by Anna Murray
Sarah was perplexed by the mother's condition, but her sister was brimming with natural curiosity. Sarah quickly stepped on Emily's toe to hush her.
"Ouch!" Emily howled. "What did you do that for?"
"Excuse me, I lost my balance."
Cal motioned to Nettie. "Would you sit with Mama while I get Sarah and Emily settled?"
"Be glad to, Cal," twittered Nettie. "My you girls are pretty. George will be along any time now to take me home. Take your time Cal. I can watch for him while I chat with your mama." Then Nettie drew a chair up next to the mute woman and plopped herself down.
Sarah and Emily entered the ranch house, eyes darting around with rapt interest.
Cal paused to hang his hat and gun belt on wall pegs inside the front door. Sarah and Emily anxiously peered down the front hallway, which opened onto a parlor on the right. They saw a study on the left, two desks and bookshelf-lined walls, crammed tight with volumes of Shakespeare, Tennyson, Scott, and others. The furniture in the rooms was simple but comfortable and had the usual marks from years of daily use. A sofa dominated the parlor, and a pianoforte stood against the long wall. A braided gold and red wool rug warmed the floor.
Cal told Sarah to set her bag in the hallway, and then he led the sisters into a large kitchen at the back of the house. Sarah and Emily gawked at the clawed legs on the fancy table while Cal tried to show them a washstand with a pitcher of water and bowl behind a curtain. He pointed to a clean stack of towels and store-bought soap. He shyly swept his hand in the direction of the backyard privy. Roy shuffled past on his way to the pantry, carrying a sack of flour over his shoulder.
The younger Easton grunted.
"Couple more and I'll be done," he grunted. "Sarah, you'll oblige us some of those prize biscuits for supper?" His eyes shone. "I confess to thinking how mighty good those must taste all the way home. Beef is hanging out back. You make stew?"
Sarah straightened up proudly.
"It'd be my pleasure Mr. Easton."
After making do with campfires on the trail, she considered it a delight to cook in a real kitchen. Hands to work would distract her mind from troubles, and Lord knew she had plenty. When was the last time they ate? She couldn't remember. "Emily always helps," she added.
Cal frowned at Roy. He made a hasty excuse and dragged his brother outside to have a talk about what constituted gentlemanly conduct around a young lady. And while he was about it he let Roy know who'd order any suppers, and who'd give out any biscuit compliments.
Sarah and Emily quickly washed up and took stock of the supplies in the pantry.
"Oh Sarah, look at the barrels and jars!" Emily hopped around the provisions. Crammed in one corner were the usual sacks of flour, cornmeal, coffee, and pinto beans. Bags of fancy white sugar, soda crackers, boxes of tinned peaches, and jars of jelly and pickles were stacked haphazardly on shelves that blanketed the walls.
Sarah lifted a large pot from a ceiling hook and dug potatoes from a sack, automatically counting how many were left after she removed them. She laughed at herself; old habits were hard to shake.
"Sarah let's bake a cake!" Emily's eyebrows flew up. "For Mr. Easton's birthday!"
Sarah took a few moments to consider the idea. Emily was always excited about birthdays.
"I 'spose we could . . ."
The girls tied on aprons they found on a nail behind the pantry door, and they gleefully danced around the kitchen, each pretending that this was home, yet even better owing to no mean uncle.
"Oh Sarah, I wish we could stay here. The Eastons need us. You could work at cooking. I could help with the horses."
Sarah sighed. "They get on fine. Look at all the help they have. Besides, it wouldn't be proper for us to stay with two bachelor ranchers. And it likely takes shovels of money to run a ranch like this, pay and feed ranch hands, fix fences, buy saddles, and tools." She forced the words out slowly. "Mr. Cal Easton wasn't happy about us coming here."
"I'd work for no pay if I could ride a horse every day."
Sarah frowned on Emily's fanciful notions. "Well, wishing for things we can't have is useless. We need to be practical now." I've set aside my dreams, Emily. But I'll keep trying to help you find yours, she added silently.
Sarah mixed dough for the biscuits while Emily cleaned the potatoes. After a time, Cal came to the kitchen. He leaned his hard length lazily against the doorframe. He watched the sisters working together for a few moments before he spoke.
