The 12 Brides of Summer Novella Collection #3

by Margaret Brownley

  “It’s kolache. Such sweet little pastries you’ve never tasted. I’ll be glad to show you how to make them.”

  “Oh, wonderful.” Aunt Eugenia clapped her hands. “You could make these for Independence Day, Lucy. It’s always nice to have a new dish or two on the table.”

  Mrs. Everett leaned close and whispered, “Apricot is Eli’s favorite.”

  Lucy blushed and refused to look at Eli. Had he heard what his mother had said? Instead, she glanced at the piece of paper. Scribbling filled the entire first page and spilled over onto the back. Oh my! “Thank you, ma’am, but I hate to put you to so much trouble.”

  “It’s no trouble, dear. Just let me know if you decide to make them.” Mrs. Everett’s smile faded, and she patted Lucy on the arm. “Eli, can you help me to my rocker? My legs are getting a mite tired.”

  Lucy bit her lip in consternation. Had she offended Mrs. Everett by not being more enthusiastic about the recipe? But it looked so complicated! Worry furrowed her brow. She’d have to do something to make it right, starting with making sure she had all the ingredients on hand to try her hand at making kolaches.

  Eli leaned against the trunk of a pine tree along the creek bank, watching the children play in the water. Even some of the older folks had removed their shoes and waded along the edges, cooling off as the day grew hotter.

  He grinned as Jack dipped little Aaron’s bare feet in the water. Lucy and Maggie laughed as the boy squealed and kicked, splashing water all over Jack. When Maggie and Jack headed back to the wagon with a thoroughly wet child, Lucy’s attention focused on the wild roses growing on the bank. She plucked one of the blooms and studied it carefully as she walked toward him, her attention totally captured by the pink bud.

  She glanced up and her gaze met his. Her cheeks pinkened to the shade of the flower in her hand. “Oh, I didn’t know you were there.”

  “Hope I didn’t startle you.” He gestured toward the flower. “What’s so fascinating about a wild rose?”

  She smiled, a shy, teasing smile, and holding the flower up, twirled it around. “I’m studying it so I can figure out how to crochet flowers that look like this.”

  “Hmm. I see.”

  Her brow arched. “Do you?”

  He squinted and shook his head. “Not really.”

  She lifted the edges of her shawl, much like the one he’d found in the woods, except this one was white. He meant to return her other one, but every time he’d reach for it, he’d found an excuse to keep it longer. “See this pattern? Do you know what this is?”

  He shook his head. “I can’t say that I do.”

  “Pinecones.”

  He peered at the shawl and nodded. “Well, I’ll be. That does look like pinecones.”

  She laughed, the soft tilt of her lips doing funny things to his insides. “I’ve been studying the way the cones look and finally got the hang of it a couple of days ago. I just finished this last night.”

  “It’s pretty.” He snapped his fingers. “Is that why I found a pinecone in our lunch the other day?”

  “Probably.” She smirked and held out the rest of the shawl. “See this? It’s a spider-web pattern.”

  Eli nodded. Even he could see the resemblance. He quirked an eyebrow at her. “Have you ever seen hoarfrost or the early morning dew on a spider web? It sparkles and shines in the sunlight. Like—” He shrugged. He didn’t have words to describe it, but he knew she’d like it. He shifted and looked down at his dusty boots. “There’s nothing like it.”

  “I’d love to see it sometime, but—” she squished up her nose in distaste. “I’m not fond of traipsing around in the woods, looking for spider webs.”

  “There’s really not that much to be afraid of in the woods.” He glanced at her and grinned. “Other than having a tree fall on you.”

  Chapter 8

  Lucy placed the last jar of wildflowers on one of the tables and eyed her handiwork. She smiled, wondering if the loggers would notice the sprig of pine needles she’d stuck in the jars for added greenery, or the red-and-white-checked gingham strips she’d tied around the jars for more color.

  “What are you doing?”

  Lucy turned at the sound of Annabelle’s voice. She hurried to her cousin’s side and hugged her. “Are you feeling better? I’ve been worried.”

  “Much better. Until tomorrow morning, I expect.”

  “Oh.” Lucy held her at arm’s length. “Morning sickness?”

