Deeply Devoted

by Maggie Brendan

  To her relief, Clara stood and set her cup and saucer back on the tray. “Thank you for lunch and the tea. Peter, would you walk me to my buggy?”

  “Please come again, Mrs. Andersen,” Catharine said, and her sisters waved goodbye. Now she could breathe a sigh of relief and enjoy what was left of their Sunday afternoon.

  “So what did you think of our new pastor?” Greta kicked off her shoes and tucked her feet up under her, getting comfortable in the rocking chair.

  “He seems nice enough. With a name like Culpepper, I’m sure he gets a few jokes.” Catharine laughed. “I really took a liking to Cora Jenkins, the librarian. We need to go visit the library sometime.”

  “Me too!” Anna sat up at the mention of a library. “I wonder if they’d loan me some books.”

  Greta shook her head. “Ja, silly. That’s why it’s called a library.”

  Anna stuck her tongue out at her. “I’m not familiar with the ways of Wyoming, and neither are you.”

  “We’ll do that soon. I promise.” Catharine leaned her head back and closed her eyes, wondering what was keeping Peter. She was soon asleep in the afternoon breeze.

  Peter had followed his mother down the steps into the yard at the end of the drive where Clara’s buggy was parked underneath one of the spreading elm trees.

  As soon as they were out of earshot, Clara started her chattering. Pausing next to the buggy, she pulled on her gloves. “Peter, I believe that I have bad news to tell you, and I know of no other way than to just say it.”

  “Mother, for heaven’s sake, why do you have to make a big secret of everything? Whatever you have to say could be said in front of my wife. We’re a married couple, and couples share everything.”

  “Everything?”

  “Yes, mother, everything.”

  “Well . . . maybe not for long.” Clara avoided his gaze.

  “What are you talking about—what’s on your mind?”

  “Very well . . . I hired a private investigator to look into Catharine’s background—”

  “What did you say?” Peter was sure he hadn’t heard her right.

  “You heard me. Now don’t be angry with me,” she said.

  Peter stood with his hands on his hips. “Mother, so help me—”

  “Just listen to me, Peter. I was worried about you, and since you never told me one whit about her, I thought it best. You have too much at stake to lose to a conniving foreigner.”

  The muscle in his jaw twitched as he clenched his fists at his sides. If she wasn’t my mother, I’d make a scene right here and now. “Are you calling my wife a conniving foreigner?” he said through gritted teeth.

  She touched his arm. “Peter, if you will just listen for one moment—”

  “I’ve heard enough!” He flung her arm away and spun around to leave. “I know everything about Catharine that I need to know!” He started to walk away.

  “Do you need to know that she was married?” Clara spat out.

  Peter froze, a flash of pain hitting him in the gut. His mouth suddenly felt dry and he licked his lips.

  Clara continued. “But not divorced!”

  “Mother, I don’t know why you’d tell me a story like that. But stop right where you are.” Was this the same sweet mother who had raised him, sang to him, and baked cookies when he was a child, but now thought she needed to continue orchestrating every detail of his life? Lord, help me. I don’t want to say anything to hurt my mother.

  Clara groaned. “Sooo, you didn’t know then. It’s just as I feared.”

  Peter walked back toward her. “Why did you do this?”

  Clara shrank back. “I should think you’d be happy to find out the truth now, before children come along.”

  Through gritted teeth, he said, “I asked you a question, Mother. Why?”

  “I was trying to protect you. You’re my son and I’m devoted to you, and I have only your best interests at heart.”

  “I don’t believe it, and frankly, I’m saddened by what you call your ‘devotion’ to me. And I’ll ask you to never talk about Catharine that way again!” It was all Peter could do to keep his voice down. “And I don’t want that kind of devotion!” He strode back toward the house, never looking back, his fury so thick he thought he’d choke.

  “You’ll thank me later,” Clara called after him as she climbed into the buggy.

  Anna, wearing Clara’s fancy hat on her head, came down the steps and passed Peter, but he never gave her so much as the time of day. He flew past her, thundering up the steps and into the house. He looked through the screen door and saw Anna waving at his mother.

