Dreaming on Daisies: A Novel (Love Blossoms in Oregon Series Book 3)

by Miralee Ferrell

  She nodded. “Wait till we get a couple of hours farther, when we pass the little town of Hood River. You’ll be able to see Mt. Hood to the south. And there’s another waterfall even bigger than this one another mile or two past here—it’s called Multnomah.”

  “I remember that one.” Tom gazed to the east as a hazy memory surfaced.

  “Oh, so you’ve been this way before.” She cocked her head.

  “Yes, but it’s been a number of years, and I spent a good amount of time inside.”

  “Ah, seasick.” She nodded sagely, then offered her hand. “I’m Mrs. Cynthia Woodsmith, and we live in The Dalles.”

  “So your boy was saying.” He nodded toward the child who’d edged down the rail. “What’s his name?”

  “Jonathan, after his father. You appear to be good with children. He took an immediate fancy to you.”

  He hunched a shoulder. “I like children, always have, I guess. I hope someday to have a houseful, if I ever find a woman who’ll have me.”

  She studied him. “I can’t imagine you’ll have much trouble in that regard, a fine-looking young man who is kind to children. Are you stopping in one of the towns along the way, or continuing on past The Dalles?”

  “Once I leave the steamboat I’ll take the stage to Baker City.”

  “So it’s the lure of gold taking you east?”

  Tom hesitated, then nodded, not wanting to lie but loath to discuss his business with a stranger. Besides, only a few days ago he’d considered trying his hand at finding gold, so it wasn’t exactly a lie.

  “Well, I pray God will bless your endeavors and help you find what you’re looking for.” She moved away, following her son to the prow of the paddle wheeler.

  Tom stood frozen as he tried to take in her blessing. Did he even know what he was looking for, really? He knew what he had to look forward to—a father who didn’t care and a sister who more than likely had forgotten him. His gut twisted, and he felt sick inside.

  The ranch should be his by birthright, but would Pa see it that way after he’d been gone so many years? In fact, would Pa even want him around? He fingered the letter in his pocket that he’d kept all these months. Only one of two his father had sent him in the six years he’d been gone. Not likely the man would welcome him as the prodigal son had been welcomed. Not likely at all.

  The woman had spoken a blessing, but would God care enough to be involved in his life? He shook off the thought and fastened his gaze on the rugged bluffs to the south. It didn’t matter. He knew what he must do, and God had no place in his plans. He hadn’t for a long time, and especially not since God had let his mother die.

  Chapter Ten

  Baker City, Oregon

  April 18, 1881

  Steven set aside his pen and rotated his neck in the hope of working the kinks out. He’d love to visit Ma, Beth, and Jeffery, but he’d stayed clear since learning they’d neglected to share Jeffery’s news. Maybe he was being foolish. It had clearly slipped their minds.

  After all, Beth and Jeffery were still newlyweds and couldn’t be expected to invite extended family to every event that came along. He pushed away the reminder that his mother had accompanied the couple, plucked up his pen, and bent over his desk.

  A brisk step alerted him before the gate to his enclosure swung open. Jeffery paused in the opening and smiled. “Would you have a minute? Your clerk said to come, but I don’t want to take you from your work.”

  Steven hesitated. As much as he liked his brother-in-law, it still stung that he’d been cut out of a family gathering. But he couldn’t allow something so insignificant to stand in the way of their relationship. He straightened and offered a smile. “I’d appreciate a break. Please come in. Would you care for a cup of coffee?”

  “Thanks, but I only have a couple of minutes.” Jeffery eased through the gate and shut it carefully behind him, then crossed the space to the empty visitor’s chair in one long stride. He sat and looked around. “I think this is the first time I’ve been in your office.”

  Steven gestured toward the open bank foyer. “I can’t quite call it an office, but it does give me a bit of privacy, since customers aren’t wont to walk through that gate without permission.” He grinned. “Excepting family, of course. Is everything all right with Beth and Ma?”

  “Sure, any reason you ask?” Jeffery leaned back, his long legs extended before him.

