by Lisa Bingham
“This is Eden Creek?”
He snapped the line free. “Yep. That’s my freight office,” he clarified, nodding toward the shack behind them.
Unwillingly, her gaze was drawn up the hill toward another, larger building with filthy windows and a splintered stoop. Ruby’s words rang mockingly in her ear Orrin’s got a real pretty house on the hill above town. It’s got a wraparound porch and a parlor and…”
“And that’s your house?”
He looked at her then, quickly, searchingly. “No.”
A rush of relief shot through Ginny’s system.
“We’ll be staying at the farm for a year or two. I started that years ago when Je—my first wife wanted to live in town during the winter months. It’s not finished yet.”
Not finished? It appeared as if it needed to be condemned.
“I’ve got to unload these supplies,” Orrin said, whipping back the canvas covering. “It’ll only take an hour or so. You may as well come into the office. There’s a stove there. And a coffeepot. You can warm up and get something inside you while you wait.”
Hefting a crate from the back of the wagon, Orrin carried it through the mud toward the shack he called his office. Juggling the box against his knee, he took a set of keys from his coat pocket, unlocked his office, and stepped inside. Then, crossing through the interior of the building, Orrin opened the larger set of livery-type doors at the end of the building.
Whistling softly, he returned to the wagon and hauled himself back into the seat. “Just let me back up, then you can head inside.” Deftly handling the reins, Orrin guided the team into a wide circle, then brought the wagon against the lip of the building.
“All set.” Orrin jumped from the wagon and sloshed through the mud.
After what had happened in town, Ginny waited patiently on the other side for him to come and lift her down. He never did. Instead he vaulted onto the stoop and hefted another crate from the back of the wagon box, then disappeared into the warehouse.
Ginny let the man’s lack of manners pass and wadded her skirts around her knees. She gingerly eased one foot to the ground, testing the mud as if she were a bather testing the water. Despite the layers of her boot and stocking, the temperature of the mud was uncomfortable against her already-chilled feet. As she lowered herself, the mire oozed around her ankle, threatening to seep over the top of her boot.
With a fatalistic acceptance of the inevitable Ginny set her other foot on the ground. Her lips twisted in disgust, but she fought her way through the clinging mess toward the back stoop.
At the top of the stairs Ginny tried to scrape the soles of her shoes against the edge of the steps, but when she saw the room behind her she wondered why she bothered. The floor was already covered with a thick layer of grime.
A heavy sigh escaped from her throat. Orrin had promised he’d take an hour or two. She could only wonder what kind of home awaited her once that time passed. Would she find a palace on the hill as Ruby had promised?
Or would she find another hovel?
Orrin’s “hour or two” at the freight office melted into three hours, then four. Huddling next to the sooty black stove, Ginny waited for him to finish his work. But after he had unloaded his wagon, his associates arrived with their own. The cargo had to be unpacked and reassembled for those men who would be leaving immediately to make their rounds to some of the more distant communities that they serviced.
Soon Ginny felt her weariness overtaking her, and though it was a blatant breach of manners, she allowed herself to lay her head upon her folded arms and close her eyes.
Orrin found her that way much later. The midday meal had long since passed—in fact, daylight was slowly being overtaken by the early evening. He stepped inside the door and paused, not knowing why he felt reluctant to wake her, but wanting to give her a little more time, even if it was only a minute or two.
Walking as quietly as he could to the blackened stove, Orrin decided to sample the pot of coffee Ginny had made for him and his men nearly an hour ago, which they hadn’t had the time to taste. Reaching for one of the tin mugs beside her folded arms, he hesitated. Although he’d worn gloves, his fingers were raw and cold from his work out of doors. He could almost feel the warmth from her body, inches away.
Why did she have to be so pretty?
He jerked away at that thought, turning to glare out of the window at the shadows creeping across the yard. Ever since Ruby had sent the telegram informing him that she’d found his bride, he’d told himself he was doing the right thing. He was giving the girl a home and the children a mother. In time, perhaps, they could build some kind of a physical relationship.
