I had hoped to return in time to put in a vegetable garden, but maybe you’ve already done that. Or perhaps you’re busy with your cooking lessons or whatever customers who visit the shop. Oh well, there’s always next year.
Nicolai is hurrying me along so we can post this on our way to explore this lovely bay-side city. Look for our return in mid-July.
Fondest wishes,
Cinnia
P.S. Give Sacha a belly rub for me. Will I recognize the big girl she has probably become? I miss my puppy so.
Dorrie couldn’t hold back a sigh. Another month? Although she was glad for her friend’s happiness, she thought of the emptiness of the days ahead. The reminder about the garden sent Dorrie to the bins holding seed for vegetable gardens. Following Cinnia’s instructions, Dorrie had planted the cabbage, cauliflower, and onion starts on May first, but she’d been lax about getting more planting done.
Colorful Burpee Seed packets showing carrots, turnips, beets, peas, and parsnips went into her basket. She glanced at a bulky sack containing potato eyes and vaguely remembered an admonition to get them planted by June first. Tossing it into the basket, she figured she’d use the little pots from the other starts and wait for seedlings to appear while in the house before setting them outside. If they didn’t sprout in the ground, then she’d only lost the investment of time. That resource she had plenty of.
When she finished, she set the basket on the counter. “Please add my total to the Andrushas’ account.” Nicolai had insisted that she was doing them a helpful service by maintaining the properties and the least he could do was provide her food.
Jessamine lifted the ledger book to the counter and flipped through the pages, her brows coming together. “I see two accounts listed with that last name. Which one?”
“Two accounts?” She’d had the impression Valerik was only here to visit his brother. But he’d opened an account?
“I apologize, but I haven’t worked with the books for very long.”
“That’s all right. I should have been clearer. Add to Nicolai Andrusha’s account, please.” On the walk home, Dorrie wished she had a pair of trousers like Jessamine’s, because they would make working in the garden easier. A glance at the letter in her basket put energy into her steps. Now she had a reason to initiate a conversation with Valerik that didn’t involve that surprising kiss she couldn’t stop thinking about.
*
At the end of his work day, Valerik put away his tools and laid the apron storing nails and odds and ends over the box handle. He couldn’t have picked a better way to become comfortable being around people than the one he’d been hired to do. Having tasks kept him focused and productive, but any building project was a magnet for those with curious questions. The conversations were always short and impersonal. More than a month had passed since his arrival, and he’d become acquainted with quite a few people. “I’m leaving, Howie. See you tomorrow.”
“Right, Val. I just inspected those window frames and everything looks good.” Howie pulled the tie from his queue and shook his hair loose. “Unless the windows come with the next delivery, the next big task will be the roof.”
“I’m ready, boss. Just point the way.” Whistling, he sauntered over the grasses that had grown several inches high. Maybe tomorrow he’d picket the horses where they could crop it to a manageable height. The murmur of a soft voice drifted his way, and he glanced around until he located the source.
Dorrie was on her hands and knees in the garden plot.
Walking to within a few feet, he listened as she talked to the seeds, and he grinned.
“Soon, you little peas will grow so tall I’ll have to support your vines with sticks.” She patted the ground then dug the shovel into an adjacent row, twisting it to make a conical hole and dumping the soil into a mound. Next, she picked up the soil and rubbed it between her fingers, sifting it over the hole.
“Why’d you do that?”
She started and then turned, shading her eyes with a raised hand. “I don’t know. I just remember my ma always sifted the dirt when she planted carrots or parsnips. Probably gives the plant softer soil to sprout in.”
He shoved his hands in the front pockets of his overalls. “And talking to the plants. Did she do that, too?”
“You heard me?” Dorrie ducked her head and dug another hole. “These seeds are late going into the ground so they need encouragement.”
“Want any help? I’ve never done this, but I take instruction well. Just ask Howie.”
“I won’t pass up the help.” She pointed. “Use the hoe and cut a shallow furrow about eight feet long then do another six inches away.”
