didn’t go down with her. It was bad enough he was speaking with her alone in the hall, let alone earlier in the kitchen. But he had to say something. He looked into her eyes and saw the weariness there. He knew that look – he’d seen it often enough in the mirror. “Sometimes the best way to help a loved one is to make them help themselves.”
She put her hand on the banister, stopped and turned to look at him. “That’s wise advice, Mr. Bridger. I just wish I knew how.” She left him there and went to fetch her supper.
JONATHAN THOUGHT ABOUT Maisie’s dilemma half the night. When he finally did get to sleep, he still hadn’t thought of a solution, which frustrated him to no end. If there was one thing he couldn’t stand, it was a problem he couldn’t fix. And face it, Maisie Woodhouse definitely had a problem.
He almost wished it was his mother that had gone crazy – maybe Olivia would learn some compassion if she had to care for her. But that was neither here nor there. His mother, for all her problems, was apparently of sounder mind than Maisie’s. What afflicted Mrs. Woodhouse seemed like more than just grief.
Maybe Maisie just needed to give her more time. After all, they weren’t going anywhere, Maisie seemed to have everything in hand and was supporting them. But how healthy was it for Maisie to continue on this way? She looked tired – that was obvious even though he’d just met her.
He also realized he was thinking of her in the first person. “Sassafras – I’m not in town a day and already I’m trying to rescue someone.” That was rather a habit of his, born of long experience with his family putting themselves in harm’s way. And Maisie’s problems with her mother reminded him of his own. From the sound of it, Mrs. Woodhouse was as demanding as his mother. But where his mother sought to make trouble, Maisie’s was seeking peace of mind.
In the morning he dressed, went down to breakfast, chatted with the other boarders then headed for the mercantile. He didn’t see Mais ... er, Miss Woodhouse, and wondered if she was working this morning. The tinkle of the bell over the door barely registered as his eye
s scanned the storefront. “Morning, Jasper,” he greeted the proprietor.
Jasper looked up from measuring out some coffee for a customer. “Hello, Jonathan. Where are you off to?”
“Aggie and Eldon’s, if I can find the place. Can you point the way?”
Jasper winked at his customer. “Why don’t you just ask?”
“I thought I just did,” Jonathan said, hands on hips.
Jasper’s customer turned around and grinned. “Or why don’t I just show you?”
Jonathan’s eyes widened in recognition. “Aggie!”
“Jonathan!” Agatha Judrow (nee Shrewsbury) flung her arms wide. Jonathan ran into them and gave her a big hug, lifting her off the floor in the process and making her laugh. “My gosh, it’s good to see you!” Once back on the ground, she pulled away and looked him up and down. “My goodness, you’ve grown so tall!”
Jonathan shrugged. “Yeah, I guess I look a mite different, don’t I? But you, you look wonderful!”
“I feel wonderful, now that you’re here. You have to tell me everything!”
“Oh wow.” He scratched his head. “That’s a lot of telling.”
“Eldon’s at the bank. Why don’t we go to the café and have some coffee? Better yet, why don’t you just come home with us?”
“Sure – I hear you built a place outside of town.”
“Yes, and Eldon will want to give you the grand tour. He loves showing people what he’s done. I just hope the children will behave themselves or you’ll be tripping all over them.”
“Yeah, Abigail told me you had younguns. How many is it – six, seven?”
“Shush, you!” Aggie slapped him on the arm. “And for your information, we have two – Cecilia is seven and Maximus is five.”
“Maximus?” Jonathan said with a bright smile.
“Eldon loves Roman culture,” she replied, as if saying he enjoyed cockfighting. “Cecilia is lucky she wasn’t named Cleopatra or Urgulanilla or something.”
Jonathan and Jasper both laughed. “You’d best rent a horse from Mr. Brown if you’re going to ride out,” Jasper advised. “Unless you plan on staying the night and have Eldon give you a ride back tomorrow.”
“That’s a good idea,” Jonathan agreed.
“Oh, but it’s no trouble to bring you back to town in the morning if you’d like to stay,” Aggie said. “Besides, you did say you had ‘a lot of telling’ to do.” She waggled her eyebrows at him.
“I did, didn’t I?” he said with a chuckle. “But there’s too much to tell in one day – I’d be plumb tuckered out tomorrow if I tried. We can get through some today and catch up on the rest over another couple of visits, how about that?”
“Oh, very well,” she conceded. “Probably for the best. The children won’t last that long – they’ll be on you the entire time.”
Jasper laughed. “She’s right – don’t say you weren’t warned.”
Jonathan’s expression turned grave. “What is it you aren’t telling me?”
Aggie slapped his arm again. “You know we’re kidding. My children are angels, aren’t they, Jasper?”
“For you they might be, and maybe for Abigail. But when I watch them ... well, remember the last church picnic?”
Aggie laughed. “Jasper fell asleep under a tree and Max poured honey on his boots.”
Jonathan’s face twisted into a grimace. “And?”
“Bees really do like honey,” Jasper said. “At least I didn’t wake up with a bear licking my toes.”
Aggie snorted with laughter. “Come on, Jonathan, let’s go find Eldon and the children.”
He let her take him by the hand and lead him from the mercantile. The bank was a few doors away, so finding Eldon didn’t take long. The last time he’d seen him, Jonathan was a little in awe of the man – a bounty hunter turned gold miner turned wealthy rancher, and a nice guy to boot. If anyone deserved a man like him, it was Aggie. “Eldon!” she called. “Look who I found!”
