“Why didn’t your mother teach you?”
That question caught Lorinda by surprise. She had never told anyone much about her early life, not even Mike. Should she trust this woman with some of the information? Maybe she could let down her walls a little, because Mrs. Oleson had been nothing but kind to her.
“Ma died when I was young. I barely remember her. After that, Pa and me just muddled along the best we could. Most times, we didn’t do a very good job.”
She knew that was vague, but she didn’t want to tell her the whole truth. The shame she carried most of her life. At least, Mike hadn’t probed too deeply, so he loved her instead of pitying her.
“Then you had no way of learning what you needed to know. That’s not your fault.”
Mrs. Oleson’s words poured over her like warm honey, filling the cracks in her defenses. Lorinda nodded.
“You’ve really picked up on the things I’ve been showing you. I imagine you could probably write down a receipt for the pie crust since you were listening so intently.” Mrs. Oleson sprinkled flour over one end of the table, then turned the dough out of the bowl and patted it down until it was about an inch thick. Then she used her well-worn, wooden rolling pin to start flattening it even more. “You don’t want to work the dough too much, or it’ll become tough. Would you like some paper so you can write down the instructions?”
Lorinda would, but paper was a luxury item to her.
“Did you go to school?” That must have been an afterthought for the older woman.
“Not much. But after we were married, Mike taught me to read and write. I can even cipher numbers. Maybe not really big ones, but some.”
Mrs. Oleson wiped her hands on her apron and left the room, returning with a sheet of the nicest paper Lorinda had ever seen and a sharpened pencil. “Go ahead and write it down. When you’re finished, sprinkle cinnamon and sugar over the apples and raisins then mix it all together.”
While they finished creating the pie, their conversation flowed like an ebbing river. Lorinda lost herself in the rhythm of the words. Having a woman discuss things with her was heavenly. Pa had hardly spoken to her unless he was drunk, and the things he said then felt more like rocks hitting her heart. Mike had talked to her, but he didn’t really listen to what she wanted. His way was the only way to do things. At least, his lovemaking made up for all the rest...almost.
“So you can read. What kinds of books do you like?”
“The only book I’ve ever had was my mother’s Bible. But Mike and I read it together a lot.” She watched how Mrs. Oleson folded the crust to transfer it to the greased pie tin. That looked easy enough.
“I like to read on a long winter evening after all the chores are done, so I have quite a few books. I’d be glad for you to borrow some of them.”
Lorinda thought this must be what heaven was like. Being treated with such honest caring, having plenty to eat, and even books she could explore.
If only she didn’t feel like an interloper here.
Today, while he worked with the hands on the ranch, Franklin also checked for signs the arsonist might still be in the area. None of the patrols his men had been on could find a trace of him beyond the footprints he left at the Sullivan claim, and they only led to where a horse had trampled the snow. After the man had mounted his horse, he made his way to the road across the mountain, so there was no way to follow him beyond where his hoofprints intermingled with so many others. Maybe it was time to relax and quit worrying about the blackguard. He was probably long gone.
Every time his thoughts turned toward the miscreant, they then meandered in the direction of Lorinda. No matter how hard he tried to keep his mind on his business, his thoughts had a will of their own.
When he’d been at the house these last couple of weeks, he’d done his best to stay away from the woman. Mainly just seeing her at mealtime. That suited him just fine. Of course, Mrs. Oleson kept him apprized of the events at the house, and the woman had been settling in quite nicely. Even if that wasn’t what he wanted. And the two women got along really well.
After arriving back at the stable behind the ranch house, he took care of Major before heading in to supper. An enticing smell greeted him at the door, a mingling of hearty stew and his favorite pie. Apple raisin. His stomach gave an appreciative growl, and hunger overtook him. He quickly cleaned up in the mud room and entered the warm, brightly-lit kitchen.
“Mrs. Oleson, something smells delicious.”
Lorinda glanced up from where she was setting the table, her blue eyes reminding him of a warm summer day, instead of the lingering cold of spring. She quickly averted her gaze.
