The Homesteader's Sweetheart

by Lacy Williams

  What she’d remembered from her childhood as a warm, welcoming place now seemed shabby and much tinier than before. A layer of dust had covered everything and she’d had to wonder if her grandfather had even cleaned in here since her grandmother’s death.

  It was a far cry from what she was used to.

  “But I’d rather be here than at home subjected to Mr. Abbott’s advances,” she said aloud, hoping the words would rouse her a bit more. She wasn’t sure it was quite the truth, but she got out of bed anyway and struggled into the second dress, a blue one, she’d packed in her satchel. It was silk, from two seasons ago, though she hadn’t worn it much. It wasn’t one of her favorites. Putting up her hair was the work of a few moments. There was no one to see her here except family, so she settled for a simple chignon that required few pins.

  In the kitchen, she splashed her face with cold water from the basin near the door, shivering at the icy blast against her skin. At home, Ethel would have warmed a pitcher for her. By the time she patted herself dry, Sam had stumbled into the kitchen and slumped into a chair at the table. “Is it really morning?” he asked, the words muffled by his arms as he buried his face in them.

  “Grandfather seems to think so.”

  “He snores.” Poor fellow. He’d been relegated to sleeping in the bigger bedroom with his grandfather, since Penny had taken the only other bedroom.

  “Worse than Papa?”

  Sam tilted his head up just enough to raise one incredulous eyebrow, and Penny responded with a tired smile. It was a longstanding joke between them that their father’s snores rattled through the upstairs walls of their home.

  The shared moment of camaraderie sent a feeling of hope through Penny.

  “Good morning, children,” their grandfather said as he pushed through the back door, letting in a burst of cool air.

  Penny wondered for a moment if she’d been wrong about her grandfather last night. He seemed almost spry this morning. His face pink from the cold, he looked to be in good health.

  “Brought in some eggs.” The older man carefully settled a dish towel he’d folded around several eggs on the table close to where Penny stood. “Thought you might fry us up some breakfast, my dear. Potatoes’re in the cupboard, there.” He pointed to a low cabinet along one wall.

  “But—” Penny started to protest, but a yawn caught her unaware.

  “Come along, young man. Time’s a-wasting.” He thumped Sam on the back.

  The boy scowled.

  “The sun’s almost up, m’boy. We’ve got chores to do. I woke up with some ideas for special projects I’d like to get done while you two whippersnappers are here.”

  Was one of those projects cleaning the interior of the house? In the rapidly brightening room, Penny could see just how shabby the furnishings were and the layer of dust. She was afraid to know how long it had been since her grandfather had swept the floor.

  Sam reluctantly pushed himself out of the chair and followed his grandfather toward the door.

  “Penny-girl, we’ll be back in a bit for our morning grub.”

  “But—” The door closed behind them before she could form a full protest.

  Her eyes fell on the eggs waiting on the table. She didn’t know the first thing about frying them.

  * * *

  An hour later, Penny crouched next to her grandfather’s water well, trying to stop coughing. Tears streamed down her face and dripped onto her now soot-covered dress.

  “Whoohee!” her grandfather exclaimed as he came out the kitchen door and down the steps, waving a towel. Smoke billowed out behind him.

  “Where’s Sam?” Penny coughed again as she pushed the words out of her smoke-parched throat.

  “Opening the front door and windows.” Her grandfather stopped halfway to the well and bent over with hands on his knees.

  Worried about him, Penny began to stand up, but subsided when another fit of coughing took her.

  Pounding hoofbeats announced an arrival and Penny peered over her shoulder to see two teen boys race their horse up to the barn. Both boys, one redheaded and the other with a mess of black curls mashed under a soiled brown hat, hopped off the horse and ran toward the house.

  “Poppy Walt, we saw the smoke!”

  “Pa sent us to check on things.”

  Pa? The boys were certainly too old to belong to Jonas, but he was the closest neighbor, wasn’t he? Could they belong to one of Jonas’s cowhands? Surely they were too young to be hands themselves. The redhead appeared to be thirteen at most, still in the gangly stage of youth. The other boy appeared a bit older, maybe sixteen.

