“But we can get the task accomplished pretty quickly,” Catharine said while she began to clear the dishes. “Whose turn is it tonight for cleanup? Yours, Anna?”
Anna rolled her eyes. “I guess.”
Peter rose from the table, thanked Greta for supper, and strolled quietly from the kitchen. Catharine started to go after him, but Greta stopped her. “Give him time, Cath. He just needs to be alone for now.”
Maybe she was right, but Catharine’s heart ached to soothe him. “You’re probably right.”
From the kitchen window they watched him wander off toward the barn. He waved to Bryan, who rode past him and stopped in front of the house.
“Oh, what a nice surprise. I didn’t know he was coming over tonight.” Greta never waited for a response but threw her dish towel to Anna. She patted her hair and smoothed her dress, then hurried to the front door to meet him.
“In that case, I guess I’ll stick around and help you, Anna. You wash, I’ll dry,” Catharine said, stacking the dishes in the sink.
“That’s sweet, but you don’t have to.” Anna put water in the kettle to heat for washing the dishes.
“You know, Anna, I’m really proud of how you and Greta have pitched in with all the chores. There seems to be an endless supply of them.” Catharine gave her sister a hug.
“What will you do if I live in town this fall to finish high school?” Anna asked.
Catharine shrugged. “That hasn’t been decided yet, but I’m sure we’ll manage—”
Greta poked her head back into the kitchen. “It is all right if I go for a walk along the creek with Bryan?” Her cheeks held a bright flush that made her even prettier.
“Yes. You really didn’t have to ask—you’re eighteen now. But I’m glad you told me just the same.”
Greta flashed Catharine a broad smile. “Thanks!” She whirled around and hurried out of the house on Bryan’s arm.
The tack room was always Peter’s favorite place to piddle around when he had something heavy on his mind. He liked the smell of leather and metal permeating the small cubicle in the barn. As he reached for a frayed rope that he wanted to mend, his eye caught a small note leaning against an oilcan. He grinned as he opened it.
Peter,
I’ve watched you agonize over losing most of the crop. I’m so sorry, but together we can survive this. As you said, it wasn’t the first time. If you really are serious about giving cattle raising a try, I will stand behind you. I wish I could make everything better, but the Lord says He will restore the years the locusts have eaten. We must rely on that promise. I think it also means the lonely years you and I have had will be in the past. I just wanted to remind you to be strong in the Lord. We’re in His hands.
With deep devotion, Catharine
Tears filled Peter’s eyes. He was supposed to be a man of faith, but instead he’d been whining. Maybe not verbally but by his attitude. Catharine’s gentle note reminded him to cast his burdens on the One who cared most about him. His Creator. He felt guilty now even doubting his wife’s past and believing his mother’s accusation.
His heart was torn about Catharine. He knew she had much faith, but was his mother right? He couldn’t bring himself to ask Catharine . . . not yet.
When Peter returned, he seemed tired but in a better mood, and he squeezed Catharine’s shoulder affectionately. Maybe he’d seen her note. She and Anna had long since finished in the kitchen and were sitting on the front porch, relaxing. Anna was at the other end of the porch, sketching with her colored pencils. Peter plopped down in a rocker, stretching his long legs out, and leaned his head back against the chair. “Did Greta leave with Bryan?”
The weariness in his face and voice troubled her, but Catharine was helpless to make it all better. How she wished she could. “They went for a walk along the creek. It’s a nice night for a walk. Seems to have cooled down, which is fine by me.” She hesitated and murmured under her breath, “Is there anything I can do to help?”
Peter lifted his head and studied her. “No. I just have to think this through. Don’t you go worrying, you hear? I figure I can plant winter wheat again in September, if I don’t decide to raise cattle instead,” he said with humor in his voice.
Catharine wasn’t sure if he was serious or not.
“It’s a possibility worth considering.”
“But I thought you told me last year that a lot of cattlemen gave up after that terrible blizzard and left the territory.”