  Annabelle laughed, a secretive smile on her face, a hand to her middle. “Yes. I think; I hope.”

  “Oh, Annabelle.” Lucy hugged her again. “Have you told Samuel?”

  “Yes, last night. It’s too early to know for sure, but Mama thinks so, too.” She glanced around. “So, what are you doing with all these wildflowers?”

  Lucy shrugged. “I thought I’d try to spruce things up a bit. The flowers are pretty, and I thought the men might enjoy them.”

  Annabelle shook her head as she tied on an apron. “Well, don’t be surprised if they don’t even notice.”

  The men lined up for supper as calm as could be. No pushing and shoving. They even removed their caps. They took their places at the tables, eating quietly and without their usual rowdy behavior. Annabelle leaned close to Lucy and whispered, “I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it. Even Ox is showing some table manners. Amazing.”

  Lucy stood at the sideboard, watching the men eat. Some of them talked among themselves, while the others ate silently, not even glancing up from their plates. She caught Eli’s gaze and he gave her a tiny smile. A few of the men came back for seconds, and Lucy ladled hash onto their plates. Ox didn’t move, but she noticed him eyeing his empty plate and the tomato relish at the end of the table.

  Suddenly, it dawned on Lucy that she’d made a big mistake. The flowers made the men nervous. She tucked the pan of hash under her arm and hurried over to the tables. “More hash, Mr. Ox?”

  “Why, thank ye, Miss Lucy.” The big man smiled up at her and held out his plate.

  She gave him two big helpings then continued to make the rounds, ladling hash on empty plates. The hum of conversation grew but didn’t get to the deafening level it had been during previous meals. As soon as the men finished eating, they got up from her pretty table, careful not to jostle anything or overturn the mason jars. They didn’t linger over coffee and dessert as they usually did. Respectfully, they thanked her, Maggie, and Annabelle for the meal before walking away.

  But something was lacking.

  And Lucy knew exactly what it was.

  She’d tried to bring a bit of cheer to the table with her girly decorations but had only succeeded in tamping down the men’s jovial spirit. Supper was a time for them to relax and enjoy each other’s company after a hard day in the woods.

  And she’d ruined it for them.

  Eli nursed his coffee and watched the men wander away.

  Lucy slid onto the bench across from him with a plate of hash, but she didn’t eat. Instead, she caught his gaze, looking miserable. “Looks like I messed up again.”

  Eli smiled at her through the gathering twilight. “How so?”

  She reached out and flicked the tips of her fingers at the wildflowers. “I thought the men would appreciate the flowers, but they just made them uncomfortable. I should have left well enough alone.”

  Eli leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. “Ah, Lucy, they did appreciate them. And it wasn’t the flowers, but the thought of messing up your pretty table that made them nervous. And, I imagine it made some of them think of home, of their mama’s table, of family.”

  She stabbed her fork at her hash, her lip turned down in a mulish pout. “Well, I liked the men better the way they were.”

  He chuckled. “And how’s that?”

  “When they came rushing in here, pushing and shoving to be first in line, demanding seconds, and—”

  “Licking their plates clean?”

  “Well, maybe not
that.” She winced then shook her head.

  “Does the fact that they don’t have good table manners bother you?”

  “Well, yes. No.” She took a dainty bite of hash and wiped her mouth with a clean napkin. “But they proved they could act civilized if they wanted to.”

  Eli dipped his head and stared down at his coffee cup. He seriously doubted today’s display of manners from the men would be good enough for polite society. Crumbling cornbread into your soup with your fingers and reaching across the table to grab whatever you needed wouldn’t endear them to any woman’s sense of propriety. “Civilized enough for Chicago’s crusty upper class?”

  A small laugh escaped her. “I wouldn’t know how the upper class lives.”

  He motioned at the open-air summer kitchen, the rough-cut boards resting on saw horses, the hard-packed dirt floor. “I imagine this is a long way from what you’re used to, regardless.”

  “Some.” She shrugged. “In Chicago, Mama had dinner on the table promptly at six. And Papa better not be late or she was not happy.”

  “At least your pa gets home on time, now that he’s working for Jack and Samuel.”