  “Are you hurt, Poppy Walt?”

  “Should we git some water buckets?”

  Their words tumbled over each other. To Penny’s surprise, Walt placed a hand on each of the boys’ shoulders.

  “Now, Maxwell, Davy, everything’s all right.” He motioned toward Penny and both boys’ heads swiveled. “My granddaughter—”

  The boy—Maxwell?—with curly, dark hair whipped his hat off and pressed it to his chest. The other one’s face turned as red as his hair—a trait Penny could sympathize with as her face had warmed as well. How humiliating to have witnesses to the disaster she’d caused.

  “M-m-morning, m-miss,” the redheaded youth stammered.

  “—had a little mishap while making breakfast,” Walt finished.

  Penny’s cheeks heated further at his blatant understatement. She’d managed to set the pan of eggs and badly chopped potatoes on fire and then knocked it off the stove while trying to put it out—and caught a curtain and part of the wall on fire. Thank goodness her grandfather had come in looking for his grub, because she’d been failing as she tried to smother the growing fire with a tablecloth she’d found on a shelf.

  Sam rounded the corner from the front of the house but stopped short when he saw the two boys standing with his grandfather, who waved him over.

  “Boys, I’d like you to meet my grandson, Sam Castlerock, and my granddaughter, Penny.”

  Both boys moved to shake Sam’s hand. Penny’s brother complied but didn’t say anything in greeting, only sized up the two newcomers with a frown and crossed his arms over his chest.

  When the two teens turned to Penny they didn’t seem to know what to do. Still silent, the curly, dark-haired one stood with a flush climbing his tanned cheeks while the redhead stammered, “N-nice to m-meet ya.”

  “This is Maxwell and Davy White.”

  White? What was going on here? These couldn’t be Jonas’s sons. In addition to being too old to be his offspring, neither boy looked anything like Jonas!

  “Y’all gonna be okay then?” Maxwell finally found his voice, speaking to Walt.

  “Always are.” But Walt looked a little wistful as he pushed his hands into the pockets of his denims and stared at the house and the wisps of smoke still rising from the windows and doors.

  “Reckon Pa would skin us alive if we didn’t bring ya back home for breakfast. You want me to saddle up a couple ponies for ya?”

  Walt brightened immediately. “That’s a fine idea. A mighty fine idea.”

  The two boys seemed to be familiar with Walt’s barn and corral; they hurried over and the horses came right up to them.

  Sam grumbled, “I’d rather go back to bed.”

  Penny turned a concerned glance on him. “Aren’t you hungry?”

  He shrugged, still frowning.

  “Gotta eat if we’re gonna work today,” his grandfather said, clapping Sam on the shoulder.

  Apparently his cheer was restored. That made one of them.

  * * *

  Jonas’s eyes kept straying to the north, to Walt’s place. Just like his thoughts, ever since Davy had seen the smoke coming from that direction this morning.

  All right, if he was being honest with himself, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Penny Castlerock since last night.

  She was different than he’d expected. She’d treated Breanna with care and
her worry for Walt had been sincere. She was more genuine than he’d thought from seeing her at a distance back in Philadelphia.

  But he wondered how she would fare at Walt’s place. He’d been there to check on his friend before starting on the trip to take Mrs. Clark to Calvin and meet with the bankers. Walt’s place wasn’t exactly falling down, but it might as well have been a soddy compared to the Castlerocks’ fine home back in Calvin. Penny had said she’d spent summers there, but Jonas just didn’t see how she would adjust. Her brother, either.

  He tore his eyes from the grassy plains visible through the window and swung around from the stove to set the pan of scrambled eggs on the already groaning long table that took up much of the next room. Along with the eggs, there was a huge pile of biscuits, jams and jellies, most of a ham and the last of some dried apples he’d unearthed in the pantry.

  It took a lot to feed his family. But he wouldn’t have it any other way.

  Wiping his hands on his shirt, already marked with grease and a swipe of flour, he moved to the kitchen door and stuck his head outside to issue an ear-splitting whistle, the equivalent of ringing a dinner triangle for his crew.

  “Pa, we brought some guests for breakfast!” came a shout from the north.

