Prairie Romance Collection

by Cathy Marie Hake

  Chapter 2

  Judith stretched her back, placing the heavily laden baskets of fruit on the rustic wooden table.

  “Goodness, dear, where did you get these?” Her mother’s pale blue eyes widened.

  “Pete Anderson told me there were some wild berries on our land. And, Mother, you won’t believe how thick those bushes are. I hardly made a dent.”

  “Mercy, what are we going to do with all these?” Judith’s mother, Raixa, wiped her hands on a small hand towel.

  “Enter the Prairie County Fair. Pete said you can win prize money for the best—“

  “Judith, sit down,” her mother interrupted. Her once-thin frame now seemed to be more rugged and definitely wider in the hips. Back home, she never would have allowed those extra pounds to take over.

  Judith obediently sat down. Her mother sat across from her at the small pine kitchen table.

  “The fair is a lot of fun but hardly the place to make a lot of money. Yes, there is a contest, and some prize money is handed out, but it’s not much. Mostly, it is a place for everyone to gather together and have a good time. The farmers discuss farming, tools, seed, everything under the sun. The women talk about quilting, canning, children, and how to make do with what you have.”

  “But—“

  “Honey, I know you’re having a rough adjustment, and yes, money is tight, but we will survive. We may not have the wealth we had back in New England but…”

  “Don’t you miss it?” Judith couldn’t believe her mother didn’t miss her silk dresses, fancy evening apparel, and the rest. They used to dine out three or four times a week.

  “Actually, not too much. Oh sure, I wouldn’t mind having servants take care of all the housework, but your father and I have rediscovered ourselves, our relationship to each other, and to God.”

  “You both do seem happier.” Judith realized there had been a change in her parents’ behavior. They seemed closer. They talked more often to each other. Many times back home they seemed to simply exist in the same house, each with their own life to live. Here, well, here things were definitely different.

  “We are, dear. Extremely,” she added, leaning slightly toward Judith.

  “I’m happy for you. But we are in need of money. The seed bill alone will bury us. What’s Father going to do when it comes time for planting next year if he hasn’t paid off this year’s debt?”

  Her mother’s shoulders slumped.

  “Don’t you see? We need to at least try to win. Even if we don’t, perhaps we can sell some of the jam to those heading west.”

  Raixa Timmons had once reigned as a paragon of proper posture and manners in Worcester. That woman and the woman before Judith now were scarcely the same. Her once finely groomed eyebrows had grown thick. “I suppose you’re right. It couldn’t hurt to at least try.”

  Judith jumped up and embraced her mother. Perhaps they could earn enough to return to Worcester. She let that thought exit her head as fast as it entered. A few berries and a few pies wouldn’t provide one so much as the cost of meals on the return trip.

  “I’ll go pick some more. I think there’s enough time before sunset.”

  The older woman chuckled. “Be careful of those briars.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  Judith lit through the door with renewed purpose. Her heart hadn’t felt this gay since leaving Worcester.

  Bending over in the bushes, Judith realized the only thing she and her mother could make at this point would be jam. The pies and tarts would spoil. She’d have to pick again in a few days. Her picking done, she headed for home. In the distance she spied a man heading toward the grove of trees that ran along their property and her neighbor’s. Rylan Gaines. She guessed he was still in an ugly disposition. Perhaps he always walked around with a chip on his shoulder. “Curious,” she mumbled.

  Back at the house after dinner was served, she asked, “Mother, have you ever met our neighbor?”

  “Rylan?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sweet young man.” Judith’s mother crushed another handful of berries. “Why do you ask, dear?”

  “He nearly plowed me over in town today. He didn’t seem the friendly sort.”

  “That is odd. I’ve never known Rylan to be anything less than a perfect gentlean.” She paused in her crushing of the berries and looked toward Rylan’s home.

  “I think he read something in a paper from Boston,” Judith persisted. “I couldn’t figure out who died or what bothered him. His surname wasn’t listed in the paper.”

