Brides of Iowa

by Stevens, Connie;

  The bell on the door jingled, and Gideon looked up to see his sister, Martha, entering the mercantile. A radiant blush glowed on her cheeks, and her green eyes sparkled. “Good afternoon, big brother.” She planted a kiss on Gideon’s cheek.

  He grinned at her. “You certainly look like there’s nothing wrong in your world today.”

  “What could be wrong?” Martha extended her arms and pirouetted. “God has answered my prayers, and in a few weeks, I’ll be Mrs. Theodore Luskin.”

  Gideon smiled as peace filled his heart. Martha was marrying a fine, hardworking, Christian young man who adored her. “So what brings you to our establishment today?”

  “This week’s mail.” She pulled the envelopes from her reticule and laid them on the counter.

  She pressed her palms against the worn wood and beamed. “I just came from the hotel dining room. Their desserts are wonderful. The chocolate cake … mmmm.” She closed her eyes and smiled as though she could taste the confection from memory.

  Gideon leaned against the counter. “Did you and Ted have lunch there?”

  Martha shook her head, and the gold tendrils that framed her face danced. “No, his mother came to town today so we could discuss the wedding with Pastor Witherspoon, and she took me to the hotel for lunch. We asked if the cook could make a wedding cake, and she said yes.”

  Gideon frowned. He didn’t wish to deny his sister, but even the smallest luxuries cost money. “Did you happen to get a price for this cake?”

  Martha’s countenance fell, and her voice lost some of its joy. “She said two dollars and a half.”

  Gideon felt like a cad. His declining business wasn’t Martha’s worry. How could he rob her of her happy anticipation? He reached over and patted her hand. “Go ahead and order the cake, honey.” I’ll manage to pay for it somehow.

  His sister came around the counter and hugged him. “Oh, thank you, Gideon. I’ll see you tonight at supper.”

  He bid her good-bye and watched her dash up the stairs to their living quarters. He wished his parents could have lived long enough to see their daughter married. How pleased Pa would have been to walk Martha down the aisle.

  Troubling thoughts of Tessa arose once again. The way her father hurled horrible accusations at her sickened him. Gideon puzzled over Langford’s unreasonable attack on Tessa. How could the man possibly blame her for her mother’s death? He couldn’t imagine his own father telling Martha she was worthless. On the contrary, his father adored his daughter. He shook his head and breathed a prayer for Tessa’s safety and comfort. Her welfare had become a regular request whenever he communed with God.

  He sorted through the mail. The return address on one envelope made his heart leap—the long-awaited answer from a horse breeder in Illinois. He tore open the flap and extracted the missive. A smile climbed into his face as he read. The man was willing to sell him a Belgian stallion at a reasonable price. The letter included terms and suggestions for taking delivery.

  The only thing standing between him and his dream of owning a spread and breeding horses was the sale of the mercantile. Now with the promise of a stallion, he allowed himself to daydream about a pasture full of fine animals, bred especially for the needs of farmers—powerful horses that could pull a plow or a heavy wagon and help a farmer clear a field of rocks and stumps, yet gentle enough to take the family to church on Sunday. If he accepted Kilgore’s offer, he could move ahead with his plans. Despite the foul taste left in his mouth whenever he thought about the man, Kilgore’s offer looked better all the time.

  The door’s jingling bell interrupted his thoughts as Pearl Dunnigan walked in. “Good afternoon, Gideon.”

  He tucked the letter away. “Hello, Miss Pearl. What can I do for you today?”

  The smiling woman reached into her reticule. “It’s pretty much the same list every week. Whenever I try to change the menu, my boarders complain that they’d rather have the same fried chicken and pot roast.”

  Gideon grinned. Miss Pearl’s fried chicken was legendary, and her pot roast was fork tender and juicy. “I don’t blame them.”

  She shook her head. “It gets tiring sometimes, especially since I’m getting older. Standing in the kitchen for hours isn’t as easy as it was ten years ago. I thought I’d try to get some fresh fruit for dessert instead of having to prepare something.”

