Deeply Devoted

by Maggie Brendan

  Peter’s blood turned to ice as he read the document. So it was true! And her husband’s name was Karl. He swallowed the lump in his throat. Why hadn’t she told him? She’d had three months to do so.

  “Just because she was married before doesn’t make her unworthy of marriage to me.” Peter tried to sound convincing, but his brain was scattered. He didn’t know what to think.

  “Peter, it gets worse. They can find no proof that she was ever divorced.” Clara leaned over to bridge the space between them. “I’m sorry, but I felt you had to know. I wanted to make sure she wasn’t just a gold digger and a ticket to America at your expense. She was probably flat broke, you know.” Clara chewed her bottom lip.

  Hot anger flashed through him. He was mad at his mother for investigating his wife, but most of all he was angry that Catharine had never told him. He tried to collect his thoughts as he thumped his thumb against the document, staring at the name of her husband. Karl Johnsen. He had a name. She was his first love, not him. Why would she hurt him like this? There was no way he could begin to understand her deceit.

  “Peter . . . are you all right?”

  His heart had all but stopped and he felt numb. Lifting his head, he studied his mother for a long moment. No doubt she cared for him and wanted to make sure no one took advantage of him, but now she’d just destroyed the one sweet thing he thought he had in his life.

  “Of course there has to be a divorce decree, or she wouldn’t have married me. Catharine is not like that.” Peter could feel the thudding of his pulse in his neck. Am I sure she wouldn’t do that to me? He didn’t feel sure about anything right now.

  “I’m telling you what Mac uncovered, and so far no record of divorce was found on file at the courthouse.”

  “Now, let me tell you something about Catharine, because you’ve never even asked me about her. She was from a very wealthy and prominent family, and her father was a shipping magnate. Her parents were on a buying venture to France when they encountered a terrible storm at sea. The boat sank, and with it, the entire inventory he was bringing back to Amsterdam. Catharine is well bred and well educated, yet she decided to become a wheat farmer’s wife. We began to care for each other through our correspondence, no matter if she was married before!”

  “That’s all very well and good, and I’m sorry she lost her parents, but, Peter, don’t you see? Even if she was divorced, where was she to go without a dowry or any visible means of support?”

  “Did it ever occur to you, Mother, that she might have wanted a new life after her parents died, leaving her as guardian of her two younger sisters?” Peter expelled air from his lungs.

  “I suppose you could be right. But why wouldn’t she tell you about her first marriage? Perhaps she thought you wouldn’t want to marry her then, and you could have married Dorothy.” Clara drained her coffee and set the cup down.

  Mario scurried over and they both became quiet. “Can I get you anything else? A refill perhaps?”

  “No thank you, Mario. We’re just leaving.” Peter fished in his pocket for money and laid it on the table.

  “Oh, so soon? But you’ve just arrived.” He poured more coffee anyway. That was Mario’s way. If you said you weren’t hungry, he placed food in front of you, convincing you that you were. “I’ll leave you two and go get ready for my lunch crowd.” He backed away. Peter could tell that Mario knew something was up but had the good grace not to ask. “Ciao!”

  “Goodbye,” Clara mumbled.

  When Mario was out of earshot, Peter answered his mother. “I don’t know why she didn’t tell me, but it’s really none of your business now. It’s time you accept the fact that Dorothy and I were just friends. Nothing more. Why don’t you go see your dear friend Mac? He seems to have all the answers you could possibly ever want!” Peter rose and Clara did too.

  “I’m really sorry, Peter. I truly was beginning to catch a glimpse of what it is you like about Catharine at the birthday party the other night. And as for Mac, he’s become very dear to me.”

  “I’m not surprised, with all the money you paid him to do this.”

  “I’ll have you know that he loves me and we’ve been spending a lot of time together, so you may as well get used to seeing a lot more of him around here,” Clara said.

