by Jo Noelle
He cleaned up best he could and put on the fresh pants. Before pulling the shirt on, he pushed his hand across his chin and cheek. It has been a week since he shaved, but maybe he didn't want to shave now and have Miss Leete think he was sprucing up for her. Best not to bring up anyone's hopes. Least of all, his mother’s.
He heard the women chatting in the kitchen, Vivian’s voice softer than his mother’s. He couldn’t make out the words, but the tone shot through him. He imagined her eyes brightening above her blossoming smile. It near took his breath away. The soap, brush, and blade sat on the narrow dresser by the door, and he picked them up and set to work removing the shadow across his face.
He enjoyed the hum of talk in the next room, like distant music. When he finished shaving, he patted his face with a towel and pulled on the shirt. The conversation on the other side of the door became a little more animated though still muffled. Mother said something about “my boys” and “that blamed horse,” and Miss Leete gave a giggle that nearly melted Waylon’s heart.
He choked back on that real tight—not going there. Get your dinner and then leave the house. That’s a good plan. He’d spend long days outside from now on. He could be up before she was and back after she was in bed. He’d get a lot done that way too. He worried how he’d manage that over the winter.
As he stepped into the kitchen, Vivian stared at him, her eyes roaming his face. She jolted a little, then hustled to the table with rolls just ahead of his ma with a steaming pot. When they all settled in, his mother said grace and then began filling their plates with thick beef stew.
Supper would have been a very quiet affair had his mother not tried to start or keep a halting conversation going with Vivian. Waylon kept his head down and ate quickly.
“Are your brothers still with the herd?” Seffi asked.
Waylon nodded and took a bite of his roll.
“I suppose we’ll see them in a few hours?”
He nodded but didn’t reply.
His mother and Miss Leete each lifted a spoon of stew. Ma looked at him, but he kept his eyes on his plate. When ma wasn’t looking, he glanced at Miss Leete and noticed the young woman pushing meat and vegetables around her plate.
His mother tried again. “The milk cows got out while you were gone.” Waylon’s eyes looked up at her past his eyebrows as she continued. “We got them back in, but you’ll need to fix the fence around their pasture.”
Waylon nodded in the affirmative and ate another scoop of stew. He knew he wasn’t being the best host. Fact was, he was downright rude. Two or three more bites and he could escape the kitchen. A movement on his left called his attention, but he stiffly kept his focus on supper. Still, from the corner of his eye, he knew Miss Leete had folded her hands in her lap. He scooped up the last bit of stew with a crust of bread, ate them both, and stood abruptly.
“I’ve got to take care of—a few things before night. Excuse me.” In three long strides, he was through the door and closed it behind him.
Waylon stood on the back porch, leaning on a support column and feeling every inch the weasel he was. It wasn’t that woman’s fault he was surprised to find her here. It also wasn’t her fault she was exactly the kind of beautiful he found very appealing. He wondered if he should go back in and apologize for being poor company. He could blame it on just returning from the ride.
Of course he should.
As he returned to the door and laid his hand on the doorknob, he heard someone crying and realized it was the young woman. He could hear his mother trying to comfort her. “You'll just have to give it time,” she said. “I reckon he must be frustrated to come home without catching the rustlers he went after. Don't you worry none. I want you here, and he wants you here, too.”
He’d done that. He’d been so taken back by the woman, so scared of her appeal to him that he hadn’t made her feel welcome. He’d hardly spoken with her at all. It could make anyone feel unwanted. It was obvious to him by the affection his mother treated Miss Leete with that she was a good friend to her.
The chair legs scraped across the wooden floor. “We got a lot of food to fix and a short time to do it. Let's put our minds to work on that and not worry about anything else.”
Miss Leete’s quiet voice added, “And it’s a hard thing coming home to a stranger.”
His ma answered her in a soothing voice, “Give it time. You're both good people. It'll work out. You’ll see.”