But he found himself drawn to Ginny in a very physical way.
How long had it been since he’d felt these sensations? They had disappeared long before Jesse had gone, if the truth be known. A humorless laugh burst from his lips. The last few years of their marriage had been far from happy. After he’d returned from the war Jesse had been so distant, so … dissatisfied. With everything. Eden Creek. Orrin’s job. Orrin.
Wearily he rubbed at the tension settling between his brows. Years ago Orrin had accepted the fact that he’d been raised a bit differently from most men. From an early age his mother had schooled him rigorously in the importance of honesty, loyalty, and fidelity. During the war, when long absences from home had tempted many of his companions toward assuaging their loneliness in the embrace of an unfamiliar woman, Orrin had remained faithful. When Jesse had refused his touch upon his return, Orrin had kept his vows of fidelity. Nearly a year had passed since Jesse’s death, and Orrin had never caressed another woman. Never kissed another woman.
Until Ginny.
Each hour in her presence awakened his body from its self-imposed denial. He turned to stare at Ginny in wonder. She lay with her cheek on her arms, her bonnet pushed back, her hair waving wantonly away from her face.
Despite their short acquaintance Orrin couldn’t account for the way he felt drawn to this woman. He hated himself for thinking such thoughts so soon even as he found himself wondering what it would be like to love her. Really love her.
Orrin’s head arched back in weary defeat. All day he’d been plagued by the taunting images of his own imagination. His wayward mind had fabricated a vision of what she would look like, flushed and panting beneath him.
Swearing softly to himself, Orrin went to the stove and reached for the coffeepot, gasping when the hot tin seared his fingers. He’d been too long without a woman, that was all. He should have availed himself of the more ribald entertainment supplied in town.
But try as he might, Orrin had never felt comfortable paying a woman for something meant to be kept private between a husband and wife.
Using the corner of his jacket as a crude hot pad, Orrin reached for the mug on the desk and filled it with the steaming brew. Then he set the pot back on the stove with a deliberate clank, glancing behind him. Ginny stirred but did not awaken. Orrin took a sip of coffee, then yelped and swore aloud.
Ginny’s head lifted, and her eyes flew open. “Wha—”
“Hell and damnation, woman! What did you do to this coffee?” Orrin wiped the back of his hand over his lips, grimacing at the bitter taste that seemed to coat his mouth and throat.
Ginny looked at him in confusion. “What?”
“I asked: What did you do to this coffee?”
She cleared her throat. “Your … associate told me you liked it strong.”
“Strong! This could take the paint off a Wells Fargo stage!”
“I’m sorry. I’ve never made coffee before.”
Orrin felt an uneasiness filter into his bones. “You’ve never made coffee?”
“No.”
“But you can cook, right?”
She opened her mouth, paused, then quickly answered, “Well, of course I can cook!”
Despite her assertion, Orrin’s anxiousness didn’t dissipate. “And you can do all the other chores—clean,
sew, preserve?”
“Of course I can!”
“Milk, butcher chickens?”
Her face suddenly blanched. “I will not butcher chickens.” Standing, she offered him a scathing look, then stomped from the room.
Orrin went after her. “It’s a woman’s job!”
“I will not butcher chickens. And I won’t shuck corn!”
“It’s a woman’s duty!”
“Not this woman’s!”
It became painfully obvious to Orrin that Ginny Parker Ghant hadn’t been properly schooled in what a wife was supposed to do. Nor had she been taught how a wife should behave.
“Didn’t anyone ever tell you a husband’s word is law, and that you’re supposed to wait until I’m finished talking to you before you go storming off?”
Rather than appearing properly grateful for his helpful advice, Ginny stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard in my entire life. Now, are you going to help me into this wagon or not?”