  “You want me to accept Mac, Mother, but it’s too bad you didn’t do your part to get to know Catharine the way I do. When he gets the divorce decree, let me know. Notice I said when, not if. I’ve got to go.” Peter stalked out of the restaurant without looking back. He passed Angelina returning from shopping with the twins, and though he normally would’ve stopped to tussle with the boys, today he only muttered hello and kept going.

  “Clara, whatever is wrong with Peter?” Angelina asked as Clara was leaving. “Is he so upset about the crop that he can’t talk to an old friend?”

  “You’d be better off asking him. It seems Catharine is not at all what he thought.” Clara huffed and continued on out of the restaurant without another word.

  Never had Peter felt as alone as he did after the conversation with his mother. Why, Lord? Why would Catharine withhold this from me? It makes no sense. Maybe she was afraid that I wouldn’t send for her and marry her if she told me the truth. Would I? Peter sighed and was overcome with weariness. It was hard enough just trying to hold the farm together, much less this.

  An idea suddenly occurred to him. He’d overheard Joe Hankins in the general store saying the widow Lucy Hayes needed a handyman for repairs around her homestead before she left for England. He could stop at her place on his way back home. He considered himself a good carpenter, and it might be able to help him break even. That is, if she hadn’t hired anyone yet.

  Peter had met Lucy when she married and joined the church. Some people looked down their noses at her because of her reputation with the men at the local saloon. But that was in her past, before she’d given her heart to the Lord. Peter gave her the benefit of the doubt. After all, who was he to decide the condition of her soul?

  With that in mind, he’d drop by her place before he went home. He needed the time to mull over what his mother had told him. He wanted to wait and find out if Mac got word of an official divorce before he confronted Catharine. But how was he supposed to act normal? She’d see right through him. I’ll just have to work longer hours. Lord, help me, he pleaded. He clicked the reins, urging Star to pick up his pace.

  It wasn’t long before Lucy’s homestead came into view, and he guided his wagon to a standstill just outside her picket fence. She must have heard him because the front door swung open. She smiled and walked outside.

  “Well, land of Goshen! What brings you to see this ol’ lady?” Lucy wiped her hands on her apron. Silver threads now dusted the hairline at her temples, and there were wrinkles around her eyes when she smiled. She was still a good-looking woman but was older than he remembered, and there was more meat on her bones than the last time he’d seen her. She’d taken her husband Lefty’s death hard.

  “Howdy, Mrs. Hayes.” Peter climbed down from the wagon and walked to the porch steps.

  “Oh, gracious, please call me Lucy. I’m not that much older than you,” she said with a giggle. “Come on in and sit a spell. I’ll get us something cool to drink.”

  “Thanks, but I’m on my way back home. I’ve spent the last several days trying to clean up the debris left behind from the locusts.” Peter propped his foot up on the steps, removed his hat, and ran his hand through his hair. “I bet you’re glad you’re not farming now.”

  “I certainly am.” Her face softened. “I heard about the grasshoppers. “I’m sorry. Were you hit hard?”

  “Not as bad as last year but bad enough, which is the reason I stopped by. I overheard in town that you needed a handyman before you take a trip. Have you hired someone yet?”

  Peter couldn’t believe he was asking for a job. All he really had to do was borrow from his mother. On an ordinary day he would have, but not after today. He was too
angry with her.

  “I haven’t. No one has even asked me about the job. But you’re a true answer to prayer. I’ve heard nothing but good things about you. I want to leave soon for England for the winter, but before I close up the house, there are a few things that need fixing around here. Mostly outside repairs, but a few inside too.”

  Peter swallowed his pride. “Then I’d be mighty obliged for the work.”

  “Sure thing. That would benefit both of us then. When can you start?”

  “Day after tomorrow. There are a few loose ends at my place to take care of first. Will that work?”

  “It will indeed. Why don’t you come inside and I’ll show you the leak I have around the dining room window. Lucky for me, we haven’t had any rain lately, but I know it’s only a matter of time. I don’t want my hardwood floors to be ruined.”

