Both Terrance and Samuel had chattered endlessly while tagging along beside him over the past weeks, but he’d never heard this. “Mick Wagner’s your cousin?” Stafford repeated, just to make sure his hearing was working.
“Well, he was our mother’s cousin,” Terrance answered. “And she gave us to him. That’s what the lawyer said when he told us we had to leave. He said we either come live with Mick or go to the orphanage in Chicago. No one would ever want all of us, so Marie wrote a letter to Mick.”
With everything else happening, Stafford had forgotten about the letter Mrs. Smith had given him. It must still be in his saddlebag. “And Mick wrote Marie back?” he asked, questioning the sense of hope rising inside him.
“No,” Terrance said, tossing another rock. “We ran out of time.” The boy stuffed both of his hands into his pockets. “Marie doesn’t know, but I heard what the man from the bank said. Two days. We had to be out of the house in two days or they’d take us all to the orphanage.” He wiped at his cheek with one hand, which left a dark smear, before asking, “You ever been to an orphanage, Stafford?”
“No, I can’t say I have.”
“We went there last Christmas. Marie took us to give the kids there some of our toys.” He shook his head and huffed out a breath as if he was older than Shorty. “It wasn’t a place I’d want to live, I’ll tell you that.” Then, after kicking at another dirt clump, he added, “I can’t say I’ll like living at Mick Wagner’s place, either.”
This was a conversation he should be having with Marie, not Terrance, therefore Stafford stood. Ruffling Terrance’s copper-shaded hair, he said, “Well, for right now, you’re living in my house, and I like it.”
Something akin to hope glistened in the child’s eyes. “You like us living in your house?”
“I sure enough do,” Stafford answered. “Who wouldn’t?”
“Because we’ve been on our best behavior?”
Stafford grinned. “You’ve been behaving, that’s for sure, but, truth is, I like you.”
A blush covered the boy’s face. “I expect you were a bit lonely before we came along. Living in that big house all alone.”
“I expect I was,” Stafford answered as he walked over to pick up his hammer. Terrance had followed, so he gestured toward the string. “Carry that for me, will you?”
“Sure,” Terrance replied, more than happy to comply. As they started walking toward the bridge, he asked, “Hey, Stafford, do you think you could write Mick a letter? Maybe tell him to stay in Texas a bit longer?” Then as if trying to explain his reasoning, he said, “We’re comfortable at your house. There’s no need for him to hurry home.”
Stafford couldn’t let on just how close Terrance’s thoughts were to his own. First, though, he had some questions for Marie.
Terrance must have taken his silence as an answer, because he said, “I guess not, huh?”
“Well, Terrance,” Stafford said, laying a hand on the boys shoulder. “Mick’s a lot like you. A lot like me. He’s got a mind of his own. It wouldn’t make any difference if I wrote him or not. He’ll come home when he’s ready to come home.”
Peering up, Terrance asked, “You think I’m like you?”
Not exactly sure why he’d thought the boy would like to hear that, other than he remembered how much it meant when his father said it to him, Stafford nodded. “I sure do. We both like dogs and horses. And,” he said, lowering his voice, “we both have so many brothers and sisters we don’t know what to do with them.”
Terrance laughed. “Ain’t that the truth.” More serious, he asked, “You have brothers and sisters?”
“Yep. Five sisters and one brother.”
After a moment of thought, Terrance exclaimed, “That’s more than me.”
“Yes, it is,” Stafford answered.
“Where do they live?”
“Mississippi, most of them. One of my sisters lives in Texas now.”
“That’s a long ways away,” Terrance said, frowning.
“That’s what happens when you grow up, people move away.” Stafford gestured toward the shed where they’d put away the tools they both carried, and in hopes of bringing a smile back to Terrance’s face, he asked, “Where’s the hat I bought for you?” Though it was evening, he explained, “It’ll keep the sun off your head.”
The child set the spool of string on the shelf before asking, “What hat?”
“It should have been in the freight wagon that arrived the other day,” Stafford answered as they walked out the door.
“There’s some stuff in the room by the back porch. A couple of crates full. Marie said it must be yours and that we shouldn’t—”
“Yes,” Stafford said. “I remember, now.” Marie had told him at supper two days ago that she’d put his supplies in that room. He still didn’t know what to use that room for, so he just stored things in it. His mother had had a room like that, one that ran along the back of the house. She’d called it a lady’s parlor and he wasn’t ever allowed in it.
“You bought me a hat?” Terrance asked. “Is it like yours?”
“Yep.”
“Can we go get it?”
“Yes,” Stafford answered. “There’s one for each of your brothers and sisters, too.”
* * *
Marie was on the porch, feeding Polly, when the door flew open. Her heart skipped several times, which had nothing to do with the speed of Terrance’s steps. She simply had no control over her insides when it came to Stafford. Since Mrs. Baker had arrived, she’d barely seen him. Other than mealtimes, which she’d grown to love. Sitting around the table, her on one end, Stafford on the other, was just like a family. Just what she’d always wanted. He liked it, too; at least, it seemed that way. She only had two weeks and was determined to learn all she could in that time, so things could continue as they were. However, she didn’t let cooking get in the way of looking after the children.
