by Kit Morgan
Chapter 5
Well, that had been the wrong thing to say. Forrest had found over the years that he had kind of a gift for that, being a little too straightforward. Not everyone appreciated it.
Effie looked at her finger, cringed, then raised her big blue eyes to his. “You don’t think it will get infected, do you?”
“Not if we keep it clean,” he said as softly as he could. “Doc McBride says it’s real important to keep a wound covered while working, then uncovered when not so air can get to it. I wish I had some boric acid – that’s what he says kills them germs.”
“Germs?” She stared at her finger again. “Oh dear – I can’t afford to get any of those!”
“I reckon you can’t get many doing housework.” He glanced at his small home. “Good thing I spruced the place up before I went to fetch you.”
Her eyes roamed the room. “Good thing,” she said skeptically.
He frowned. She’d made it clear that she and “work” were not on a first-name basis. They might not get along at first, but eventually they’d have to. Maybe cutting her finger would help ease her into things. Problem was, there wasn’t much time for easing – he had piglets coming any day now, and crops to tend, fruit trees to take care of, fences that needed mending … the list went on. How much would Effie be able to handle with a patched-up finger?
“What are you thinking about?”
He turned back, unaware he’d looked away. “Chores. There’s a lot of ‘em.” He glanced at her finger. “You’re gonna hafta pitch in, wound or no wound.”
She held her finger to her chest and covered it with her other hand. “But what about infection?”
“We’ll do what we gotta do.” He watched her eyes grow rounder. “But tonight, you’re in luck. I’ll cook, and you can watch.”
“Yes, you mentioned that.”
“First, though, why don’t you go into the bedroom and unpack while I finish the potatoes? Better to get both tasks out of the way.”
“All right,” she said, but didn’t move.
“What are you waiting for?”
She looked at her satchel and trunk. “For you to take my things into the bedroom.”
“I gotta finish cutting up those potatoes.” A moment ago, he’d felt like marrying her wasn’t such a bad idea, but her behavior kept reminding him what she was: a high-born, city-bred snob that hadn’t worked a day in her life. They were such opposites, but they were going to have to learn to deal with each other. And she was going to have to learn to deal with reality. “That finger ain’t gonna stop you from picking up your satchel. You’re not helpless. It’s important you remember that, especially out here.”
She paled again. “What … what do you mean?”
He shrugged. “What if you’d cut yourself and I wasn’t around?”
She held her finger close again. “Oh. That’s what you mean.” She swallowed hard, stood, reached for her satchel and took it into the bedroom before returning for her trunk. She studied it a moment, as if transporting it to the other room would be some great engineering feat. Finally she grabbed one of the thick leather handles, tried to pick it up one-handed, but only succeeded in dropping it on her foot. “OUCH!”
Forrest sighed and folded his arms across his chest.
“Don’t just stand there!” she snapped. “Help me!”
“You have two hands.”
“The other one is injured,” she said indignantly.
“Injured, yes, but not useless. You have four other fingers.”
She opened her mouth, shut it, then growled, “Oh, all right!” She bent to the trunk, grabbed the handle with both hands and dragged it to the bedroom, muttering under her breath the whole way.
Forrest shook his head and sat down to deal with the potatoes. “Patience, man, patience,” he whispered to himself. She’d have to learn to take care of herself in case something ever happened, or she could easily wind up dead. He, in turn, would have to keep reminding himself she had a lot of catching up to do before becoming the equal of even half the women in these parts.
That was a thought – the local women could teach her more than he could. What did he know about baking, or sewing a dress? Maybe he could get John’s wife Alice to come over and help her learn a few things. He’d ride out to their place tomorrow and ask.
It didn’t take him long to wash (something Effie had failed to), peel and cut up the potatoes. Soon he had some bacon sizzling in a pan, making the grease he could fry the taters in. He began ticking off a list of other chores in his head.
“That smells good.”