"Nettie went back home. I need to help Roy out in the barn for a while." He hesitated. "Uh, if I bring Mama in here can you keep a watch on her while you cook?"
Sarah's face clouded with uneasiness. "Oh. OK." She cleared her throat.
Cal's expression eased, and he walked into the room and sank into a chair. "I need to explain about Mama," he said quietly. He thrust a hand through his hair. "She has paralysis owing to a fit of apoplexy she had a couple months back. She can't move much on her own, just her head a little bit and sometimes her right arm." He suddenly appeared weary, shifted, and looked down at the table. "She can swallow food, but can't chew too good. But Doc Chandler says she can hear, and she can understand everything we say, so you can chat with her, if'n you get the inclination." His voice drifted lower. "I'd appreciate your help."
Sarah's heart swelled. She felt the weight of the burden Cal Easton carried. And something else warmed -- the kind of tingling that comes like an embrace as the handsome but disheveled Cal confided the details of his mother's ailment.
She swallowed. "Oh, we'll be happy to have her company." Sarah nervously pushed dough into a pan. "I know something about nursing sick people." She paused and her eyes flickered to the left, remembering. "I took care of my papa when he was ill." Her voice fell to a whisper. "At the last."
Anguish flickered at the memory of her father. Cal's mouth tightened, and he twisted his hat in his hands.
"Obliged," Cal nodded. Then he cleared his throat, thrust his hat back on his head, and strode out to the porch. A minute later he pushed Mama into the kitchen. He leaned down and adjusted pillows in her chair. He gently smoothed her skirt where it was rumpled.
A lump formed in her throat as Sarah watched Cal attend so lovingly to his mother, and a part of her suddenly ached for her own mother.
Cal brushed a kiss on his mama's cheek, and he pushed the loose locks of her hair back from her face, tucked them behind her ears, lingering a bit over the task, as if this might be the last time he'd touch her. Then he glanced up at Sarah, and caught her staring. She looked away and blushed, sensing that she'd intruded on a private intimacy. Cal frowned, straightened awkwardly, and walked briskly out the back door, headed straight toward the barn.
Sarah and Emily happily chatted as they resumed their work. Keeping up the banter, mostly for mama's benefit, they talked about how much molasses to add to the birthday cake, and they wondered aloud whether onions grew in the garden they saw on the ride up to the house.
Emily paused over setting the table.
"I wish we had a birthday gift for Mr. Easton."
A good idea, thought Sarah. If we cook him a good meal, and we give him a small present, then maybe . . . .
She put a hand to her hip as she mentally sorted through the old satchel with the items she'd recovered from the wagon.
"Emily I think we do have something to give Mr. Easton."
Sarah poked at the coals in the stove, then she swished down the hall and fetched the bag. She dug until she found their small treasure and carried it back to the kitchen. Emily ran into the pantry and she emerged with a piece of brown paper to wrap the gift. Sarah glanced at Mrs. Easton, and she could have sworn she saw the slightest hint of a smile at the corners of her lips.
"Oh, Oh, I hope you can keep a secret Mrs. Easton," said Emily. Her face was lit with an angelic smile, and she hopped from one foot to the other.
When Sarah looked at Mrs. Easton she was stunned to see her graying head slumped forward. Tears ran from her spark
ling blue eyes. She hurried across to Mrs. Easton's side, wiping her hands on her apron as she closed the distance between them. Lacking a handkerchief, Sarah frantically wiped Mrs. Easton's tears from her soft skin with the back of her hands.
"Did I say something wrong?" Emily fretted.
"No, Emily." Sarah dropped to her knees and took Mrs. Easton's hands into her own, holding them as if she were protecting a baby bird that fell out of its nest. She looked into the old woman's face. "Mrs. Easton, if we've hurt your feelings, we're truly sorry."
The more Sarah reflected on their actions, the more convinced she was that Mrs. Easton must be troubled by their intrusion into her home. Like all mothers, she had cooked meals, and had joyfully wrapped gifts for her sons to celebrate their growing up years, and, no doubt, thought Sarah, she suffered merciless pain watching two orphan waifs as they took charge in her sacred domain. They'd donned her aprons and rattled her pots and pans. It was surely bitter tonic for Mrs. Easton.