Waylon knew he been abrupt and addle-minded when he met the woman. He hardly made her feel welcome in his home, but he’d change that tonight. He didn't want to run off the only help his mother could find. He took a deep breath and blew it out. Get in there and make that woman feel welcome. Ma needs her.
He walked in, and both women quickly stood. Miss Leete swiped at her eyes.
“I best go get a ham bone. I suppose I’ll need to feed the hands in a couple of hours.” His mother hustled down the stairs under the house into the cold storage room, leaving Waylon standing in the kitchen trying to figure out how to start.
Miss Leete had a sad smile on her face, looking at him expectantly. But his brain had turned to mush.
Finally she said, “Your mother told me that you had to rush out of town about a week ago.”
“Did she tell you about the rustlers?” he asked.
“Yes. She seemed very worried and included each of you in the mealtime prayer.”
Of course his mother did. He chided himself—that was a dumb question. Then realizing there was a too-long silence again, he searched to come up with something to say.
Instead Miss Leete said, “Seffi was quite worried about getting the hands back safely too. She was relieved to know everyone was all right.”
Waylon found himself wishing they could sit down at the table to talk. How did she know his mother? How long would she be staying? He hoped that it would be a long time. Then again, maybe not. He was a little surprised at the familiarity of Miss Leete using his mother’s given name but figured his ma must have insisted.
He wanted to listen to the lilting accent of her voice. She must be recently from England. He doubted that she could say anything that didn’t sound appealing. Another reason to steer clear. He backed up a step.
“We lost a few cattle but none of the cowhands.” Where’s Ma? How long does it take to get a ham bone? Waylon could feel his curiosity growing about the women—he needed to leave.
Miss Leete’s hands were clasped behind her back, and she shifted from one foot to the other. “I was worried about you not being at the train station when I arrived, but I met your mother there, and she brought me out here.”
Waylon didn't know why she’d been at the train station unless his mother had invited her to come work the day he’d left. That made sense he guessed. That’s why he’d never seen her before the party.
“How was your train ride?” he asked.
“It was my first train ride. I didn’t know what to expect.” She paused and had a briefly uncomfortable look to her expression. “It’s a little dirty and very long, isn’t it?”
He didn’t know where she had come from except for the hint in her accent. “How long was it?”
“A tad under two weeks.”
He wondered if it were prudent for a young, very beautiful woman to travel alone all that way. He hoped she hadn’t. “Did you travel with family?”
Her face looked momentarily sad, then brightened, and she replied, “No, but I traveled as far as Kansas with my friend, Julia.”
The door to the cellar creaked open, and his mother carried a ham and several potatoes to the counter.
Waylon saw his opportunity to leave. “I’ll just go upstairs and get a hat.”
“Waylon, could you help me for a moment?” his mother asked. Before he could answer, she added, “Oh, wait right here. Just let me grab come carrots.” Then she hurried back down the stairs.
“Are your brothers on their way back, too?” Vivian asked.
Waylon not
iced the look of concern in her eyes. He also noticed a tendril hanging across the front of her forehead. He wanted to brush it to the side. He stuffed his hands farther into his pockets. “No. They’re checking on cattle.” Waylon looked across the kitchen toward the cellar door. “I don’t expect to see them for a few days.”
There a little like Ma in that way, he thought wryly. Just then, Seffi reemerged and placed the carrots on the counter beside the potatoes.
Waylon looked at her, waiting to see what it was that his ma needed help with. But she started peeling the vegetables and ignored him.
“Welcome to our home, Miss Leete.” He bounded up the stairs but skidded to a halt when he noticed the guestroom was open, and several dresses were hung along the dressing screen. It seemed Ma’s hired help would be living with the family instead of in the small room off the kitchen.
