Letter Perfect

by Cathy Marie Hake

  Awkward as the conversation had been, Ruth appreciated learning such details so she didn’t blunder again. Josh looked every bit as uncomfortable as she felt, and for some odd reason, that fact made her like him a little. Nervously drawing whorls on her skirts, Ruth half whispered, “She didn’t have paint on her face or nails. Aren’t they all—”

  “I wouldn’t know,” he snapped. “I don’t avail myself of their company.”

  “Gratified as I am to be assured of your morals, how am I to recognize such a woman if you cannot?”

  “Honey,” he drawled, “I didn’t say I can’t recognize them. I just don’t get close enough to study the particulars. No decent woman acknowledges Madame Velvet, let alone speaks to her. You were ready to have her to tea!”

  He shook his head once again. Ruth couldn’t be sure whether the action depicted utter disbelief or implied she’d proven herself to be impossibly dim-witted. He didn’t leave the subject to die an already uncomfortable death. Instead, he accused, “Leave you alone for five minutes, and you’re already wading into trouble.”

  Heat zoomed up her throat clear to her hairline. Ruth flipped open her fan and used it vigorously. She couldn’t look at him, let alone respond to his accusation. Other women were blessed with talents like conversing, arranging flowers, and conducting soirees. She’d been cursed with the “talent” of humiliating herself with illconsidered plans. Headmistress Pettigrew labeled it “a predilection for creating a scene.” Ruth had the sinking feeling that Joshua McCain and Headmistress Pettigrew were cut of the same cloth. He could shake his head just as condemningly as she had.

  Her trunks jostled the vehicle. Josh glanced back to make sure they hadn’t lost one. He barely spoke a word the whole rest of the trip, but the sour look on his face let her know she was as welcome as a spider in a teapot.

  After an inhospitably silent ride to the Broken P, Ruth looked forward to getting away from Joshua, sponging away the grit, and having a decent cup of tea. As soon as she spied the clapboard house, misgivings assailed her. The fences, barn, and livestock all looked picture-perfect. On the other hand, though sturdily built, the house looked as if it were more for show than hospitality. The tattered plants bracketing the steps of the veranda warned that this place lacked any vitality or warmth.

  “I … I thought there was a housekeeper.”

  “There is.” Joshua said nothing more. He pulled the reins to stop the buggy, set the brake, and hopped down. To Ruth’s surprise, he came to her side and helped her down. The minute her feet hit the ground, he turned loose of her and bellowed, “Hilda! Hilll-dahhh!”

  “Hold your horses, cowboy,” a rusty voice shouted from inside, “I’m a-comin’ as fast as I can.”

  For a brief moment, Ruth wondered whether Hilda was his sister or the housekeeper. Whoever she was, Ruth already liked her—she bellowed loudly, so she couldn’t be too set on proprieties. At the moment, Ruth desperately longed for an ally. The front door shot open. A stout woman with both arms full of laundry barreled through. “Where’s the fire?” As soon as she spied Ruth, the laundry tumbled from her arms onto the porch. “Dear me, look at her, will you? Why, the gal looks like Alan Caldwell in a dress.”

  “She’s his daughter, Ruth Caldwell.” Josh’s voice sounded positively funereal.

  “Could be a niece or somethin’,” Hilda mused. Then she wagged her head from side to side. “Nope. He was an onliest child. Couldn’t have no nieces nor nephews. Well, take her on inside. I’ll get these dirty clothes into the boilin’ pot and be there soon as I can.”

  “Where’s Laney?”

  “The parlor. Diggin’ through music. Said she wants to play somethin’ different on the piano. I didn’t have the heart to tell her everything she plays sounds different than what it’s s’posed to.” Hilda scooped up the clothes and trundled off.

  Ruth remained motionless.

  “There’s a spare room at the end of the hall. I suppose you can have it for now.” Josh lugged a trunk onto his shoulder and grunted loudly. “Come on ahead, and get the door, will you?”

  Grabbing her tapestry valise, Ruth muttered under her breath, “Hasn’t he ever heard the word please?”

  “Excuse me?”

  Ruth gave him a guilty look. “What?”

  “That’s what I asked.” He started up the porch steps. “You said something, but I couldn’t hear it.”

