Leora_Bride of California

by Kit Morgan

  “I’ve never made a quilt before,” she said nervously.

  “They’ll be happy to show you,” he said with a smile as they went in the house. Theron took off his jacket and hung it on a peg by the door. Leora hadn’t bothered with her shawl when they left for the office after lunch, so stood and watched as he took a couple of books off a small table by the sofa and carried them into the dining room to set on the table. He then turned to her. “What’s for supper?”

  She blanched. He knew she could only make one thing. And did he even have what she needed to do that? “Soup?” she said tentatively.

  He smiled as his shoulders shook with mirth. “Soup it is, then. I have some studying to do. I’ll be right here if you need anything.”

  She gave him a single nod, wiped her hands on her skirt (good grief, were her palms sweating?) and went into the kitchen. Once there she stood near the stove glancing this way and that. She didn’t even know where anything was yet. “Well,” she said as she rolled up her sleeves, “time to find out.”

  She did a quick search of the kitchen to find out where Theron kept everything, then set to work. He had a few potatoes and carrots, one onion and a slightly wizened bulb of garlic. That would do. He probably bought his meat from the local butcher along with his eggs and milk. She’d have to ask to go shopping at some point – his larder was definitely low on supplies.

  She soon had a pot of soup on the stove. At least she didn’t have to start a fire – Theron had banked it well after lunch. Time to set to work on a batch of biscuits – she’d seen Judith and Beth make them enough times when they lived together that she felt confident she could whip up a batch on her own.

  After she put the biscuits in the oven, she studied the kitchen again. It was such a large, wonderful room, and she couldn’t help but picture herself pulling a roasted chicken out of the oven and serving it to her family. With Thanksgiving and Christmas coming up, would Theron expect them to entertain? Was she going to have to worry about making an entire holiday dinner or two?

  Leora shuddered at the thought and knew a visit with Mrs. Pleet was in order, before she got in over her head. What an embarrassment that would be! She was embarrassed enough as it was that she had so little experience with such things. Worse yet, what if Mrs. Rutherford and her cronies were there?

  But then, why would they be?

  “Is supper almost ready?” Theron asked as he came into the kitchen. “Smells good.”

  “It’s soup and biscuits,” she said flatly.

  He sat next to her. “You’ll be making a variety of things in no time.”

  “Yes, you should be thankful for Mrs. Pleet. Otherwise, who knows what you’d be eating. I’m glad she offered to help.”

  “You’ll enjoy spending time with her, too,” he said.

  “What … um, what are you planning to do for Thanksgiving and Christmas?”

  “I usually get invited to dine with someone. I’ve never had to prepare a meal. But this year will be different,” he said happily.

  What little culinary confidence Leora had, dropped to near zero. “Oh?” came out a chirp.

  “Yes, we can invite some of the poor to eat with us. I help with preparing the gift baskets, but to have some of them here, wouldn’t that be nice?”

  “As long as they’re not too picky.”

  He laughed. “Oh, stop that. Mrs. Pleet will have you cooking up a storm in no time, you’ll see. Besides, you have a few weeks to learn.”

  Leora sighed. “Thank Heaven for that.” She got up, pulled the biscuits out of the oven, then braced herself. This was Theron’s first time trying her cooking and she wanted him to like it. She dished him up a bowl of soup, buttered a few biscuits and set everything in front of him. She did the same for herself, sat and stared.

  He looked at her, smiled, then said the blessing. “You can’t stand it, can you?” he asked.

  “Stand what?”

  “For me to taste it.”

  “What? Oh heavens, no, it’s … I’m just being polite.”

  He grinned and made a show of picking up his spoon. “Shall I count to three, then take a taste?”

  “Stop that!”

  He laughed, scooped up a spoonful of soup and sniffed it. “Hmmm…”

  Leora tried to keep from fidgeting. “Be honest.”

  He took a small sip, then another, then the spoonful. He scooped up another …

  “Well?” she asked.

  He held up a hand to quiet her and took another spoonful. He then reached for a biscuit, dipped it in the bowl and ate it.