Chapter 7
Vivian Leete
Vivian stepped out the back door to fetch the milk can and saw Waylon slopping the pigs. He sure kept busy. If he wasn’t doing his own chores, he seemed to be helping with everyone else’s. His mother couldn’t lift anything if he was around. However, she had to admit, he wasn’t around much. She had thought they’d have time to become a little more acquainted, but ranches were full of work. It seemed to Vivian that both he and Seffi took pride in the beautiful home and ranch they had. It was a tribute to their family.
Just then, Vivian noticed Waylon looking her way. She smiled and waved. He tipped his hat, then turned his back to her as he continued to pour the food buckets into the pigs’ pen.
Well, she had work to do, too. She opened the can and carefully scooped the heavy cream from the top into a bowl as Seffi had shown her, putting the cream inside the kitchen. Then she grabbed the handle of the milk can by two hands. She tipped it on its edge and rolling it this way then that, intent on walking it through the back door as she’d done each day.
Although Waylon had been back for a week now, it was clear to her that he was avoiding her. At first, she thought he was busy. A time or two, he’d actually seemed to have noticed her and turned back the way he’d come.
For all she knew, he was going to send her back. But when? What would she do when he did?
If she concentrated on her work, she would have less time to feel sorry for herself. She went to the cold storage and retrieved a block of moldy cheese and began cutting it into smaller and smaller pieces until it was finely grated. They would use that and some of this milk to make more cheese, then send the rest of the milk to the men in the bunkhouse.
She had better get used to the idea that she wasn’t really family here, just a guest. And not necessarily a welcome one at that. She needed to start the separation, so it wouldn’t be so painful later.
When she looked up, Waylon was in front of her. Vivian startled a little at his appearance.
“Let me see to that for you.” He hoisted the can and set it in the kitchen.
“Thank you. Just over here.” She pointed to a spot near the sink. She admired his strength as he lifted and easily carried the fifty-pound can of milk.
She hoped that she could stall him a little. Perhaps it was simply her own uneasiness, so if they could get over the awkwardness, he might warm up to her.
She chuckled tightly. “You make that look so easy.”
“I’ve been lifting or dragging that inside since before I can remember.” He pushed it into place.
“Have you always lived here?” she asked.
Waylon leaned against the counter. Vivian hoped that was a good sign.
Waylon had a wistful look to his face as he answered. “My folks built this ranch, but their first home was up the road a bit at the old homestead. I was born while they still lived there. They built this home when us boys were old enough to help.”
“I’d like to see the old homestead. Is it still there?”
“Yes, ma’am. We still use it. My brothers stay there in the summer months. My father built it to last, and I suppose it will. It’s not had a problem even in heavy snow. I remember as a kid, my pa would pile up snow to the south side of the house, clear to the roof. Then we’d climb up there and sled off of it.” Waylon’s hand swooped in front of his body, and he looked as if he were picturing it happening again.
“Your father sounds like a man who liked to have fun.” “He did.” An excited light in his eyes glowed with humor. “Even work took on a little bit of play when he was around.”
Vivian tipped her head and smiled, hoping to encourage him to continue. And he did.
“I liked watching him head out to milk the cow. As soon as the barn cats heard his pail rattling, they came running and followed in a herd. He’d tie up the cow, settle on his stool, and place the bucket under the cow. Soon you’d hear the shoosh, shoosh of milk hitting the empty pail. The cats all inched forward in anticipation and sat real close, all patient like. When a good stream of milk was shooting out, pa would flick his wrist up and squirt a jet of milk toward one of the waiting cats, wetting its face.” He smiled thinking about it. “The cat would set to licking its face, and soon, he’d be shooting another one.”
A trace of laughter lurked behind his words that warmed Vivian. “I think I would have liked your father,” she said. “He must have had a good sense of humor. Seffi does, too.”
“Yes, you could say that of both of them.” Waylon straightened up and pushed away from the counter. His voice sounded flat when he said, “I best get back to work.”