  “Last Christmas, I was invited to a Christmas ball by a. . .” Was that a blush that stole over her cheeks? “. . .a friend, and I felt a bit uncomfortable. Crystal chandeliers and silver spoons. I’d never seen so much food. And it was served in courses. Soup first, then fish, then—oh, I don’t remember what came next, but it was wonderful. I sat across from one of the curators from the Newberry Library, and he talked about his travels abroad to secure books for the library. He’d been to Rome, London, and Paris. And there were flowers everywhere. The centerpiece was so big I couldn’t even see over it. Can you imagine?”

  Her gaze met his, shining from the memory of her fancy feast and even fancier dinner conversation. He wouldn’t know a polite conversation if it hit him over the head, and he was still in the woods at six.

  “Nope. I can’t even picture such a thing.” He glanced at the rough tables and Lucy’s attempts to pretty the place up. A far cry from silver and crystal. “But it couldn’t be any prettier than the wildflowers you picked for the men. Even if they didn’t say anything, they appreciated your thoughtfulness.”

  “Why, thank you, Eli. What a sweet thing to say.” She fingered the jar of wildflowers between them. “But it doesn’t matter. There aren’t going to be any more flowers, not here at least. The men should be able to enjoy their meal without worrying about toppling over a jar of flowers.”

  Her gaze lifted and captured his as she pushed the jar of flowers toward him. “Would you take these to your mother? I think she’d enjoy them, and I would hate to throw them out.”

  Eli reached out, his hand capturing hers against the coolness of the jar. He knew he should pull back, but he didn’t want to let go, not yet. Slowly, he rubbed his thumb across the knuckles on the back of her hand. Her smile slipped and she lowered her gaze, but she didn’t pull away.

  “Lucy, got a letter for you today.” Samuel strode into the circle of light cast by the lanterns. Lucy slipped her hand away, and Eli slid the jar of flowers toward him as if nothing had happened. But his heart thudded inside his chest like a runaway mule, just from touching her hand. Samuel handed Lucy her letter. “From some feller up in Chicago, named Deotis Reichart.”

  Eli took a sip of his cold coffee and scowled behind the rim of his cup. Was Deotis Reichart the friend who’d invited her to the fancy dinner party? He’d bet his best crosscut saw on it.

  Chapter 9

  Come on, I want to show you something.”

  Lucy looked up from the flapjack batter she’d just mixed up. The gut-hammer hadn’t even sounded, and Eli stood in the early morning light, his dark eyes shining with excitement. Lucy eyed the big bowl of batter, frowning. “I can’t right now. Can’t it wait until later?”

  “Nope. It’ll be gone.”

  Annabelle took the bowl and shooed her away even as Lucy spotted Maggie hurrying across the yard toward the kitchen. “Go on. I think Maggie and I can handle everything for a while.”

  Eli grabbed her hand and led her away from the cook shack, down the road, past the sawmill toward Sipsey. A slight misty rain had fallen during the night, just enough to settle the dust on the roads. Lucy hurried to keep up with Eli. “Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see.”

  The sun rose behind them, bathing the grass and trees in early morning light. A half mile down the road, Eli paused and walked into a field of wildflowers, still damp with dew. He pointed. “Look.”

  Lucy stood on the log road, her gaze following his line of sight. There, suspended between two trees, was a spider web, the silky strands covered with millions of tiny raindrops. They watched in silence as the sun rose, shining its bright light on the web. The water droplets sparkled and shone in the light, like row upon row of delicate pearls. Lucy gasped in delight and pressed her hands together. “Oh, Eli, it’s spectacular.”

  “There’s more.” He squatted and pointed at the wildflowers. Lucy moved, her skirts swishing through the damp grass, but she barely noticed. She crouched by Eli’s side, her attention focused on the beauty in front of her. Small cobwebs connected the flowers, tatting them together much like she tatted lace. Dew clung to the webs, the flowers, the green leaves. As her gaze took in the ethereal beauty, something miraculous happened. The sunlight hit one of the drops of dew at the perfect angle and reflected the flowers in the droplet.

  Lucy clutched Eli’s arm and whispered, “Look at that.”

