by Lisa Bingham
She was sure she should be impressed, but she knew nothing of farming or freighting or livestock. And as for his home, staring at it now, she could see that the dwelling needed much more than a “few feminine amenities.” Ginny wondered how she would cope.
“Of course, I realize you’ll need a week or two to get used to the chore routines and all, especially since the children will take most of your time.”
At the mention of his children Ginny felt a twinge of uneasiness. What did she know about adolescents? She’d spent most of her own time in boarding schools. What was she going to do with three young women each day?
As if on cue, a bloodcurdling scream rose from the valley floor. Ginny jumped, but Orrin merely shrugged and slapped the reins.
The wagon rumbled down the hill and into the yard. After guiding the team toward the barn Orrin brought the animals to a stop.
“I’ll need to unload the wagon and unhitch the team. You go on up and introduce yourself to the girls.”
More cries filtered through the air, coming from the direction of the house. “But Orrin, something’s wrong.”
“Nah, they’re just playing. They’ve got a lot of imagination, those three.”
“But, Orrin—”
“Go on up. Get yourself warmed by the stove.”
Still unsure why Orrin appeared so unconcerned, Ginny reluctantly acceded to his wishes and climbed from the wagon. She kept her shoulders stiff so they wouldn’t sag in disappointment as she walked toward the house.
So this was the palace Ruby had promised. The whitewashed home was about as big as Miriam Parker’s front parlor. There was no porch, simply a stoop that was barely wide enough for a rocking chair.
Ginny supposed she should be grateful. At the very least, the building was solid.
Another scream tore through the chill breeze, and this time she knew it was a scream of terror. Even Orrin had looked up from his task. His face paled, then he began running toward the house.
Ginny clasped her skirts, darted up the steps, and threw open the door.
In the seconds it took for her eyes to adjust to the dim light, Ginny could scarcely credit what she was seeing. A young girl with shining gold hair had been tied to the kitchen table with an assortment of dish towels, rope, and yarn until she couldn’t move a muscle to defend herself. A child of no more than two straddled one of her legs and was biting the captive’s toe while another pair of hooligans danced around the room amid a chorus of war whoops, holding aloft hanks of golden hair.
The girl howled. Seeing the flash of a straight-edged razor, Ginny raced forward to clamp a hand over his wrist, stopping the child before any more hair could be cut from the captive’s head.
“Now see here!”
The other child, seeing the predicament of his partner, screamed, dived to grab one of Ginny’s legs, and began butting her in the stomach with his head.
Ginny’s breath left her body in a whoosh of surprise at the blows.
“Girls!”
At the thunderous exclamation the kitchen became silent. Then, as quickly as Ginny had been assaulted, she was released. Even the urchin with the razor managed to pull loose amid choruses of “Daddy!”
Ginny could feel the blood leaving her face.
Daddy?
These abominable brats couldn’t possibly be Orrin’s!
“Ginny, these are my children,” Orrin began before she could speak aloud. “Girls, this here’s your new ma.”
“No!”
Before Orrin could finish his statement he was besieged by a volley of kicking, stamping, screaming children who were obviously less than enthusiastic about the prospect of a new mother.
Orrin scowled at the three children, who were working up to a full-fledged temper tantrum. He reached down to scoop the two-year-old against his hip and barked, “Stop! Introduce yourselves all proper-like. I know you can.”
The children cried even harder.
Orrin pulled one mutinous youngster forward by the hair. “This here’s Imogene. She’s the oldest—nearly eight.”
Imogene? The little heathen was a girl? Ginny had tried to tell herself that the angelic child on the table was Orrin’s daughter and the other hellions had broken into the house and tied her to the table. But as she watched, aghast, Orrin shattered any possibility of that pipe dream.
“This is Eunice,” he said, indicating the four-year-old who was in the midst of a crying fit. She’d sunk to the floor and lay on her stomach, kicking and punching the boards, her face contorted in rage and despair.
Still maintaining his hold on Imogene, Orrin settled the littlest urchin more firmly onto his hip. “And this here’s Baby Grace.”
The toddler peered at Ginny from a face that was dirty and stained with at least a day’s worth of food.
“Girls, this is Ginny, your new mama.”
At the word mama all three children began to cry in earnest.
Ginny glanced from the sobbing girl—Tilly, she assumed—still tied to the table, to the three children near the hearth, to her new husband. Then she ran from the house, slamming the door behind her.
Chapter 8
Ginny didn’t know where she was going or what she planned to do, she simply knew she had to get away. Away from the shouting, the crying…
The children.
They were only babies. Babies!
Had Ruby told the truth about anything at all? If Ginny had been given any idea that Orrin’s children were barely out of diapers, she wouldn’t have even considered the offer!
Damn that Ruby anyway. She should have known Ginny wasn’t prepared for this. She should have known!
Lifting her skirts even higher out of the mud, Ginny began to run, heading away from the house and the outbuildings toward a group of pines a few hundred yards away.
She ran around the screen of trees, then stopped to catch her breath, dropping her hems and pressing a hand to her side. Then she straightened, looking about her with wide eyes. Almost at once she discovered she’d stumbled into a graveyard.
