I’m probably lonely, she decided as she dried off her face. What she needed to do was to get her mind off this entire situation by getting to work.
And there was plenty of work to do. The garden needed quite a bit of work. It had become overgrown and, according to her quick survey, quite a feast for the rabbits.
She was no gardener, but she could do some harvesting of the yellow squash that the rabbits had left alone, and the carrots, which were safely underground. She tried to drive down the voice that challenged her to know a ripe squash from an unripe one. Hadn’t she purchased squash in the market just two weeks ago?
Squash that tasted dry and awful, the little voice persisted in her ear.
She dismissed the nagging words with the reminder that she would be the one to eat the food, and if it were unripe or overripe, she would not find it much different than that which she bought in the city.
The air was hot and clear as she shrugged into her lightest dress. She planned to finish the garden today then move toward harvesting the fields. They looked quite ripe to her, but the tiny voice roared, You don’t know a head of wheat from a thistle seed! The nagging thought was only a slight exaggeration.
She should probably talk to Micah a bit and learn everything he could tell her about harvesting.
She realized she was smiling and tried to stop.
But there was something—something very special about Micah Dunford.
The garden was an untamed tangle of weeds and vegetables, but she realized that her task ahead was not as major as she’d feared. The squash were recognizable by the fortunate fact that they grew aboveground. All she had to do was pick the familiar shapes. The carrots, although underground, had distinguishing leafy tops that clearly identified them. The carrots she’d purchased in Massachusetts came attached to the same feathery greens.
As she moved through the garden, lifting a mass of leaves here and pulling a recalcitrant root there, she let her mind drift to the strange circumstances that had brought her here, to the strange land that was the Dakota Territory.
She’d almost pushed the worry about Andrew out of her mind, afraid of coming too close to it. The thought of losing him was so incredibly painful that even the briefest flicker of that image pressed on her soul with an unimaginable anguish.
It was easier to focus on other things, like the sampler she was stitching, or the puzzle of the harvesting equipment in the barn, or the incredible sweetness of Micah’s smile.
A sharp prick brought her back to reality. She looked down and realized that she had grasped a thistle rather than a carrot top. Her fingers and palms were filled with the nearly invisible spikes.
The stinging was intense, and before she could stop herself, she stuck her fingers in her mouth, trying to pull out the tiny needles with her teeth.
“Were you planning on serving that tonight?” Micah asked as he came up behind her. He moved the offending plant off the pile of freshly pulled carrots and threw it into the rubbish heap. “We’ll burn that later. It’s the only way to get rid of those nasty things. In the meantime, let me see your hands.”
He took hold of her hands and, with a skillful gentleness that surprised her, studied the situation. “Amazing. You used both hands, too. What a mess. Let’s move into the full sunshine and I’ll see what I can do.”
One by one, he took out the thistle’s spikes, and as he did, Catherine had the chance to study him. How old was he? He couldn’t be much past thirty, but the sun had done its aging on him. He seemed so much a part of the Dakota Territory, every bit the image of the hearty homesteader; still, there were other parts of him that she wanted to tap.
Of course, she’d known him for only a day. There were all sorts of hidden possibilities. Just because her brother had suggested that he might be her husband…
He looked at her suddenly, and she had the horrible thought that she must have said something or made a sound. But he smiled. “All through.”
He stood up and wiped his hands on his shirt. “Your hands might sting a bit tonight, but other than that, there shouldn’t be any lasting effects.”
“Good, because I have some work to do. I’d like to finish the garden today.”
He glanced at the two piles she’d made on the ground, one of vegetables and the other of weeds, and then at the garden plot. “Looks like you’ve already finished the garden.”
From the way he said it, the laughter just under the surface of his words, she knew she’d bungled the task. Perhaps not totally—that much was obvious from the pile that included the carrots—but in her weed heap must be some plants that were edible.
She shrugged. Whatever they were, she probably didn’t want to eat them. If she couldn’t see them, they couldn’t be worth much, except for the carrots.
“Dig under here and you’ll probably find potatoes.” Micah pointed to one of the sections that she’d stripped the greenery from. “That was very clever of you to clear the tops so digging would be easier.”
Catherine tried to act as if that had indeed been her plan, but she knew—and he knew—that she’d had no idea that beneath those viny plants grew potatoes.
“I came over here, actually, for another reason,” Micah said, suddenly changing the subject. “When do you want to start bringing in the wheat?”
“I was going to put the equipment together this afternoon.” She was sure she saw the corner of his mouth twitch, as if he were trying to suppress a smile. She drew herself up straighter. “I can do this myself, you know.”
“I don’t doubt that for a moment, but you should be aware that Dakotans, well, we watch out for each other. It may not look like the neighborhoods that you’re used to, but on the prairie, that’s exactly what it is—a neighborhood. And we help out when we can, even when we can’t. We’ve got to. That’s the way we survive.”
Catherine looked out over the prairie, now so rich with unharvested wheat, but in her mind, she pictured the land covered over with snow. Instead of undulating in subtle waves, almost as if they were breathing, the fields of wheat would too soon transform to fields of snow. A frozen paradise? Hardly.