  “Well?”

  “Not yet,” he said and spooned more soup into his mouth.

  She watched him, wondering what he thought. Why was this so important to her? Why did she want him to like her cooking (such as it was) so much? If he didn’t like it, Mrs. Pleet could teach her to get better – simple. But for some reason this first time was important. She needed to know she’d done something right.

  She swallowed hard as a picture of Mr. Egan screaming in her face flashed before her, and flinched.

  Theron looked up from his bowl. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

  She started at the question. Good grief, get a hold of yourself! she thought. It’s soup, for crying out loud! But Leora realized it was more than that. The simple meal had to be … perfect. She forced herself to pick up her spoon and begin to eat. The soup was good, at least to her. But Theron … she looked at his bowl.

  Hope sprang up like a weed. It was nearly empty! “Do you want some more?”

  “I’ll get it, you eat.”

  Relief washed over her. He liked it! Or was he just being polite? She drew in a breath as he got up and went to the stove. Soup! A pot of soup had her so on edge she couldn’t eat! What was wrong with her? So what if he didn’t like it? Wouldn’t she want to know?

  He returned to the table, sat and dug into his second bowl.

  Just ask him, Leora, she thought to herself. For heaven’s sake, it’s soup, not some fancy meal! “It’s okay, then?”

  He glanced up, a biscuit in his hand. “Of course. I’m on my second bowl, after all.”

  She forced a smile and realized her perfectionism was going to get the best of her if she didn’t get a handle on it. Her nerves couldn’t take it. “I’m glad.”

  “What’s for dessert?” he asked and took a bite of his biscuit.

  “Dessert?” Egads, she hadn’t thought about dessert! Now what was she going to do? Well, no choice but to be honest. “I have no idea.”

  He looked up from his bowl with a devilish grin. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Drake. I do …”

  Seven

  The next morning they awoke at the same time, took one look at each other and decided to have dessert for breakfast before starting their day. After which they got up, washed, dressed and went downstairs for some food, all of that dessert-making having worked up their appetites.

  Leora got the fire in the stove going and made coffee while Theron explained to her how he liked to make scrambled eggs, then watched her make a batch as he instructed. They sat, ate, then headed for the church office to start the work day.

  Leora stared at the cluttered corner again, but this time with a contented sigh. All that “dessert” had calmed her nerves, and she realized now that she’d overreacted last night, even if only inside her head. She had to learn to take one day at a time. She’d never been married before – it was okay to make mistakes. Theron wasn’t one to get in her face and scream at her like Mr. Egan had so many years ago.

  But why was Mr. Egan’s tirade still affecting her? It was as if the smallest hint of disapproval from Theron sent her over the edge. The sense of desperation that went with it was terrible and she felt as if the whipping post Mr. Egan had threatened her with was all too real. Why?

  “Who do you think is going to win today?” Theron asked. “You, or the piles?”

  She smiled. “I am, of course. At least I’ll put a good dent in it, though I’d prefe
r to get it finished today.”

  “I don’t know. You’re getting into a few things that might be hard to read.”

  “Why?”

  “The rain, remember?”

  “Oh yes, I see.” She bent to the first box and was about to open it when there came a knock on the outside door. Theron got up to open it.

  When he did, Leora tensed – Mrs. Rutherford stood on the other side. “Good morning Pastor Drake. I trust your schedule has not been interrupted?”

  “My schedule?”

  She glanced past him to Leora. “Married men tend not to get as much work done.”

  Theron looked over his shoulder at her, smiled and winked. She brushed at her mouth to hide her smile. “Quite right, Mrs. Rutherford. A married man is concerned with taking care of his wife, of course. Now what can I do for you?”

  She shoved past him into the office. “I want to discuss this year’s Christmas play.”

  “What about it? You told me the parts are all cast.”

  “Yes, of course, but Mrs. James can’t possibly direct this year. I’m afraid it shall have to fall to your wife.”

  Leora dropped the box she was holding. “Me?!”

