Gifts of Love

by Raine Cantrell

  Not having the vaguest idea, Erin stared at him. Before Ketch could enlighten her, Becky came back with the eggs. “Dishman’s milking the cow for you. He’ll be along soon.”

  “The cow! I forgot—”

  “Don’t matter,” Ketch assured her, wondering why she looked stricken. “Ole Bessie’s gentle enough an’ don’t mind waitin’ a bit. It ain’t like she just calved—then you’d hear her bawling clear to the mountains.”

  “But I was told that milking the cow, gathering eggs and slopping the hogs were my chores.”

  “Boss said that?” Ketch stared down at his half-empty cup. Shaking his head, cursing silently when the move caused pain to shoot from his tooth to his ear, Ketch pondered what was going on. Feeling as bad as he did, he’d left Mace alone last night, but he knew something was wrong between Mace and Erin. At his direction, Becky set the table.

  Mace entered just as Erin turned the first batch of pancakes. The aroma of fresh bread filled the air and he sniffed in appreciation. His gaze caught Erin’s and for a moment he swore she was daring him to say anything about her cooking. He took his seat just as she served him coffee.

  With a small bit of bacon grease melting in the frying pan, Erin cracked four eggs, hoping she wouldn’t break the yolks, feeling that Mace would want them as perfect as all else. It wasn’t until a full platter of pancakes was on the table, eggs served all around and coffee refilled for those who wanted it that Erin took her place.

  She fingered the tiny carved bird on her napkin ring and looked up to find that Mace was watching her. Without being told she knew this had belonged to his wife. Becky had told her that each of the napkin rings was carved with different signs of birds or animals. She wondered if they held any special significance for the Indian heritage that his wife brought to their marriage, but once again kept silent. She sipped at her coffee, enjoying the way the food was being eaten.

  Spreading his third slice of bread with store-bought jelly, Mace glanced up at Erin, seated at the opposite end of the long table. “You’re not eating.”

  His statement made her the focus of all eyes. Forks and cups stopped midway as Erin slowly shook her head in reply.

  “Why not?”

  Wishing Mace would leave it be, Erin knew she couldn’t explain that she intended to wait until everyone was finished.

  “Pete, pass her the last few pancakes.” Mace waited until his order was carried out and Erin poured syrup over them. She looked as if she needed every bit she could eat just to put some weight on her, and never far from his memory was the additional reason it was necessary that she eat well. “Cosi, you’ve got the pitcher so pour out a glass of milk for her.” The rebellious look Erin shot at him made Mace grin. No matter what else happened between them, he wouldn’t have it said that he skimped on food for her. And he needed no reminder that ranch work was hard work for a woman.

  With a curt nod that silently acceded this round to him, Erin ate, keeping her eyes firmly on the plate. She forced down each mouthful under Mace’s watchful gaze, wishing he would leave.

  First light made a feeble attempt to enter the room through the grimed window when Jake came in. He ran to his father, snuggling in his lap.

  Erin returned the tousle-haired boy’s smile. “What would you like, Jake, eggs or pancakes?” Like his sister, Jake was wearing the same soiled clothes as yesterday, making Erin think that laundry would loom as the first major chore of the day before cleaning the kitchen.

  Biting into his father’s slice of bread, Jake shook his head.

  “You’re growin’ mighty fond of these clothes, boy,” Mace said softly to his son. “You don’t want Erin to be thinking you haven’t got anything else to wear, do you?”

  “Nope. Like them.”

  Once again, Erin felt put in her place and all without having said a word to Mace. But she didn’t understand why he was not saying anything about Jake needing more to eat than bread and jelly when he wouldn’t let her get away with it.

  “Jake, would you like some milk?” she asked, watching the boy shake his head and reach out for his father’s coffee cup. When Mace didn’t stop him, Erin did. “You can’t allow him to drink that. Coffee—”

  “It’s cool enough and he likes it,” Mace answered, his cheek resting against the side of his son’s head, both his arms holding the boy close.