“Sounds easy.” He grabbed the handle and moved to where she’d indicated. The dirt was a bit dry, and making a straight line was harder than he’d imagined. He wasn’t pleased with the first one, so with the flat side, he smoothed the earth and started again.
“How is the construction going?” She stood, moved down a few feet, and then knelt.
“Fine. The weather has cooperated so we’re ahead of schedule.” He placed the hoe at the end of the furrow, rocked it to make an indent, and spaced another width.
“Are you measuring?”
Why did she sound incredulous? “You said six inches.”
“Planting a garden isn’t exact, like building a house is. Mother Nature is forgiving. I’m ready to set these beet seeds.” With a fist planted on her hip, she shook the packet and gave him an exaggerated frown.
“Hold on. The second row will go fast.” On this attempt, he did his best to keep the furrow straight and minimize his limp while moving. Spending this time together was soothing at the end of the day. He suspected she’d been hiding out since the dance, and he hadn’t known what to say. Working in the garden was guaranteed to bring her outside more, providing more opportunities for conversation.
“Oh, I got a letter from Cinnia today.”
At the sound of her excited voice, he set the hoe flat on the ground and looked her way. “Any news on their return?” A breeze caught the wisps of hair hanging loose from the bun at the back of her head and set them dancing. She probably had no idea how alluring an image she presented.
“Mid-July.” She heaved out a sigh then leaned over and dropped seeds into the first furrow. “They’re on a train excursion south of San Francisco to a bay called…” Straightening, she crinkled her nose as she gazed off into the distance.
“Monterey?” The family had gone there on holiday once, and he remembered seeing sea otters that lived along the rocky shoreline and dolphins in the bay for the first time.
“Yes, that’s the name.” More seeds landed on the dark earth.
The mention of his brother reminded him of the request he’d written to Katya and Orlenda following the June dance. He wondered if his sisters had been successful in locating the appropriate songbooks or sheet music. As soon as he finished the second row, he set the hoe aside and glanced at where she walked along the furrow, shaking in seeds. “I need to get to the mercantile before it closes.”
“Go. I’m almost done here.” She stood again and brushed the back of her hand over her forehead.
Hating to cut their conversation short, he cleared his throat. How ironic that he was looking for ways to remain in her company when at first he’d shied away. “Will you need help tomorrow, too?”
“If you like.” Her cheeks blushed pink. “I surely won’t refuse it.”
“Enjoy your evening, Dorrie.” He let himself into the shop and stood back for Maks’s escape dash. He played a game of tag by touching some part of the bouncing dog’s body then tapping the opposite side. “Come on, boy. Let’s walk.” Before he rounded the building, he took a last glance toward the garden and caught Dorrie’s quick head turn as she resumed her task. She’d been watching.
That occasion started a routine that lasted for several days until gardening became a period of waiting for the seeds to sprout. Each afternoon they spent at a task in tending
the plot, he learned a new fact about her life. Under her questioning, he revealed more than he had to another human since living under his parents’ roof. Dorrie was easy to talk to or to sit with and point out shapes in the clouds.
About the time his help was no longer needed, a package arrived from his sisters. Inside were two songbooks—because they each had a favorite—printed by Harms Musical Publishing Company. One contained music and lyrics for jigs and reels, and the other was solely for waltzes. Every day after work, he rode a horse out on the prairie, sat under a shade tree, and practiced on the balalaika until he thought he was good enough to audition for Dorrie.
Toward the end of June, he knocked on Dorrie’s kitchen door on his way to work. Normally, the room was dark when he strolled past but he’d seen a light in the slit of the curtains.
The door opened a crack. “Yes?”
The single word croaked like a bullfrog. He leaned close to the opening, but she must have been standing behind the door. “Are you sick?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I hope you’re better soon, because I want you to accompany me on a picnic to Silver Lake on Saturday.”