  Gideon glanced at her as he weighed the amount of sugar she needed. “I hear tell the hotel dining room is turning out some pretty good pies and cakes. Martha’s planning to order her wedding cake from there. Maybe you could give yourself a break and pick up a couple of pies.”

  Miss Pearl put her hands on her hips. “Why, Gideon Maxwell, what an excellent idea. You know Mr. Clemmons who boards at my place thinks Mr. Kilgore must have hired himself a new cook.”

  Her observation gave Gideon pause. Kilgore said Tessa was waiting tables. “That a fact?”

  Mrs. Dunnigan laughed. “You know what a gossip Mr. Clemmons is, so anything he says is purely speculation.”

  Gideon scooped dried beans into a bag to weigh them. “I might go over there myself and sample some pie. Maybe I’ll take Martha along so she can see what an apple pie is supposed to taste like.”

  “Oh Gideon, shame on you. You shouldn’t pick on Martha so. She’ll be a fine cook someday.”

  Gideon didn’t put much effort in his attempt to appear repentant. “If I didn’t pick on her, she’d think I didn’t love her.”

  “Tsk-tsk. Gideon Maxwell, you’re terrible.” Miss Pearl shook her head.

  Gideon winked at her. “Did you want any molasses or bacon to go with these beans?”

  “Hmm, five pounds of bacon, and go ahead and throw in a tin of molasses. Maybe I’ll bake some cookies next week.”

  Gideon accommodated her request and tucked in a couple of the dear lady’s favorite peppermint sticks.

  Miss Pearl counted out her money, and he carried the loaded box out to the little cart she always pulled along behind her when she ran her errands. “Thank you, Gideon. Now don’t you be a stranger. You come and see my Maggie’s new batch of kittens.”

  Gideon grinned. “Haven’t you told Maggie she’s too old for such nonsense? How many years have you had that old cat?”

  “Oh, nigh onto fifteen years, I think. Anyway, this is the cutest litter she’s ever had. Maybe Martha would like to pick one out. She’s going to be living out on the Luskins’ farm. They’ll need a good mouser.”

  “Yes ma’am, I’ll ask her. You have a nice afternoon now.” He paused in the doorway and considered Miss Pearl’s comment about Kilgore hiring a new cook. Could it be Tessa was doing more than just waiting tables?

  He glanced up and down the boardwalk. No throngs of customers demanded his attention. It wouldn’t hurt to run over to the hotel for a piece of pie.

  He locked the door and hurried down the boardwalk. His long strides covered the distance to the hotel in no time. Most of the lunch patrons had already departed when he entered the archway that led to the dining room. He sat down hoping for a glimpse of Tessa.

  Instead the regular waitress came over to his table to take his order.

  “Hello, Tillie. Do you have any apple pie left?”

  Tillie smiled. “It’s been going fast these days, but we’re turning them out as fast as we sell them. Is that all you want, just pie?”

  “And coffee. Thanks.”

  Tillie hurried away and returned moments later with a generous slab of apple pie and a steaming cup of coffee. “Fifteen cents.”

  Gideon pulled out two dimes and told Tillie to keep the change. The spicy aroma teased his senses, and his mouth began to water before he tasted the first bite. When the still-warm apples and cinnamon wrapped in flaky crust hit his tongue, he closed his eyes and savored the sweetness. It was beyond any doubt the best apple pie in the county. Would it be too bold for him to ask who made it?

  Tillie returned a minute later. “More coffee?”

  “No, thanks. But I woul
d like to compliment your cook on this wonderful pie.” He waited with hopeful anticipation to learn the identity of the baker.

  Confusion traced lines across Tillie’s forehead, and she cast a glance over her shoulder. “We all pitch in and share the kitchen duties.”

  Disappointment pricked him. He’d hoped Tessa was the one turning out the delectable desserts. “Did you make this pie? It’s certainly the best I ever ate.”

  “N–no, it wasn’t me.” After another nervous glance from side to side, she leaned down to whisper to Gideon. “Actually, we have a new girl who was hired to wait tables, but she’s been doing the baking since our cook burned her hand.”

  So it was Tessa! But why did Tillie seem to think Tessa’s baking skills should be kept secret?

