“Wished I’d known that.” Mrs. Calhoun ladled stew into their bowls. “I had to go to Hilda Jane’s for a can of peaches.”
“I don’t usually go into town until Saturday, but Lem needs a part to fix the buggy, and Adela wants to do some shopping. Go ahead and make a list, Ma.”
Adela’s heart raced at the prospect of being alone with Byron. Also, she wanted to get the fabric to make some work dresses—and an apron. She realized she hadn’t taken off Mrs. Calhoun’s apron. “Do you have an apron pattern, Mrs. Calhoun? I’m going to buy some calico for a new dress. I brought my own dress patterns, but I’d like to sew up a couple of aprons as well.”
“You don’t need a pattern for an apron. Just cut the pieces like that one you have on.”
Adela laughed. “Oh, so I can. It should be simple enough.” She knew the men weren’t paying attention, but Mrs. Calhoun had again managed to make her feel foolish.
As the meal progressed, Byron and Lem got into a discussion about the broken buggy. Adela judged she’d just have enough time to visit the outhouse and grab her hat and money for shopping. She didn’t want Byron to have to wait for her. She excused herself before the rest had finished eating. “I’ll be waiting by the wagon.”
Chapter 11
Demurely seated several inches from Byron on the buckboard seat, Adela chattered like a noisy wren all the way to Crabapple. She kept the cherries bobbing on her dainty hat, and her dark chocolate eyes shone with excitement at the prospect of making new dresses. She explained how she’d helped her friend, Ramee, sew the creations she designed for socially prominent ladies.
Byron got the impression Adela was trying to convince him of her ability to sew, and that was wasted on him. He’d thought all females were born with the ability, but he read more behind the chatty appeal. She evidently felt a need to prove her worth, that she could pass muster as a farmer’s wife. He might be wrong, but the thought warmed his insides that she wanted to be his wife.
He was glad she could occupy her time sewing. Adela didn’t handle boredom easily, and who could blame her? Ma refused to trust her in the kitchen, and Byron had discouraged her from exploring the farm until he could be present.
When they got to Crabapple, Byron tried to see it through Adela’s eyes. One dusty road with weathered buildings running on both sides. Dry goods store on one end, dance hall on the other where the saloon used to be. Temperance had come to the town and drove out liquor, or so they said. Byron suspected there were moonshine bottles carried inside the dance hall where gambling and loose women still flourished.
He pointed out the various shops along the way—blacksmith, livery stables, drug store, barber shop on one side. Tannery, doctor’s office, land sales, dry goods on the other.
The bell jingled overhead as Byron held the door at Davidson Dry Goods for Adela. An urge to show her off hit him. “Hey Howard, want you to meet a new customer.”
Howard Davison glanced over his shoulder where he was positioning clothing items on the shelves that ran along the wall. “Always glad to meet a new customer.” He dusted off his pants and strode toward them.
“This is Adela Mason, visiting from Massachusetts. She’s done me the honor of allowing me to court her, so treat her good.”
“Well, I heard about Miss Mason arriving. Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”
Pride swelled Byron’s chest as Adela greeted Howard with a winsome smile, looking so pretty. “Pleased to meet you as well. I’d like to purchase some calico and sewing notions.” She held the side of her satin skirt. “I find I’m not dressed to work on a farm.”
“You got her working, Byron?” Howard laughed. “That’s not the way I did courting in my day.”
Byron laughed too, but Adela took it seriously. “Oh, no, he isn’t requiring me to work. I like it. I mean, I like to stay busy.”
“That won’t be a problem for a farmer’s wife, will it, Byron?” Howard nudged Byron.
“No, sir, not at all.”
“The fabric is over the next aisle, Miss Mason.” Howard pointed the way, and Adela left with a parting smile.
“I’ll go on to the smithy and get him busy making this part. Take your time, Miss Mason. I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Byron told her.
He hoped they could get the buggy fixed before Sunday. His mind already pictured driving up to church with Adela. If anyone commanded the attention of the congregation more than a new baby, it was a courting couple. He prayed Ma would go with Mr. Lynstrum, so he’d have Adela to himself.