  He followed her inside and inspected the window, quickly locating a gap in the window seal around the frame. “I’ll need to bring a few things to fix the seal. I can tackle that first thing for you.”

  She clasped her hands in front of her. “That’d take a great load off my mind. Sure you don’t want anything to drink?”

  “On second thought, I could use a glass of water if it’s no trouble. My throat is parched from the dust.”

  “It’s no trouble at all. Have a seat and take a load off your feet. I’ll be back in just a moment.”

  She left him standing in the dining room. It was the first time he’d ever been inside her home, and he was mildly surprised at how tidy and homey it was. She had the normal whatnots and doilies, but what caught his eye was the beautiful cherry hutch filled with Blue Willow dishes. Now wouldn’t Catharine just have a conniption if she saw this? He walked closer for a better look. Wait, I’m supposed to be mad at her. Why do I care if she’d like this display at all?

  Lucy returned and handed him a tall glass of water. “I see you’re admiring my Blue Willow. Have you ever seen it before?”

  “My wife Catharine brought a couple of pieces with her from Holland. She had a set of her mother’s, but most of it was broken during a storm at sea, though she salvaged a few pieces. It’s right pretty, ma’am.”

  “Yes, it is. Lefty insisted that I have it, though I rarely entertain. Most people around Cheyenne don’t want to associate with me.” Lucy’s bottom lip quivered and Peter was afraid she was going to cry.

  “I’m sorry about that. Sometimes people have a hard time accepting a big change in a person’s character.” He gulped the water.

  Lucy’s face turned pink. “I’ve tried so hard, but I can’t do enough to prove to them that I’ve changed, can I?”

  Peter searched for the right words to say. “Probably not for some, but you need to remember the ones who do accept you . . . kinda like the way the Lord sees us.”

  “You’re right, and I’m very grateful for those few friends.” She motioned with her hand. “Let’s step outside and I’ll show you where some shingles are missing.”

  He was glad she’d changed the subject.

  Before he left, he asked her to make a list of everything she needed him to repair, promising to return after breakfast in a day or so.

  Peter was taking a longer time in town than Catharine thought he’d planned to today. He was in a mood she couldn’t seem to penetrate. No matter, she had plenty to keep her busy. Tonight she’d boil chicken for the dumplings that Peter loved. She’d finally learned from watching him and was able to roll out the dough to make them light and fluffy. But she wanted to squeeze in a little nap before starting supper if she could. She was having trouble keeping her eyes open lately and knew it was from the pregnancy.

  Catharine slipped off her dress before lying down. The sheets felt cool against her cheek, and the smoothness of the pillowcase was somehow comforting. After a few moments daydreaming of Peter’s warm kisses and sweet embraces, she fell asleep. She dreamed of a gentle prairie breeze skimming the plentiful wheat fields, undulating like waves over the beautiful golden grains, their heads seeming to bow to their maker. Peter moved toward her slowly, holding out his hands to the child in Catharine’s arms. Lifting the little girl above his head, he swung her around while sunlight played on their shoulders. Catharine breathed a deep sigh of contentment and love for the blessing of her new family . . .

  Someone tapped on the bedroom door, pulling Catharine away from the tranquility of her dream. “Come in. I’m awake.” Catharine looked at the clock and then at Anna. “Sorry, I should have been up by now. Is Peter home?”

  “Hello, sleepyhead. I think Peter is in the barn, though he hasn’t been back for long. Greta and I started supper.”

  Catharine got up and shimmied back into her housedress. “Oh my! He’ll think I’m a lazy wife.”

  Anna giggled as she buttoned the back of Catharine’s dress. “He’ll think no such thing. Now that you’re going to have a baby . . .”

  “Shh. I haven’t told him yet. He has too much on his mind at the moment. But I’m glad I told you and Greta. It was hard to keep the news to myself.”

  “I can hardly wait. It’s so dull around here. But you know I’ll be in school most of the time. I can’t imagine how much fun it will be.” Her face shone with excitement. “There, you’re all buttoned now.”