  Her mother turned her gaze back to Judith with a look that was all too familiar. “There you go again, daughter. You must stop this unbridled curiosity of yours. Every man is entitled to some privacy.” “I know, I know, but—” “Judith Joy.”

  Her mother had scolded her on more than one occasion in that tone. “Sorry,” she replied sheepishly and looked down at her berries. What was it with this place? Everyone seemed to be overly sensitive about knowing what was going on with others. I was just being curious, trying to relate in some small way. Stop lying to yourself, Judith. You know you’re just curious about why he was so upset. A mystery you haven’t been able to unlock. She sighed.

  Her mother laughed. Judith could hear her father snicker in the other room.

  The next morning, Rylan fought the demons that had kept him awake all night. Sleeping in the woods hadn’t helped. Nightmares of seeing Margaret and Jackson arm and arm… He tossed a pitchfork into the wagon.

  “Whoa, you trying to kill someone?” Ed Randolph asked as he walked up to the wagon.

  “Guess I wasn’t thinking,” Rylan mumbled. If he wanted the men to work for him, he’d better rein in his emotions. He’d need the money from harvesting the rye and barley in order to pay for his trip back to Massachusetts. He’d decided he’d have to go back and confront them. Even just for his own peace of mind.

  “Pete says you could use some help.” Ed’s thin frame hid the man’s strength. He didn’t bulge in the muscle department, but he held his own. Enough so that Rylan wouldn’t want to cross him.

  “Sure could. Hoped more would be coming, though.”

  “Ah, not to worry. I saw some headed here. I cut across Timmons’s place. That man can’t farm for anything. The ground is so rich here all you have to do is drop the seed, but…”

  “Now don’t go pickin’ on the man. Seems to me I had to show you a thing or two.” Rylan winked.

  “Yeah, yeah. But even at my worst, I wasn’t as bad as Timmons.” “He’s not a farmer.”

  “What ever gave you that idea?” Ed asked in a sarcastic tone.

  “Told me he’s a banker.”

  “Why ain’t he being a banker then?”

  “That’s for him to say, not me. But he has his reasons.”

  “He couldn’t have robbed the bank. He wouldn’t have ended up here if he had.” “No, he didn’t rob the bank.”

  “Who robbed the bank?” George Steadman sneezed into his handkerchief and deposited the folded cloth into the back pocket of his overalls.

  “No one. You guys are worse than women,” Rylan teased.

  “No worse than anyone else.” George set his hands on his hips. “Didn’t know if you’d need my wagon, so I have the youngin’ bringing it over later, after the missus uses it to buy her supplies.”

  “Thanks, George. Of course we’ll use it.”

  George nodded.

  Half a dozen others showed up, and Rylan put them all to work. The sweat beaded on his back. It felt good to work. Healthy, even. Perhaps a trip to Boston isn’t worth the effort. The damage is done; they’re married. What could I do anyway?

  By nightfall they’d cleared a good third of the fields. Rylan paid each man and encouraged him to bring others the next day. As the workers departed, he finished bagging the grain that a couple of the men had threshed. He sewed up each fifty- pound burlap sack after filling it. Dried, the stalks would be used to feed his horses through the winter.

>   Stretching his back, he realized he’d sleep tonight. He smelled worse than the pigs after a fresh roll in the mud. Pumping out some fresh water, he stripped and bathed in the yard.

  “Hello,” a male voice called from the darkness.

  Rylan grabbed his trousers and pulled them on. “Who’s there?” he called. A light swayed in the distance.

  “Oscar Timmons.”

  “What brings you out so late?”

  “I need a favor.” Oscar’s shadowed image came into view.

  “What can I do for you?”

  The pencil-thin man with his freshly tanned face seemed much older this year than last.

  “I need your honest opinion.”

  Rylan leaned against a fence rail. “I’ll be as honest as I can. What’s up?”

  “Me, I’m no farmer. The second season is in, and I’ve barely anything to harvest.”

  “True, but do you have enough to feed your family?”