Byron started for the door, but Howard called to him. “One of your boys got in trouble the other night.”
Freezing, Byron turned. He could guess which boy. Dick Ray, a sixteen-year-old with nothing to do but get in trouble. “Dick?”
“That’s the one. Smashed the back window at the dance hall. Nothing was missing. Guess he was looking for liquor or something.”
“I think I’ll stop by Dick’s place, and see if I can persuade him to come help out with the corn harvest.”
“Won’t be at his place. He’s in jail.”
“Jail?” Byron let out a long breath. “Why, if he didn’t steal anything?”
“Couldn’t replace the window, I guess.”
Byron would have to go down to the jail and pay for the window. He hoped he had enough money. Dick and his two slightly less troublesome friends needed to get out of town. Trouble was, they didn’t like farm work. Well, in this case, Dick didn’t have a choice.
A quarter of an hour later, Byron had stopped by the smithy and gotten Dick out of jail. He returned to the buckboard with a sullen boy and empty pockets. “Get up in back and wait, you hear, don’t run off, or the sheriff will come for you.”
“I ain’t going nowhere.” The boy got down on his haunches in the back of the buckboard.
Byron strode to the dry goods store, hoping he hadn’t kept Adela waiting. That wasn’t too likely. Most women took forever to make a decision over what pattern and color of fabric to buy. Feminine laugher greeted him when he entered the store.
He found Adela with Mrs. Hawkins beside the table containing bolts of fabric. She held a folded length of cream and rose print in her hands.
“And the gray and violet will make up a serviceable dress for everyday,” Mrs. Hawkins was saying. “You’ll have enough to make a matching bonnet, and this ribbon will go perfectly with the rose you have there for dress-up.”
With the ribbon streaming from her hand, Adela looked up as Byron approached. “What do you think, Byron?” How easily she used his given name.
“Looks mighty pretty.” He doffed his hat to Mrs. Hawkins.
Mrs. Hawkins grinned, shoving more wrinkles in her face. “Byron, you naughty boy, not telling a body you was planning on getting married. Have y’all set a date?”
He looked to Adela who turned redder than the roses in her fabric. “I’m afraid…I…I told Mrs. Hawkins why I’m visiting.”
He shook off his momentary discomfiture. “No reason not to let everyone know. I’m courting Miss Mason, Mrs. Hawkins, but we haven’t set a date. In fact, she hasn’t given her answer yet. But there’s plenty of time.” He hoped he’d put it in a way to explain the awkward situation without making Adela feel foolish.
“Well, I want to be the first to know, y’all hear?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He doffed his hat again to the departing woman.
Byron put Adela’s purchases and the box of items he’d bought in the back of the wagon with Dick. He introduced Adela to the young man, adding, “Dick’s going to be working out at the farm for a few days.” This was Byron’s arrangement with Dick to pay off the broken window. He wished he could put Dick and the other two boys in a bunkhouse at the old ranch, but didn’t have the funds to finish building it at the moment, if he ever did.
“Do you like farm work, Dick?” Adela asked.
“Nah, I like to work with cattle, ride out in wide open spaces.”
“You’ll find the same chores, w
hether a farm or ranch, Dick.” Byron knew that wasn’t exactly so, but no use to sugar-coat the truth. Life was hard no matter what you did.
Adela chatted gaily about her childhood on the farm. It was as if she sensed Byron needed to convince Dick to make the most of this experience, and she was trying to help. She seemed to read his intentions quite well. He was beginning to understand her too. Like the way her mood changed as they approached home.
It hadn’t passed his notice that Ma tried her best to snub Adela, and he didn’t know what to do about it. She turned down all of Adela’s offers to help with the cooking or chores, and ran off to Hilda Jane’s without inviting Adela to go. He couldn’t believe Ma would leave a guest without a by-your-leave.
He made a note to talk to Ma about that tonight. She was being downright rude, but she might as well get used to the idea that Adela would become his wife. He’d been raised to honor his parents and wanted Ma’s blessing, but he wanted Adela more.
