“Possibly,” Maude said. “Or rather, eventually he’s likely to pass through Simpson Creek—though we have no idea of when to expect him again. We’re determined that she will not suffer any lack to the extent we are able to prevent it if he does not return, or does not wish to claim her.”
“That remains to be seen, doesn’t it?” Coira muttered cryptically, then exchanged a look with her son that Maude couldn’t decipher. “The lack of a father is not easily made up.”
When had Jonas MacLaren lost his father? To what extent did it explain his arrogance and distant ways? Would she learn the answer while she was here?
“This is Mrs. Juana Benavides,” Maude said, realizing she had not introduced Juana. “She is Hannah’s nurse.”
“My sympathy for your loss, senora,” Coira murmured, nodding toward her mourning.
“Gracias.” Having gained the entranceway, Juana beckoned for Maude to follow, and within minutes they were shown to a room where they could remove their sodden garments and given dry clothing to wear. Finally, they were able to bask in the heat of a roaring fire.
Maude had no idea where MacLaren had obtained the clothing they now wore—a woolen shirt and skirt in her case. Did he have sisters who were now married? Or frequent guests of all sizes who left their clothing? There was no way to tell just by looking, and she was much too glad to be dry and warm to question it. Hannah, too, surrendered almost instantly, whimpering a little as her sodden garments were pulled off, then subsiding with a contented sigh as her petal-like eyelids drifted shut.
“There’s hot soup and good fresh oat bread in the morning room,” Coira said when they had all returned in dry clothes, and she chivied them all briskly into a great room with leather-backed chairs in front of a massive rectangular table. The soup was hot and nourishing, filled with shredded beef and stewed vegetables in a tomato-based broth, the bread and fresh butter filling, and Maude felt the last remaining icicles within her thawing.
“My son will give you a tour of the place tomorrow, when, with any luck, it’ll be drier and sunnier,” Coira MacLaren suddenly announced. “I take my tea and oatcakes at half six in the morning. Senora Morales will help you get it ready.”
“Half six?” Did the woman mean six-thirty in the morning? Why on God’s green earth did she rise so early? But it wasn’t for her to question, Maude knew. This woman was her employer, and it was Maude’s place to simply do as she was told. “I’ll have them there for you.”
Coira MacLaren’s eyebrow rose. “Why can’t Miss Juana do it, since you’ll be my companion the rest of the day? If she’s not suckling the babe, that’s who I’ll expect to see. Start as you mean to go on, that’s what I always say.”
Maude thought it was an attempt to put Juana in her place from the start, but she knew better than to answer for her.
“Of course, I will bring your tea, Mrs. MacLaren,” the Hispanic girl said. “With the little one, I am naturally an early riser these days also. She has usually woken and gone back to nap by that time, so it will be no trouble.”
“Well, we certainly don’t want to put anyone to any trouble, that’s for certain,” came the matriarch’s sarcastic retort.
“It will be our very great pleasure, ma’am,” Juana said with a serene smile as if there had been no mockery aimed at her.
Good for you, Juana, Maude thought, and decided the honors for the first skirmish at Casa MacLaren had gone to them. As she watched, Jonas MacLaren’s shoulders sagged as he let out a great sigh, as if he agreed and was content it should be so.
“Mama, perhaps we should show Miss Maude and Miss Juana to their rooms and let them make an early evening of it. I’m sure their bones feel fairly rattled from their bodies after their journey here today, not to mention their exhausting morning laying that poor girl to rest and then gathering all their things,” Jonas MacLaren said. “No, stay seated, Senora Morales,” he added, when the housekeeper would have arisen from her seat on the ottoman. “I can escort them upstairs to their room.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Maude noted the narrowing of Coira MacLaren’s eyes and knew she didn’t like the idea of her son doing what was really something a servant should do, but there was nothing she could do about it without making a scene. And apparently Coira MacLaren picked her battles carefully. With a nod to Juana, Maude turned and the pair of them followed Mr. MacLaren from the room.
