by Tanya Hanson
“Well, see those strips of velvet? I don't need them, so I'll stitch them up and stuff it full of cotton wool and make her a ball.”
“And Uncle Brix?”
Fortunately, Katie interrupted that chain of discussion. “Will my hat be done by next Sunday? I will be the prettiest girl in Sunday School.”
Minda laughed. “Now, Katie, it's far better to be kind and smart.”
“Mr. Hackett says that very thing. But I still want my pretty hat.”
“Mr. Hackett?” Minda's sadness stirred a bit. Her husband had wanted to stake a claim on her then.
“Oh, he and Miss Gracey teach us a Bible story on Sundays after the reverend finishes up with church.”
“Do you attend, too, Ned?”
But the little boy seemed fretful for a second, and she did not persist. Then she saw that of the ribbons forming the dog's legs was loose, so she tied it with a smile.
Without being asked, the ever-efficient Katie began to set the table. “Here, you'll sit right next to Uncle Brix,” she said happily, situating two plates and chairs close together.
“I think ... I don't think he'll be around for breakfast,” Minda said gently, wondering how she could explain the circumstance that lay so heavy in her heart and mind. It didn't seem fair at all, youngsters like this losing both men in their lives so close together.
“'Course he will.” Katie nodded, her cheeks bright. “A man needs a hearty meal, Papa used to say. I saw Uncle Brix heading toward the field on my way to the privy at sunup. He'll be hungry by this time.”
He was here? He'd stayed on? What had changed his mind?
Minda could barely breathe. It could either be a dream of love come true, or a nightmare of resentment.
“I'll go get him and blow my whistle,” Neddie said, his little face covered with smiles now.
Minda made up her mind then and there. Brix had changed her life's plans. She deserved to know his. But her stomach both churned with dread and fluttered with butterflies.
“No, I'll get him this morning. Here's a nice scrambled egg for Priscilla. Would you mind feeding her, Katie? Then you two enjoy your breakfast. I won't be gone long.”
“What's these?” Ned's eyes widened with interest at the full plate Minda set before him. She'd carved a circle in the bread slices and fried an egg inside.
“My mama called them God's eyes. Fitting for the Lord's day, don't you think?”
Nodding as he chewed, he wiped his face on his sleeve.
Oh well. She had washing to do later anyway.
But right now, she had a husband to find.
* * * *
Brix watered the draft horse and rubbed the hard-working animal's nose. Cornstalks taller than a man whispered around him in the wind. At least last night's rain meant he wouldn't have to be hauling water from the river for a while.
He felt the satisfaction Norman Dale must have felt, the wheat harvest near done. But his stomach grumbled, and his head started to ache just above his eyebrows. Not wanting to face Minda, he'd left the house before sunup without a bite or even a cup of coffee.
No true man could regret that night in her arms, lost in her body. It had been perfection. But he had doubts now in the morning sun. He'd made her his wife and a woman all the way, but he didn't want to be a husband.
And now, hell, any true woman would think that's just what last night meant.
He sensed her before he heard or saw her, took a deep breath and faced her. She had her hair down, long and wispy in the wind, and she wore a pretty purple dress, holding up the skirts although the mud had caked somewhat in the hot sun. He couldn't help a smile. Underneath the yards of purple and petticoat she wore Norman Dale's oldest boots.
A bashful smile turned up the corners of the mouth where he'd found a sense of heaven. He forced his brain not to recall how she looked, eyes wide with wonder, when he'd entered her.
It was time. He couldn't let her think he was what she'd come to Paradise to find.
“'Morning, Miz Haynes,” he said as she neared, hating the disappointment that crumpled her face. They'd used their first names all night long. But it was for the best. He was here now but he wouldn't be staying long. And he should have told her his decision last night, before. For likely she thought he was here this morning because of her.
Her eyes didn't meet his now, and he was glad for two reasons. He didn't want to read the hurt there, or lose himself in them.
“It's time for breakfast,” she said with a quick glance, “and you should know the children adored their toys.”