  “Hallo, Mrs. Andersen . . . you left your hat!” Anna called out as the buggy rumbled down the road. But Clara didn’t stop. She whipped the horse into a trot away from the Andersen farm.

  The sound of the slamming screen door startled Catharine from her pleasant, dreamless doze. When she sat up and looked around, both Greta and Anna were gone. Hadn’t she told Anna not to slam that screen door? She sighed, then dragged herself up from the comfort of the old porch swing and began to gather the remnants of the lunch dishes. The house seemed quiet, which meant the girls must be relaxing in their own way.

  Wondering where Peter was, Catharine placed the dishes in the sink, then set the teakettle to boil water to wash them. When the kettle began to sing, she covered the dirty dishes with the warm water. As she washed them, she smiled to herself, curious as to what her mother would think if she could see her becoming so domesticated—happily married in her homespun dress and apron. She realized being at peace didn’t necessarily mean having servants wait on her and living in an opulent home and reaching a certain social status in the community. She felt at peace on Peter’s farm even with a dozen newly acquired responsibilities as his wife. In fact, she rather liked it.

  Looking down at her hands, she frowned. They were rough despite the lotion Peter gave her to apply every night before bed. She blushed when she remembered how he’d lovingly lifted her hands to his lips, kissed them, and declared they were all better before he tucked her into bed.

  Drying the last plate, Catharine heard a sound overhead. Was one of the girls in the attic? Hardly. They hadn’t liked going up there from the first day. That left only Peter. She carried the clean dishes to the cabinet and wiped the crumbs off the table just as he came down the stairs carrying the small lady’s chair.

  He paused at the doorway, holding the chair between his well-muscled forearms. She couldn’t help but notice the thick curling hair that stopped at his wrist.

  “Where do you want this?” His voice was flat, and his usual smile was replaced with a sober look that Catharine interpreted as weary. Gone were the dancing, teasing eyes that she’d grown fond of.

  “Why don’t you put it in the corner of the kitchen since I’m in this room most of the time? I can work on fixing it when I get time between chores, but first I’ll need to purchase fabric and upholstery tacks.” She wiped her hands on her apron and stepped aside for him to pass.

  “Have you ever done this sort of thing before?” Peter quirked an eyebrow.

  She laughed. “No, but I can sew, and I think if I remove the chair’s cover, I can make a pattern out of it to use as a guide for a new one. It can’t be all that hard.” Peter was close enough that she smelled his masculine scent, something between soap and the smell of outdoors—a familiar but endearing smell.

  Peter placed the chair near the hearth but far enough away from the table so it wasn’t in their walking path in the kitchen. He looked up and regarded her with cool eyes and a cheerless look. “I’m going for a walk. I’ll be back later.” He turned away.

  “Peter, is some—”

  The kitchen door slammed behind him. Catharine was perplexed. He hadn’t even asked if she wanted to come. Nothing. Why was he being so distant suddenly? Was he displeased because she hadn’t fixed a nice lunch for his mother?

  Catharine removed her apron and hung up the dish towel. She embraced th
e quiet that settled over the house since it was their only real day of rest. The work of a farmer’s wife was never ending, she concluded. Tomorrow she would be doing the wash, which would take the better part of her day. Perhaps if she rose soon enough, she could get it finished early, then start working on the chair for Anna.

  She wondered where her sisters might be as she wandered into the parlor, trying to decide what to do with her free time. She chose a book from the array lining the shelf, but after a few moments she felt restless with pent-up energy. She put the book back and wandered out into the grassy road leading away from the house. She’d be on the lookout for wildflowers to pick for their table.

  The warm sunshine pressed in on her shoulders, but as usual the prairie wind blew across the road, sweeping wisps of hair across her eyes until she pushed the loose hair away.

  She was becoming used to her new environment, which was so different from her life in Holland. The chirping of birds sang out their beautiful melody from the thick trees leading down to Crow Creek. The cool water would feel refreshing on a day like today, and Catharine decided to wade in once she reached its banks.