The chamber to which he showed them had an eastern exposure and a pair of beds, each with a pecan wood headboard and a canopy of the same yellow-threaded plaid she had seen his mother wearing downstairs.
“It’s the same pattern,” she observed, and saw his quick smile of approval.
“Miss Harkey, you have a good eye,” he said. “Each Scottish clan has its own plaid, and the MacLaren one is storied indeed. After the battle of Culloden, it was illegal for a time to wear the clan tartan,” he said, stroking the murky blue, green, yellow and red of the plaid with near-reverence. “Our motto in the Gaelic is Creag an Tuirc, or The Boar’s Rock.”
“I would love to visit Scotland one day,” Maude said impulsively. “And learn more of its history.”
“Perhaps you shall. And there are certainly those here who can tell you of its lore. ’Twill make my mother glad to hear you have an interest.”
Maude nearly informed him she hadn’t said it to make his mother glad, but realized there was no need to be confrontational. Her next impulsive question, though, was worse.
“Perhaps I shouldn’t ask on my first night here, but I can’t resist—why does everyone tiptoe around your mother so much? She seemed nice enough to me,” she said, then watched for his answer. Coira hadn’t been perfectly “nice,” of course, but she wanted to let Jonas know she was up to the challenge of dealing with his mother.
“Do you never resist the irresistible, Miss Maude?” he said, his eyes kindling with a golden light. “‘Nice enough,’ is it? You have not known her an hour altogether. There’s a fierceness to her you have not seen.”
“Fierceness? Surely not. A little sarcasm, perhaps, but no more so than you might see in many ladies her age.”
“Nay, ’tis far more than that, Miss Harkey, and far from common, as well. Indeed, I know of no one who is the match of my mother. And I’ll venture it’s safe to say you’ve never met a woman who’d kill to protect her child.”
The words echoed in the air between them—kill to protect her child. She didn’t know she had echoed the words aloud until he took a step back, shaking his head.
“Nay, Miss Maude. I’ve said too much. It’s a tale you never need to hear. It’s not conducive to a good night’s sleep. I only hope I have not frightened you—there’s nothing you need fear here, especially if ‘a little sarcasm’ does not bother you.” He made a weak attempt at a smile and raked a hand though his red-gold hair, seeming to be calculating whether he had been gone too long. Maude guessed his mother was carefully monitoring the minutes since he had left the room. “And now I’ll bid you good-night, and let you seek your rest, ladies.”
“What do you suppose he meant by that?” she asked Juana, after he’d put the heavy oaken door between them and the sounds of his booted feet had died away on the stairs.
“Quién sabe?” answered Juana, who was busying herself with settling Hannah in the trestle bed she had pulled out from beneath her own. “Who knows? Perhaps we shall learn the truth of it someday while we are here. And if we do not, then perhaps we are better off not knowing.”
“And ye shall learn the truth, and the truth shall set you free,” Maude quoted, still seeing the bleak look on Jonas’s face as he’d said, You’ve never met a woman who’d kill to protect her child. What child, she wondered. Was he speaking of himself? Was he the child who had needed such ferocious protection? He seemed so strong, so indomitable—it was hard to imagine him needing help or protection from anyone.
“Will that truth set us free?” she wondered aloud. Somehow, she doubted it. Jonas MacLaren knew the truth—and from the look she had seen in his eyes when he spoke of it, the memory haunted him still and would never let him free.
Chapter Six
Jonas MacLaren woke the next morning to the sound of heavy crockery splintering against the tile floor. “How dare ye bring me that heavy red mug, as if I was a loutish crofter who couldn’t be trusted with the fine china?” demanded a shrill voice he knew to be his mother’s. “I said bring the Royal Doulton cup, and that’s what I’ll have, girl!”
He heard footsteps, and a soft voice murmuring an apology. Senora Juana had just learned the importance of following Coira’s instructions exactly, he thought, wincing at the earliness of her harsh lesson. It wouldn’t surprise him if Senora Morales, jealously protective of her position in this strange household, had set the young widow up for failure by providing the exact opposite of what his mother had specified. The housekeeper’s constant threats to quit would hold less sway over the household if Juana seemed poised to take her place at a moment’s notice—hence the need to keep the newcomer in disgrace.