“I'll wash up first. Been wondering what kind of plaything to invent for Silly. Seems too old for a rattle.”
“I'm sure she'd love anything you had to give,” Minda said softly, and his heart pounded with real pain. She turned back toward the house, her backside ruffling her dress as she started out.
He swallowed hard against a dozen kinds of emptiness he felt inside. No denying he cared for her, in his way, and the kids, too. But this wasn't the life he'd been called to live. He'd never made it a secret to anybody, not even his dying brother.
Not at all. Now was the time to remind her again and let her know for sure. “Miz Haynes? Minda?”
She turned back, and her wonderful bosom rose in a deep breath. “Yes?”
“Last night? It was a powerful mistake. I'm not saying I didn't enjoy it, but I had no right.” Enjoy it? He'd gone to heaven and back a dozen times, taking her with him if he did say so himself.
“You had every right, Brixton. You're my husband.”
He shuffled his boots, disappointed in himself and not liking it. But worse, he hated hurting her and never thought that feeling would ever cross his bones. Not long ago, he'd held her to blame for his brother's death.
“Thing is, I should have told you before. Before it happened...” Once again he looked away from her face. It had grown quite pale. “What I mean to say is, I'm not staying around because of, because of last night.”
“Why then?” She faced him, sounding strong and determined. The wind caught that scent of roses and drew it straight into his nostrils, and worse, his heart.
“I figured it best, me sticking around, but just for a while. Just ‘til the doc's around and says Silly's well. And then, ‘til the Perkins gang's locked up.”
“But...”
He interrupted her. “Now, you got no need to worry about money. Today's the last day I'm hiring Monty and Clem. There isn't much wheat to bring in. I recall how to do it. Folks in town say wheat prices are high. And corn won't need taking down ‘til September. By then...” He paused, comforted a little by her eyes. They weren't dripping tears or fired up with anger. “By then, I'll be long back in Texas, earning good cash to pay field hands.”
She shrugged, and the cloth of her dress tightened over her breasts. His manhood moved.
“And ‘til then,” he said, quick before he could change his mind, “I'll be sleeping outside, like before.”
“All right then,” she said. “Come eat now. With breakfast so late this morning, Sunday dinner will be later, too. Oh and Brixton? Think about something else while you wash up. Just how long do you figure my payback should last?”
She turned and hurried back to the house. Brix tensed with another kind of emptiness.
He hadn't given one single thought about her leaving him.
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* * *
Chapter Nine
The next noon, Reverend Jake Satterburg drove up to the Haynes homestead in a smart buggy and helped down his three stair-step little boys and pretty yellow-haired wife. Minda swallowed down a tense and tightened throat.
The reverend might be here to chide her for keeping the children from yesterday's service. Worse, Gracey might have resumed her quest to take Priscilla.
Gracey knocked on the back door. Minda held the baby close as she opened it. For an unpleasant moment, Minda remembered Jake's enormous part in the trick played on her and resent
ed him anew.
Jake remained outside with the children, giving Ned an affectionate hug and tugging Katie's braid. At least Brixton hadn't shirked that duty. Minda hadn't seen her husband since supper last night when she'd moved apart the plates Katie had set together. He'd never met her eyes, and true to his word, he'd resumed sleeping outside.
“Afternoon, Minda.” At least the preacher's wife smiled as a friend, not as a scheming harpy intent on nabbing a child not her own. In the crook of her arm, she held a large basket covered in yellow gingham.
“Welcome, Gracey. Be pleased to have you join us for dinner.” Minda could easily set up a bacon and potato pie.
“Nonsense.” Gracey's smile grew bigger yet, and she wiggled the yellow cloth. “We're here to invite you and the kids on a picnic at the riverbank. After that dreadful storm, it's such a beautiful day. Sun's dried the mud.”
“Why, I don't know. It does sound pleasant, but I've got much to do.” The invitation both pleased and stunned her. Were the Satterburgs merely checking whether Brixton had left? A picnic would be a welcome diversion from her troubled life. The payback issue weighed heavy on her soul. Perhaps she had no legal obligations to the children as Brixton's wife, but she certainly had moral ones.