Ma had supper waiting for them when they got home. Right afterward, Adela wanted to cut out her new dress. Lem took Dick out to the barn to find him a place for the night, and Byron should have gone with them, but he volunteered to help Ma with the dishes.
“Did you go by the bank?” Ma asked, handing him a cleaned plate to dry off.
“No need. I know how much is in there.”
Ma grunted like she often did when she disagreed. “You may have to sell those two heifers.”
“They’re both pregnant. I’d like to wait until they drop.” Selling the heifers wouldn’t help much anyway. He’d have to sell some land, looked like.
“I’ve put by a little pin money, but with winter coming, that won’t last. If we don’t come up with that bank note, you won’t have a house to put a bride in—no place for us either.”
He gave her shoulder a pat. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll figure out something. We should have a good crop next year. I might be able to extend the loan.”
She smiled and handed him another plate. “I know you will.”
“Ma, will you do me a favor?”
“Sure, what?”
“Be a little more welcoming to Adela. She wants to help out, and you’re giving her the cold shoulder.”
Ma huffed. “I thought she’d want to take her leisure. Thought a lady like her would like to sit around and read.”
“Well, I don’t think she’s like that. You saw how excited she was to have a dress to sew up. She wants to learn how to be a farmer’s wife, and there’s no one better to teach her than you.”
Flattery usually worked on Ma, but not tonight. “Don’t know that I can, when I think you’re making a mistake.”
He clenched his jaw and had a ready retort, but she caught him off guard. “All right. I’m not going to fight it. I’ll be canning tomorrow, so she can help with that.”
It was a small victory, but he’d take it. “Thanks, Ma. It’s still light out. Why don’t you join us in the parlor for a spell? You need to get to know Adela better.”
They found Adela sitting on the sofa by the window with her needle and thread flying. Byron sat beside her and Ma went to her rocker.
“Sure is bright today.” Byron craned his neck to look out the window. Something was different. He got up and walked past Adela to inspect the window more carefully. “Ma, did you wash the windows?”
Adela looked up from her sewing. “I did that this morning. I washed them inside and out. Don’t they sparkle?”
“I’ll say.” He dropped the curtains and jerked around. Curtains? What curtains? “Where’d the curtains come from?”
Adela sent a fugitive glance to Ma before answering. “I bought them in town this afternoon. I hope you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind,” Byron said, trying to put as much approval in his voice as possible. “You washed the windows outside, too? How did you get up there?”
“I borrowed the ladder—oh, I put it back against the barn wall.”
“That’s all right. Windows look like new, don’t they Ma?”
Ma didn’t even take her gaze away from her embroidery. “I noticed earlier. Yes, they look very good. Thank you, Miss Mason, but it wasn’t called for. Hilda Jane and I have been making velvet drapes for winter. That’s why I took the old curtains down, so’s I’d have the pattern.” She raised up in her chair and looked, not at the windows, but around the room. “Where is my sewing basket? Have you seen it, Byron?”
“No, ma’am.”
Adela sprang to her feet. “I put it over here.” She went to the bureau and bent down beside it, coming back up with the lattice basket. “Is this it?”
Ma shoved herself to a standing position. “That’s it. Where is my Ladies Journal? Where is the Bible?”
“I put them inside here.” Adela opened the door to the cabinet and retrieved the magazine and Bible.
Ma strode to the bureau, her eyes wide. “What happened to my bureau, the one my grandma gave me on my wedding?” As if there could be another bureau in the room.
Byron ran his fingers over the surface. “It looks the same to me.”
“Well, not to me it doesn’t,” Ma said. “It’s dull, like it’s aged fifty years.”
Adela took a step back. “I washed it, but I didn’t have any wax.”
“What did you wash it with?”
“Just soap and water.”
Ma nodded slowly. “You washed it with lye soap.”
“Maybe if I buff it.” Adela looked around as if she was trying to spot something to rub with.
“It’s not a calamity, Ma. Maybe with some linseed oil, it’ll be good as new—better, since it’ll be clean.” Byron laughed, trying to ease the tension.