“They did, but the ones who stayed behind are starting to get their herds back in operation now.” He paused, running his hand through his thick hair. “I’m about ready to drop. Think I’ll go to bed.”
Anna got up from the swing, shoving her art supplies aside. “Wait, Peter. I have something for you.” She held out a heavy piece of paper.
The look of surprise on his face turned into a smile. “Anna, when did you do this? It’s wonderful.” He stood, holding the paper at arm’s length to study it better.
“I did it right after I sat down tonight. I didn’t get to take my time before you got back, but I thought it might cheer you up.”
Peter showed the drawing to Catharine. It was a beautiful field with golden wheat stalks, their ripe seed heads nodding in the prairie breeze against a bright, cloudless sky. At the bottom was written, “There’s always hope,” followed by a Scripture: “Let both grow together until the harvest: and in the time of harvest I will say to the reapers, Gather ye together first the tares, and bind them in bundles to burn them: but gather the wheat into my barn.” Matthew 13:30.
The drawing took Catharine’s breath away and brought tears to her eyes. “My goodness! This is beautiful, Anna!”
Peter wrapped his arms around Anna’s slender shoulders. “Thank you. What a precious reminder that God will provide. I’ll treasure this, Anna.” His eyes filled with tears and he coughed. He took the drawing from Catharine. “I’m off to bed now,” he said, shuffling toward the screen door. “Are you coming?”
“I’ll be in directly. I want to enjoy the cooler night air we’ve been blessed with,” Catharine answered.
No sooner had the door closed behind Peter than they saw Greta and Bryan walking back up the drive as they held hands, but Greta’s eyes were red-rimmed. What now? She had been all smiles when they left.
Catharine watched as Greta stood by Bryan and he gave her a long kiss, then mounted his horse. He gave her one last look, tipped his hat, and then was gone, cantering away without looking back.
“What’s wrong? You’ve been crying.” Anna approached Greta on the steps. Greta opened her mouth to speak but burst into uncontrollable sobs.
Catharine turned to Anna. “Gather your things and go on in and get ready for bed.”
“But—” Anna started to protest, but Catharine gave her a gentle push, indicating she needed to be alone with Greta. Anna reluctantly plodded back to the other end of the porch to gather her art supplies, glancing one last time at them.
Catharine laid an arm across Greta’s shoulder and pulled her to a chair next to hers. “Greta. Whatever is wrong?” It hurt Catharine to see her sister this way.
Greta hiccuped, and Catharine reached inside her pocket for a handkerchief. Greta blew her nose but continued to cry softly, not meeting Catharine’s eyes.
“Whatever it is, do you want to talk about it?” Catharine asked.
Greta finally faced her sister. “Bryan has been reassigned from Fort Russell to Fort Bridger. He came to tell me goodbye.” More tears fell as Greta fingered the locket around her neck. “We love each other, but what can we do? He leaves in the morning at dawn.” Greta’s eyes searched Catharine’s for answers.
Would it never end? Just when she thought things were going to get better, now she had a brokenhearted Greta on her hands. “For how long? Did he say he’d come back for you?”
“At this point it’s permanent. No, he didn’t say he was coming back for me, just that we could write to each other, and that if he
got leave, he may be able to come see me.” Greta’s face crumpled again, and Catharine held her hand and let her cry it out.
“I’m so sorry, Greta. But if it’s meant to be and he loves you as much as you say he does, then he’ll be back or send for you.”
Greta’s eyes glistened through swollen eyelids. “You really think so?”
“Yes, I do. And you can write him every day.” Catharine hoped she was right. She knew Greta’s heart was shattered, but Bryan had never said he wanted to marry her—at least, she wasn’t aware of it.
Anna tiptoed over, her art box stuck under one arm, and reached over to pat Greta on the shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “It’s his loss, you know.”
Greta turned in her chair, her face twisted in a frown. “He didn’t want to leave me, Anna. The army is making him!”
Anna clamped her mouth shut and backed away, then reached for the screen door. “Sorry. Good night.”