  “Here.” She scampered past him and opened the door.

  “Humph.” He stomped into the house, through a parlor, and up a flight of stairs.

  Uncertain whether to remain downstairs or to follow after him, Ruth balked about the propriety involved in being upstairs in a bedchamber with a man—even for a brief moment for such an innocent cause. She paused as Josh turned down a hallway and out of sight.

  “Who are you?” a voice asked from behind her.

  “Oh!” Spinning about, Ruth stared at a beautiful girl with cinnamon-colored hair. “You startled me. I’m—”

  “You’re related to Alan Caldwell!” the young woman crowed gleefully. “You look just like him.”

  In a dress, Ruth mentally filled in. Since she’d already heard the odd phrase twice, she couldn’t banish it from her mind. As she switched her valise to the other hand, Ruth smiled. “I’m Ruth Caldwell. Alan was my father.”

  “Father!” the girl gasped. She caught her breath and repeated shrilly, “Father!”

  Loud boots rang on the porch planks and the door burst open. “What?”

  “Father.” The girl blushed. “I’m sorry, I was just surprised. Ruth Caldwell, allow me to introduce my father, Joshua McCain, Senior. Father, this is Ruth Caldwell.”

  “Miss Caldwell.” Mr. McCain doffed his hat. “I didn’t know Alan had any relatives.”

  “He didn’t, either,” Ruth said. “I’ve been told there’s a strong family resemblance.”

  “Indeed, there is.” He gave his daughter a dismissive wave. Ruth noticed his left arm didn’t work quite right—it hung a bit askew when he dropped it to his side. “Laney, honey, why don’t you go make tea to share with our guest?” Turning back to Ruth, he smiled warmly. “Have a seat and tell me—are you his niece?”

  Knowing her answer would elicit a powerful reaction, Ruth chose to remain standing. “Actually, sir, I’m—”

  “She’s Alan’s daughter,” Joshua, Jr. called as he trampled down the stairs.

  Mr. McCain whistled under his breath, then shook his head. “Something’s not right. Alan said he had no children.”

  “None that he knew of. Mama went back East to live with her parents and—” Ruth tried to phrase the concept acceptably. Especially after riling Josh over the Madame Velvet incident, she felt the need to guard her words. “You know the voyage around South America and back to the East Coast is six months long. I was born just before the ship reached Boston.”

  “Rick Maltby already knows about her arrival, Dad.” Josh’s spurs jangled even as he crossed the braided rag rug. “He consulted Alan’s will, and there’s a huge problem.”

  “Let’s all sit down.” Laney brushed between her brother and Ruth. Curling her hand around Ruth’s arm, Laney steered her to a settee. Once Ruth sat down, Laney sat right beside her and took hold of her hand. “Don’t worry. Daddy’s very good at solving problems. So is Josh. They’ll take care of you.” She looked at her father and brother expectantly. “Won’t you?”

  They remained standing.

  Ruth shifted uncomfortably.

  “What’s the problem?” McCain asked his son.

  It wasn’t until Josh shoved his hands into his back pockets that something occurred to Ruth. Odd, how in a moment of such importance, a trifling detail would distract her; but she noticed both men were in their shirtsleeves. Back home, no gentleman ever went out in public without a jacket. But Josh—even under considerable strain and lacking a jacket—displayed admirable restraint and decency.

  I thought I was coming to a whole different world—but I’m not. Some
of the rules apply, and others don’t. How will I figure it out when I failed so miserably back home? He could have jumped on what I said to the attorney— that I might not want to claim any inheritance from my father—but he was honorable. Even now, Josh is trying to be diplomatic with what he says.

  Josh cast a quick glance at her, then directed his attention to his father. A small muscle in the side of his cheek twitched. “Maltby reread the will. Our inheritance of Alan’s half of the Broken P was predicated on the fact that he had no children.”

  For the second time, silence crackled in the room.

  Laney popped up. “I believe I’ll go fetch that tea now.”

  McCain shifted weight and cleared his throat. “Perhaps Miss Caldwell would like to join you in the kitchen.”

  “I confess I would like to run off to the kitchen, but that wouldn’t be responsible.” Ruth felt a catch in her chest and prayed she wouldn’t get the hiccups again. “I know I’m complicating matters, but we need to find a way to work things out.”