And, of course, Brixton's lovemaking had instilled new worries. She had welcomed him into her bed, and into her body, and still trembled about their glorious night. But what if he'd given her a child? Then they'd be bound together forever. She longed for children of her own, but he'd made it perfectly clear that a wife was the last thing he wanted.
Gracey glowed with summer sun and enthusiasm. Minda noticed the homely floppy bonnet, thinking how well one of her designs would frame the minister's wife's lovely face.
“Now everybody needs to eat,” Gracey said. “Just a short dinner break to get some fresh air. The kids will love it.”
Minda couldn't help thinking of her husband and the noon meal she ought to make for him. He'd been out harvesting since sunup and would be powerfully hungry. Despite Katie's proclamation that a man needed breakfast, Brixton had fended for himself.
And that had been good for Minda. It had been painful enough last night at suppertime, forcing her eyes away from the delightful movement of his muscles beneath his shirt even in the simple action of lifting his fork to his mouth.
Of course, the children would love an outing. Right now, each held one of Jake's hands, dragging him off toward the barn, no doubt to play with the kittens and examine the heifer. His three boys followed like a dotted line.
“Why, thanks, Gracey. Let me see what I can rustle up to share.”
“Minda, I...”
Minda paused. Gracey was starting to sound like she had at the wedding when she brought her cause of adopting Priscilla out in the open. “Yes, Gracey?”
“Minda, I had no right to think Priscilla could be mine. Jake had nothing to do with that, and I repent my selfishness. But in turn, I believed him and Brix terribly wrong to keep such secrets from you.” Gracey closed her troubled eyes for a second, “If you'd like, that is, if you wouldn't mind, maybe we could be friends?”
Gracey's voice was earnest, but she looked away, cheeks flushed.
“Of course. I would like nothing better.” Minda meant it, and reached out to touch Gracey's arm. They were of similar age, and land sakes, she could certainly use a friend, especially one who understood her misery at being duped.
Although Gracey's smile was friendly and bright, her voice remained serious. “But Brix is a good man, Minda. Truly. He, Jake, and I have been pals since we were all kids ourselves. He, well, he heard the call to ride the trail, same as Jake took the call to preach. It isn't all that easy, doing what you're meant to do.” She looked away.
Unsure what to say, Minda moved to the workspace in the kitchen area, slicing the fresh bread she'd baked, and gathering up a pot of jam.
In her heart, she knew Brixton was a good man. He just didn't have inside him what it took to be a good husband.
And, she reminded herself sadly, he'd never made that a secret.
It was better to discuss harmless topics right now with someone who'd been her friend for just five minutes. “So you grew up in Paradise?”
“My pa's the blacksmith. My brother, Nathan, mostly runs the smith and livery now. But Pa likes to keep his hands in. Jake's ma was widowed early on. She runs the boardinghouse. You likely met them all at the wedding.” Gracey's face flamed at mentioning the controversial event, and she awkwardly moved toward Minda's sewing basket.
Minda couldn't help a friendly smile to ease her new friend's embarrassment. “I'm certain I did. But it'll take me a while to rethink everybody's faces and names.”
“We figured the storm kept you all from church yesterday. Caldwell and I always teach a Bible story after, and your kids don't like to miss.”
Caldwell. Caldwell Hackett. Minda froze the memory to a standstill, saying instead, “Yes. Brixton was out all night rescuing Buttermilk. I was terrified. He'd kicked himself out of the barn during a lightning strike. I'm certain I locked the door, but he sure was riled.”
“He does have something of a temper,” Gracey said. “There's a bit of gossip in town about him and Caldwell.”
Minda's face muscles screwed together in consternation. She had to face the townsfolk tomorrow to buy supplies.
“But everybody's used to it,” Gracey said. “They're good fellows, but they enjoy wrangling over anything and everything. Everybody knows how Caldwell spoke out against Brix marrying you. You know, without your knowledge or consent.”