Anna never ceased to amaze Catharine with her keen sense of intuition. She hoped she and Anna were wrong in this instance. Time would tell. She reached down and pulled Greta up by the hand. “Let’s go inside now. Go get your nightgown on and hop into bed, and I’ll fix you a nice cup of chamomile tea. Tomorrow you’ll feel better, after a good night’s sleep. Things won’t always look so bad.”
Catharine led Greta to her room, then returned moments later to find her in her gown sitting on the bed. She was thankful that Anna was still downstairs cleaning her paintbrushes so she could speak with Greta alone. Greta’s eyes were swollen and her face blotchy from crying as she idly braided her hair.
“I’ve brought you a good cup of tea. The chamomile should help you sleep.” Catharine handed her the Blue Willow cup and saucer.
Greta murmured her thanks and took a few sips. “Thank you, Cath. I’m acting like such a baby, aren’t I? It’s not anything like your own trials. It’s hard to imagine how you must have felt about Karl after what you went through.”
“Each person’s problems are not insignificant. Even though someone else might have had a worse situation, yours is still real and important to you . . . and to me.” She took a seat on the edge of the bed, not wanting to think about the past.
“You are the most understanding person. I think that must be your gift.” Greta sniffed into her hanky, then gazed at her sister. “You know, Cath, I feel terrible thinking only of myself. You’ve been more distracted and tired lately—and I don’t mean since the grasshoppers descended on us. Are you feeling well?”
Catharine sucked in a deep breath. Might as well tell her, I’ve already told Angelina. “I’m going to have a baby.”
“What?” Greta squealed. “And you haven’t told me or Anna? Does Peter know?” Greta jolted up from where she leaned against the headboard, nearly spilling her tea. “That explains why you’ve looked a little peaked lately.”
“There was just so much going on. I wasn’t certain until your birthday and didn’t want to take away from your day. Then the grasshoppers came, and Peter’s been so down . . .” She stared down at her hands and rubbed them together.
“This is wonderful news, especially for you. I can hardly wait!” She leaned forward and hugged Catharine. “But you must tell Peter.”
“I intend to. I just wanted to give him a little time to absorb what’s happened to the crop. The grasshoppers didn’t leave much that was green around here.”
“But this will make him so happy.” Greta swallowed the last sip of tea and set the empty cup on the nightstand. “God has blessed you again, and that’s a precious thing.”
“I’m not sure if Peter will be happy. He has more of us to take care of. Last year he had only himself to be concerned about.”
“Will you tell Anna?” Greta asked, scooting back down against her pillow.
Catharine got up to leave, giving a low chuckle. “I will now. Angelina knows too. I hadn’t intended to tell her—I just blurted it out when we were planning your birthday.” She leaned down and smoothed the hair on Greta’s brow. “Try and get some sleep.”
Greta grabbed her hand. “None of us deserves your devotion, but I’m so glad that we have it.”
“I’ll always watch out for you and Anna. Don’t ever forget that.”
Greta smiled and closed her eyes, and Catharine quietly slipped out.
Peter was loading the fifty-pound bags of fertilizer he’d bought at the general store when he heard someone call his name. Turning around, he spied Thomas Sturgis—Tom to his peers—walking toward him.
Tom extended his hand in greeting. “How are you, Peter? Were you hit hard by the grasshoppers?”
Peter gave his hand a hearty shake. Tom’s warm, friendly nature made him a favorite of the community and of the Wyoming Stock Growers Association, where he’d held the office of secretary for many years. He was struggling to maintain his own ranch after the winter blizzard.
“Unfortunately, yes. I didn’t lose my entire crop, but most of it. I won’t make much money this year, that’s for sure, but last year it was far worse. It really gets a man down, you know?”
“I’m really sorry about that. You can always consider ranching, but I have to tell you, I can’t promise cattle ranching will ever be the same again. Many of the ranchers have already left to head back East or look for more lucrative work.”
Peter chuckled. “I’ve given it some thought before, but not seriously.”
“Tell you what.” Tom rubbed his jaw. “Why don’t you come to our annual reception at the end of the month at the Cheyenne Social Club? You can be my guest and rub shoulders with the ranchers and get their take firsthand.”