  Steven shrugged. “Well, yes. As you said, you’ve never been here before, so it is rather unusual. I haven’t seen much of my family of late.” He shot a glance at Jeffery, wondering how far he should take this, then plunged ahead. “And I heard the three of you were celebrating a new book contract. Congratulations.”

  Jeffery’s smile dimmed. “Thanks. We were sorry you weren’t able to join us for dinner. Beth was disappointed.”

  Shock ripped through him like lightning. “What do you mean I wasn’t able to join you?” From what he’d been able to discover, no invitation had been extended.

  “We stopped by the bank, but you weren’t here. I wanted to leave a message to see if you could meet us at the restaurant, but I was told you didn’t have time.”

  Steven bristled. Parker had assured him there were no messages that day. He’d have to speak to the man as soon as Jeffery departed. “Did you ask Mr. Parker to give me the message, regardless?”

  Jeffery shook his head. “We didn’t speak to Mr. Parker. I didn’t see him at his station, but Mr. Hunt was available. He’s the one who informed us you were too busy.”

  Jeffery’s brows drew together. “Don’t tell me he didn’t notify you that we came by? I’m sorry, Steven. I specifically asked him to. If we’d known you didn’t get the message … Beth and your mother will be so upset when I tell them. You must have thought we didn’t care to invite you.”

  “Then don’t tell them. Please.” Steven met Jeffery’s clear gaze, which hid no pretense. “It’s in the past and better left there. I was sorry to miss dining with you, but it’s not your fault.” He forced a smile, working hard to stifle growing anger at his boss. “Now, what did you come to see me about?”

  “I know it won’t make up for that day, but Beth and Ma hoped you’d come for dinner tomorrow.”

  “I wish I could, but Leah Carlson is expecting me to help with chores out at the Pape ranch. Maybe another time?”

  Jeffery nodded and stood, but his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Of course. I’m certain Beth and Isabelle will understand.” He stepped through the gate and strode toward the front door.

  Steven’s thoughts wavered, worried Jeffery would think him angry over the episode a few days before. He’d wanted to reach out more to his sister and spend time with his mother. He’d spent years praying his mother would find peace in regard to his sister. Now that she had, was he jeopardizing that new family relationship by spending time helping someone else?

  Who was he kidding? Leah Carlson’s plight tugged at his heart at a deep level, and she drew him in a way that was hard to resist. She seemed so confident at times, ready to take on the world and determined to come out on top; then, quick as a flash, he’d see a hint of vulnerability and sadness that left him wanting to fix whatever had hurt her.

  He attempted to tuck the quandary in the back of his mind where it belonged. But no matter what he did, the memory of Leah Carlson’s green eyes and sweet smile kept poking its head out and intruding, completely destroying his sense of peace.

  Frances sank onto the divan in the Jacobs’ sitting room across from Wilma and plucked her teacup off the saucer. “I declare, that Charles Pape is enough to give a person fits. I would like to teach him a lesson or two about manners.”

  Wilma gave her a blank stare. “Who is Charles Pape? I don’t believe I’m familiar with the man.”

  Frances took a sip of the hot tea and set the cup onto the saucer. Sometimes it was easie
r to keep her thoughts to herself than try to explain to people who were a mite slow to understand. She grimaced. That was not kind in the least. It was not her friend’s fault that she had done a poor job of explaining.

  Wilma frowned. “Is the tea too hot?”

  “No, no.” Frances waved her hand in the air. “I was chastising myself for unkind thoughts.”

  “Toward me or this other person, Charles Pape?”

  Frances worked to keep her eyes from rolling and almost succeeded. “It appears I am making a muddle of this entire conversation. Let me start over again, if I may?”

  Wilma crossed her arms over her chest. “I wish you would. And if your aggravation was directed at me, I cannot conceive what I might have done to earn it.”

  “Not a thing, my dear. It is simply my deplorable personality rearing its head again.”

  “Ah.” Wilma settled into her overstuffed chair. “Was that an apology or an explanation?”

