Lone Star Romance Collection

by Cathy Marie Hake

  Five minutes later, Rob held a tray with dishes on it. A substantial thump sounded from one of the bedrooms, and an immediate shhh! followed.

  “What—“ Mercy wheeled around toward that room.

  “Else do we need to take out?” Rob cut in as he stepped in front of her. He tilted his head toward the direction of more rustling and winked. “That chicken platter is heavy. Do you want to take it out now”—he shook his head from side to side—“or get it on the next trip?” He nodded.

  Mercy took the cue. “Perhaps the next trip. Right now, I could take the potato salad out.”

  “Aye. That’s a fair plan. So off we go. How many watermelons are in your garden?”

  “I haven’t counted.” Mercy stepped out of the house.

  Rob followed and immediately set down the tray and held a finger up to his lips. He shut the door and stomped twice in place, then lightened his footfall to imitate the sound of them walking away. He winked at Mercy.

  She carefully set down the bowl she carried and gave him a baffled look.

  He held up one hand and crooked one finger at a time to count down five seconds. “Ah ha!” Rob shouted as he threw open the door.

  Peter screamed, and Duncan caught the platter of chicken before it fell. They traded a guilty look.

  “What’s wrong?” Chris demanded as he hastened up the steps.

  “What’s wrong?” Duncan groused. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong. You didn’t cause sufficient diversion!”

  Mercy’s eyes popped wide open. “Christopher, you were a part of this, too?”

  “It’s your fault,” Chris retorted.

  Pressing her hand to her bosom and sounding completely bewildered, Mercy said, “I am to blame?”

  “Aye, ’tis a fact.” Chris nodded.

  Rob smiled at her. “You’re a grand cook, and we’re desperately hungry men.”

  Mercy laughed. “You are all little boys having your fun. Now everyone, carry something and we will have supper.”

  Duncan held fast to the chicken platter and headed out the door. The look on his face dared anyone to reach for a bite. Mercy slipped to the side and picked up the bowl she’d set down while Chris rumbled to Rob, “She thinks ’twas all a game.”

  Duncan let out a bark of laughter.

  Rob couldn’t. He was too focused on Mercy to pay much attention to his brothers. For the first time since he’d met her, Mercy had laughed.

  Throughout supper, Rob hoped to hear her laugh again. Chris and Duncan were in rare form, teasing one another and pulling Peter or Mr. Stein into the middle of nonsensical debates. Mercy smiled a time or two, but that was it.

  After they’d demolished the supper and decimated the cake, Chris surveyed the scattered collection of plates. “Well, Rob, I’m thinking you willna hae to work too hard, washing the dishes. We practically licked them clean for you already.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Duncan said in an affronted tone. “You might hae eaten like a ravening beast, but I didna stoop to that level. Neither did Rob. We sopped up the last morsels wi’ Mercy’s fine bread.”

  “That, we did.” Rob grinned. “It was efficient and mannerly. Mercy, you’ll have to excuse Chris. He’s never been one to act civilized.”

  The banter continued as they carried everything back to the house. Even as Rob washed the dishes, Duncan dried them, and Mercy put them away, lighthearted teasing kept on.

  “Now?” Peter pled. “Now can I see what’s in the box?”

  “Sure.” Duncan swung Peter upside down and carried him in that position out onto the porch. “ ’Twill be dark enough to play with these in just a little while.”

  “I can’t open the box when I’m hanging like this.”

  “Rob,” Chris asked, “did you hear that? Peter’s nine now, and he’s still a weakling. Do you have a tonic to help?”

  “Eww!” Peter squirmed. “Tonics taste awful. I don’t want any!”

  Duncan flipped him right side up and set him down. “I dinna blame you. Rob’s potions taste e’en worse than his cooking—and that’s saying a lot.”

  Peter knelt by the box and pried off the lid. “Grossvater! Look! A giant paper candle!”

  “It’s called a Roman candle.” Duncan sat beside Peter. “It’s a firework. They’re beautiful but dangerous.”

  Peter accidentally bumped the box. “Mercy! There are two of those Roman paper candle fireworks.”

  “Gently lift those off and look deeper in the box,” Rob instructed.