“Woman, I haven’t finished yet!”
“It’s getting late, Mr. Ghant, and I don’t intend to sleep in this … this pigsty. So unless you plan on spending the evening—alone—in your office, you’d better lock up.”
“We’ll continue this discussion later.”
“Fine.”
Orrin pointed a finger at her and opened his mouth to continue, then exhaled and swore instead. He’d never get the last word with this woman while she was in such a state.
Grumbling to himself, he returned to the office to put out the fire and lock up.
In the yard outside Ginny stamped her foot, then muttered under her breath when she managed to splatter mud all over her legs and skirts. All the time Ruby had been painting pretty pictures about Orrin’s big white house and sterling children, someone should have warned her that she would have to marry an ill-mannered lout in order to get them.
Ginny was pleased to see that at least one of Ruby’s promises had not been an out-and-out lie. As the sun dipped to kiss the tips of the mountains the wagon rolled to a stop in front of a tidy whitewashed house. Although it was much smaller than Ginny had imagined, it was still a beautiful home. Multipaned windows sparkled in the last glow of evening, and whitewashed boards gleamed with pride.
“It’s beautiful,” Ginny whispered tiredly, her weary muscles trembling with relief. After her first glimpse of Eden she’d been afraid of how far Ruby had stretched the truth. But with a home as lovely as this Ginny could bear the rest of her disappointments.
Orrin brought the wagon to a halt next to the front stoop, then said, “Wait here. I’ll just go get the children.”
“Get the children?”
“This isn’t my house. It’s the Carrigans’ place.”
Ginny tried to keep the disappointment from her face. If this weren’t Orrin’s home, then she still had no assurance that Ruby Ghant hadn’t been lying through her teeth.
“I see.” She stared at the house, wondering if it were the last bastion of civilization she might see.
The door opened, and a harried woman strode onto the porch. “Orrin Ghant, you told me you’d be home yesterday!”
“Hello, Ida.”
“Don’t you ‘hello, Ida’ me. I told you I’d keep those—”
“Where are the children?”
“Gone,” the woman stated with apparent satisfaction.
“Gone!”
Ida Carrigan straightened her shoulders and pressed her lips into a prim line of irritation. “Your oldest took one of our best plow mules and rode for home yesterday. I wasn’t about to stop her.”
“Why’d she do that?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“She took Baby Grace, too?”
“Yep. All three of them left right after supper. I sent Tilly after ’em on the other mule, though it didn’t help the plowing any.” Ida Carrigan finally became aware of Ginny, because she opened her mouth to say more, then stopped and stared.
“Ida Carrigan, I’d like you to meet my wife.”
“Your wife!” she gasped.
“Ginny Parker Ghant.”
“Your wife,” she repeated again, her brown eyes widening as she stared incredulously at Ginny. “You’re his wife?”
Ginny was beginning to wonder what was so wrong with Orrin Ghant that made everyone she met gape at her as if she were a three-headed lamb at a circus sideshow tent.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Orrin, you didn’t tell me you were bringing back a wife.”
“I didn’t think to mention it.”
“Why, she looks like you’ve been draggin’ her behind your wagon on a rail. Don’t tell me you’ve been traveling all day! Didn’t you take a breather?”
“We stopped at the office.”
“The office. I mighta known you wouldn’t have had the sense to bring the woman here first, where she could’ve been warm and dry and I could’ve fixed her a bite to eat.”
“Now, Ida.”
“Orrin, you just lift that girl down right now and bring her into the house.”
“We’ve got to get on home. The children—”
“You won’t make it by dark, and you know it. Those children of yours’ll be fine with Tilly. I’m not lettin’ you haul this girl another foot. Most likely she already has a chill. You want her to be coughin’ with pneumonia, too? You’ll have a good supper and stay the night here, or I’ll know the reason why!”
Orrin gave in. “Fine. I’ve got some business to discuss with Walter anyway.”