  “If Mr. Kilgore finds out Flossie hurt her hand and isn’t doing everything she’s supposed to do, he’ll fire her. Tessa, the girl who’s doing the baking, came up with a plan for her and me to help out so Flossie won’t lose her job. In fact, we were wondering if you have anything at the mercantile to use on burns.”

  Gideon’s heart smiled at the thought of Tessa stepping up to help the injured cook, but outwardly he frowned. “Hasn’t she seen the doctor?”

  Tillie shook her head vehemently.

  He pressed his lips together and thought for a moment. “Let me see what I can do.”

  The waitress smiled in obvious relief. “Thank you.”

  Gideon shoveled the rest of the pie into his mouth and pressed his fork on the remaining crumbs, unwilling to waste a single morsel. He drained his coffee and rose to leave.

  On his way out, his eye caught a glimpse of motion from the second-floor balcony. When his gaze darted upward, he discovered Kilgore standing at the railing, watching him walk across the lobby.

  Chapter 6

  Gideon itched to contact the man in Illinois regarding the purchase of the stallion, but first things first. A piece of acreage he’d looked at awhile back, land perfectly suited for his dream, called to him. As far as he knew, the parcel remained available.

  When he and Martha returned home from church and finished eating Sunday dinner, he walked over to the livery. “Howdy, Cully!”

  The old curmudgeon snorted as he startled awake. “Gideon! Why you sneakin’ up on a body like that? It’s plumb dangerous to come up behind a man, y’know.”

  Gideon grinned at the gray-haired old coot. “You don’t look too dangerous to me, sleeping in that haystack, Cully. Now some of those swayback, lop-eared nags in the corral are another matter. How much do you charge to rent one of those prized steeds?”

  Cully brushed off his overalls and picked hay from his scraggly beard. He waved a gnarled hand in the direction of the corral. “Take your pick. If you saddle him yourself, I won’t charge you nothin’.”

  “Thanks, Cully.”

  Gideon snagged the halter of the nearest horse. Minutes later he tightened the cinch and mounted. Reining the animal through the corral gate, he set off toward the east at a lope.

  It’d been months since he’d looked over this piece of land. As he rode, he pictured in his mind every draw and grassy slope and the small creek that meandered through the prime grazing pasture.

  He scanned the landscape and found the outcropping of boulders that served as the landmark. He reined the gelding in the direction of what he hoped would someday become his spread. A grove of aspens quivered in the breeze along the northern boundary of the parcel, and the slope was dotted with cottonwoods and birches.

  He walked the horse along a line where he imagined sturdy fences for a corral and a large barn for housing his brood mares. Beyond that, the perfect spot for a house came into view, up on a rise surrounded by scrub junipers and sheltered by a stand of white pines and cedars. The creek sang as the water tumbled down the slope and leveled out into the grazing land. If he could have painted a picture of his dream, this would be it.

  First thing Monday morning, he planned to be at the land office to confirm the availability of the land. If his dream was to be reality, however, the sale of the mercantile still hung over his head. Kilgore’s smug smile tainted his ambition.

  He lingered awhile longer, turning his plans over in his head. No need to hurry back since it was Sunday. He dismounted and looped the reins around a low-hanging branch. After taking a moment to inhale the fragrance of the thick spring grass, he hiked up to the spot where he thought to build the house.

  The area was elevated just high enough to overlook the acreage spreading out before him. He needed nothing grand in a house but hoped one day to bring a wife to this place and raise a family. There was plenty of room on the rise for a good-sized house, a kitchen garden, a chicken coop, and a grassy area for children to play. In his mind’s eye, he saw smoke coming from a stone chimney and a woman hanging laundry on the clothesline with a toddler clinging to her apron. Unexpectedly Tessa’s face eased into his thoughts.

  Startled, he blinked and the image melted from his mind. When he stopped to consider the idea, he realized Tessa’s tender heart and uncomplaining spirit had already endeared her to him. She possessed a spirit of determination that made him smile.

  He paused and invited his mind to once again entertain the possibility. Was it so unreasonable to ponder? True, he didn’t know a great deal about her other than the love and respect she’d had for her mother and that her father abused then abandoned her. But the very fact that she wasted no time seeking employment and resisted help bespoke of her character. She was unspoiled, wanted a handout from no one, and didn’t hesitate to befriend the hotel cook when the woman had a need.