  Loving children was one thing, spoiling them without a thought to what was good for them was quite another matter. “Milk,” she said, straining to be calm, “is better for a growing boy.”

  “You hear that, son? Milk is better for you.” Mace took the pitcher from Cosi, poured out half a glass, then emptied the remainder of his coffee into it. “Will that satisfy you?”

  Erin nodded, although it didn’t. Yet she couldn’t deny that Mace could have chosen to take her to task for questioning the way he raised his children. As she finished her breakfast, the talk around the table turned to chores. Jake began on another slice of bread and Mace lifted him into is own chair as he rose.

  “Ketch, you take Heppner into town with you. Don’t figure you’ll be able to ride back alone when you get that tooth pulled.”

  “Ain’t no weak-kneed—”

  “Know that,” Mace cut in. “But I want that butter churn and barrels from the cooper. I didn’t have room for them.”

  “Lambert, boss?” Ray asked him.

  “Yeah. Those kegs from Preston didn’t hold up. Pete,” he went on, “you stick close by the house today. Can’t have Miz Dalton getting herself lost between here and the barn.” He heard the edge in his voice, and knew that Ketch and the other men heard it, too. But Mace didn’t care. Cosi had been making calf eyes at Erin while they ate and all she could do was smile at him. He didn’t like it one bit. She had no right to smile at any man. She was his wife.

  When he grabbed his jacket from the hook near the door Jake begged to go with him. Mace wanted nothing so much as to ride out alone, sort out his feelings and plan what he was going to tell everyone about Erin. But the boy looked so forlorn that he agreed.

  Becky came to kiss him, and he glanced at Erin over her head. “Slice up some of the ham with what’s left of the bread. I’ll take that with me. Cosi and I should be back in time for supper.”

  She was moving before he finished, biting back the yes, sir, no, sir that burned her tongue. From the cupboard she took a clean napkin and wrapped the half loaf of bread that remained from the three she baked this morning. Thick slices of ham followed, and Erin walked to him with both bundles.

  “See if you can make something filling for supper.”

  “Roast boar, perhaps?” she snapped.

  “You touch one bristle on that boar’s hide and I’ll hang yours out to dry, woman. Stop shaking in your shoes and walk down to the smokehouse. There’s sides of beef and venison. I warned you about how it would be.”

  “Yes, you warned me, Mr. Dalton,” she returned in a whisper, feeling her cheeks heat. He hadn’t bothered to lower his voice, so their rapt audience had heard it all.

  With jelly smeared over a milky mustache, Jake grabbed his jacket and was out the door before his father. The men left as quickly. To her surprise, Becky went out, too.

  Once the dishes were cleared away, Erin struggled with the large cast iron kettle, setting it on the stove, then, rolling up her sleeves, she snatched up the bucket and confronted the pump. This morning, the contrary handle worked smoothly. Once the wash water was heating, she filled another smaller kettle to heat water for cleaning the kitchen.

  Woven basket in hand, she went first to the children’s room, staring about in dismay. Assorted clothing rested where it fell. The sheets appeared to have been slept in for more weeks than she wanted to count and the quilt on one bed had mud smeared on it. All too quickly she filled the large basket with soiled linens, wishing it were possible to take the feather ticks outside and air them.

  She hesitated before opening the door to Ketch’s room, not at all surprised to find his bed n
eatly made, his soiled clothes piled in one corner and nothing out of place. His bundle of laundry joined her growing pile.

  As she came out into the hallway, she spared a glance toward Mace’s closed door. Remembering his warning of the night before, she shrugged and went into the kitchen. He told her not to enter that room and she wouldn’t.

  Rolling out the washtub from the pantry, she sorted out sheets from clothes, set them into the tub and added slivers of lye soap. Testing the water, she was disappointed that it was as cold as when she pumped it. The smaller kettle was having more success. Finding a scrub brush, Erin used another bucket to clean down the table. The smooth grain of golden oak emerged beneath her steady hand. Stopping every few minutes to test the wash water, she soon stood back and felt pleased that the trestle table needed only a light coat of lemon wax to make it gleam. There was ample room for ten at the table, and sixteen could fit with a bit of squeezing.