Eldon looked up from his conversation with the banker and squinted to get a better look at his wife’s companion. “Sir?” He took a step forward as his eyes lit with recognition. “Great Scott ... Jonathan Bridger, is that you?”
“Yes, sir,” Jonathan took Eldon’s hand and gave it a healthy shake. “It’s been a long time.”
“It sure has. How have you been? Where have you been?” He peered over Jonathan’s shoulder at the door behind him. “Is, uh ... your family with you?”
Jonathan tried not to laugh. “No. I’m on my own now.”
“Thank the Lord,” he heard Aggie whisper behind him.
He turned to her. “Well, yeah.”
Aggie took a deep breath as if to fortify herself. “No offense, but I for one am glad. That Olivia ...”
“Indeed,” Jonathan said nothing more. There was no need.
“I invited Jonathan out to the ranch,” she told her husband. “He’s going to rent a horse from the livery so he can come back to town tonight.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay?” Eldon asked.
“No, I’ve already been over that with Aggie. If I stay, none of us will get any sleep – we’ll be up all night talking. It’s best if I come back.” That, and he wanted to make sure Maisie was all right. He hardly knew the woman, but something inside him had made him feel responsible for her. Why would that be? He shrugged it off, turned back to Aggie and Eldon, and noticed two children sitting in chairs by the banker’s desk. “Is this Cecilia and Maximus?”
“Yes, it is,” Aggie said proudly. “Come here, children – I want you to meet someone.”
The children hopped off their chairs and approached shyly.
“Don’t let their caution fool you,” she said. “As soon as they know you’re a friend, they won’t leave your side. Then you’re just someone to work their wiles on.”
“They only do that because their Uncle Lucius always has candy in his pockets,” Eldon explained. “Now they think everyone does.”
Jonathan bent over and rested his hands on his knees to get eye level with the children. “I’m afraid I’m going to be a disappointment. I haven’t got a bit of candy on me.”
“That’s all right,” Cecilia said. She had brown hair and dark eyes like her mother. Jonathan pictured her looking very much like Aggie when she grew up. Maximus also had dark hair and eyes, but looked more like his father.
“That’s good to know,” Jonathan said. “Now if I’m gonna commence visiting with your Ma and Pa, I’d better go rent a horse from Mr. Brown.”
Maximus smiled at him, reached into his pocket and pulled out a half-eaten peppermint stick. The candy was covered with pocket lint, bits of dirt and who knew what else. “Here, Mister. You can have my candy since you ain’t got none.”
“Don’t have any,” Aggie corrected.
Jonathan’s shoulders shook with silent laughter. He didn’t want to embarrass the child. He reached out and took the sticky mess. “That’s very generous of you, thanks. Are you sure you want to give it up?”
Maximus shook his head.
“You’re not sure? Well, maybe I’d better not take it then –”
Without a word, Max snatched it out of his hand and stuck it back into his pocket. He grinned and ran back to his chair.
Eldon shook his head in dismay. “Did I mention he takes after his Uncle Lucius?” Lucius had a notorious sweet tooth.
Jonathan burst out laughing. “No, but it’s obvious. I’m surprised he poured honey on Jasper Smith’s boots – you’d think he wouldn’t want to part with it.”
“Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet,” Aggie assured.
“I can’t wait to hear about what you two have been doing. But first let me see a man about a horse.” And if he was lucky, he’d see Maisie Woodhouse in the process. For whatever reason, he couldn’t get her out of his mind.
Six
Maisie trudged up the mercantile steps and went inside. Mama had been exceptionally stubborn this morning – not o
nly about eating breakfast, but getting dressed as well. Honestly, what woman wanted to stay in her nightclothes all day? It’s not as if she was sick – she didn’t have a fever, didn’t complain of any aches or pains. She was just ...
... losing her mind? she thought. Please, God, don’t let it be.
“Good morning, Maisie,” Abigail said as Maisie approached the counter, then looked at her a little closer. “Is everything all right?”
Maisie leaned against the counter and felt like beating her head against it a few times. If Mrs. Petroff wasn’t nearby looking at ribbons, she might have. “It’s my mother. Again.”
“Oh no, I’m sorry. What ...?”
“Don’t ask.” Maisie held up a hand.
Abigail nodded in understanding. “Though I will ask what you’re planning to do,” she said softly.
“What I should have done yesterday and didn’t – speak with the doctor. It’s just that ...” She rubbed her hand across her eyes, fighting tears. “Never mind. I’d rather not talk about it.”
Abigail put a hand on Maisie’s arm. “I won’t press you. But if you want to talk later, you know where to find me.”
Maisie smiled at the slight joke – it would be just the two of them minding the store for the rest of the day. This being Wednesday, Jasper would be making his afternoon rounds to the local farmers, buying produce to sell. This time of year, that meant pumpkins, squash and the like.
“Abigail,” said Mrs. Petroff as she joined them at the counter. “How much for this green ribbon?”
“Five cents, but is green really your color?”
“It’s not for me,” Mrs. Petroff said with a giggle. “It’s for Merritt.”
“Your granddaughter?” Maisie said, glad for the change of subject. “Is she back?”
“They’ll be back any day now. She and Rafe had a lovely time in Seattle. I hope that Rafe didn’t find himself a job there and is coming home to whisk us all away.”
“He would really do that?” Maisie asked in surprise.