Gracey's words sounded like those Caldwell Hackett might use. According to Brixton, the schoolmaster wanted to be Minda's beau. Could she fend off Caldwell after her husband left?
Or would Caldwell be the kind of husband she'd come for, one who stayed home and honored his vows? It didn't matter. Minda had a husband already, for better or worse.
Just then, Priscilla reached for Gracey, who hugged her eagerly. As usual, the baby stuffed her fist into her mouth and gnawed.
“She's eating healthy now, but she's been a bit puny,” Minda said, no longer fearful that Gracey would deem her a bad mother. She explained the symptoms of the mysterious ailment. The short convulsion still terrified her.
“Growing teeth sets every bit of a baby into disarray,” Gracey said. “And a raging fever can be a big part. You did the right thing with the willow bark to get the fever down. We prairie folks understand nature's remedies more than city medicines.”
Well, only thanks to Brixton. But at least Minda knew now. Relief filled her like air.
“Come on, let's call the children and get them washed up,” Minda said, bright, eager for companionship and a change of scenery.
“Oh, they can wash up at the river. Minda, what's this?” Gracey had found Katie's new hat in the basket.
Minda's cheeks warmed, though she'd heard compliments on her hats for years. “I ... I worked for the millinery back home. But now I find it relaxes me, as well. Fact is, that one helped calm me the night the horses got loose.” She wanted to let Gracey know she intended to make her a new hat, but Gracey burst in quickly.
“Well, now Minda. Do you know about the Bonnet Race? You simply must construct a new hat for yourself.”
“Bonnet Race?”
“For the Platte County Fair.”
“The fair. Of course.” Minda remembered seeing playbills announcing the event pasted on the mercantile's windows. She'd been searching for wanted posters about the Perkins gang.
Oh, the gang. Her heart thumped anew.
“You see, ladies and girls decorate special hats for the day.” Gracey giggled, taking Katie's new hat and positioning it atop her own bonnet, and went on to demonstrate. “There's a row of fence posts outside of town. We hang ‘em on the posts. The men race their horses three miles from the Lewis place at Shell Creek to the finish line past the cemetery.”
Gracey's hands pointed to different directions. “But even the f
astest man can't win the race unless he's retrieved his sweetheart's bonnet.” Her pale green eyes gleamed and she gave a hearty laugh.
“I tell you, Minda. It gets a real mess there at the gauntlet of fence posts. All those men and horses finding the right bonnet. Some men can't even get close enough to reach the one they want.”
Minda's mind was busy with the image. Just like Katie, she wanted her hat to be the prettiest. But even if he was around, Brix would never declare her his sweetheart. “Brixton wouldn't...
“And there's a forty dollar prize.” Gracey nodded emphatically.
Forty dollars? Even Brixton might go for that.
“But best of all.” Gracey smacked her lips. “The traditional celebration is a good, long kiss for the winner and his sweetheart. In front of everybody.”
No, Brixton definitely wouldn't.
“But what if a man doesn't have a sweetheart? Or a lady, either?”
“There's always a secret admirer who wants that kiss, even if the lady's married,” Gracey said. “No one takes offense. It's all in good fun.”
“Well, Gracey. Let's go get that picnic over and done. Sounds like we've got some new hats to plan.”
Gracey pinked again. “Oh, I'll just plunk some goldenrod and meadow flowers on this old thing.”
“Nonsense. I've got just the idea.”
“Don't matter. Jake tries but he'll never win. Even as a kid, he wasn't that nimble on a horse. Not like Brix. Now being the preacher, Jake stays dignified. It would never do for him to take a tumble.”
“Whether he wins or not, I want to make you a new hat, as a thank-you for caring for the children so many times.”
“Why, thank you kindly, Minda,” her new friend said bashfully. “I'd like that.”
Jake came inside to join them. “Afternoon, Minda.” He nodded politely, then offered her his arm. His smile was genuine, and her resentment eased. What had Gracey said? It wasn't easy doing what you had to do.
“Minda, let's go out to the field and get your husband to join us. The children just told me he didn't go back to Texas after all.”