  “I imagine so, if we’re careful. Judith has tried to help. She has more of a green thumb than either her mother or I, but—“

  “Say no more. Look, the deal with the New England Emigrant Aid Society that helped us get out here is that we live on the land for five years. There’s no conditional clause about us having to make a profit. The thing you need to worry about the most is feeding your family. That’s all. If you can do that, in three more years the land is yours, free and clear.”

  A slight grin rose on his cheek. “Thank you for the reminder.”

  “Don’t fuss about it. I might be needing your encouragement soon.”

  “What’s the trouble? I heard you barreled out of town yesterday.”

  How’d he know that? Of course, everyone knew everything about everybody. But this tidbit was his. No one else needed to know his shame. “Just in a hurry.” “Oh.”

  Oscar wouldn’t ask. Rylan knew he wasn’t that kind of man. Being a banker, he was used to keeping other men’s secrets. If Rylan could confide in anyone, it would be Oscar.

  “Are you entering the fair?” A change in subject was necessary.

  Oscar laughed. “Are you serious? Is there a category for the smallest tomatoes?”

  Rylan chuckled. “I’m entering the team pull. My team seemed to finally get their act together this year.”

  “I don’t have a team. I have a single mule that’s more stubborn than Judith.” Oscar’s smile slipped.

  The man certainly had his problems.

  “Don’t think they have a ‘most stubborn mule’ category, but if I hear of one, I’ll let you know.”

  Oscar chuckled. “Good night, Rylan, and thanks again.”

  “Good night.” Rylan watched the light grow dim as Oscar headed across the fields. If Oscar could stick it out, he’d be happy to purchase some of the land from him. He’d even considered farming a section of Oscar’s land on a rental basis but hadn’t checked the agreement to see if that was allowable or not.

  Inside the house, he fought the memories of Margaret’s promises. He’d made the furnishings for her. Even the house had been for her. He’d be just as comfortable in the barn. Well, perhaps not as comfortable as the feather bed he’d put together. “Lord, why? Why’d she do it? Why Jackson?” He fell to his knees, covering his anguished face with his rough hands. Tears fell for the first time. The only time. He was a man. He couldn’t allow this. He sniffed and straightened himself up. No, with God’s grace, he’d get through this, just like every other bad moment of his life.

  He wiped the tears from his face with his red handkerchief. I’ll place an ad in a New York paper for a wife. Any woman would do now, since his one true love had deceived him so. Yes, I’ll place an ad tomorrow. Tonight I’ll sleep outdoors again. The air is fresher, he reasoned. He lied. He knew it.

  Thursday, the day before the fair, Judith marched out to the berry patch early. The sun rose slowly over the hills as she worked her way toward the plentiful harvest. Getting an early start would allow time for possible failures. The jam she and her mother had made had turned out extremely well. Little sugar had been used. Instead, because of the bounty of the berries, they were able to thicken it with the fruit. The family had tried it last evening on warm bread fresh from the oven. Judith had never tasted anything better.

  In the distance she saw a man heading toward Rylan Gaines’s place. All right, Lord, I know I’m not supposed to be so curious, but even You have to admit this is very strange behavior. The man has a huge house. Two stories, clapboard, with a wide front porch. Why on earth is he spending the nights in the woods?

  A bird cawed. The world seemed to be waking up. Was it possible that Rylan Gaines had been hunting? Judith squinted her eyes for a better glance. He didn’t appear to be carrying a rifle. But he was carrying something. “Humph.” She wouldn’t be finding out today what her strange neighbor was up to. Everyone seemed to think rather highly of him, yet there was something about him, something Judith couldn’t put her finger on, something she knew wasn’t right. Perhaps she was here in Prairie County to discover the truth about a certain Rylan Gaines. Perhaps he has a secret past no one knows about. Eww, could he be running from the law? It wasn’t unheard of for criminals to head west hoping to get lost in the crowds. No laws existed. The lands were uncharted. A shiver rolled down Judith’s back. She’d given herself enough reasons to stay away and watch him like a hawk. After all, her parents thought the world of him. Yes, she had a purpose for coming to Prairie County. Once that purpose had been fulfilled, she could encourage her parents to move back home.