  Jonas stepped out onto the covered porch to see Max and Davy riding double toward the barn, just the way they’d left. Behind them came two more horses, Walt in the lead and Sam and Penny on the second animal.

  Eight-year-old Seb appeared from the henhouse, clutching eggs in each hand. Seventeen-year-old Oscar and fourteen-year-old Edgar approached on horseback from the near field, where they’d been checking on some cows before the meal. And Matty and Ricky, both ten years of age, popped out of the barn at a flat-out run toward the house and their breakfast.

  His boys. His sons.

  “Miss Penny!” Breanna shrieked and ran out the door behind him, toward the approaching riders.

  Penny said something to her brother, who halted the horse and let her slide down from its back. She knelt in time to sweep Breanna into a hug.

  “Who’s that?” asked Ricky, joining Jonas on the porch, followed quickly by Matty and Seb.

  “Yeah, she’s pretty,” Matty commented. Jonas agreed, though he kept silent.

  “Look at her dress—fancy!” That from Seb.

  Seb’s words brought Jonas’s gaze down to his grease-splattered shirt. Part of the collar had been ripped away, and the cuffs were worn and frayed. A glance around the excited boys on the porch revealed their clothes weren’t in much better shape—pants with holes in the knees, shirts worn thin. Would the proper Miss Castlerock comment on the state of their clothing? He hoped not.

  Jonas straightened his shoulders; if she said anything derogatory, he’d defend his boys. It was his job to protect them.

  But as Breanna towed Penny closer, Jonas caught sight of the gray soot marring her fancy dress and forgot about his worries. Her dress was marked up worse than any of their clothes, and her hair was coming loose from its pins, some of the auburn strands framing her lovely features. Soot-stained features.

  “What happened to you?” Seb blurted.

  Jonas’s face flamed. He clapped a hand on his son’s shoulder. “That’s not a kind thing to ask, Seb.”

  Penny looked down at herself and cringed. “Oh, dear.”

  “It’s not so bad,” Breanna offered. “Didja try to help put the fire out? I burnt some cookies once and smoked up the whole kitchen—Ricky and Matty were so mad cause it was the last of the sugar, and—”

  Now that Breanna had had a night’s rest to recover from her latest seizure, her good nature was restored, and she rambled on to their guest. Breanna seemed enthralled with the banker’s daughter, and a gaze around the stunned faces of his younger sons—except for Edgar, the most naturally suspicious of the bunch—confirmed that they felt the same just from looking at her pretty face.

  “Well, I’m afraid I caught our breakfast and the kitchen wall on fire.” Penny’s clipped statement had his sons staring at her with wide eyes.

  “Now, Penny-girl, it isn’t all that bad,” said Walter, coming up beside her with Sam and Jonas’s other sons in tow. A glance behind showed they’d corralled the horses. Jonas also noticed his older sons couldn’t tear their eyes from Penny. He began to brace himself for the onslaught of questions they would inevitably ask as soon as Walt and the Castlerocks left. What was Walt’s granddaughter doing here? Was she attached to anyone?

  “Your grandmamma, God rest her soul, burned up a pair of curtains once when we were first married…”

  Walt lapsed into silence, obviously remembering his late wife. His statement didn’t change Penny’s expression. She looked dejected, disappointed. But then, as he watched her expressive face, she visibly brightened and looked around at the faces surrounding her.

  “I don’t suppose anyone would care to introduce me to this bunch of…um…cowhands?”

  The boys all spoke at once, giving their names and greeting her in a cacophony of sound. Jonas whistled again and the boys quieted. “One at a time,” he suggested, pointing to the closest boy.

  “Ricky.”

  “Matty.”

  “I’m Seb, miss. Nice ta meetcha.” His youngest son, just three years older than Breanna, actually stepped forward to shake Penny’s hand.

  “D-D-Davy.”

  “Hullo. Name’s Oscar, ma’am.”

  “Maxwell.”

  “Edgar.” Jonas glanced over and noted the tense set of his usually easygoing son’s mouth.

  Both Penny and Sam scanned the faces surrounding them—Walt was long used to Jonas’s makeshift family—and Jonas wondered for a moment what they would think.