  She had not forgotten what Mace told her about the extra hands. Digging her fists into the small of her back, she rubbed away the small ache that started and washed out her cleaning bucket. The sideboard needed the same scrubbing.

  Sunlight began to make patterns on the floor. But she didn’t want to think about washing it until she finished the other chores. Frustrated that the wash water was still lukewarm, Erin finished the sideboard. Washing her hands, she once again took the sourdough starter and began to double the amount of dough she had made in the morning.

  There was no sign of Becky, although she did stop several times to open the door and look for her. Erin had just emptied another bucket of water into the tub when Pete came in.

  “Here, ma’am, don’t be lifting that. I’m supposed to be helping you.”

  Erin thanked him, gladly handing over the bucket to be filled again. Pete was not much older than herself, nearly as tall as Mace but without his muscular build.

  “I came in to see if the cream’s up.”

  “If the cream’s up?” Erin repeated, staring at him blankly. Honestly, these men were talking the same language but combining words in ways she had never heard used.

  “When I strained the milk this morning I put it into the two milk cans in the pantry. The cream rises to the top, gets skimmed off, put into the churn and made into butter,” he explained, figuring quickly that she didn’t know how to make butter. “Bessie gives enough cream to make near a pound of butter a day. Most folks would be waiting two or three days to make some, but you heard the boss man.”

  Erin didn’t attempt to stop her rueful laugh. “I heard him, and so did everyone else.”

  “Want me to leave some milk for you, or take it all down to the well house?” he asked from the doorway to the pantry.

  “Whatever you think best, Pete. I need to get this wash done.” Erin set the washboard into the tub and knelt before it.

  “Ma’am, don’t think I’m interfering. But why didn’t you start the fire outside? ’Course it’s chilly, but it’ll save you having to bend and then carry the wash out to the lines.”

  “What are you talking about, Pete?”

  “There’s an old washtub stored under the back porch. I forgot which one it was of them ladies the boss had here to tend to the house, but she made him fix things so she wouldn’t be carrying laundry up and down the stairs.”

  Erin stared at the clothes soaking. “Well, there’s no help for it now.”

  “I can get the fire started and fill the wash kettle for you. Should be ready long about the time you’re done here.”

  Once again she thanked him, venting her anger that Mace had not been the one to tell her on the clothes she scrubbed.

  Rinsing out the clean clothes, Erin looked over her shoulder when Becky called out that she was back. Her nose wrinkled at the strong smell of lye soap, and without taking off her coat, she went to the stove and poked at the rising dough.

  “You gonna work all morning?”

  “There’s lots of chores to do, Becky. Don’t you have any?”

  “Not really. Pa lets me and Jake do what we want long as we don’t stray far from the house.”

  Uncertain what to say, Erin let it pass. Her limited experience in child rearing was learned at the orphanage, where every waking moment was accounted for by chores of some kind. The thought of giving Becky and Jake no direction at all didn’t sit right with her. Nevertheless, she was not going to make the suggestion that Becky help her set the house to rights. Mace would likely misconstrue her motive and she needed no more confrontation with his biting tongue.

  After watching Erin give the clothes a final rinse, Becky said, “Bet I could learn to do that.”

  “When you’re grown with a home of your own you’ll have time enough to learn how,” Erin answered.

  “I thought maybe you could teach me and all.”

  The underlying longing in the child’s voice made Erin look at her. “If you’re willing to learn, I’ll teach you, Becky. But you must promise me something in return.”

  “Sure. What?”

  “That you teach me what I don’t know about the ranch and caring for animals.”

  “That’s easy. You just—”

  “Not right now, sweetie. Now, we need to punch down that dough or there’ll be no bread for supper.”

  “Can I ask you something?” Becky saw Erin’s nod. She followed her to the clean table where she sprinkled a bit of flour before turning the dough out of the bowl. “What do you want me and Jake to call you?”

  “Erin, if you’d like.” The dough received the punch Erin would have offered Mace Dalton if he was present. Why didn’t he spend any time telling his children about her?