  Judith bent down and picked with renewed vigor. Today she’d discovered the real reason God had seen fit to send her to this godforsaken land.

  “Hello.”

  Judith shrieked.

  Chapter 3

  Rylan stepped back.

  “Get away from me,” Judith screamed.

  Rylan raised his hands. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I saw you over here and assumed you were Oscar Timmons’s daughter, Judith. I’m Rylan Gaines, your neighbor.”

  She patted her heart. He squelched a chuckle, seeing her berry-stained hand leave its indelible mark on the white bib of her dress.

  “Yes, I’m Judith.”

  “I won’t intrude any longer. I just thought I’d come by and say hello. Good day, Miss Timmons.” He nodded and headed home. Rylan searched his memory. He couldn’t remember a single time he’d scared someone so badly in all his life. Not even the time he scared his six-year-old sister when she’d been sneaking a pickle out of the pickle barrel. She’d jumped, knocked the barrel over, and sent pickles flying everywhere. The cellar reeked of vinegar for years.

  “Pickles, nice big sour ones.” His stomach grumbled. Yes, a wife would be a good thing. Pete had thought it foolish to advertise for a wife. Pete being Pete, he only said, “You’re wasting your money.” Then silently he wrote out the ad to be wired to New York later in the day.

  Rylan shot back a glance at the berry-stained woman with a set of lungs that could deafen a man…. It’s all your fault, Pete. Rylan stuffed his hands in his trousers and headed back toward his farm.

  If Pete hadn’t gone on and on about how pretty the Timmonses’ daughter was, Rylan wouldn’t have taken the time to say hello. Granted, Pete was right. The woman was a real looker. But she seemed … what? More afraid than scared of me? Maybe I just scare women off, Lord.

  With the rye and barley shipped off to market, Rylan began work for the winter. The seeds needed to be dried and bagged. The hay needed to be bundled for the livestock. And wood needed to be split for the cold winter months. The harvesting might be over, but there was plenty of work to be done. Plus, he’d be helping his neighbors pull in their harvests. Rylan’s crop choices were rye and wheat. But he’d planted a couple acres of corn, too. It made for variety over the winter months.

  Most of the area farmers planted corn. Many had trouble with the lack of rainfall for their crops during the summer. Having come to this land earlier, Rylan had been
blessed with prime property. Two streams ran through the land, a river to his south, and the pond northeast that abutted the Timmonses’ property.

  His mind drifted back to Judith Timmons and the blackberry stains on her white apron. Rylan chuckled. “She’s an odd one, Lord.”

  The next day he found himself at the Prairie County Fair. This year the number of people seemed double over the previous. The place buzzed with activity. Children ran from one event to another. The women huddled near their wares, and the men gathered around their livestock.

  “Morning, George.” Rylan held back his team.

  “You entering in the pull?” asked a man Rylan didn’t recognize.

  “Yes, sir. My team’s ready this year.”

  “Take a look at McCoy over there. He’s really been working his team. Seems mighty impressive,” George added.

  Rylan watched for a few moments. No question about it, McCoy would offer serious competition. “Just means we’ll be putting on a better show.”

  The men roared and continued to talk about their harvests. Several of the farmers who were raising corn had had a bad go of it.

  “I’m hoping some of your wives will trade some of their canned vegetables for some of my rye,” Rylan offered.

  “Hazel should be willing. She’s rather fond of rye bread.”

  “Wonderful. Your wife packs away some of the finest vegetables I’ve ever had. Afraid most of my summer vegetable crop will go to feed the pigs. I don’t know how to can. Not that I have the time to do it.”

  Ralph Davis scratched his chest. “Seems to me you might be able to bring some of your vegetables to some of the womenfolk, and they might can some for you.”

  “I couldn’t impose. Besides, they’re a might busy taking care of their own.”

  “Hey, there,” Josh Williams called, striding over with a bushel basket of apples. “Look at these fine apples. Hard to believe I got such a fine crop from those wee trees this year.”