  Peter eagerly complied. Three more layers yielded an assortment of fireworks. “Can we set them all on fire now?”

  “It would be safest to have a few buckets of water on hand first,” Rob said. “Don’t you think so, Mercy?”

  “Ja, that would be wise.”

  After Peter fetched the water, Rob insisted that three buckets of sand were also smart. “If something accidentally goes up in flame, we need to be ready.”

  Mercy gave Rob a puzzled look as Peter dashed off after one last bucket. “Do you not want him to set off the fireworks?”

  “Oh, we will. I was delaying a bit because when it’s darkest, the lights shine more brightly.”

  They all enjoyed the showers of light. As the last one burst into a wondrous display, Rob looked at Mercy. He’d hoped to see joy shining in her eyes. Instead, the sadness he saw there made his breath freeze in his lungs. Just as quickly, he tamped down his emotions. Pity would cripple her. The prudent thing to do was to treat her just as if she weren’t tormented by the violence that begat the bairn she carried. If I’m to be able to treat her medically, I must not allow compassion to weaken me. She has friends and family—there are a strong handful of those, but she’ll have but one doctor—me. They can fret o’er her emotions. Me—’tis her health and that of the babe with which I must concern myself. I’ll guard my professional demeanor and keep enough distance that I not lose my objectivity.

  Mercy filled a bucket with cool water and grabbed a pair of dish towels. She walked out into the field.

  “Danke.” Grossvater dipped the first towel into the water and handed it to Duncan, then wet the other. The men continued to discuss plans for threshing as they cooled down—first with the damp cloths, then by taking huge gulps straight from the edge of the pail.

  “Lunch will be ready in an hour.” She headed back toward the house. Duncan and Christopher Gregor had participated in the reaping of the fields, and the wheat had dried. Men in the county pulled together to do the next step—moving from one farm to the next with the big steam threshing machine. Women helped one another feed all those hungry men—at least they always had. This year was different.

  Grossvater owned the only reaper in the county, and everyone had borrowed it. Years ago, all of the farmers went together and bought a thresher. Each farm used it in turn, in the same pattern as the reaping went. The Stein farm would be the first to have all the men come for threshing.

  But Mercy knew the women wouldn’t all come with big vats of food and fill the day with happy chatter. They barely spoke to her at all, and only when it was unavoidable. Carmen and her sister felt the same way the doctor and his brothers did—that she bore no blame for the child. Asking Carmen and Ismelda to come help cook had been embarrassing, but Mercy had done so to avoid the shame of not being able to feed the men.

  She dreaded threshing day. Three days later, as soon as the men began to arrive, Mercy knew her fears had been well founded.

  Chapter 10

  My mother—she is not feeling so good today. She sent this.” Otto pushed a large bowl into Ismelda’s hands.

  “She’s sick?” Ismelda made a sympathetic sound. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  Mercy tore herself away from the scene just outside her kitchen door. It all hurt so much—for Otto to be courting another girl so soon, for his mother to have suddenly turned cold and silent, and for the women to all shun her as they did.

  Over the next half hour, man after man arrived. A
few ventured toward the kitchen with a dish or loaf of bread. Weak excuses accompanied those offerings.

  Working feverishly, the three women did all they could. Carmen had come over for the past two days to help make things in advance. Even then, as the men all washed up at the huge tubs of water and Mercy scrambled to put the last dishes on the tables, she worried there wouldn’t be enough to satisfy them.

  Texas held many different cultures, but until recently the German community had stayed pretty much to itself. Foods the men expected were on the table—ham, roast beef, fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, cucumber salad, coleslaw, pickles, pickled beets, watermelon pickles, green tomato relish—but also now, there were dishes they’d not known. The exotic dishes Carmen and Ismelda made seemed so out of place—yet Mercy pretended the spread was the same as it had traditionally been.

  Grossvater raised his hand in the air, and the men went quiet. “I want to thank all my friends and neighbors for their help. Let’s say grace and eat!”

  Well-worn straw hats came off.

  The food flew off the tables just as quickly. Between filling cups and putting out more food, Mercy had an excuse to dash around and not speak.