He looked up. Effie had changed into a beautiful blue day dress. “Woo-ee!” he said. “That’s got to be the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.” Indeed, he’d never seen anything so fine outside of a catalog – it was even nicer than her traveling dress. “Best you hang that up and leave it after tonight.”
She smiled. “Thank you … what?” Her smile faded. “Hang it up?”
“That dress is good for church when we can attend, but it won’t do for work. You’d ruin it in a week. Did you bring any work dresses? Something wool?” He was pretty sure he knew the answer, but he had to ask.
“Wool!” She stepped back and rubbed her arms as if cold. “Wool is so itchy. Such a horrible fabric.”
He grinned. “Yeah, it is. But it’s better than tearing that dress of yours on a fence post, falling into the hog pen and getting stepped on.”
Her jaw dropped.
“Not that they’d step on you on purpose, but accidents happen. Really, it’s the mud and dirt that –”
“Enough! Don’t speak to me of such things!”
He turned back to the bacon. “You’d rather I not tell you? What did you think it was gonna be like out here?”
She thought about that for a few seconds. “Well … I pictured a pretty two-story farm house with a big barn. And ranch hands.”
He looked at her. “Really?”
“And a cook. Oh, and a nanny for the children.”
His heart skipped a beat. “Children?”
She nodded. “That is, when I wasn’t thinking about …” She snapped her mouth shut.
“About what?” he prompted.
She shook her head.
Now he was curious. “And?”
“Nothing. Never mind.”
He decided to let that one go. He put his hands on his hips and studied his domain. “Didn’t think you’d be living in a small cabin with a hog farmer, did you?”
“I … well, I might have had a few thoughts in that direction.” She blushed and looked at the floor.
“All of them bad, I suppose?”
She swallowed hard and sighed. “I pictured myself chained to a stove trying to make a man his dinner. And failing.”
He stared at her a moment, then burst out laughing, causing her to jump back in surprise. He got his roar down to a chuckle and said, “Well, at least you’re honest. Stay that way. If we’re gonna make this work, you hafta be able to tell me if you can’t do something, understood?”
She nodded. “But what if I don’t?”
“Then you run the risk of getting one or both of us killed,” he said, his voice stern now. She had to understand that - if she didn’t, they’d have no end of trouble.
She nodded then glanced at the stove. “I think your bacon is burning.”
Forrest spun around to the smoking pan. “Consarnit!” Little did she know that he was a horrible cook. Well, she’d find out soon enough if he had to do too much of it.
“Can I … do anything to help?”
He’d started to remove the meat from the pan – at least there was enough fat for the potatoes – but stopped short. Did he hear her right? Or was she asking because she knew there was really nothing more to be done? “You can set the table.”
She nodded and headed for the hutch. She must have already seen where he kept everything while searching for his storage jars. She took out two plates, set them on the tab
le, then found what little silverware he owned. “Where’s the rest of it?” she asked.
Forrest looked up from stirring the potatoes he’d just tossed in the pan. “Rest of what?”
“Your silver? Where do you keep it?”
“It’s in your hand.”
She looked at the two forks and two knives she held, then sifted through the hutch’s two small drawers. “That’s it? But you can’t have a proper dinner without the correct silverware.”
One of Forrest’s eyebrows slowly rose in amazement. Was she kidding? Oh, wait, probably not. “When would I have occasion for a ‘proper dinner’? What would that even involve?”
She seemed to slowly grasp her folly, but she didn’t shrink from the question. “Well … for each person there’s a set of six – a butter knife for your bread plate, a salad fork, dinner fork, soup spoon, dessert spoon and dessert fork. Plus the bread plate, the dinner plate and depending on dessert, a plate for that. And water and wine glasses. Those are the basics – for a formal dinner there’s a lot more.”
He laughed in astonishment. “Land sakes, woman, you sure do make it complicated where you come from! I got three plates, two forks, two knives and one spoon. That’s always been plenty.”