  This time Frances allowed her gaze to fix on the ceiling and a loud sigh to escape. “If I did not know better, Wilma Marshall, I would think you are purposely baiting me. You know it is difficult enough for me to admit when I am at fault. I would think you could take what I said and accept it.”

  Wilma reached across the intervening space and patted Frances’s knee, her eyes twinkling. “I’m sorry, but sometimes it’s delicious fun to tease you.”

  “Shame on you.” Frances wagged her finger in Wilma’s face, but try as hard as she could, she couldn’t maintain her frown. Before she knew it, a chuckle broke forth and changed into a full-throated laugh.

  Katherine paused on her way past the doorway. “Is everything all right in here?”

  Frances clucked her tongue. “Fine, dear. Although I am sure you are not used to hearing your mother cackle like an old hen laying her first egg in months. But you can credit the mirth to Wilma.” Her smile lessened. “Why are you up? I assumed you were taking a nap.”

  Katherine shrugged. “I wasn’t overly tired, and this little one has been doing her best to kick her way out, so it’s hard to sleep.”

  Wilma nodded. “He’s eager to meet everyone.”

  “I don’t think I’ve heard you ever refer to this babe as a girl. I’m more used to thinking in female terms, but between you and Mama, you almost have me convinced.”

  “Good. We’ve both been knitting booties and hats for a boy, so I certainly hope we’re right.”

  “I’ll leave you to your talk. Lucy and Zachary will be here soon to set the table and help start supper, but until then I plan to go to my room and read the most recent installment of Jeffery’s book in The Eastern Women’s Magazine.”

  Frances settled deeper into the divan, grateful beyond measure for the good relationship she now enjoyed with her family—and most of all, her daughter. She wasn’t certain they’d attained a true friendship as yet, but it was no longer a cold, frustrating battle. God had done wonders in her life, and she could only pray their new bond grew into a warm, enduring friendship.

  Wilma pulled her attention back to matters at hand. “You started to tell me about a Charles Pape. How do you know the man?”

  “Thankfully I do not know him in any sense of the word. I had the misfortune to run into him, quite literally, the last time I ventured to town.” She tsked. “I have never been able to abide a man who imbibes in alcohol, much less one who makes a spectacle of himself when he does. And, of all things, I discovered he is Leah Carlson’s father.”

  “Beth mentioned Leah’s father has caused her embarrassment in the past. I wonder if anything can be done to help him.”

  “My thoughts exactly.” Pleasure coursed through Frances at her friend’s astute question. “What I did not tell you is that he accosted me after he almost knocked me down.”

  Wilma gasped. “Accosted? Oh, my dear woman! Did he harm you in some way? Were you forced to call for help?”

  Satisfaction swelled in Frances’s chest that her friend should jump to her defense. “I should say not.” Frances drew herself up, the satisfaction turning to indignation.

  She filled Wilma in on the details of the episode, ending with a relish. “That is why I am determined to turn the man away from his slide into purgatory. I knew right then that something must be done, and I am the woman to do it.”

  Wilma leaned forward, eyes sparkling. “I have yet to see you set your mind that you don’t end up in some type of excitement. Do you have a plan, and will you want help?”

  Frances smiled. How perfectly gratifying that God had blessed her with such a friend as Wilma, even if they had started out at odds with one another. She sipped from her teacup and scowled. Tepid. “There is no one else I can think of that I would call on, should the need arise, but I believe I shall have it well in hand.”

  Wilma sipped from her own cup. “Splendid. But if nothing else, you must tell me all about it once you’ve brought the man to his senses.”

  Chapter Eleven

  April 21, 1881

  Steven stripped off his gloves and peered at his palms. If it were winter, he’d soak them in a snow bank to soothe the blisters. He’d better not let Leah or Mr. Pape see him standing idle, or he’d have more to worry about than sore hands. After five evenings of work on this ranch, his muscles shouted with every movement.