  “I don’t see a need to work things out immediately.” Mr. McCain lowered himself into a large leather armchair and leaned back.

  “I invited Miss Caldwell to stay with us for the time being,” Josh said as he also took a seat. “She arrived expecting to meet her father, not to get the news that he’d passed away.”

  “Where do you live?” McCain inquired.

  “I was supposed to live with my father.” Ruth let out a steadying breath. “It was Mama’s last wish.”

  “Poor dear! You’re an orphan!” Laney flounced back down and patted her arm.

  “Then that settles the matter.” McCain rested his elbows on the arms of his chair and steepled his fingers in front of his chest. He seemed to contemplate matters for a few minutes, then nodded sagely. “Nothing needs to be settled because matters are already put to right. Miss Caldwell shouldn’t be alone in the world. She’ll live here under our protection, and nothing needs to be done about the Broken P.”

  “But what shall I do about—”

  “Now, now.” McCain parted his fingertips and waved his right hand dismissively.

  The motion almost called Ruth’s attention away from how his left hand dropped into his lap. He must have worked hard to come up with ways to call attention away from his weakness. I’ll have to be mindful he’s prideful about it.

  Unaware of her thoughts, Mr. McCain looked Ruth in the eye with a paternalistic smile. “You don’t need to worry your pretty little head about anything at all. We’ll take care of you.”

  “Good care,” Laney tacked on. “I can tell you all about your papa.”

  “Oh, I’d love that.” Laney couldn’t have offered anything more enticing.

  Josh seemed to sink back into his chair, and the tic in his cheek stopped. “It’s all for the best, Miss Caldwell. You’ve been through a lot recently.”

  “You’re right. I have.” If I’m prudent, I’ll have enough to get by on. I don’t want these good people thinking I’ll demand much, if anything at all, from the will. “Because everything is so topsy-turvy, I’d feel better if we could resolve this issue. I can’t determine what to do with my life until we straighten out things.”

  Josh leaned forward and gazed into her eyes. “You don’t have to make any decisions right now. None of us can predict what will happen legally, and it’ll take a while before the court convenes. Until then, you have a safe place to stay.”

  “And friends,” Laney tacked on.

  Ruth glanced down at Laney. Bless her heart, Laney didn’t have a selfish or mean bone in her body—but she also didn’t have the faintest notion of how angry her brother was about how her presence might alter the interpretation of the will.

  Mr. McCain smacked the arm of his chair. “They’re right, you know. Giving yourself time to settle in is undoubtedly wise. No use mounting up when you don’t know where you’ll ride to.”

  Lord, I want to do the right thing. You gave Solomon wisdom. Could I please have a heap of it now? Oh, I know I’m being impatient, asking for it now, but I don’t know what else to do.

  “I know!” Laney perked up. “God sent Ruth here for me! Josh advertised for someone to come be my companion. I’m so lonely out here. Until last year, I’d been in a wonderful finishing school, and I’m positively languishing for want of a woman’s friendship. See? Ruth arrived. If that isn’t an answer to prayer, I don’t know what is!”

  “I don’t believe I’ve ever been considered an answer to prayer,” Ruth said truthfully. Once they find out what I’m really like, they won’t want me around Laney. She’s tidy and obedient. I’m anything but.

  “An answer to prayer,” McCain repeated. “You know I don’t hold with all that, but I think this isn’t an accident. Fate sent Miss Caldwell our way, and we’re keeping her.”

  Josh hefted Ruth’s second trunk up the stairs and over to the vacant bedroom. When Dad drew out the plans for this ranch house, Josh wondered why it had to be so grand. Even with Hilda occupying a bedroom, the place still seemed huge. But by the time Laney came home and Alan grew so ill he needed care, all five bedrooms held occupants.

  The only place to put Ruth was in the very bed where her father died. Josh made a mental note to pull Hilda off to the side and tell her to keep silent about that fact. Laney’s sensitivity would keep her from saying anything to Ruth, but the finer points of dealing with folks never occurred to Hilda.

  He didn’t want anyone giving Ruth cause to bolt away. If she left, any number of lonely men would gladly claim her—and the last thing Josh wanted or needed was Ruth’s husband nosing in and trying to run the show.