“Can’t go alone—”
He winced at how pained her words sounded. “Don’t worry. Bertha and Howie are coming along.” He placed his hand on the door, as if that action could somehow comfort her. “Get some rest, Dorrie.” His thoughts went to what his mother gave him as a child, but he couldn’t remember.
“Hmm.” The door clicked closed.
For several seconds, he stood with forehead and hand pressed to the wood, sad to know she was doing poorly. Maybe while he worked, he’d figure out a solution. At the end of the day, he marched to the mercantile and bought one of every type of patent medicine on the shelves. When she didn’t answer his knock, he couldn’t fight back a feeling of dread. Through the past weeks, they’d acted like a real wall existed between his kitchen and the upstairs loft. That anything overheard by one neighbor was never discussed by the other. The moment he heard her hacking cough and raspy breathing, he knew he’d change the rules.
Tying a shirt into a sling, he loaded the medicines and hung the knotted sleeves over his shoulder. Over the other shoulder, he strapped his canteen. Then he climbed the ladder into the upstairs.
Her dog greeted him with happy licks before he stepped out of her reach onto the landing. “Dorrie. It’s Valerik. I’m coming into your room.” He hesitated, waiting for a response, maybe only a groan.
“You ca—ow,” she whimpered, and the mattress rustled.
“Don’t act all high and mighty. You’re sick, and I’ve brought medicine.” He was glad he’d stuffed his matchbox into a pocket so he could light the bedside lamp. Once he could see, he unloaded his sling and set each item on the edge of the bureau. “Tell me what hurts, and I’m sure I have something to fix it. Cough syrup, peppermint leaves, mustard seeds for a plaster, rosemary leaves. I can steep tea with lemon rind and add honey.”
“Cough.”
He picked up a bottle of Crosby’s Balsamic Cough Elixir, stared at the label, and poured a big spoonful. “Here, open your mouth.” Sliding a hand under her neck, he lifted her head. Thankfully, her body wasn’t any warmer than his. Her freckles stood out on her too-pale skin.
She compiled then grimaced. “Horrible.”
“Sip some water.” The canteen rested against her lips until she opened them and sipped. A rivulet dribbled along her cheek and under her jaw.
At her nod, he pulled it away and watched as she settled back onto the pillow. Her hair spread around her head in wide disarray. He fought not to speculate what it might feel like. “What else can I do?”
She lifted a hand and pointed past him then moved two fingers like walking legs.
A non-verbal Dorrie was an oddity. “You want me to leave?” Frowning, he glanced where she pointed and spotted the dog. “Ah. Walk and feed the dog, right?” He remembered the pulley system for the crate to lower the dog to the first floor. “Where’s the door key?”
Dorrie held up both hands, one upright and the pointer of the other hand touched the palm then twisted.
“Charades, huh?” He squinted at the movements she made, puzzling out the meaning. As soon as he understood, he snapped his fingers. “Key is in one of the locks.”
Giving a weak smile, she tapped her nose. Her eyelids drooped.
He stepped forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Don’t worry, moй pchelka. We singletons without family have to watch out for each other.” Her even breathing told him she probably hadn’t heard. As he tended both dogs, boiled a beef bone for broth, and fixed his supper then shared it with his canine pals, he kept an ear out for any sound Dorrie might make.
Two more times, he climbed the ladder to administer the elixir and get her to swallow a few sips of weak broth. Worry for her kept him sitting vigil by her bedside, reading one of Nicolai’s books on Greek mythology. Only when she’d slept for a solid hour without a single cough did he allow himself to go downstairs and watch over the dogs’ last outside jaunt before stretching out on his own bed to relax.
On Saturday morning, Valerik called for Dorrie at the shop’s front door, wanting to make the day seem special.
Dorrie opened the door, holding Sacha on a lead. “We’re bringing the dogs, aren’t we?”
He was glad to see her eyes were clear and her skin had more color. Only a husky tone remained in her voice. “Maks is already aboard.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “How’s your throat?”
“Tender, but no pain.” She reached out a hand and rested it on his arm. “I can’t say a big enough thank you for your help.”