  As she neared the creek, Catharine glimpsed a flash of white through the chokecherry bushes, and she slowed her pace. Prickles of fear crawled up her neck. Was someone out there? Catharine separated the branches of the bushes and peered through the leaves. When she saw Peter’s back, she sucked in her breath in admiration. Though she had been his wife for weeks now, she’d never been able to admire him unobserved.

  Peter was standing in the stream, arms akimbo as the water flowed over him in waist-deep, swirling water. His well-sculpted muscles rippled on his tanned torso in the afternoon sunlight. Wet hair just brushed the nape of his neck, where droplets of water clung. He bent down and splashed water across his face and arms in apparent delight.

  She hadn’t known he would be bathing. This must be where he’d come to bathe that first night he shared their bed. She shuddered at the thought of washing in the creek’s icy water, but she admired his consideration of her in bringing pails of warm water for her bath that night. It brought a slow smile to her lips, but she dare not laugh out loud for fear he might hear her. And as much as she was enjoying the scene, it made her wonder why he hadn’t invited her along. They were still newlyweds, after all!

  Peter turned, and her gaze slid to just above where the water lapped gently at his trim waist. Desire flicked its way to her heart, spreading like warm honey through her, and she sighed. Her mouth became slack with surprise at what she was feeling . . . what she thought had been dead and buried forever. Then she remembered how cool he’d been toward her earlier. Something was on his mind, she was sure of that.

  Peter started making his way toward where he’d left his clothing on a rock near the creek’s bank. At first she thought he’d seen her, so she quickly let the branches fall back into place, but not until one had smacked her across the cheek, stinging her. He neared the creek bank, arms pushing the water aside, and came fully out of the water. She quickly turned away in modesty, her cheeks flaming hot, and was glad he couldn’t see her spying on him.

  This was the same incredible man who had held her that first night, wooing her with love, convincing her throughout the night to trust him fully, while he held her tightly against him until they’d become one. Catharine’s heart beat wildly in her chest. She knew she had come to care for him through their correspondence and mutual interests and love of God, and they had become good friends, but abruptly another thought hit her full center—she desired him as never before.

  She quickly turned, lifting the hem of her skirt in her hands to keep from stumbling, and made her way back to the house, determined to show him tonight that he did own her heart. She could hardly wait!

  The bracing dip in the creek invigorated Peter as he tried to turn his thoughts away from his conversation with his mother. Why would she try to discredit Catharine? Didn’t she think he was old enough to handle his own life since his father died? The farm was his now and he’d run it single-handedly, and so far he’d been able to continue making a profit. His mother lived in the modest home inherited from her parents in Cheyenne’s nicer neighborhood. What was she afraid of? Losing his love? Ridiculous!

  Then his thoughts turned back to the knowledge that Catharine might have already been married and possibly not divorced. That opened up a whole new batch of concerns. But how could that be possible? Had she duped him into marrying? Lord, say it isn’t so . . . but then . . .

  Peter wiped the water from his hair until it was slicked down. When he’d retrieved the chair from the attic for Catharine, curiosity about her trunk had made him stop and lift the lid. He never would have looked inside if his mother hadn’t shared her shocking news earlier. And what he saw surprised him. Lying near the top was a delicate christening gown. Had it been hers as a child, or one of her sisters’? Or could it be . . . ? No, he wouldn’t let his mind go there. No need to make that assumption, but what if his mother had told him the truth? But why would Catharine lie—if she did?

  His mind strayed to Catharine’s lovely oval face, her red hair tumbling about her nightgown, tantalizing his mind with thoughts of what lie beneath, and of the love they’d shared. His gut twisted in agony. Was it all going to be for naught? He’d made so many plans that he wanted to share with her. And he wanted her to have his children. Now . . . well, now all was changed in one brief moment of distrust.