Chapter 7
To escape the kitchen heat Sarah and Emily brought Mrs. Easton to the back porch, where they sank onto the step. They lifted their skirts up around their ankles to feel the cool evening breeze lapping against bare skin. Emily shook the bell to call the brothers to supper.
Within a few minutes the Easton men came strolling in from the far side of the barn, towels slung over their shoulders. Wet snippets of hair clung around the corners of their faces.
Cal used his good arm to hold the door open when they entered the house. Rich smells of stew and biscuits embraced them. The men didn't bother to check contented smiles.
"Mmmmm, we must be in heaven." Roy had completely forgotten his brother's earlier admonition.
Cal simply inhaled deeply.
A flush began edging its way across Sarah's face. "Oh, well, it isn't much." She made her way to the table
Cal brushed lightly against Sarah's backside as he passed her to take his seat. He'd brought his mother up next to his chair, and he slid her plate close beside his own, noting that the girls had laid down a tablecloth and matching plates. The womanly touch reminded him of the days when his mother presided over Montana's most elegant and lively table, back when people throughout the territory placed great stock in an invitation to Sunday dinner at Elizabeth Easton's place. Theirs was known as the ranch where eastern grace and elegance cantered harmoniously with fine western humor. Elizabeth and John Easton had been as unlikely a match as night and day, but like bass and soprano voices when they came together they'd complemented and contrasted at once to produce sweet music.
Sarah ladled the stew onto each plate. She passed the pan of biscuits. Emily and Sarah, now starved, struggled to maintain the pretense of being ladies as their forks hit the food. The men pretended not to notice the two girls wolfishly gulping.
"I've never had better biscuits," commented Cal, after recovering from the sight of such unladylike food consumption. His gaze flickered to Sarah and he waved his free hand. "We usually grab some grub from the chuck crew," he explained. "And Nettie brings us a pie and jelly now and again." His eyes remained fixed on Sarah as he punched down thoughts about how a woman had a way of making a house into a home. He reminded himself that, for him, the luxury of a woman usually came with a steep price.
"Oh, it's not so much," she deflected his praise. Sarah's jade eyes traveled to Mrs. Easton's face. "I'd bet your cooking is much better, ma'am."
Cal felt oddly stung by her inability to accept his compliment. "Sure, Mama's known clean through the territory for her cooking," he tersely ceded.
Locked in his gaze, the strange feeling that she was looking at a vision from a dream ran through her. If Cal was aware of her response he didn't show it. Instead he turned his attention to his mama. He gently guided graying hair away from the woman's face. Then his rough cowboy hands patiently offered her small spoonfuls of gravy, waiting until she had completely swallowed each one before giving her more.
"You must be hungry, Mama," commented Roy. He threw a wink at Sarah and grinned. "She likes your stew." Then he swung his eyes across the table to meet up with Cal. "Brother, you're having one mighty fine birthday."
Cal nodded. "Yep. I can't wait to get in some target practice with my new rifle!"
Sarah cast her eyes downward. Her thoughts were a flurry of confusing disappointment. Of course a rifle was the most treasured gift! He would no doubt forget her and Emily after tomorrow.
Roy glanced at Sarah and flashed Cal a sharp look. Cal Easton was a man who used words carefully, and now he sat between two fires. He bristled as he struggled to come up with the proper ones to smooth over his omission. His eyes flickered past Sarah and rested safely on Emily.
"Um, of course this delicious supper, and meeting you fine ladies, has made this a special day . . . one that I won't soon forget," he added awkwardly. His gaze bravely ambled over to Sarah and he swallowed hard. He figured a red-hot branding iron would feel better than the scalding glare blowing in from that direction.
Her throat tightened. She felt heat rising in her cheeks. Fine ladies? Sarah rose stiffly from her chair and hastily excused herself to bring coffee from the kitchen. Oh, she fumed, the man was patronizing! What she was sold to provide to Mr. Caleb Easton couldn't possibly make her a fine lady in his estimation.
Emily sprang up and skipped merrily after her sister. She took the cake from the shelf where it had been cooling, plucked the gift from behind a jar of pickles, and turned to make the trek back to the table.