“Thanks, again,” Vivian said as he walked away. She hoped that they were beginning to break the ice that had formed between them although there was plenty more. However, one conversation might not really change much for him. She would hope he would want her to stay, but she’d prepare herself emotionally for the separation of having to leave. She’d have to protect her heart from becoming more set on staying here until she was sure that she would.
“Good morning, Vivian.” Seffi entered the kitchen, tying an apron around her waist.
“Good morning, ma’am.” She saw Seffi give her a questioning look, but Vivian turned away as if she didn’t notice. A little rip pinched her heart at the distance she was creating between them.
She chided herself—she hadn’t even planned to be a bride when she left. Only the possibility was there. The mail-order company simply filled orders for brides. Waylon wasn’t required to keep her, and she wasn’t required to want him. There was no mistaking that this wasn’t a love match. It was a business deal.
It was little better than what she’d left behind, but she’d hoped that they would get along and build a life together—grow toward respect and later, possibly love.
She and Seffi split their morning work in the regular way, then returned to the kitchen for the midday meal. They ate in silence. Vivian even noticed Waylon seemed uneasy about it, but neither of the women spoke, so he ate fast and went back to work.
As soon as he left the house, Seffi said, “Out with it.”
Vivian put her hands in her lap. “I think it might be best…” for me, and maybe for him, too, “…if I prepare myself to leave. Waylon doesn’t want me here, and I won’t impose on your family. The matrimonial service said he could return me if…” Vivian took a quick breath and held it for a second, blowing it out her nose to calm herself. “If I wasn’t wanted. I suppose he’s of a mind to do just that.”
Seffi put her hand on Vivian’s arm. “Give him time. Be patient.”
Those words reminded her of the man who had guided her at the train station. Since then, she’d often wondered what he’d meant and how much he knew. Now, hearing the same thing from Seffi reminded her of a favorite verse that said those who wait upon the Lord will mount on wings as eagles. What about those who wait on someone else?
“Have faith and wait a little longer.” Seffi stood and gathered the breakfast dishes.
As she worked, Vivian thought about her future without the Morgans. She had sewn for wealthy clients in London and New York. None o
f that money made it into her pocket, but she could make beautiful dresses—and men’s clothing when called for. Sewing those gowns fed her soul. She loved the creation of watching the flat fabric transform, tucking and turning until it yielded, becoming an elegant gown. There might be a need for a seamstress in Creede or South Fork. She would look into buying a little fabric next time they went to town.
“I think it’s time to start preparing the room for Boone and Holt. They’re always here for Christmas.” Seffi stood and picked up her plate. “The snow won’t hold off much longer, and they’ll drag themselves back in here when that starts up.”
It was Vivian’s turn for the dishes. “I’ll be up as soon as I finish these, Mrs. Morgan.” From the corner of her eye, Vivian saw Seffi pause on the bottom stair before she continued up.
The warm, sudsy water and the constant movement of the cloth across the dishes relieved some of the stress of the meal. It was nearly Christmas. Though she tried to stamp down the spark of joy she felt, she was glad to at least have a place to spend the holiday in. It might be no different from the many she’d spent at the children’s home, but a small part of her hoped it would be.
A few minutes later, Vivian wiped her hands dry and joined Seffi upstairs.
“Tell me about New York. That’s a grand city.” Seffi pulled the quilt from the bed she stood beside. Vivian did the same. “I wouldn’t know. I saw little past the walls of the sewing room or the boarding house above it.” It was silent while the women finished removing the bedclothes.
“Do you have friends still living there?” Seffi pulled the pillowcase off.
Vivian wasn’t sure how to answer the question. There was no one still living there who she would consider a friend. Julia had left when she did.
“No.” Vivian could tell that Seffi was trying to maintain an easy conversation as they had so often as they worked. She supposed they could still be friends if she set herself up to be a seamstress in Creede. “My friend, Julia, was on the Brides Train with me. She left the train and met her husband in Topeka, Kansas. It was her idea to go, and it seemed the best thing for me as well. I suppose I didn’t think it through very well.”