The polite Juana would not have wanted to argue when the housekeeper had not complied with her relayed instructions, and the sound of splintering crockery was the inevitable result. The poor lass. He should have warned her, he supposed. She had not asked for this new situation in her life and was the most essential of them under this roof, at least in baby Hannah’s opinion.
His drowsy brain shifted to the last of the newcomers—Miss Maude Harkey. He could still picture her widened eyes the previous night when he’d said too much. What was it about the red-haired lass that had made him babble his secrets so? The one thing he had vowed never to tell anyone—how his mother had risked her own life to protect her young son’s—and he’d jabbered it like a magpie her first night under his roof! She’d not forget he’d said it, and would require a full explanation in the not-too-distant future, of this he was certain. He had to regain his control over his willful tongue, or this situation would end in disaster. His mother would not thank him for letting someone else in on the truth of their shameful past.
In the meantime, the least he could do was to make sure Juana’s second trip to deliver Coira’s morning tea was more successful than her first.
Dressing quickly, he made his way down the passageway that led to the ranch house’s kitchen, and was in time to meet the young widow, flanked by an indignant-looking Maude, who carried a disgruntled-looking baby Hannah, while Juana bore a steaming cup of coffee in the specified fancy china cup.
“I hear Mother’s in her usual high spirits,” he said wryly. “Sorry for a jolting beginning to your morning, ladies,” he apologized, while his gaze found and silently accused Senora Morales of setting Juana up. The housekeeper had the grace to look abashed.
“If by that you mean she’s like a spoiled child, you’d be right, Mr. MacLaren,” Maude said. “Obviously she was given her way too often as a child. She’s woken Hannah with her screeching, and for what reason? The mistaken choice of a cup?” Her eyes blazed with contempt toward Coira and indignation over the way her friend had been treated.
Jonas drew back. “And you’re a bit too given to jumping to conclusions so early in the morning, Miss Harkey. Best have a care until you know the facts of the matter.”
* * *
His remark was delivered just sharply enough that she realized that she did indeed owe him the roof over their heads—a roof that provided protection for Hannah, she reminded herself. Servants, be obedient to your masters, serving them wholeheartedly, Paul had written to the early church. She had to remember she was no longer Maude Harkey, pampered daughter of the late town physician, but a servant, whose continued presence in this house depended on pleasing her masters.
“I’m sorry, Mr. MacLaren,” she said with all the meekness she could summon. “Of course you’re right, and I regret my hasty words. No doubt we’ll learn much in these first few days, and now we’d better hasten on to give Mrs. MacLaren her coffee and breakfast,” she added to Juana, with a gesture for her to continue. She certainly didn’t think the oatcakes looked very appetizing—nothing like one of Ella’s hearty, appetizing breakfasts at the café. But again, it wasn’t her place to say.
“’Tis all right, lass,” he surprised her by saying, or maybe it was the softer look in his eyes that surprised her more. “I understand ’tis all new for ye, but ’twill soon become familiar.”
She had to remind herself of her newly made resolve to be a perfect servant when she held the door open for Juana, only to hear Mrs. MacLaren greet her friend with a snapped, “Well, it’s about time!” which set Hannah to whimpering all over again.
“What’s the bairn fussing about?” Maude heard the woman ask.
“Perdón, lo siento, senora,” Juana said politely. “She’s a...bit late having her own breakfast.”
“Well, aren’t you her nurse?” the woman demanded, her tone holding a testy edge. “Why don’t you go ahead and feed her?”
“Right here, senora? You do not mind?”
“Don’t be silly,” came the rapid retort. “I nursed Jonas when he was a wee babe, naturally. When a bairn’s hungry, you feed it, or don’t they believe that in this benighted Texas?”