A small twinge of horror pierced her consciousness. She couldn’t escape Orrin or the evidence of his past marriage, even when she was running blind.
Turning slightly, she stared at the simple square tombstone. A flashing image of the children she’d left in the house raced through her mind, and Ginny shuddered. No doubt the woman had been driven into the grave by those … hooligans.
The anger swelled in her veins. Perhaps she should leave—before things became any more complicated. After all, when she’d vowed to love, honor, and cherish, there had been nothing included about self-preservation.
But as she stood over the grave, Ginny knew she couldn’t She’d made promises—to Orrin and to herself. One couldn’t back out of a marriage—even a marriage as unorthodox as her own—simply because of a few children.
But how was she going to manage? She wasn’t prepared for children so young. Not yet. Not Orrin’s children.
“Ginny?”
She started at Orrin’s voice and turned to find him regarding her with an enigmatic expression. She attempted to smooth the tendrils that had come loose from the coil on her neck.
He stepped forward, emerging from the shadows beneath the prickly pine boughs. The sun washed over the blunt cast of his features and the too-long waves of his hair.
“I’m sorry if the children were a little…” He hesitated as if searching for the right word.
Ginny could have found plenty of words—words like rude, ill-mannered, and misbehaved—but she refrained.
“In time the girls will learn to love you.”
“They’re so young,” she interrupted.
“Not really.”
“Ruby told me they were adolescents. Nearly ready for marriage themselves.”
Orrin’s brow furrowed in sudden understanding. “I’m sorry. I had no idea she’d misled you about my … predicament. But of course, you know how to care for children,” he added hastily. “They shoul
dn’t be much more trouble to you than if they were in their teens. After all, Ruby said you’d had a great deal of experience with youngsters.”
He broke off and stared at her, his features becoming uneasy. Ginny could see he’d just realized that he might have been told a few lies himself.
She opened her mouth to tell him the truth, but found she couldn’t.
He would send her away.
“You do know how to take care of them, don’t you?” She offered him a wide smile that felt shaky on her own lips. “Of course I do.”
“I mean, you have cared for children before.”
“Dozens and dozens.”
She could feel herself blanch at the lie, but when she noted his relief, she hoped that she could buy enough time to come up with some plan of action for dealing with his children.
Orrin came toward her. “That’s a load off my mind. I’m afraid they’ve become a bit of a handful.”
Ginny could just imagine. From what she’d seen, they would have been a handful for a regiment of men.
How was she going to control them?
She’d just corroborated Ruby’s lies and had given Orrin the impression that she had mounds of experience in dealing with little girls.
Orrin reached out to touch her shoulder. “This has been a rude few days for you, hasn’t it?”
She nodded.
“Give it some time, Ginny. I know Eden doesn’t look like much now, but come summer”—his hands slipped down, drawing her to him—“you’ll grow to love it here. I promise.”
Ginny wasn’t sure about that. Right now she wasn’t sure about much of anything. It looked as if she’d escaped from one tangled mess of trouble only to jump headfirst into an even messier situation. So many people had lied to her, she was beginning to believe that she would never know if anyone told her the truth again.
His hands slid around her waist, and she saw his inner turmoil in his gaze. She rested her palms against his stomach. The flesh beneath her fingers excited her. The muscles were hard. Firm.
He nudged nearer, pressing her more firmly against his torso.
A silken heat began spreading through her body. His head dipped, and without touching her, he managed to caress her simply through anticipation. He watched her carefully, savoring each moment. She could feel the tense quality of his body, the look of curiosity, awareness, and intrigue she saw in his eyes.
“Daddy!”
Orrin’s lashes closed for one brief moment. “Hell.”
They turned to find the three girls watching them.
Orrin’s arms slowly dropped away, and a chill crept back into Ginny’s skin when she found herself without his warmth. Yet when she caught the expressions on the children’s faces, the cold settled to the bone. They watched her with undisguised dislike, as if she had dared to defile some holy shrine.
The emotions that had briefly thundered within Ginny were effectively doused. She was reminded of the fact that she was standing on Jesse’s grave.
A blatant embarrassment flashed over Orrin’s features. He glanced from the grave to Ginny, then to his children. “I’ve got to unload the wagon,” he said, and he stomped away.
The children continued to eye her intently. Then Imogene gave her one more look, sniffed, and spun on her heel, dragging her sisters behind her.
Ginny glared at the smooth marble tombstone. A frustration that she didn’t understand spread through her limbs, and when she spoke her tone was weary.
“You won’t let them go, will you? Not even now.” Ginny’s words faded into the air, and her shoulders straightened as her chin tilted at a defiant angle. “Well, you can have them, Jesse Ghant. You can have them all.”
Orrin snapped the ropes free from the wagon and began to unload the supplies he’d brought with him from Ogden. Returning time and time again he lifted the heavy sacks of oats and seeds and stacked them in the upper portions of the loft. His movements were especially brisk as he tried to lessen the swirl of feelings within him. But emotional relief did not come so easily.
He’d nearly lost control with Ginny. And just after he’d promised himself he would move more slowly, give her a chance to get used to him.