“Then it’s all settled.” After a beat of silence when no one moved, Ida folded her arms under her bosom and ordered, “Orrin, you help that girl down from the wagon like a gentleman. While she’s resting up you can put your animals in the far stalls of the barn—where the mules are supposed to go,” she added pointedly.
Grumbling, Orrin jumped from the wagon and walked around to the other side to hold out his arms. “You heard the woman. She’s as bad as Ruby when her mind’s made up, so you might as well do whatever she says and save yourself the bother.”
Ginny leaned over to rest her hands on his shoulders. As if she were no heavier than a sack of grain, Orrin lifted her free of the wagon bed and set her on the bottom step of the stoop. Ginny shivered at the strength of his palms pressing against her waist before he turned away. Without a word he climbed back into the wagon and drove the team toward the barn a few yards past the house.
Ida made a harrumphing sound deep in her throat. “That man’s been a long time without a woman,” she said. “I’m counting on you to teach him some manners.”
“Amen.” The single word popped from Ginny’s mouth without thought.
Ida chuckled. “Let’s get you inside, then we’ll see what we can do about feeding you and giving you a chance to wash up.”
For the first few minutes Ginny looked upon Ida Carrigan as a study in brown. Wearing a simple homespun dress and a muslin work apron, Ida’s skin was only a shade lighter than the fabrics—her flesh work-worn and unfashionably tanned. Brown hair streaked with gray had been brushed relentlessly away from a middle-aged face with eyes the color of black coffee. By all appearances she should have been a woman who would willingly fade into anonymity, finding fulfillment in her family, and needing little more to make her happy.
However, Ginny discovered that Ida was far from the maternal field mouse that people might have expected her to be. The older woman had a will of iron and a distaste for nonsense or pretense of any kind. If she didn’t like a person, she would tell them—face-to-face. Then she would proceed to tell them why.
After ushering Ginny into her home and motioning for her to sit at the table, Ida plunked her hands on her hips, squinted at her, and declared: “I like you, Ginny Ghant. You’ll be a good wife to that man.”
Then, as if there were nothing more to be said on the matter, she turned and began to bustle about the kitchen. “We’ll be eating in a little more than an hour, so
I’ll fix you a little something to tide you over until then. Just a bite or two. Then you can have supper with the rest of the family and meet the children.”
Ida’s “little something” turned out to be thick slices of bread dripping in sweet butter, a crock of homemade preserves, a pot of tea, and several thick chunks of cheese. When Ginny tried to object, Ida looked up from the pots on the stove, scowled at her in mock ferocity, and pointed a long-handled spoon in her direction. “You eat. I won’t have it being said in these parts that I don’t take care of my guests or my neighbors. Since you’re a bit of both, I expect you to eat everything on that plate, you hear?”
Ginny obligingly took a sip from her cup and savored the heavenly taste of honest-to-goodness rose hip tea.
A snuffling cry suddenly interrupted the warmth of the kitchen. “I was hopin’ he’d sleep for another hour or two.” Ida smiled in rueful apology and disappeared into the next room. When she returned, her arms were filled with a bundle of squirming blankets.
Ginny laughed in delight when a pair of fists pushed the coverings aside and she came face-to-face with a chubby-cheeked baby. A shock of dark hair curled about his face, and he stared at her with big brown eyes.
“This here’s Nathaniel. He’s nearly ten months old—my youngest, and hopefully my last.” Though Ida’s words were resigned, it was clear that the little boy in her arms held a special place in her heart.
Ginny couldn’t tear her gaze away from the baby. He regarded her suspiciously. Then, as if he approved of her, he giggled and kicked against the restraints of the blankets.
“May I?” Ginny asked, holding out her arms.
Ida grinned indulgently and handed Nathaniel to Ginny.
Ginny was immediately inundated by the pleasant smells of clean baby skin. Nathaniel chortled and reached out to tug on a strand of her hair.