  Angrily he started toward the creek bank for his clothes. Instead of the water cooling his temperament, he’d only wound up dwelling on Catharine’s past. He paused a moment, thinking he saw movement in the brush. Probably just a deer. He needed to get on back before his wife came looking for him. He wouldn’t speak of this news until he knew it was the absolute truth and his mother produced documentation.

  Her mind full of excitement, Catharine fairly ran up to the house. Both Greta and Anna were sitting on the porch and gave her curious looks as she hurried up the steps.

  “Where’s the fire?” Greta chuckled.

  “What?” Catharine paused, catching her breath.

  “You just seem to be in a terrific hurry. That’s all.”

  Catharine didn’t respond to that. “Where have you two been all afternoon? I cleaned the kitchen by myself, and you were nowhere to be found.”

  Anna threw Greta an anxious look. “I was just out walking and sketched a curious prairie dog. Want to see?” She held up her drawing.

  “Yes, that’s nice, Anna. Cute little creature.” Catharine patted her on the shoulder, then asked Greta, “And you? Where did you get off to?” Catharine couldn’t help but notice the reticence in her manner and the fact that Greta didn’t look her in the eye.

  Greta twirled a strand of hair. “I, uh . . . nothing really . . . just wanted time alone.”

  “Ha! You? Time alone? Anna maybe, but you’re not one to be alone unless you’re sleeping.” Catharine chuckled. “Next time I’d appreciate it if you’d tell me when either of you will be gone from the house for more than an hour, as well as where you’ll be. I can’t stress enough the dangers out here on the prairie. Peter told me that the elk and moose can be aggressive during rutting season if humans are around. Catharine pressed her hands together. “Besides, who knows when you might come across a mother bear and her cubs? From now on you both need to inform me of your whereabouts. Understand?”

  “Sure, Cath. We didn’t mean to worry you.”

  “It’s getting dark. Why don’t you two have a snack before bed? I’m going to heat water for a bath.” Catharine pretended that her bath was a typical Sunday evening event and scurried on into the house before either of them could tease her. She wanted to be ready before Peter returned.

  “I promise we’ll be in directly,” Greta said. “Need any help with the water pails?”

  Catharine paused and answered over her shoulder. “Thanks, but I can manage. Clean up after yourself in the kitchen.”

  As quickly as she could, Cath
arine lugged several pails of warm water from the stove to the large claw-foot tub in their bathroom. She would ask Peter if it would be possible to get hot water run upstairs. She wished it was cool enough for a fire in order to make the room more romantic, but instead she lit candles that she’d found in the dining room and placed them on the bureau. She turned back the quilt, fluffed their pillows, and scattered rose petals that she’d collected from a wild rose growing along the path to the house. Next she laid out her finest lawn nightgown that Peter liked. Quickly pulling her hair up to the top of her head, she finally stripped off her clothing and slid into the lavender-scented water.

  She felt flushed with anticipation. Tonight she would let Peter see how much she loved him and was so proud that he’d chosen her to be his wife. Why, he was so handsome, he could have any woman in Cheyenne instead of her with her funny accent, red hair, and two sisters! Of that she had no doubt. She heard footsteps coming to pause near the door and slid further into the water.

  Someone tapped at the door. “Just wanted to let you know we’re off to bed now,” Greta said. “Everything all right?”

  Catharine called out, “Everything is just perfect! See you in the morning then.” She breathed a sigh of relief as she heard Greta’s footsteps down the hallway. She knew Greta was being discreet by making sure she and Anna were out of the way for the evening and was glad she hadn’t said anything. Now if Peter would just show up before she became waterlogged.

  She smiled lazily as a warm burst of love pierced her heart. She’d set the stage for a great romantic night and blushed in spite of herself.

  Evening shadows enveloped the woods with only a sliver of moonlight to light the pathway home from the creek. His mind all in a jumble, Peter wondered how he’d be able to look Catharine in the eye. Other times when he’d come in for supper after seeing to the livestock, his steps would quicken at the sight of the cheery glow from the windows of the house, and he couldn’t wait to see Catharine’s sweet face and embrace her. Then they’d all sit leisurely around the kitchen table until it was dark.