  “What’s the matter?” Mrs. Rutherford asked as she looked her up and down. “Are you incapable of doing such a simple task?”

  Her words rankled and anger flared, overpowering her good reason. “Of course not. I can do it.”

  Theron turned to her. “You can? Have you ever directed a Christmas play before?”

  Leora froze. “No, but she just said it was a simple task …”

  Mrs. Rutherford smiled in satisfaction. “Excellent – I’ll inform the others.”

  Leora felt her heart drop … but darned if she was going to let on to Mrs. Rutherford. “Fine. You do that.”

  “Are you sure?” Theron drawled.

  “Of course she is; you heard the woman. Good day.” Mrs. Rutherford shoved her way out as fast as she’d come in.

  Theron eyed Leora with suspicion. “You let her intimidate you.”

  “I did no such thing.”

  “Mmm, I think you did.”

  “I can do it.”

  “I gave you an out and you didn’t take it.”

  “I …” Leora said and stopped. He had, hadn’t he? “As I said before, she said it was a simple task”

  “Mrs. Rutherford is in it,” he stated simply.

  Leora blanched. Drat. “She is?”

  “Yes, her and all her friends. You know, those people that attended our wedding?”

  Leora backed up a step as her eyes went wide, but she quickly collected herself. If she was going to get a handle on things, what better way than to face her fear (whatever it was, she still wasn’t sure) and take Mrs. J. B. Rutherford head-on? “I can do it.”

  “Okay, if that’s what you want. You have my complete and total support.”

  She swallowed hard. “Er … how badly do you think I’ll need it?”

  He sighed. “Trust me, dear wife. You’ll need it like you need water to survive.”

  She gulped. “Oh, that’s encouraging.”

  “It’s supposed to be.” He sat, picked up a pile of papers and began to read one.

  What in Heaven’s name did he mean by that? Well, she supposed, she’d find out soon enough. She sighed and returned to the corner as another question came to mind: how much time was this play going to take out of her day? If her guess was right, she’d better get through this pile as fast as she could, or it might never get organized.

  Leora sighed once more and dove in.

  * * *

  “Merciful heavens! You did what?!” Mrs. Pleet blurted later that afternoon.

  “I volunteered to direct the Christmas play,” Leora repeated.

  “You’ve done handed yourself up on a silver platter!”

  “She can’t be that bad,” Leora said, more for herself than Mrs. Pleet.

  “Trust me, she can be. Oh sure, she’s a silly old windbag for the most part, but she can be downright nasty when she wants to be. I still wonder how she got that way.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Folks aren’t born mean – something turns them. Maybe her mother was the same and she doesn’t know any better.”

  “I don’t know, I think some people are born bossy,” Leora said and chopped up a carrot. Mrs. Pleet was teaching her how to make stew.

  “Mark my words, you’re going to get an earful – when she’s not breathing down your neck, that is. Don’t let her push you around.”

  A chill went up Leora’s spine. “I won’t.” At least she hoped she wouldn’t. She’d never had any major confrontations in her life, except for Mr. Egan and that was rather one-sided.

  “I like to add my vegetables after my meat has simmered an hour or so, ‘til it’s nice and tender,” Mrs. Pleet said, blissfully changing the subject. “I’m not one for mushy carrots.”

  Leora nodded, shoved the sliced carrot to one side of the cutting board, then started another one. “Can you teach me how to roast a turkey?”

  “Oh, that’s easy. Pop it in the oven and walk away, for the most part.”

  “How about pies? You can teach me how to make those, can’t you?”

  Mrs. Pleet gave her a quizzical look. “You had my pie the night you were here, remember? I brought you up a slice after lunch.”

  Leora looked up from her slicing. “I’m sorry, I forgot.”

  “Are you nervous about something, dear?”

  “No!” Leora blurted. “I mean, not that I know of.”

  Mrs. Pleet narrowed her eyes and nodded to herself. “She’s got to you already, I see. She just can’t help herself.”

  “Mrs. Rutherford?”