She put a fist to her mouth and looked away. He wasn’t sure if she was trying to keep from laughing or crying. “Oh,” she squeaked.
“But I’ll see about getting a second spoon for you,” he added. He’d been meaning to get a few more pieces after he sent away for a bride, but kept forgetting. He was sure not to forget now – she’d probably remind him at every meal until he did it.
“I shan’t be entertaining then,” she finally said as she went to the table and carefully placed everything in front of the two chairs, with the spoon between them.
“Ain’t no need for the spoon, darling – it’s just potatoes and bacon,” he reminded her.
She sighed, snatched the spoon up and returned it to the hutch.
As she went back to the table and sat, Forrest grabbed a hot pad, picked up the pan of potatoes and a dishrag, brought them to the table and bowed. “Dinner is served, madame.”
She narrowed her eyes as he placed the dishrag on the table and put the pan on top of it. “You’re mocking me.”
“Oh, maybe a little. Don’t expect me to bow every time we eat.”
She fidgeted in her chair. “I won’t.”
“Good.” He sat and made sure the pan was resting properly on the rag.
“What are you doing?” she asked as if he’d just begun some strange ritual.
“Making sure this hot pan doesn’t touch the surface. This table is pine – the heat’ll damage it.”
She raised an eyebrow at that. “You’re concerned about your table?”
“Of course. I ain’t got a lot of stuff, but I take care of what I got.”
“Well then, you shouldn’t mind my concern over the silverware.”
He smiled. “I promise, we’ll get some more next time we go to town.”
“Next time? But, you said that would be the fourth of July.”
“Yes, I did.”
She sat back in her chair, horrified. “You mean this is all we have to use in the meantime?”
Forrest grinned. “Well, sweetie, you can always use your hands.” He folded his together. “Let’s pray.”
Chapter 6
The nerve of the man! Here she was, suffering a dinner etiquette breakdown and he was making fun of her. The big buffoon! Nonetheless, she copied his actions. The Lord still deserved her respect, even if the oaf across from her might not.
“Dear Lord,” he began, and peeked at her. She glared back. “We thank you for this day, our getting hitched and for not letting Effie cut her finger clean off …”
Her blood boiled. She didn’t know how much more of this she could take.
“… And Lord, help me to be a good husband to this woman. Give me the patience and fortitude to do all the things I said to her today during our wedding and to honor You while I’m doing ‘em. Amen.”
She stared at him. Was he serious?
He raised his head and met her stare head-on, and guilt stabbed her. It was all she could do to pick up her fork. He really was trying to make this work, and if she had any sense of decency she’d do the same. They were married – married! This wasn’t a joke someone was playing on her. She hadn’t fully grasped that yet.
She stared at him again, this time with curiosity. She didn’t know a thing about this man – but he was quickly learning about her. No wonder he prayed for patience.
“Eat your dinner. I know you’re hungry.” He scooped himself a helping of potatoes and dug in.
She swallowed back her guilt and served herself.
The rest of the meal passed in silence, and Effie wondered what he truly thought of her. Normally she wouldn’t care; there were plenty of other people in her world to keep her entertained. But she was no longer in that world, and for this man, entertaining her would be the last thing on his mind. Life was basic here, no frills or fripperies. You had to work to eat, to survive. And there would be times, just as he’d said, when he wouldn’t be around to help her. She’d have to learn how to deal with all this on her own.
Her head fell to her chest. She suddenly missed her sisters and cousins. What horrors were they facing at this moment? Had they all left yet? Who had they married? And how could she find out? Her stepmother didn’t give her any details about her own groom, let alone the other girls’, and she was whisked off so fast she hadn’t had time to get the address of where Della was going. All she knew was it was someplace in Montana and her husband-to-be was some sort of businessman.
She glanced up at her own husband, who was finishing up his dinner. At least Della got a man who lived in town, rather than a pig – correction, hog – farmer. What a blessing! She’d have access to things like a dressmaker, the general store, church and … good heavens, people! Della would be able to make friends.