The woman looked much healthier than she had when he’d found her beside her burned-out cabin. Staying at his ranch must be good for her. Until now, he hadn’t noticed how much her size had changed the last two weeks. Her impending motherhood had progressed, and her arms and face looked like they had filled out. All that did was increase her beauty. He took a deep breath and looked away.
He would have been married by now, probably with a child or two, if Miriam and Marvin hadn’t broken his heart. No matter how much he wanted a son to inherit his vast holdings, it wasn’t going to happen … ever.
Spears of jealousy lanced his gut. How could he be envious of a dead man? It hardly seemed fair that a corpse’s wife was nearing her delivery time, and Franklin had no hope of a family. No way would he ever trust his heart to another woman, even if she was beautiful, with curls the color of summer sunshine. Why would a loving God let such a thing happen to him?
“Did you want to eat now or after you read the mail Terrell brought from town when he went in for supplies?” His housekeeper stood beside the stove, stirring the pot of stew.
Needing to rein in his emotions, he headed toward the doorway to the hall. “I’ll just check what arrived. I should be back to eat in about fifteen minutes.”
“Dinner will be on the table by then.” He heard Mrs. Oleson put the cover on the simmering stew pot.
He didn’t look back as he hurried toward his office. After reaching the desk, he shuffled through the envelopes, reading the return addresses. Nothing looked to be pressing, so he walked over to the front windows. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared out at the mountain peaks in the distance.
He loved this land. When he was younger he’d had dreams of being like his father and passing it on, but all that was futile now. Why was he working so hard to preserve the ranch? Probably because he didn’t know what else to do. Maybe when he died, the ranch could be divided between his most loyal employees.
He huffed out a deep breath. Why was he worrying about that? He was a young man with plenty of time to decide what to do. Mike Sullivan didn’t expect to die when he did either. He was younger than you are. The sudden thought blind-sided him. Well, he didn’t need to dwell on that. Good food awaited him.
On the way back down the hallway to the kitchen, he identified the pleasing aroma of baking biscuits intermingling with the other scents. Once more, his stomach let him know he was way past hungry. With all the work today, he’d developed an enormous appetite.
Mrs. Oleson looked up when he stopped in the doorway. “You’re right on time, Franklin. Lorinda and I just put out the last of the food.” She tucked the tea towel around the golden biscuits to keep them hot.
He took his place at the head of the table with a woman on either side of him, facing each other. At least, his newest employee wasn’t across from him where he’d see every move she made.
After they were all seated, he bowed his head. “Father God, thank you for the food and the hands that prepared it. In Jesus’ name. Amen.”
Before he started eating, he turned his gaze toward Mrs. Oleson. “Everything looks delicious.”
“I made the stew for the most part. Lorinda peeled the potatoes.”
He nodded his thanks toward the younger woman. When his housekeeper passed the basket of biscuits to him, he took two and put them
on the saucer beside his bowl of steaming stew.
While he reached for the butter, Mrs. Oleson added, “Lorinda made these biscuits and helped me with the pie. She’s a good cook.”
He glanced once more toward the younger woman and found her sitting with her hands in her lap and her face turned down as if she were still praying. A becoming blush stained her cheeks. Maybe she wasn’t used to compliments, but surely her husband had told her he liked her cooking...and how lovely she was. If not, the man was an ingrate.
After a moment, she picked up her spoon and tasted the stew.
Why hadn’t he paid any attention to the woman? His callous treatment may have contributed to her reticence. Perhaps he should make her feel welcome as long as she was here in his home anyway. He wouldn’t have treated any of his other employees the way he’d been treating her.
He sank his teeth into the biscuit dripping with melted butter, the perfect accompaniment to the steaming beef stew. “These biscuits are every bit as good as Mrs. Oleson’s. Thank you, Mrs. Sullivan.”
A slow smile spread across her face, finally reaching her eyes. “Th...thank you, Mr. Vine.”