  He strolled across the imaginary front porch and leaned down to pluck a few daisies growing where he thought the fireplace ought to be built. He envisioned a warm, comfortable room with a rocking chair beside the hearth. Once more Tessa appeared in the picture, taking her ease in the rocker with a small babe in her arms.

  “This is ridiculous. I hardly know the girl.” He was glad there was no one about to read his foolish reflections.

  But why were they foolish? He and Tessa were friends. What was to stop him from getting to know her better? The idea was not at all unpleasant.

  A winsome thought wandered through his mind. “I wonder if Tessa likes daisies.” His mouth tweaked with a smile. “Only one way to find out.” He bent to add a dozen more flowers to his few and then pulled some long prairie grasses to tie the bunch together.

  As he strode back to where the horse was tethered and munching the sweet meadow grass, Gideon’s step hesitated. Did Tessa work on Sunday? How should he approach her to hand her the flowers? Knock on the kitchen door? The horse turned his head and gave Gideon a woeful look. “How should I know if she’s working today?”

  The horse gave an answering snort and shook his head as he pawed the ground. The only thing that interested the beast was heading back to the barn.

  “Come on, horse. Let’s go.” He tucked the stems of the daisies inside his shirt and swung into the saddle. All the way back to town he accused himself of getting off track. After all, the purpose of his excursion was to take another look at the parcel of land he wanted to purchase, not daydream about the woman with whom he might one day share that land.

  Gideon shook off the guilt. It wasn’t unimaginable to want a wife and family one day as long as he didn’t allow his priorities to become out of order. Wanting the kind of marriage his parents had was a fine aspiration. But his first priority was selling the mercantile and purchasing the land. Next, he’d strike a deal with the man from Illinois to purchase a stallion. Finding a wife should come later, after he had a place to offer her.

  When he arrived back in Willow Creek, the first person he spotted was Henry Kilgore. Why did it always seem like the man was watching him? Kilgore thrust out his chest and hooked his thumbs in his suspenders, the ever-present cigar hanging out one side of his mouth. As Gideon rode past on his way to the livery, Kilgore nodded to him with a half smirk, like he knew to whom Gideon planned
to give the daisies.

  Walking into the dining room and handing Tessa the flowers was a stupid plan anyway. The last thing he wanted to do was embarrass her or jeopardize her job. If he couldn’t think of a better idea, he’d wind up taking the flowers home to Martha.

  “I’m telling you, I think you should open a bakery. Just look at these orders. Three whole cakes and five whole pies, and that doesn’t include all the servings we sell to the diners every day.”

  Tessa brushed a floury hand across her chin and continued rolling out piecrusts. Tillie’s imagination was running away with her. “Where would I get the money to start a bakery? Sure, I like the idea, and I truly do enjoy baking, but just think of everything I would need.”

  Flossie snorted. “It ain’t likely you’ll ever make enough money here, working for Kilgore.”

  It was true. Her wages barely covered her thrifty needs. The old sock she used to tuck away a bit of savings toward her winter rent remained pitifully slack. How she wished she could afford to look elsewhere for a better paying job. When she made up her mind to survive, she took the first job that came along. Now she feared finding anything better was a fairy tale.

  Tillie shrugged. “It’s nice to dream.”

  Tessa had to admit it was an admirable goal, albeit an impossible one. She lifted her shoulders. “I appreciate your compliment. It was a very nice thing to say.”

  Flossie turned her head to look at Tessa. “We’ve got a problem, you know.”

  “What problem?”

  Flossie held up her hand. “My hand is getting better since I started using that Porter’s Liniment Salve Gideon Maxwell gave me. I can’t keep expecting you to do all the baking. But the customers didn’t rave about my desserts like they do yours, and if I start doing the baking again, we’ll start losing business.”

  Tessa barely heard Flossie’s description of what she deemed a problem. Her focus hung on the cook’s first statement. “Gideon gave you that salve? I thought you’d gone to the doctor.”