  “All right.”

  Erin had to ignore the note of disappointment. What could she possibly tell Becky? Imagining Mace’s reaction if either of his children called her anything else sent goose bumps down her spine.

  “Gee, the kitchen sure looks cleaner, Erin.”

  “We’ll have it gleaming when I get a chance to put lemon wax on the wood. I bet your mother kept it real nice-looking.”

  Hands locked together behind her back, Becky swung to and fro. “I don’t remember her much. She died when Jake got born. Never even saw him, Papa said. I was three.”

  Folding the dough into a ball, Erin placed it in the bowl, covered it over with the clean cloth and set it on the stove to rise a final time. “You mustn’t be sad, Becky, you have your father and anyone can see that he loves you and your brother.”

  “You really think so? Sometimes, well, he gets real busy and doesn’t have much time for us. Do you have a family?”

  “No, Becky.”

  “No one at all?”

  “I grew up in an orphanage with other children who had no families, or if they did, the people weren’t able to take care of them.”

  Becky’s hand covered Erin’s. “Now you have a family. You have me and Jake and Papa. And Ketch, of course. You’ll like Cosi. He sure laughs lots and teases, too. Pete’s real nice and Dishman makes the prettiest music you ever heard. None of them have families, either. So, you’ll be happy here having all of us to be your family.”

  Erin wasn’t sure who moved first, but they were hugging each other tight. The hope she had buried came rising up and she cherished the child who gave it back to her.

  For minutes they stood, Erin with her dreams spread out before her—a home and family, hers to care about and be cared for, love freely given and returned.

  Becky pulled back, smiling up at her. Erin closed her eyes against the image of Mace’s forbidding expression that superimposed itself on his daughter’s face. He would see to it that there would be no closeness, no family, no love. Before long it would be apparent that she had trapped him into marriage carrying another man’s child. How kindly would anyone treat her then?

  Chapter Ten

  Ketch stopped in the shadow of the open barn doors and watched Erin come up from the springhouse, carrying a half wheel of cheese. He wiped off his brow, the corner of his mou
th lifting with a smile as he saw that she was lingering to enjoy the warmth of the midday sun, although he had warned her a few days ago that the unseasonable February weather wouldn’t hold.

  She was pretty enough for even an old geezer like him to enjoy watching, however briefly. She was always rushing from one chore to another. In the six weeks since she had come here, Ketch realized he had never seen a woman so driven to set things to rights, but then, he’d never seen Mace ride anyone as hard as he did Erin.

  With his bow-legged gait Ketch went toward her, intending to offer to carry the cheese for her.

  “Mornin’, Miz Erin. Carry that up to the house for you?”

  “Oh, it’s not that heavy, Ketch. But thank you. A right pretty day, isn’t it?”

  “Sure. An’ you’re as pretty.” Ketch knew she would just turn aside his compliment as she had everyone else’s. But on those rare occasions when he saw Mace catch her eye, Erin would color up like a straight heart flush.

  “Are you busy, Ketch?” Erin asked, having made a decision last night that Ketch was the only one who might answer her questions about Mace.

  “Got a few minutes. What’s on your mind?”

  Erin gnawed her bottom lip a moment, then looked directly at him. “I want to know about Mace. I heard you talking last week about being with Mace the longest. That you came up from Oklahoma with him.”

  “That’s a fact.” Erin was as jumpy as a cricket on a hot stove. Ketch wondered if Mace had been at her again. She was staring off at the mountains and he let her be for the moment. More than once he’d kept quiet when Mace had blistered her soft hide about something she did that didn’t please him. Made a man wonder if Mace knew what the devil he wanted from Erin. The woman was pretty, sweet-natured and a hard worker. Seems like a body just mentioned what needed doing, and she tried to see it done. Clothes were cleaned, mended and folded, including the men’s laundry, which she didn’t have to do. Cosi made it known he was partial to buttermilk biscuits and they appeared at every supper. Mace, as far as Ketch could remember, was mighty partial to them himself, but you’d never tell by the way he tended to carry on.