Ma pressed a hand to her forehead. “I have a headache. I think I’ll go to bed. Good-night to you both.”
“I’m sorry,” Adela said with a little quiver of her bottom lip.
He took her hand and led her back to the sofa. “Now, don’t you worry none. Ma gets het up about the silliest things. Go back to sewing your dress, and I’ll read to you.” He retrieved a leather-bound book from the low bookshelf. “Have you read Great Expectations?”
“I have, but I’d like to hear you read it.” She gave him the prettiest smile.
Desire to kiss her flared in him again, as it had out on the porch, but the pain in her velvet brown eyes told him she wasn’t in a kissing mood. If he couldn’t find a way to bring peace between Ma and Adela, he might as well forget about kissing, much less a wedding.
Chapter 12
After the disaster of yesterday, Adela didn’t know whether she should get up or just stay in bed the next day. But that wasn’t the stuff she was made of. She’d find some way to please Mrs. Calhoun if it killed her. Might be better to let the woman let off her steam, though. Adela worked on her dress all morning until her eyes began to cross.
She decided to help Mrs. Calhoun with lunch. When she asked if she could help, instead of rejecting the offer outright, Mrs. Calhoun put her fists on her hips and faced her. “Nothing to be done for lunch, but I’ll be canning pumpkin and making apple butter this afternoon. Byron favors crabapple jelly. You can make that while I’m doing the wash. You know how to make jelly?”
“I do. I used to help my uncle’s cook. We made grape and blackberry, but I’m sure crabapple must be done the same way.”
“I’ll write down the instructions for you. That boy is in the barn, mucking out the stalls, go tell him to collect a basket of crabapples down at the cow pond. He knows where that is.”
“Are there many crabapple trees around here?” Adela wondered how the town had gotten its name.
“Used to be a whole orchard of them. Wife of the man who first settled here sent off for apple seedlings, and they sent her crabapple.” Mrs. Calhoun laughed, the first full-hearted laugh Adela had heard from her. “Used to find them all over town. Not many survived the grasshoppers and draughts, but there’s enough to get some fruit for jelly.”
“Then I’ll g
o tell Dick to gather them now.”
“Basket’s on the back porch,” Mrs. Calhoun called after her.
Dick didn’t dawdle, but brought her a whole bucket of fruit.
As soon as the men had gone back to the fields after lunch, Adela peeled and chopped the knotty crabapples. They didn’t taste good to her, but she figured with enough sugar anything would taste good.
She measured out the sugar and water and got the fruit to cooking. She’d have to strain it before it thickened, but that would take some time, so she sauntered outside where Mrs. Calhoun was stirring the wash pot.
“May I help you while the jelly is cooking?”
“No, but you can hang out those sheets.”
Adela took one sheet at the time to the line. Because she was so short, she had a time getting the sheets over the line, but she managed. When she’d finished with the last one, she returned to the wash pot and noticed Mrs. Calhoun had wrung out some articles of clothing.
She started to reach down to get another piece of the wash, but Mrs. Calhoun jerked out her hand, then pulled the basket out of Adela’s reach. “I’ll hang these. They’re long johns and a young lady shouldn’t be handling men’s under clothes.”
Adela started to laugh at such silliness, but the woman looked serious. “Shouldn’t you go check on your jelly?” That was true. Adela wiped her hands on her apron and trekked back to the kitchen.
She strained the syrup and put it back on the stove to magically turn into jelly. The stuff bubbled and thickened, but refused to jell. Adela went back over the directions. She thought about going back outside and asking Mrs. Calhoun, but decided she was just being impatient. Besides, she was afraid to turn her back on the pot. It had boiled over once and a hideous smell of burnt syrup permeated the kitchen.
After the stove cooled, she’d have to clean that up. In the meantime, she raised the kitchen window and breathed in the cool air. Making jelly was a hot, endless job. She didn’t remember it being this much trouble. By this time, her apron and a good bit of her dress was covered in amber syrup that stuck to her arms and legs.
The Annex Mail-Order Brides: Preque (Intrigue Under Western Skies Book 0) Page 6