  What had he been thinking when he volunteered to work here in exchange for lodging? Sure, he’d hoped to help Leah, but this was nothing like the farm where he’d been raised. He wasn’t afraid of hard work. He’d done more than his share while growing up, but he’d never experienced anything quite like the work on the Pape ranch. He had always thought of himself as practical—thinking through a decision before he made it, and never doing anything on the spur of the moment. Had he really deliberated before coming here?

  He’d thought so, but now he knew. It was those sparkling green eyes, that bewitching red hair, and the untiring spirit of Leah Carlson that had drawn him. The woman had captivated him and wouldn’t let go.

  Leah rounded the corner of the barn and bent to step through the corral bars. “Don’t worry. There are only a few more posts to replace.”

  He tugged his gloves back on and grabbed the shovel. “I wasn’t worried.”

  “No aches or pains or blisters, then?” She gave a slight smirk before rolling a post toward the newly dug hole with her boot.

  He still wasn’t used to seeing her in trousers, a man’s shirt, and lace-up boots, but he had to admit she looked downright sweet, and she wouldn’t be able to do much work in the full skirts women wore nowadays. “I’m not complaining. Let’s get this done, all right?”

  He hated himself for being testy, but Mr. Hunt had required he stay late the last couple of days and Charles Pape, or Charlie as he insisted on being called, had made it clear this holding pen must be finished before branding began this weekend.

  Besides, the job would help him keep his mind off how adorable Leah looked in her men’s trousers and boots—that is, if he could keep his eyes on the post holes he needed to dig instead of her.

  “Certainly. No need to be irritated.” She waited until he hoisted the post into the hole, then grabbed another shovel and used the end of the handle to tamp the dirt around the base. “Actually, I want to talk to you.”

  Steven stared at Leah but couldn’t see any indication of her thoughts on her passive countenance. That look didn’t bode well, and his muscles tightened in anticipation. Had her father complained and told her to send him packing? “I apologize. I’m listening.”

  She finished beating the soil in tight, then flipped the shovel around, sticking the blade into the ground. “I don’t think you’re cut out for ranch work. Your hands are soft, it’s obvious your muscles are aching from the way you walk and move, and you don’t seem particularly happy to be here. I haven’t talked to Pa about it, but I think we need to call it quits at the end of the d
ay. I can’t imagine you’ll want to get your hands dirty branding calves or deal with ornery cows bellowing for their babies.”

  A shock passed through Steven, and he jerked upright. “If you think I’m a quitter, you’re wrong. I’ll stick to our agreement, no matter what you throw at me.”

  “But you hate every minute of it,” she fired back. “Why force yourself to do something when you’re not cut out for it?”

  He rested his hands on the shovel handle. At least she wasn’t insisting he leave, but she didn’t seem any too happy, either. His mind scrambled over the possibilities. Returning to live in town didn’t entice him at all. Something deep in his chest wrenched at the thought of leaving the ranch—and Leah.

  In the days since he’d arrived, he’d awakened each morning excited at the prospect of seeing her at breakfast and again after work. “Have I been any help at all, or am I only in the way?”

  “You’re a greenhorn when it comes to ranch work, but you’re not lazy, I’ll give you that.” A saucy smile peeked out. “Not that I assumed you would be, of course. From my experience, which I’ll admit has been scant, a lot of city men would prefer to sit at a desk than dig post holes.” She sobered. “I know you said you lived on a farm years ago, but that’s not helping you now. I meant it when I said you didn’t have to stay on. There’s no shame in admitting you aren’t good at everything.”

  “I never said I hated ranching or that I wasn’t cut out for it. Working at a bank doesn’t make me unable to tackle other chores.” He stuck the spade in the ground and flipped up a shovelful of dirt. “Like I said, I have no intention of quitting. That is, unless you propose to throw me off the property.”

  The smile she tossed him was like meat thrown to a half-starved dog. He snatched it to his heart and prayed she’d realize his worth and not ask him to leave.

  Leah didn’t know whether to groan or laugh, although she did regret the teasing tone she’d used. Thankfully Steven hadn’t seemed to notice, as she’d hate to have him assume she was flirting. What in the world kept the man here, anyway?