  “I had the most incredible dream,” Catharine said. “I had a little girl, and Peter and I were in a wheat field that was ripe for harvest, with the sun shining down on us.”

  “Mother always said that God speaks to some through dreams.” Anna’s face was serious. “Maybe that means the wheat will grow in abundance and your baby will be healthy.”

  Catharine pondered her words. “I think I’d like to believe it was a sign from God that everything is going to be all right this time.” She grabbed her apron. “Let’s go, I have dumplings to roll out.”

  Peter barely made it home in time for supper, and as soon as he’d eaten he made a hasty exit, mumbling something about working some more on clearing the field while the sun was still up. By the time he came in and washed up, Catharine was in bed, sleepy but waiting for him. He climbed in bed, and she marveled at the well-defined muscles in his biceps and across his chest and stomach.

  She reached out to stroke his chest lightly and remarked, “You have a farmer’s tan on your neck, hands, and forearms.” She laughed softly. Peter flinched and didn’t pull her to him the way he normally did. “Are you tired?”

  “I guess I am. I want to finish clearing the field tomorrow.” He folded his arms to his chest, then turned away from her.

  “You know, I’ll be glad to help you,” she said, continuing to touch him, delighting in the feel of his skin. She scooted closer. She wanted him to hold her and kiss her and was surprised when he didn’t.

  “No, you have plenty to do with the garden and the cooking,” he mumbled.

  He must be really tired, she thought. She lay against him and listened to his breathing, wanting him as she finally drifted off to sleep.

  Peter listened to the even breathing of his wife, steeling himself not to touch her in spite of the stroking of her fingers. He feigned sleep, but the image of her full breasts and shapely form that he’d glimpsed through her nightgown was embedded on his brain. She was beautiful, but he was hoarding anger and was torn in two—the desire was strong to make love to her and hold her all through the night, but at the same time he wanted to demand the truth.

  He stifled the words. He’d know soon enough. Rest assured his mother wouldn’t relax until she had all the facts.

  Catharine lifted the willow basket with the sheets she’d laundered, and as she lifted her broad-brimmed straw hat from its peg, a folded note fell out. Her heart skipped a beat. Peter must have stuck it in there before he left. She hurried outside and sat down on the back steps, not far from the clothesline, before opening the note.

  Catharine,

  I know I’ve been a little short with you lately, and I apologize. I guess I’ve had a lot on my mind after losing the wheat crop.
I’m still adjusting to having a wife and her sisters as part of my life now. Three totally different personalities can confuse a man just a bit. I pray that you won’t have any more bad dreams since they seem to affect your normally cheerful spirit. Thanks for your sweet note to me. I know that I’m not without my faults, but I believe we can grow closer as we learn more about one another. Everything will work out if we give each other time.

  Warmly, Peter

  Catharine blinked back tears. She admonished herself for not being sensitive about his adjustment to all of them living in his house. Losing the crop income had been a big blow too.

  A smile crossed her face at the mention of her note to him. Sooner or later they would have to be more comfortable to talk openly, and she would tell him about her past.

  Catharine tucked the note in her apron pocket and hung the sheets in the bright sun. She loved the way the outdoor smell kissed the laundry with a fresh fragrance all its own. If she could only bottle the smell, she could easily supplement their income. She smiled at the thought. But it was one of those tiny gifts from God that most people never took the time to notice.

  A bead of perspiration formed on her upper lip from the heat, so she finished hanging the last pillowcase, then picked up her basket and went back inside.

  Greta was working the iron back and forth on a dress, her face serious. “You know, Cath, soon you won’t be lifting a heavy laundry basket.”

  Catharine smiled at her sister. “Guess that means you’ll be taking this chore over for me, then?” she teased, trying to get a smile out of Greta. But her sister’s facial expression didn’t change.

  Catharine sucked in a deep breath, a pang in her heart for her sister’s hurt. Bryan’s leaving had been hard on Greta, and Catharine felt helpless. Only time would heal a broken heart—she knew that firsthand. But hearts did heal.