But he couldn’t shove the tantalizing images out of his head. Images of Ginny’s skin pressed against his own, her full lips, her sweetness. After so long without the companionship of a woman, this inexplicable desire was almost too powerful to contain.
Damn it all to hell.
In front of his own girls.
“Daddy?”
He jerked and turned to find the children hurrying toward him. It was obvious they had dressed themselves that morning. They wore a motley assortment of tattered overalls and underwear—no shirts, despite the nip in the air.
As they approached, Imogene threw him a dark, accusing stare from beneath a tangle of short curly hair. Orrin realized that Imogene was far from happy about his marriage. And since she was the eldest, the other children would follow her lead. Even now Eunice watched her older sister with worried eyes. Then her chin began to wobble, and huge crocodile tears brimmed onto her cheeks. Her chubby arms had a stranglehold on Baby Grace, and she dragged the toddler across the yard like an oversized rag doll, taking no heed of Baby Grace’s howls of outraged dignity.
When they reached him, Orrin rescued his youngest daughter from Eunice’s grasp. The baby’s cries terminated like pump water being shut off, and she smiled up at Orrin with wide, innocent eyes that were as big and brown as old pennies. Beside him Imogene stubbed her scuffed boots into the dirt and refused to look at him at all. Eunice’s sobs escalated to a fit.
Orrin speared the little girl with a stern glance. “That’s enough, Eunice.”
Seeing her father was less than impressed by her spontaneous show of tears, Eunice wiped away the moisture trickling down her cheeks and grinned. “We sure missed you, Pa.”
Orrin had opened his mouth to issue a curt reproof, but Eunice’s remark left him floundering for a moment. “I missed you, too,” he finally answered. Then he noted Baby Grace’s filthy face and frowned. “What’s she been eating?”
Eunice was only too eager to supply the answer. “Dirt.”
“Dirt?”
“I wouldn’t let her eat the worms.”
Orrin tried not to shudder.
He withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket and licked the edge, but it soon became clear that Grace was in need of far more than a spit bath. He groaned. At times like these he saw just how much he needed a woman’s help in raising his children.
Orrin led the girls out to the pump, moistened his hanky, and forced them all to wash. Why he bothered he didn’t know, since their clothing was far more disreputable.
After the two older children had finished he washed Grace, then set her on the ground and hunkered close to the trio.
“I want to talk to you for a minute.”
The three of them stared up at their father.
“Ginny’s a real nice lady.”
“She’s not our ma,” Imogene interrupted.
“No, she’s not. But she could be. If you’d let her.”
“Our ma’s dead.”
Orrin studied his eldest daughter. Perhaps because her memories were stronger, she was the most resistant to the idea of his new wife. Her chin was set at a stubborn angle, and her dark eyes flashed. “Yes, I know. But you can have another mama.”
“We don’t want another one.”
“But…” He paused thoughtfully. “Give her a chance. She wants to help you. She wants to be your friend.”
“We don’t want her to be our friend. Send her away and let Mama come back.”
Orrin’s jaw clenched. He tried not to react to Imogene’s words, but they unwittingly brought a wash of painful memories. “Mama can’t come back. You know that.”
“She’s gone to live with God.” Eunice recited the words that she’d been told often enough by the neighbor women.
“She’s a angel,” Grace added.
>
Orrin shot a stern look at Imogene, but she stared at him mutinously. “Why didn’t God take her?” She gestured toward the house.
“God didn’t want her,” he retorted without thinking.
“Well, we don’t want her either!” Emitting one last grunt of childish betrayal, Imogene stormed off in the direction of the barn.
Orrin fought to keep his temper, but he was tired, frustrated, and hungry. He hadn’t meant to get into a discussion of life and death, and he wasn’t in the mood for lies.
A whimpering Eunice joined her sister, her shoulders slumping beneath the straps of the too-large overalls.
Baby Grace took one look at Orrin, threw her arms around his neck, and burst into heartrending tears.
Orrin held her close and fought the knot that formed in his own throat.
“Damn, damn, damn…”
Ginny tried to convince herself that she’d seen the worst of Eden and the Ghants. But when she entered the house, she realized she’d entertained the thought much too soon.
Tilly Carrigan had long since gone, probably taking the two plow mules with her. Ginny was alone.
Her eyes dropped from the table and moved from one side of the room to the other. The keeping room held the kitchen table, some rough cratelike cabinets, a stove, and a dry sink. A few chairs lay scattered on either side of the front door, and to one side a second door led into another cramped room that held a narrow pine bed, several trunks, and a rocking chair.
The rooms had one thing in common: disorder. In fact, Ginny doubted that they’d seen a broom—let alone a mop—in at least six months. Every available surface was covered with old periodicals, farm equipment, tools, and bits of clothing. It was obvious the iron stove had not been scrubbed in years, and nothing had been tidied in at least that long.
Her stomach rumbled, and Ginny went in search of food. Opening one hutch door, she discovered a single potato leering at her, its eyes overgrown with a mass of tentacles.
Holding a hand to her mouth, Ginny slammed the door closed. Bending, she tried another.
She screamed when a small gray mouse scurried out of the hutch and scampered across the floor.