“I’m glad you let me.” He took the key from her hand, locked the door, and then tucked it in the front pocket of his tan trousers. Crooking an elbow, he waited until he felt her hand grab hold before stepping across the porch. Once everyone was settled, he took up the reins and snapped them. “Get on, Levka. Step out, Nesha.”
“Where did you get the wagon?”
“Howie got permission from Michael to borrow his. Strange that the town has been here for several years without a livery.” He steered the horses to a stop in front of the boarding house. “Whoa. You sit here, and I’ll help Howie with the picnic items.” Valerik set the brake and hopped down.
Ten minutes later, they were on the road out of town. He and Howie loaded a couple of crates into the wagon bed and covered them with blankets. Howie braced his arm behind Bertha to give his girl a backrest.
“Will you look at the bright blue sky? And all the pretty wildflowers.” Bertha laughed. “I haven’t been on a picnic since I was a young girl in St. Louis.”
“You’re still young.” Howie chuckled.
“Oh, silly man. You know what I mean.”
Dorrie shifted in the seat. “Did you have to work really hard before coming away?”
“Well, I spent the morning making platters of roast turkey sandwiches, a huge pot of mashed potatoes and gravy, and dozens of oatmeal cookies. I just hope George and Abe can handle the midday meal.”
Howie laughed. “Those Oriental boys have worked in the kitchen longer than you have, my dear.”
Smiling, Dorrie nodded. “I’ve watched you set out food for meals, Bertha. Those miners will not starve before supper.”
The horses plodded along, and the wagon bounced on the dirt road. Valerik let the conversation roll over him, suddenly aware his eye no longer twitched when he was in a group. He hoped Bertha had packed some of those oatmeal cookies in their picnic basket. George and Abe? He didn’t know which boys the three were discussing, but he was glad Howie had come up with a solution so they could have this day.
Before long, glints of sunlight off the lake pointed to their destination. “Any suggestions for a good spot, Howie?”
“Off to the left is a copse of trees that has a nice view. It’s one of my favorite fishing spots.”
“Haw, Levka.” Valerik eased the team to t
he left and spotted the trees.
By now, both dogs were on their feet and pacing in the back part of the wagon bed.
Valerik helped Howie lay out two fraying blankets in the shade. Next, he made sure to assist Dorrie from the wagon to where she chose to sit. He didn’t want her overexerting herself and having a relapse. Making sure the dogs were in sight, he sat near Dorrie and watched Bertha empty a seemingly bottomless picnic basket of paper-wrapped sandwiches, a jar of lemonade, a jar of water, a tin of cookies, and another of dried apples.
At first, conversation was stilted. Valerik had become at ease with the man he spent his working days with. But he only now realized that, when not in her role as cook, Bertha was shy and blushed easily.
Howie kept her color high with his affectionate glances and squeezes of her hand.
“I’ve never had a ring-side seat to a new hotel being built.” Dorrie set aside her plate and sipped from her metal mug. “Have you built others?”
Valerik frowned at the amount of untouched food remaining on her plate. Maybe he should have let her rest for one more day.
“Nope, this is my first.” Howie reclined on an elbow. “But Val here is the one with the know-how. I might have final say, but he’s teaching me new techniques that save effort.”
“I have to step out on the back porch to see the building.” Bertha ducked her chin but lifted it when Howie brushed his fingers on her hand. “I like how Morgan’s Crossing is growing and think the town will be a nice home.”
“Don’t you miss seeing new sights and places?” Dorrie frowned. “Since leaving the farm, I’ve never stayed in one place for as long as I have here.”
Her words grabbed his chest and wouldn’t let go. Wasn’t she happy here? The subject changed to Howie and Bertha’s upcoming marriage at the end of the summer. Discussion of flowers and fabrics and hats allowed him to think about Dorrie’s words.
Montana Sky: Dance Toward The Light (Kindle Worlds Novella) (Entertainers of The West Book 3) Page 9