  Josh dumped the trunk onto the bare wood floor and winced at the noise it made. The place needed to be fixed up—a rug and maybe a splash of whitewash or something. When Laney came home, she’d made a big to-do about sprucing up her room and making it all girlie. Fancy as Miss Caldwell’s clothes looked, Josh suspected she’d insist on twice as much as Laney did.

  Can’t judge a book by its cover. The old saw flashed through his mind, but he dismissed it. He reckoned he’d seen and heard enough from Miss Ruth Caldwell to warn him that she might be easy on the eye, but she’d likely be just as big a pain in the neck. Well, if he kept his distance and she managed to make Laney cheer up, they could make the arrangement work.

  “Excuse me, Mr. McCain.”

  Josh wheeled around. “Miss Caldwell, it gets confusing since my father and I are Senior and Junior. Call me Josh and him McCain.”

  “And you must call me Ruth.”

  “Fine.” Well, at least she wasn’t standing on formality. He’d wondered if she might be the stuffy type, but so far she’d acted downright friendly. “Did you need something, Ruth?”

  “Yes, well …” She gave him a forced smile. “I would appreciate your giving me the letter my mother wrote. Since my father isn’t with us, I feel it rightfully belongs to me.”

  “Sure.” He pulled the letter out of his shirt pocket and handed it to her. “Here you go.”

  “Thank you.”

  The way she bowed her head and pressed the missive to her bosom tugged at his heart. Lord have mercy on her. “You must be tired.”

  She lifted her head and wrinkled her nose. “Truth be told, Joshua, I’m restless. Being cooped up in that hot old stagecoach nearly drove me to distraction.” She let out a small laugh. “I didn’t intend that pun.”

  He grinned. “It was clever, though.”

  Laney sashayed up and pulled Ruth into the bedchamber. “This dreary old place will be your room. I’ll help you unpack. Hilda’s brewing tea for us. Josh, tell Daddy that Ruth and I will need to go to town in the next day or so. We simply must do something to this—this—” She swept her hand to encompass the room and shook her head.

  “That’s not necessary.” Ruth pivoted from one side to the other, causing her skirts to swish about her ankles in an unmistakably feminine whisper. “This chamber gets pleasant sunshine and is quite spacious.”
r />   “Nonsense!” Laney pattered over to the window. “We need to hang some curtains—eyelet, I think.”

  “I’m sure whatever curtains used to be on the rod will still serve nicely.”

  Laney huffed. “Your father loved the sun. He took the curtains out of here.”

  “This was my father’s room?” Ruth’s face lit up. “How kind of you, Josh, to think to put me here.”

  “Your smile looks like your father’s,” Josh said. The second he voiced that thought, he could see how pleased Ruth was to hear it.

  “Only much prettier,” Laney tacked on. “Alan looked like a raisin—but the lines were all happy ones that crinkled around his eyes and mouth.”

  “You cannot possibly imagine how much I’d like to have you share your memories of my father.”

  “I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” Laney winced. “As long as you take down that stupid picture of a rooster on a fence over your bed.”

  Laughter bubbled out of Ruth. It took a moment before she thought to hold a hand up to mute the sound or hide her open mouth. Her mirth pleased Josh. She’d been so somber since he’d met her—this was his first glimpse that she might have a sense of humor. If she did, it would make life a heap easier.

  “I knew it!” Laney bobbed her head. “Josh, you’ll have to tell Daddy we need to go shopping.”

  “It’s not necessary. Truly, it’s not.” Ruth tilted her head toward one of the trunks. “I brought my paints. I can replace the picture.”

  Well, well. Miss Ruth Caldwell might not be such a bother after all. She didn’t seem to be very demanding.

  “Oh, I love to paint!” Laney grabbed Ruth’s hands. “We can spend our mornings painting together!”

  That cinched it. Laney hadn’t looked this enthusiastic or happy in months. The girls had something in common. Perhaps Laney hit the nail on the head—that God sent Ruth as an answer to prayer. Maybe this was really going to work out.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  She was going to get him killed. Josh pushed Ruth against the wall and sandwiched her there with his back so if the mare kicked again, he’d take the brunt of it. “Whoa, girl. It’s fine. You’re fine.”