  He put a hand on the two closest boys’ shoulders to show his pride in them. “My sons.”

  Chapter Six

  Penny heard the words but with all the chaos from the morning and the teens surrounding her, they didn’t register until she’d been ushered inside and smooshed into the center of one of the two long benches on either side of the food-laden table.

  His sons?

  She had no opportunity to ask about it as the boisterous group began dishing out delicious-smelling food. She’d never seen anything like the confusion of reaching arms, and boys half standing out of their seats to get to the food. Sam stared at her with wide eyes, sitting back in his seat across the table. This chaos was completely different from their meals taken with their parents where Ethel served each course. Mrs. Trimble’s training had never discussed what to do in a situation like this!

  She looked up to find Jonas’s eyes on her, narrowed as if waiting for her reaction. She kept a placid smile on her face as a biscuit, then eggs and a slice of ham appeared on her plate from both sides. Their manners might be lacking, but at least they’d served their guests.

  Penny kept waiting for a woman to appear to take credit for the meal, but none did. Who kept all the children in line?

  Finally, when every plate was filled, the table fell silent. From his corner of the overcrowded table, Jonas said, “Let’s pray.”

  Penny bowed her head, her eyes flickering over the mismatched plates and cups. They were all completely different, and several of them were chipped.

  As Jonas offered a sincere blessing for the meal and thanks for safe travels home, Penny fingered the worn, plain cloth that covered the table. It was far different from the fine embroidered tablecloths she was accustomed to at home.

  During the prayer, none of the boys fidgeted, not even the youngest. But after the last “amen” echoed around the table, the noise level rose right back to what it had been before. Penny sat for a moment, just absorbing it. Once again, Jonas caught her eye, his face inscrutable. Was he upset she and her family had barged in on their meal?

  “Do ya want some jelly, Miss Penny?” Breanna asked from close to Penny’s side, breaking the connection between Penny and Jonas.

  “Oh. All right.” She accepted the somewhat sticky jar from the little g
irl’s hands and spooned some of what appeared to be blackberry jelly across the fluffy biscuit on her plate.

  “Butter?” The boy—she thought it was Ricky—asked from her other side, offering a small bowl for Penny’s consideration.

  “Umm, no. Thank you.”

  She didn’t have much of an appetite, not after the trouble she’d caused her grandfather. Was the kitchen even usable? What would her grandfather do if he couldn’t cook his own meals?

  And she and Sam couldn’t eat at the Whites’ table the whole time they were visiting, could they?

  Not wanting to be rude, Penny nibbled on the jelly-covered biscuit. It was still warm. “This is delicious! Who made all of this?”

  “Why, Pa, of course,” Breanna answered matter-of-factly.

  “Really?” The word escaped on a gasp and the closest conversations ceased.

  Jonas’s face reddened.

  “Don’cha think boys can cook?” Breanna asked, still shoveling food in her mouth, not noticing that Penny had committed a conversational misstep. “Pa cooks real good, and Poppy Walt can do some easy things.”

  “Mmm…like fry cutfish!” Sitting kitty-corner to Penny, Seb—she thought it was Seb, the youngest one—spoke with his mouth full, the words distorted. She supposed he meant fried catfish.

  Penny smiled politely and took another small bite of fluffy biscuit. She couldn’t believe Jonas had baked them. Was there really no woman on the premises? It would explain the lack of manners displayed by the children.

  “…can’t wait for the Round Up,” one of the boys said to his neighbor.

  Penny saw Sam’s head come up from where he’d been staring at his plate, keeping separate from the conversations surrounding him.

  “It’s a cowboy exhibition over in Bear Creek. In six weeks.” Maxwell seemed to have noticed Sam’s interest as well. He’d been too shy to speak to Penny earlier, but now tried to include Sam in the conversation. “Oscar and I are thinking of entering one or two of the events.”

  “My friends Billy and Louie went to a Round Up over by Cheyenne last year.” Sam addressed his plate, not really looking at any of the other boys, but Penny was encouraged that he attempted to make conversation. “I didn’t get to go.” His mouth turned down in a bitter frown.