Whatever feelings for Micah that might have been budding in her withered and died. He was a man committed to life in the Dakota Territory, and she wanted nothing more than to see Andrew healthy and safe—away from this land that had injured him.
The only way she could see to do that was to get the crop in, sell it, then use the money to pay the doctors and buy them both train tickets bound for Massachusetts.
“I’m sure that’s true,” she told him, amazed at the backbone she suddenly felt, “but I have a commitment here to take care of this myself. I can do it.” She swallowed. “I have to do it.”
He moved a bit closer to her, and she realized that he was not angry at her words. His true concern radiated from him. “Please remember that I am always ready to help you. If there is anything at all that I can do, I’m just over there.” He pointed at a spot on the distant horizon, and in spite of herself, Catherine laughed.
“Just over there? So if I need a cup of sugar, I can just stop in.” She shook herhead. “This place is very strange. My next-door neighbor is more than a mile away.”
“Speaking of borrowing a cup of sugar, there is one thing I do need to get from you. Andrew had ordered a hoe blade that’s due to come in, and since I’m going into Fargo anyway, I can pick it up if it’s there. I’ll need his receipt, though.”
“You’re welcome to come in,” she said, “although I have no idea where it might be.”
He smiled, his even white teeth flashing in the sunlight. “I know exactly where he kept them. Andrew stuck everything of importance in his Bible.”
As they entered the house, Micah looked around admiringly. “Andrew put a lot into this house. He didn’t have anyone special yet—he said he was waiting to get established before he’d find himself a wife—but he did say that he wanted to bring his wife home to a good house, one that would make them both proud.�
��
“What is your house like?” she asked, and as soon as the words were out of her mouth, she realized how they must sound. Her face flooded with warmth.
But he didn’t seem to notice. “It’s about the same size as this one, but not quite as finished. I still have a board floor and everything needs paint.”
He reached for the Bible. “Andrew always kept this in the same place.” He ran his hand over the leather cover. “Sometimes we’d sit in the summer sunshine, having worked in the fields all day, and we’d try to outdo each other in a Bible verse game. Andrew would quote a verse, and I’d have to identify it, or at least give its context. And then it’d be my turn. I hardly ever beat him at it.”
“Just like men,” Catherine said, blinking back the tears at the image of her brother healthy and whole. “Always competitive, even with the Bible!”
Micah shrugged. “The game helped us learn the Word. Out here, occasionally a circuit-rider minister might come through, but pretty much we’re on our own for religious education. So we do the best we can.”
He picked up the sampler she had laid aside. “‘Be not afraid, only believe.’ That’s Andrew’s favorite verse. He said it was what sustained him.”
Micah looked away, and Catherine saw that he was blinking rapidly. He’s crying!
Of course. Why hadn’t she realized it before? They were best friends, Andrew and Micah. Now Micah was alone, just as she was.
Her heart softened, and she reached to touch his arm in reassurance.
As she did, Micah turned and a piece of paper fluttered out of the Bible he held. He leaned over to pick it up. “This must be the receipt—” he began, but Catherine noticed the handwriting and snatched it away from him.
It was the letter from Andrew, the one in which he asked Catherine to consider Micah as a husband.
Had he seen the words? His expression hadn’t changed, so he must not have.
She took the Bible from him and, trying to cover her confusion, leafed through it until she found the receipt.
“Remember, if you ever need help, let me know. I’ll be over every day to check on things here,” he said as he took the paper from her. He touched the Bible she held. “And don’t forget the Friend. You are never alone here.”
He left, and she sank into the chair with a sigh of relief.
She liked Micah—liked him quite a bit—but she kept seeing him as a potential husband, thanks to Andrew’s letter.
Thankfully, he hadn’t read her brother’s letter. What would he think if—
She sat up straight. She was so dumb sometimes. Of course he knew. The letter said he’d discussed it with Andrew.
All along, he’d known.
After seeing her, was that still his intention?
Her heart answered with a fervent wish that surprised her: Yes.
His mind finally closed around the bit of information he’d been pushing away: the letter from Andrew in the Bible. He hadn’t read it—the words weren’t meant for him—but he wondered what it said. The way she had snatched the page away made him wonder if Andrew had mentioned their plan to her.
It wasn’t something he was proud of. In fact, he was downright ashamed. He seemed no better than those desperate men who got mail-order brides to live with them out here.
She deserved better. Much better.
“Dearest Father, take away that thought from me and let me start fresh with Catherine. I see in her everything I have wanted in a wife, but my affection grows too soon. Help me guard my words, guard my eyes, guard my thoughts. She is a woman I could love….”
Chapter 4
What she needed to do was quit mooning around like she was a young girl. It was pointless, and besides, she had work to do.
Resolutely Catherine strode out to the barn, prepared to do battle with the equipment that still lay in a huddle on the packed-earth floor.