That broke the ice, and the conversation flowed freely throughout supper.
When they had finished eating the main part of the meal, Mrs. Oleson cut the pie. Franklin noticed Lorinda didn’t take a taste until after he did.
“Ladies, this is wonderful. It’s still warm.” He shoved another bite into his mouth, and that shy smile once again crept over her features.
After Mrs. Oleson set down with her dessert, she smiled at the younger woman. “Lorinda dear, I have a cedar chest I’m not using anymore. I’ll have one of the hands move it into your room. You can put all your new things for the baby in it.”
Lorinda’s eyes widened, then tears glistened on her lashes. “Thank you.”
“That’s a good idea.” Franklin got up and patted his stomach. “I’m as full as a tick on a hound dog.”
Both women laughed.
“I can move the cedar chest for you.” Franklin welcomed his housekeeper’s thoughtfulness. From now on, he would try to be more kind to the young widow.
After all, she wouldn’t be here very long.
Chapter 9
On a cold evening in late March, Franklin leaned back in the rocking chair on the front porch and crossed his feet on the railing. Lacing the fingers of both hands behind his head, he watched the fading colors of the sunset slip behind the mountain peaks, revealing a clear, starry sky. Everything was calm on the ranch. Just the way he liked it. With the number of calves his cattle had produced, he’d be able to thin the herd and sell a goodly number to the mining companies. Even ship beeves to the Denver market.
Things had settled down on the home front as well. He’d gotten used to Lorinda being a part of his household, and she was more relaxed around him. If he were honest with himself, he welcomed her presence.
Mrs. Oleson often told him how much she was enjoying all the help Lorinda gave her. She’d been missing having a woman to talk to and hadn’t realized how much until Lorinda came. Maybe he’d offer the widow a permanent place on his staff. The long winter ahead would be more comfortable with his housekeeper having another woman around the place. They did work well together.
The front door squeaked open behind him. He’d need to have Rusty oil the hinges tomorrow.
“Franklin.” Mrs. Oleson’s voice sounded agitated.
His feet dropped to the floor with a thud, and he rose to face her. “Do you need my help?” When he caught a glimpse of her face, he knew it wasn’t something simple. “What happened?”
Wringing her hands, she was more frantic than he’d ever seen her. “Lorinda has gone into labor, and it’s progressing right along. We need the doctor to come as soon as possible. Could you send one of the men to get him?”
Franklin stared at her for a moment while he figured the best thing to do. “Major is the fastest horse in the stable. I’ll ride into Breckenridge myself.” He had to do something to help the two women under his care.
He quickly entered the house and grabbed his hat, coat, and holster. Running toward the barn, he buckled the gun belt around his waist. After he saddled his stallion, he rode out of the building while Rusty waited to close the door. He gave a quick wave to Mrs. Oleson as he sped past. A strong feeling of unease held him fast in its grip. He hoped Doc was available. Lorinda needed the man, and he’d make sure she had his help.
Major enjoyed a good run. Since the moon shone bright in the night sky, Franklin could let him have his head. While they thundered down the road, he whispered a quick prayer for Mrs. Oleson and Lorinda. But soon he ran out of the right words. He’d heard other men at church say that having a first child could be dangerous. Too many women died in childbirth. Thinking about the possibility of that happening to Lorinda punched him in the gut. He couldn’t let that happen, no matter what he had to do to prevent it. The sooner he got the doctor and they returned to the ranch, the better.
Franklin made good time reaching the edge of Breckenridge. He expected the town to be quiet, except for the area where the saloons were located, but that wasn’t the case. Hordes of people were out and about, scurrying here and there. All the conversations sounded ominous, even though he couldn’t distinguish the words.
The windows on the parsonage were well-lit, but not at the doctor’s house. Still he knocked on the door, trying to raise the medical man. After he waited a couple of minutes, he pounded even harder. No one came, so he headed toward the parsonage.