  As the sun rose higher, the magical moment slipped away. The spider web no longer sparkled, the drops of dew started to dissipate. The flowers no longer sparkled like jewels, but Lucy still felt the awe of what she’d seen.

  Eli stood, pulling her with him. Lucy shaded her eyes and looked up at him. “Thank you. That was one of the most beautiful sights I’ve ever seen.”

  His eyes met and held hers, a crooked smile twisting his mouth. “Prettier than the chandeliers in Chicago?”

  She glanced around the meadow, God’s handiwork still fresh and clear in her mind’s eye. She nodded. “Yes, even prettier than that.”

  Chapter 10

  I learned how to make kolaches from a Czech immigrant in one of the lumber camps over in Louisiana,” Mrs. Everett said.

  Lucy bit her lip and concentrated on mixing the dough for the pastry, just as she’d been instructed. They made cream cheese, apricot, and blueberry, even though Mrs. Everett lamented not having any poppy seeds, a common staple in the ones the Czech cook had made. Lucy slid the pastries into the oven just as Maggie appeared with Aaron in tow.

  “Hand me that sweet baby.” Mrs. Everett snuggled Aaron against her and kissed his cheek as she rocked him back and forth.

  Maggie sniffed appreciatively. “Hmmm, something smells good.”

  “Kolaches. They taste like doughnuts, but much better.” Mrs. Everett smiled at Lucy. “It’s Lucy’s contribution to the Independence Day celebration.”

  “I’m not sure how they’re going to turn out. I had a bit of trouble with the dough.” Lucy turned at the sound of a wagon lumbering down the road toward them. “Oh, there’s Papa with the decorations. But the kolaches—”

  “They’ll be fine.” Maggie tied on an apron. “You go on ahead and take care of making everything look pretty. That is one chore I have no talent for.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Definitely. Now shoo. I’ve got a chicken potpie to make, and Mrs. Everett is going to help me. You’re not the only one who’s taking lessons from her.”

  Mrs. Everett chuckled.

  Lucy took off her apron and fluffed her skirt. She’d worn her prettiest dress for today’s festivities. She smoothed her hair back, grabbed her bonnet, and kissed Mrs. Everett on the cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “No. Thank you. It makes me happy that you young ones are learning how to cook these dishes.” She smiled, her eyes twinkling. “You know good victua
ls are the way to a man’s heart, don’t you?”

  Lucy’s face flamed. “So they say.”

  Once Eugenia got it in her head that it was going to rain on Independence Day, what started out as a simple speaker’s platform ended up being a major project.

  Eli pounded in a nail then wiped his brow. “I sure hope she’s right about that rain, because it’s going to be a scorcher.”

  “Aunt Eugenia’s never wrong.” Samuel laughed and slapped him on the back. “Stick around and you’ll find out soon enough.”

  Eli, with Samuel’s and Josiah’s help, put the finishing touches on the roof just as Lucy and her father pulled up in the wagon.

  Mr. Denson waved him over. “Eli, help me out with all this froufrou Lucy’s got here. There’s enough red, white, and blue bunting to drape the entire town of Union, let alone Sipsey.”

  “Oh hush, Papa!” Lucy laughed and let Eli lift her to the ground. A jolt of awareness shot through him at the feel of her soft fingers resting against his arm. Such a simple touch, and so brief, but one he couldn’t ignore.

  Pulling his attention to the job at hand, Eli helped unload boxes of bunting, wildflowers, and fruit jars, wondering what she intended to do with it all, but knowing she had a plan. As soon as the wagon was unloaded, Mr. Denson pulled himself back into the seat. “I’d better get back to the house. I’ve got orders from Mrs. Denson to help her load up all her food. You think Lucy has a pile of decorations. Wait until you see all the food my wife’s cooked.”

  “Josiah, get over here and help with this stuff.” Eli picked up a box of bunting. “Where do you want this?”

  “The bunting goes to the speaker’s platform. The tablecloths and flowers on the tables, of course.”

  Josiah hefted a box, and he and Lucy headed toward the tables. Eli frowned at the colorful bunting in his hands, trying to figure out where Lucy wanted it. He tried to remember how it was hung in years past, but he’d never helped decorate before. What did women want with all these notions anyway?