The straps and metal bits seemed to have intertwined themselves even more since her last visit here. She sighed and dropped to a sitting position to begin the laborious process of untangling them.
It was a nearly automatic process, wrapping this strap around that, moving the darkened silver of the metal loops here, pulling the harness pieces free.
There was something familiar about it, and at last Catherine understood.
The motion mirrored that of her sewing, the same in and out, over and through, of her needle flashing through the cloth. And in the end, both efforts would be pleasing to her brother.
Knowing that, she approached her task at hand with renewed enthusiasm, taking pleasure from the rhythmic unweaving of the snarled pile.
At last she laid the final leather strip into place and leaned back with satisfaction. An immediate pain in the small of her back ran up her spine and reminded her that she had been sitting in one position entirely too long.
Sunset had begun to fall without her even realizing it. Long shadows cast the barn’s interior into pools of scattered darkness. She stood up slowly and painfully as the kinks worked themselves out of her back and hobbled back into the house.
What she needed was a good cup of tea and a soak in a warm bath. She built up the fire and put two large kettles on to heat.
She glanced longingly at her embroidery. A part of her wanted to pick it up and stitch some more, but the ache in her arms stopped her. And whenever she shut her eyes, even for a moment, all she saw was a hodgepodge of straps, and the image swam in front of her eyes as she ran her fingers over the silky floss.
Catherine shuddered. The dye on the leather had stained her fingertips black. She wouldn’t be able to embroider anyway. Not without the risk of getting thecloth and thread stained.
It was a pity, but her important duty was to the harvest—and to her brother.
Orion whinnied and shook his head. The horse’s mane shimmered in the early morning light. Someone—Micah, probably—had been here grooming Orion, she realized guiltily. She’d basically been ignoring the beast, except for feeding him and turning him loose in the enclosed paddock area for some exercise.
“You’re a good boy,” she cooed, stroking the gray velvet nose. When he had calmed down, she led him from the stall into the bright sunshine outside.
Orion stamped his feet nervously as she approached him with the first bit of equipment that she felt sure was the harness, but the horse let her slip the straps onto his massive neck and body.
She stood back, inordinately pleased at how well this initial step had gone.
But the rest was not nearly so easy. Two hours later, sweaty and frustrated, she was unbuckling Orion from the harness when Micah rode up.
She would have felt considerably better if he hadn’t burst into laughter at what she had done.
He leaped off his horse and raced to Orion. As he rearranged the system of straps, buckles, and rings, he spoke to the horse softly. Catherine was sure she heard her name mentioned repeatedly as he chuckled occasionally in the horse’s ear.
What she had unsuccessfully struggled to do, for the better part of the morning, he did easily in little more than a matter of minutes.
As he hooked up the equipment to the harness, he told her the purpose of each part.
“And then you have to hook it up to the binder,” he finished.
“The binder. All right. It’s in here, right?” She rummaged through the odd bits that were left after she’d assembled the harness.
He was trying not to laugh. She could see that.
“No,” he answered slowly, and he rubbed his hand over his mouth in a futile attempt to hide his smile. “Come with me.”
He led her into the barn. “It’s back here.”
She hadn’t noticed the contraption before, mainly because she had not explored the shadowed corners of the huge barn, but she felt dense and stupid not to have noticed it.
It was a big contraption, larger than she’d ever expected. It looked somewhat like a paddle wheel, but with thinner blades.
Her mind spun with the words as
he tried to explain the process. “It’ll gather the grain into bundles, and then we’ll put those bundles together into shocks, and then it’ll all go through a threshing machine.”
She nodded, but it didn’t make any sense.
“You really do need more than one horse for this,” he warned. “Usually peopleuse four horses, but Andrew and I scaled this down to make it work with ours. We’d planned for both of our horses to pull the binder.”
If she had to stand in place of one of the horses and pull the plow herself, she would. She would not accept anyone’s help.
“Let me show you how this works,” he said, leading Orion to the edge of the field.
He led Orion, and she wondered if he was pulling the binder, too, to lighten the load.
It looked so easy as she watched them, man and horse, working together to harvest the wheat. They moved as one, both used to the rhythm of the field work. There would be no problem for her to finish this herself, and she told him so.
For a moment, Micah looked at her, studying her face. “You really want to do this”—he motioned toward the vast field—“all by yourself?”
“Yes, yes,” she said impatiently, anxious to get on with the task while she still had the image of how it worked in her mind.
He held the reins, as if weighing something in his mind, and at last he nodded and handed them to her.
“I’ll be in my own fields today,” he said, “but don’t hesitate to come over if you’d like some help.”
“I…don’t…want…any…help,” she said with deliberate slowness. “Now go and tend to your own work. I’ll be fine here. Come along, Orion.”
And without a further look backward, she stepped into the field and began the harvest on her own.
Catherine sat in the middle of the downed wheat and buried her face in her hands. All around her was the day’s work, and the result was nothing more than total destruction.
The job had looked so easy when Micah had done it. He had simply walked through the field, leading Orion, and the wheat had fallen neatly.
Prairie Romance Collection Page 51