“Of course we do, ma’am, thank you,” Juana responded, and a moment after she settled herself in a nearby chair, the whimpering stopped. “And I promise your breakfast will be served more smoothly tomorrow.”
“I imagine it will be,” Coira replied. “You seem very competent with the babe, so no doubt it’s just a matter of getting used to a new routine.” Her calmer tone conveyed forgiveness for the way the morning had started off, and while it was not exactly an apology, it was more than Maude had hoped for.
“Yes, senora,” Juana agreed.
“Is there...anything else we can get you?” Maude asked.
“Perhaps you could remind Senora Morales I’ll need some hot water to wash with,” Coira said in the same softened tone, though her voice warned that the housekeeper knew very well she needed it and should have brought it already. “And when you see my son, please remind him we need to discuss moving the cattle down from the hills. It’s getting on toward winter.”
To Maude’s surprise, she found Jonas leaning against the wall outside his mother’s room as if he had nothing else to do but wait on her reappearance.
“Och, but you look none the worse for talking to her,” he said in mock relief. “I was worried for naught, it seems.”
She felt a jolt of warmth that he had worried about her, though she figured he was really just exaggerating, and only meant to tease her.
“On the contrary, I think we understand each other better now,” she told him, then delivered Coira’s message about moving the cattle before she could forget to tell him.
“Aye, it’s mid-November, so I suppose it is getting near to winter. Though winter in the Hill Country of Texas is a far different proposition, I’ve found, than facing a proper gale in the Highlands.”
Maude was about to retort that he must never have seen a “blue norther” blow in, where the temperature was fully capable of plunging from blazing heat to an ice storm in mere hours, but before she could, he spoke again.
“Speaking of the weather, it’s quite mild out there today—which leads me to what I waited to ask you. Would you like a tour of the ranch today? A proper horseback tour, not more jolting around in the buckboard in the midst of a rainstorm? You do ride, don’t you?”
Maude still ached from the jolting, soaking ride yesterday, but after the way he questioned if she rode, she found she could not resist rising to the challenge. “Do I ride? Mr. MacLaren, I am a Texas woman, born and bred—of course I ride, sir. Just give me a few minutes to change my clothes and let Juana know what I’ll be doing.
” She felt a guilty twinge, knowing Juana would have relished such a tour, too, but to fulfill their duties someone would need to stay with Mrs. MacLaren. And besides, unless she missed her guess, she thought Hector would offer to take Juana on a tour of her own before long.
He grinned at her words. “I’ll tell Hector to saddle a mount for you.”
He started to walk away to do as he said, but she called after him, “Oh, and would you tell him a regular saddle will be fine, rather than a sidesaddle? I have a divided skirt that I use for riding, Mr. MacLaren—unless you think your mother would disapprove?”
Jonas’s eyebrow had risen at her request for a regular saddle, but she agreed with Coira’s idea of “starting as you mean to go on,” and she might as well make it clear that she had no intention of riding over the ranch using a fussy sidesaddle, especially on an unfamiliar mount. She’d had the divided skirt made for her by her friend, and the original founder of the Spinsters’ Club, Milly Brookfield, after seeing the one she used.
“Good for you, Miss Maude,” he said, giving her a mock salute. “How very sensible you are, to be sure. I’m sure my mother won’t care either way. Very well, I’ll meet you in the parlor downstairs in half an hour, if that’s enough time for you to change.”
He was as good as his word, appearing in denim trousers and boots, and gave her split skirt an approving look before presenting her with the floppy-brimmed hat he carried.
“You’ll ruin that peaches-and-cream complexion, Miss Maude, if you don’t shield it from the sun, even in mid-November. I’m surprised that a Texas woman wouldn’t know that.”
She would not have been female if she hadn’t appreciated the compliment to her complexion hidden in his words and his having a care for the sun’s effect on it. She started to say she hadn’t been vain enough to worry about her complexion lately, but something stopped her and she merely said, “Thank you.”
Hill Country Courtship (Brides of Simpson Creek Book 8) Page 7