Effie put down her fork, her appetite gone again. Out here she’d have no one but her husband – and what if she discovered she didn’t like him? Egads.
“What’s the matter? Bad potato?”
Effie raised her head. “No.” Her voice was small, its usual snap gone. She might well die of loneliness.
He sat back in his chair. “You tired?”
She nodded without thinking, and felt her injured finger throb. She looked at it, remembered how he’d touched her, his warm fingers against her jaw as he coaxed her to let go of that silly potato.
“Right. Time to get to work.”
“What?” she replied, startled.
He got up from his chair. “Stay there,” he ordered, then disappeared into the bedroom.
Effie wasn’t sure how long he was gone, only that when he came back, he smelled nicer. Then he bent down next to her chair and lifted her out of it and into his arms. “What are doing?” she said, her voice cracking. Then she had a feeling she knew. Oh no! Not that! He can’t possibly want to …
Forrest carried her into the bedroom and laid her gently on the bed, now cleared of dirty clothes. “There – you get some sleep, you hear? There’ll be plenty of work tomorrow.”
She gaped at him.
He placed his fists on his hips. “Now what?”
“You … you mean you’re not …”
“Not what?” He eyed her a moment, then chuckled. “Ohhhh, you mean … no, not yet. Trust me, sweetheart, when I want that, you’ll know. Lord only knows when that’ll be.” He shook his head in resignation, turned on his heel and left the room, closing the door behind him.
Effie stared at the shut door feeling, oddly insulted. “What did he mean, the Lord only knows?” she asked aloud. Then it hit her – he wasn’t planning to consummate their marriage yet. So long as he didn’t, he could still get an annulment … and if he did, where would that leave her?
With nothing, that’s where.
Forrest wanted to kick himself. He never should
’ve carried her into the bedroom like that. Of course she’d think he wanted to make love to her. But to do that, he’d at least have to like her a little, and at present, he sure didn’t. She was selfish, stubborn, snobbish, spoiled and probably spiteful when she wanted to be. Maybe a few other S-words as well. What man in his right mind would want to bed that, no matter how pretty she was?
He sighed as he went back to the barn to finish his chores. Quite a few men, actually – men who didn’t care what sort of person she was, who’d take her, use her and cast her aside for the next fellow. So long as she kept her looks …
But he hadn’t married a whore – he’d married a lady, a woman of good family. Which begged the question: what in tarnation was she doing out here married to a man like him? She’d been forced, that much he knew, but there had to be more to it that she hadn’t told him. Maybe she was too ashamed to tell him. But he’d find out. He wanted nothing unspoken to come between them – there was enough already without secrets creeping into the mix. He’d have to talk with her.
But why would she tell him? She didn’t trust him yet – heck, she didn’t even know him yet. She was too wrapped up in her own misery to see how he looked at her, or how attracted he was to her tender, creamy skin. He’d wanted to touch it all day – he’d even had the perfect opportunity when she had that silly potato stuck in her mouth, but he was too much of a gentleman to take advantage. Still, he’d liked the way her jaw quivered when his massaged it, how the blue of her eyes deepened.
“So she’s attractive,” he told himself as he fed the horses. “Whoop-de-do.” Looks didn’t mean a hill of beans if the woman was a cantankerous harpy.
Then again, view it from her perspective. She’d been forced into becoming a mail-order bride. Maybe he should’ve given her a choice. Maybe she should’ve demanded one. But he didn’t, and she hadn’t, and now they were married.
Forrest fed the rest of his stock, cleaned two stalls and readied a third for the arrival of Aphrodite’s piglets. Newborn piglets were darling – maybe playing with them would help Effie see things differently. And there had to be other things he could do to make her understand that life out here was good, beautiful. They were free, surrounded by wide-open spaces, the far-off mountains and the high desert.