  In times past, the men spoke little as they ate—mostly just, “Pass me the gravy,” and, “Good chicken, Miss Stein.” This meal, as if to make up for the lack of women calling things to one another, the men tried to fill the silence with hearty jokes or conversation. The awkwardness didn’t keep them from decimating apple pie, raisin pie, blue plum kuchen and cakes. The custard with caramel on it that Carmen called “flan” seemed to please the men.

  When the men went back to work, Carmen surveyed the tables. “I’ve never seen men pounce on food like that!”

  “They liked your ta-mals.”

  Carmen laughed. “Tamales. I didn’t make them very spicy. If I want, I can season them so your tongue begs for deliverance.”

  “I like sweet foods and tangy things—not so much the hot ones.” Mercy stacked the empty pie tins. “I hope a little of your flan is left. The men praised it lavishly.”

  “A few grunts are lavish praise?” Ismelda shook her head. “Such a strange custom.”

  “Be sure I am very thankful for all your hard work.” After the dishes were all washed, dried, and put away, Mercy pressed a small cloth bag into Carmen’s hand. “Molasses cookies.”

  “Oh, you know how I love them!”

  Ismelda gave her a hug. “Thank you, Mercy, for letting everyone know that we’re still friends. I know you truly wish Otto and me every happiness.”

  “I do.” Mercy stared down at the grimy hem of her apron. “You saw today—the other women didn’t come. I will not blame you if—”

  “Nonsense!” Carmen gave her a stormy look. “You’re my friend. Nothing will change that.”

  “Exactly.” Ismelda grinned. “Now will you write down the recipe for that cucumber salad?”

  Mercy obligingly did so. By late afternoon, the chugging of the M. Rumley steam thresher stopped. Not long after, all the men left. Those whose wives sent food came to the back veranda to fetch the dishes, and Mercy had all of the dishes lined up there for them—each with a small bag of molasses cookies to show her thanks.

  There were enough leftovers for her to feed Grossvater and Peter supper. Mercy didn’t have much of an appetite. She went to bed and curled up, feeling horribly alone. Always in the past, threshing was a day of joy—thankfulness to God for a good harvest mingled with the merry visiting of neighbors. But God let that man hurt me, and the women who are my sisters in Christ have turned their backs on me.

  Sleep wouldn’t come.

  The sky was still violet. Soon, the rooster would be crowing the sun up. Mercy lay in bed and stared at her bedside table. A thin layer of dust covered her Bible. She hadn’t read the Word for weeks now. Setting aside quiet time for devotions was too hard. The minute she ceased doing chores, she started drowning in a sea of feelings.

  Deciding what to make for breakfast, she shoved off the sheet. It was far too hot to use blankets. Suddenly, she froze. Lying still, she closed her eyes and tried to steady her breathing. A few minutes later, it happened again—an infinitesimal fluttering low in her tummy. Light as butterfly wings, the sensation came and left again.

  The baby?

  Mercy slid her hand down the soft-from-a-hundred-washings cotton nightgown. Resting her palm where she’d experienced the sensation, she waited. And waited. And waited.

  Is that you?

  “Hello, Dr. Gregor! Welcome! You’re just in time—the men are coming in for lunch.”

  Rob didn’t dismount immediately. “I was concerned about you, Mrs. Kuntsler. My brothers said Otto mentioned you were feeling puirly.”

  “I’m hale as a horse. I don’t know where—“ She halted abruptly as color rushed to her cheeks.

  Crossing his hands on the saddle’s pommel, he looked across the table. “Mrs. Grun, I’m glad to see the terrible sprain you had yesterday has healed so swiftly. You’re walking without any difficulty. Mrs. Voran, Mrs. Stuky—I’m gratified to see your children are bounding around so easily. I was made to understand they were ailing yesterday, as well.”

  Mrs. Kunstler bustled past him and waved the men over. “Come. Yes, come now. Dinner is ready. There is plenty!”

  Chris yelled, “Rob, what are you doing here?”

  Rob shrugged. “A whole lot of nothing, much to my surprise. Just yesterday, you said many of the women or children were sick. I’m delighted to report everyone’s in the very pink of health.”