Just before his knuckles reached the door, it opened, and he almost rapped the pastor in the face. The man quickly raised his hand to catch Franklin’s fist.
“Sorry, Pastor. I wasn’t trying to slug you.”
The man of God smiled. “I know. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Both men chuckled.
“So what can–”
“So where were–”
After they spoke at the same time, Franklin stepped back. “Go ahead, Pastor.” He hoped the man wouldn’t be long-winded with his answer as he sometimes was on Sunday.
“I was asking what I could do for you.” Reverend Nelson thrust his hands into the front pockets of his slacks. “But you were asking me a question as well.”
“I’ve got to find Dr. Winston. No one answered the door at his house. We need him at the ranch right now.” It took all Franklin’s determination to keep himself from hurrying away. He would have if he’d had any idea where to find Doc.
“Mrs. Winston has gone to Denver to visit their daughter, and Doc is at Farncomb Hill. There’s been a mine cave-in. They’re digging out the men who were trapped. Some of them are pretty banged up. I was there earlier, but I came home for supper. I’m heading back over to see if I can help.”
“I’ll tag along. Mrs. Sullivan is in labor, and Mrs. Oleson sent me for the doctor. I sure hope he can go back with me.” What would he do if Doc couldn’t? God, please let him go.
“It’s her first baby, isn’t it? She hasn’t brought a child to church with her, but she could have lost a child before.” The minister swiftly headed toward the livery where he kept his horse stabled.
“Yes, it is. I’m sure she would have mentioned losing a child … at least to Mrs. Oleson.” Franklin led Major as he walked beside the pastor. He didn’t want to let on how worried he was about Lorinda. That could raise all kind of questions in Brian Nelson’s mind, and he didn’t need that right now. “How many men are trapped?”
“They’ve rescued most of them, but five were still inside when I left.”
Brian saddled his horse, and they headed east from town. Once more the bright moon lit the way. They rode so fast conversation wasn’t possible, which was fine with Franklin. His thoughts kept returning to the women at the ranch, and his stomach roiled. He wished he hadn’t eaten such a large supper. The way he was feeling right now, some of it might erupt at any time.
When they wound around the last mountain,
the area of the mine was lit up, and men scurried all over the place like ants on an anthill. As the two men reined in at the front of the main building, the area of the mine was well-lit with a multitude of candles in the building, and lanterns swung from poles and trees. Searchers also carried lanterns with them.
After tying their horses to the hitching rail, they entered the large room that looked like a makeshift hospital.
When they opened the door, Dr. Winston raised his head from hovering over a patient.
“How’s it going, Doc?” Brian headed toward him. “Have they brought out any more men?”
“Not yet. But there’s plenty for me to do here.” Worry creased his brow as he glanced down at the man lying on the improvised bed on the floor, then walked over to meet them out of earshot of the injured men. “I’m not sure whether everyone here is going to make it.”
“I’ll go and start praying for them individually.” The minister stepped away.
Dr. Winston turned eyes, bloodshot with fatigue, toward Franklin. “Did you come to help?”
“No. Mrs. Sullivan has gone into labor, and Mrs. Oleson sent me to bring you back to the ranch.” He held his hat so tight, he crushed the brim.
The doctor dropped his head against his chest. Franklin waited, but the man didn’t say anything for quite awhile. This made Franklin more anxious. What could he do if the doctor wouldn’t come?
Finally the man raised his head. “I just can’t leave these men right now.”
Franklin knew the doctor needed to be here to try to keep as many men from dying as he could, but Lorinda needed him too. Despair fell over him like a smothering quilt.
“What do I tell Mrs. Oleson?” He couldn’t keep his worry from shouting through his words.
“That I can’t leave these men.” His tone emphatic, the doctor put his hand on Franklin’s shoulder. “And everyone around here is helping with the cave-in. Women have had babies since the world began, son. I’m sure Mrs. Oleson will do just fine helping Mrs. Sullivan. Maybe you can ask the pastor to pray for them while he’s praying for the injured miners.”
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