Peter propped his foot on the back of the wagon and crossed his arms over his leg. “I’ll give it some thought and ask Catharine. I’ve heard it’s quite the event. Would that mean she’d need a new dress?”
Tom leaned his head back and laughed heartily. “You know women—any excuse to buy something new. But yes, it’s definitely dress-up time. You’d have to wear black and one of those stiff white shirt fronts.”
“You mean those fancy things I heard call Herefords?”
“Yep! That’d be it.” Tom tipped his hat. “I gotta run. I have an appointment to keep. I hope to see you there.”
“You just might,” Peter called out, watching Tom walk away. Well . . . it could be an alternative, and something he’d have to learn along the way, since he knew nothing about cattle. Who was to say another blizzard might not hit next year?
Leaving the wagon, he hurried over to the post office, but there was no mail, and as he was leaving, he ran smack-dab into his mother on the sidewalk.
“Son, you nearly toppled me over,” Clara said as he steadied her by the arm.
“Mother, I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going. I had other things on my mind.”
“I can see that, but I’m glad that we ran into each other. It’s all over town that east of the city, grasshoppers descended on some of the farmers again. How did the crop fare?”
He heaved a sigh. “Not good, but not a total loss. I dug trenches and set out bait, but I don’t think I did it soon enough. I wasn’t expecting it.” They started walking down the sidewalk in no particular direction.
“I’m very sorry.” She laid a hand on his forearm. “You know, I have a little money set aside if you have need of it.”
Peter had no doubt that she would loan him the money, but he didn’t want to be beholden to her. “I’ll be all right.”
“But, Peter, what will you do? It takes money to run a farm. Why not take the money from me?”
She gave him a look as though he was two sandwiches short of a picnic. He almost laughed out loud but stifled it, not wanting to rile her.
“Care to have a cup of coffee at Mario’s place? I’d like to talk to you, but not out here on the sidewalk.” Clara paused, looking up at him.
“Mother . . .” Peter put a hand on his hip.
Clara held up a hand in protest. “This is im
portant or I wouldn’t ask you.” Her eyes were pleading. When had he ever been able to stop her?
“Okay, but I’ve got a lot to do back at the farm, and I told Catharine that I’d pick up some fresh vegetables since our garden was mowed down.” They turned around and headed toward Mario’s Ristorante.
Mario smiled as soon as he saw Peter, but his smile faded when he saw Clara. “Hello, my friends. You’re too late for breakfast and too early for lunch. My guess is that you’re here for coffee, no?” He indicated the first table they came to.
“Hello, Mario. You’re exactly right. Could you seat us somewhere more private?” Clara asked.
Mario cocked an eyebrow at Peter, who only lifted his shoulders in resignation. “But of course . . . as you wish. Follow me.” He guided them halfway back where it was empty. “How’s this?” He bowed slightly, draping a crisp linen napkin across his arm.
“Perfect!” Clara said. “Say hello to Angelina for me.”
“She’s gone shopping for britches with the twins. They’re growing faster than we can keep them in clothes.” Mario chuckled. “I’ll return with your coffee in just a moment or two.” He hurried off to the kitchen and soon returned with their drinks.
Clara waited until Peter had taken a drink of Mario’s strong brew before saying a word. Peter felt uneasy. He thought this must have something to do with Catharine again, and he readied himself.
“Peter, Mac gave me more information about Catharine—”
“Why are you still digging into Catharine’s past?” he said, his jaw clenching. “I’m married to her now, so what difference will it make?”
Clara blinked. “I’m afraid that you acted in haste where she’s concerned. Mac has found proof from his solicitor in Amsterdam that she was married before.” Her face was dead serious.
“I don’t believe Mac,” he said.
Clara reached inside her reticule and pulled out a piece of paper, opening it flat on the table between them. “This document is proof enough. It’s a signed copy by Catharine’s own clergy in Amsterdam.”
Deeply Devoted Page 21