  Rob joined the men at the washstands, then ate with them. As he rose, he said, “What a grand meal this was. I’ve never seen men eat half as much. You women—all of you women—worked hard to keep sufficient food on the table.”

  “We all help one another,” Jakob Lintz said.

  “Ahh. So that’s it.” Rob nodded his head sagely. “None of the ladies went to help at the Stein’s threshing yesterday. I’m supposing ’twas because none of us Gregors thought to pledge that one or two of us would work the threshing on the Stein’s behalf.” He let out a big sigh. “I’m relieved. Aye, I surely am. I should have known better than to worry as I did.”

  “Worry?” someone asked.

  “Aye. I’m ashamed to confess I worried mayhap something else was behind puir wee Mercy working her fingers to the bone. Now I see ’twasna a case of anyone reviling the lass. Glad I am of it, too. She’s but an innocent lamb, hurt in the verra worst way by a godless beast of a man. She and the babe—I’m glad to know you’ll all be thinkin’ kindly of them and extending Christian charity toward them through the coming months and years.”

  “I’m sure you’re right, Rob.” Duncan stood and scanned the young women who stood around the edge of the yard, their hands full of empty pie plates. “I’m betting not a man here hasna given thought to the fact that it could have been his daughter or granddaughter who fell victim to such a tragedy. Connant told us this community was strong in the Lord. ’Twas our fault—the Gregors should have pledged to you all that we’d represent the Steins. From now on, you can count on us.”

  “Aye, that you can.” Chris slapped a straw hat on his head. “Now I’m getting back to work ere I yield to the temptation to take a nap after all that food.”

  Rob rode over to the Steins’. Mercy was in the garden wielding a hoe. Rob dismounted and chuckled. “I canna help wonderin’ whether you’re merely killin’ that weed or if you’re trying to send it clear down to the devil himself this verra minute!”

  “I’d gladly send him and all his brothers.”

  “This is a lovely garden patch. You must have quite a fondness for sweet corn.”

  “We all do.” Mercy surveyed the long rows of corn. Suddenly her eyes went wide and her hand went to her middle.

  “The babe’s bootin’ you, eh?” Rob made a casual gesture. “The timing is right. The next three months, you’ll not be feeling so sleepy. The last three, you’ll be worn out and ha
ve your back achin’ fiercely, but that’s all to be expected.”

  “Oh.”

  She’s not cutting me off. I dinna dare push too far, but the lass needs help. Lord, give me the wisdom and words she needs.

  “ ‘The barest of flutters,’ ” he smiled. “That’s how the first mother-to-be I doctored many years back described it. Later, she declared that same babe was stompin’ in hobnailed boots inside her.” Hitching his shoulder, Rob admitted, “ ’Twas her eleventh babe. My hands caught him—a fat, squalling boy—but that woman took a mind to tell me half of what I needed to know wasna in my medical texts.”

  “She told you this? Your patient?”

  “Aye, and right she was.” Rob casually patted his chest pocket. “Now there’s a pity. After each visit I paid her, I wrote notes to myself. Ever see that small red book I carry? I could quote page upon page, but still I carry it with me on the days I’m to see a woman who’s in a motherly way.”

  “Why?”

  “That book serves as a reminder that ’tisna always the mind that teaches us the important things—ofttimes, ’tis the heart.”

  Mercy started hoeing again with a vengeance. “You’re supposing everyone has a heart. You’re wrong, Doctor. Write that down in your book, too.”

  Chapter 11

  As soon as the bitter words left her mouth, Mercy regretted them. They were honest—but too stark. Concentrating on a small dirt clod, she beat it into oblivion as she muttered, “I should not have said that.”

  “And why not? There’s nothing wrong with speaking the truth as you see it.”

  “I’m not a child. You do not need to humor me.”

  “I’m not humoring you. As a matter of fact, I think you have plenty of call to question if anyone has a heart. You’ve suffered greatly because of what others have done.”

  She stared at the soil. “It was not others about whom I spoke. It is myself.”

  “Without a doubt, Miss Stein, you have a heart of gold. You love your brother and grandda. You even pet baby skunks.”

  “It does not say much for my character that I care for the young, the old, and the helpless. These days, those are all I do care for.”