Stricken with indignation, Sarah was sure they had needlessly troubled themselves with the cake and gift. It was too late to back out now. Emily would be sorely disappointed if they didn't give it. Sarah grabbed the coffeepot, composed a cool expression, and did her best to appear aloof as they headed back to the table.
"We made you a cake for your birthday!" Emily bubbled. "And we have a gift for you too! Even your mama kept it a secret!" She beamed as she set the cake on the table and looked at Cal. She was so thrilled to see his expression of genuine surprise that she clapped her hands and laughed.
Roy's laughter mounted to a thunder so hearty that his eyes brimmed with tears. And then they were all surprised by Cal's broad smile and laugh.
Roy couldn't remember the last time he had seen his brother laugh, not just grunt, at a joke. Roy smiled inwardly and allowed himself to nurture a secret hope. This could be the cure he'd been seeking for his brother.
"Well, I'll be . . . you didn't have to do that."' Cal's expression had turned sober. He was at a loss for words. A flash flood of feelings washed over him. These sisters had just suffered the worst day of their lives, what with the murdering of their uncle that morning, and yet they'd reached out to give him a present.
Roy was also caught flat-footed. He couldn't find the right thing to say – something worthy of what they'd done. He even felt a little guilty thinking of Sarah as one of "Lola's girls". Now he wished they'd come to know Sarah and Emily under different circumstances. Of course they'd never understand what this thoughtfulness meant to his brother.
Emily excitedly thrust the little package into Cal's hand while Sarah busied herself cutting the cake and putting a piece on each plate. Cal waited until Sarah was seated to unwrap his gift.
He cleared his mind, focused on the small package, unwrapping it carefully and turning it over in his hands. His hoarse whisper broke the silence.
"My that's fine. Thank you ladies."
His long powerful fingers held up a brass belt buckle for his mother and Roy to see. His dark eyes shone as he smiled warmly at Sarah.
Sarah risked her own small smile in return.
Cal ran his fingers across the buckle as though it were an expensive treasure, when in truth it was just a gewgaw that somebody had lost along the trail. Emily, with her eyes always glued to the ground as she looked for lost coins, had plucked it from the dust somewhere in Dakota Territory.
These two orphan girls, landed on his doorstep, made him realize how much he missed
the celebrations in his life. Lately Cal had numbly plodded forward through the droughts, blizzards, plagues and plain bad luck. Tragedy had shaped his existence. Only mental toughness kept the wolf from the door, and he had honed his to a fine edge.
He stared at the woman who was stirring up a whirlpool of unsettling feelings inside him. Putting a cold bit in the mouth of a rough broken horse was probably a heap safer than spending time near this young lady. Her mere presence tugged at long forgotten emotions, and his insides felt raw and exposed. Damn Roy.
Yet he dared to wonder: Could Sarah Anders find something to like about him even though she'd come to his house as a purchased woman, loaded into the back of the wagon and hauled home like another sack of flour?
He told himself she couldn't possibly be one of those rare women, with a true and loving heart, one who could care for one man with warmth and passion. Women with heart simply didn't end up on ponies from Lola's. They were always broken. He shrugged off unruly speculations. Caring for a woman had been the very last thing on his mind today.
Still Cal eyed Sarah thoughtfully. Most of the young women of his acquaintance would have taken this opportunity to flirt shamelessly with him. This one was different. She wasn't a saloon gal or the opportunist daughter of a rancher, full of vanity and ambition, working to catch a wealthy cattleman husband. No girlish giggle, coy shrug, or batting of eyelashes -- just an honest response, a directness, as refreshing as a cooling breeze when a man sat in a hot late summer saddle.
Meanwhile his brother Roy considered the two of them, and he lifted his cup to hide his grin. He knew Cal was a man who was afraid to feel too much for a woman, and Sarah was a woman afraid she'd never find a man who'd want her to feel anything. Abruptly he stood up and started clearing dishes from the table.
"Cal and me are washing the dishes." He looked pointedly at Sarah. "Would you take mama to the parlor and read to her? I brought some newspapers from town. They're on the table."
Cal flinched and reddened. Roy had assumed they knew how to read. Didn't his brother ever think before he opened his mouth?