  “Who else? I’m afraid she … well, never mind.”

  Leora started slicing again in an attempt at nonchalance. “She what?”

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with the woman. Occasionally she just likes to …” She sighed. “… pick on people.”

  Leora stared at the carrots and thought a moment. Maybe Mrs. Rutherford was more like Mr. Egan than she thought. He was a crotchety man who was never pleased with anything. You could work your fingers to the bone and it would never be good enough. Lottie said he was that way because he was lonely and didn’t have any friends or family to speak of.

  But Mrs. Rutherford was never alone, with the exception of her brief visit to the church office the other day. How could she possibly be lonely with all those people following her around all the time? “She picks on people …”

  “Yes. Why, I don’t know. No one cares for the woman, but they’re too afraid to admit it.”

  “Her ‘followers,’ you mean?”

  “ ‘Lackeys’ is more like it. ‘Yes, Mrs. Rutherford. Anything you want, Mrs. Rutherford.’ ” She shook her head. “I’ll help you if I can.”

  “With the pies?”

  “I meant, with the Christmas play. Trust me, dear, you’re going to need all the help you can get.”

  Leora blew some hair out of her face. “After listening to Theron and now you, I don’t doubt it. You made her out like she wasn’t so bad, at first. Why?”

  “I didn’t want to scare you! Starting tomorrow you’re going to have to deal with her day in and day out. Stronger folks than you have tried and failed.”

  “I’m not going up against a dragon!”

  “You might as well be.”

  Leora rolled her eyes, if only to give herself some solace. “Well, I guess I’ll find out tomorrow.”

  * * *

  The next day Leora got up before Theron, went downstairs and started a batch of pancakes. Mrs. Pleet had given her the recipe the day before and she was anxious to try it. She’d done her best to not think about the upcoming play rehearsal – and ended up dreaming about it instead. More of a nightmare, now that she thought about it.

  “Good morning,” Theron said as he came into the kitchen. “What are you concocting?”

  “Pa
ncakes.”

  “Mmm,” he said and kissed her on the cheek. “I think we should get supplies tomorrow. You won’t have much to work with otherwise.”

  “Yes, I noticed,” she said, plopping a spoonful of batter into the hot pan. So far, so good. She watched the batter sizzle at the edges and wondered if the pan was too hot.

  Theron took a spatula before she could and lifted the pancake to check. “Looks fine.”

  “I’m glad you approve,” she said, trying not to feel put out.

  He went to the table and sat. She looked between him, the coffee pot and the pancake. Did she have time to pour him a cup? Good grief, she forgot to ask how long to cook the things! She picked up the spatula, checked the pancake, then reached for the pot of coffee.

  “You have time, you know,” Theron commented. “Or I can get my own coffee.”

  Leora flushed red. “I’ll do it. I want to.”

  “No need to get angry. I’m just trying to help.”

  “I’m fine.” She poured him a cup, set it in front of him then folded her arms across her chest.

  “Leora?”

  “What?”

  “You pancake’s burning.”

  Leora spun around. “You said I had time!”

  “I was wrong.”

  She hurried to the stove and flipped the cake over. “Ohhhh, it’s black!”

  “I guess the pan is hotter than I thought. Make that, we thought. I’m as much to blame. Don’t worry, we can make more.”

  “I can make more,” she corrected.

  He shrugged. “Have it your way.”

  Leora scooped the pancake out of the pan and put it on a plate. One side was wonderful-looking, the other … well, crispy. No, make that charcoal.

  She went to the bowl of batter, gave it a stir, then spooned another portion into the pan.

  “You probably should’ve put some more lard into the pan first,” Theron suggested from the table.

  Leora pressed her lips together. “And why is that?”

  “Because as hot as that pan is, it’s going to stick.”

  She blew out a breath and looked at the pan, then tried lifting the edge of the pancake. Sure enough, it was stuck and she had to work it loose. Thankfully, she managed to put some grease into the pan while she had the pancake balanced on the spatula. Theron clapped when she slipped the pancake into the pan again. “Whew!”