“Terrance,” she said with warning. “We walk in the house.”
“Yes’um,” he answered, slowing his pace considerably.
“Where are the rest of the children?” Stafford asked.
The smile on his face, or perhaps the glint in his eyes, made her heart stutter again. “Beatrice and Charlotte are in the kitchen with Mrs. Baker, we just finished mixing up a batch of bread, and Samuel, Charlie and Weston are up in the window room.”
“What are they doing up there?” he asked.
Lowering her voice, for it was a secret game the boys enjoyed wholeheartedly, she whispered, “They are on lookout. For Indians. One never knows when we might come under attack.”
Stafford laughed, and she did, too. He was the one that had started the adventure. When they’d asked what that room was for, he’d said precisely those words. He’d assured her he was joking, which had eased her fears. He was good at that, easing her fears, and that was something else she wondered about. As much as his presence riled her at times, it was comforting to know he was nearby.
“Go get your brothers and sisters, Terrance,” he said. As the boy walked away—though Marie knew he’d be running as soon as he was out of sight—Stafford asked her, “The things that arrived on the freight wagon the other day, it’s all in that room?”
“Yes.”
“Come on, then,” he said, and to her utter surprise, he took her hand.
His palm was warm as his fingers wrapped around hers.
“I picked some things up for the kids,” he said, tugging her into the hallway. “I forgot to tell you about it.”
Her heart pounded inside her chest. Gifts for the children had nothing to do with it. Having Stafford hold her hand did. Even with all the things Gertrude said, Marie couldn’t find it in herself to dislike him. Neither did she want to be disloyal to him. He’d already provided her and the c
hildren with far more than he needed to.
The room was full of evening light, due to the numerous windows, but it held no furniture, just a few boxes and crates sitting along one wall. Gertrude had said this room would make an ideal sewing room, and Marie had agreed, even though she didn’t know how to sew. The other woman had picked up on that and offered to teach her as soon as her cooking skills were far enough along. There again, Marie had silently agreed with a nod. Soon she’d have to tell the woman she wouldn’t be able to afford her beyond the two-week span of cooking lessons.
Stafford let go of her hand to move across the room toward the supplies, and she stopped near the window, gazing out at the garden in the backyard. That was another thing Gertrude had offered to teach her, how to tend a garden. If she’d known all the things she didn’t know, and would need to know, she might have never left Chicago.
No, she would have still left, and she was never going back there. No matter what it took.
Rubbing her hands together, for one in particular was still tingling, she turned. “You really didn’t need to purchase anything for the children. They have everything they need for right now.”
“They don’t have hats,” he said. “I noticed that on the trip here.”
His grin was back. It was slightly slanted, one side higher than the other. She’d noted that before, and each time she saw it, it became more attractive.
“You noticed it, too,” he said. “That’s why we needed the covered wagon, remember?”
“Yes, I remember,” she said, and then wrinkled her nose at him for making her cheeks feel so flushed.
He laughed and tossed something across the room. She caught it. Well, rather, it sailed directly into her hands. A yellow straw hat with a wide brim and pink silk ribbon.
“That’s to keep the sun off your head,” he said.
Her heart swelled, but the children rushed into the room before she could respond.
“Really, Stafford? Really? You bought us hats like yours?” Samuel was asking as he scurried across the room.
“Yes, really,” Stafford answered. “But girls first.” He waved a hand. “Beatrice, Charlotte, these two are for you.”
While they oohed and aahed, and thanked him, he settled hats on their heads very similar to the one Marie held between trembling fingers.
“Now these,” he said, pointing toward four others he’d laid on the floor, “are for boys. Cowboys. Are there any of those around here?”
“Yep, right here,” Terrance answered.
Marie couldn’t contain the happiness erupting inside her. The children had been extremely well behaved lately, and she was so very proud of them for that. But this, the way Stafford had them shining brighter than they had in months, made her joyous.
“Are we really cowboys, Stafford?” Samuel asked.
“I am,” Weston answered, holding on to the brim of the hat sitting on his head with both hands.
“Me, too,” Charlie added.
“There you have it,” Stafford said. “We have a room full of cowboys.”
“Marie?” Charlotte asked, “Can we go look in the mirror?”
She nodded and watched as all six of them hurried for the door. That’s when she spied the scowl on Gertrude’s face. The woman’s disapproval couldn’t be missed. She’d laid out several warnings about allowing the children to become overly attached to Stafford.
“I picked up some other things, too,” Stafford said. “Material and such. I thought you might want to—” he shrugged “—sew some things.”
The sinking in Marie’s stomach prevented an answer from forming.
“Miss Hall may need instruction in that, as well, Mr. Burleson,” Gertrude supplied. “But I’ll see what we can manage during my time here.”
Marie didn’t take her eyes off the hat in her hand as a thick silence filled the room. At most times, Gertrude was pleasant, even fun to be around, but when it came to Stafford, she was rather tart.
“Thank you, Mrs. Baker,” Stafford said. “Would you mind tending to the children for a few minutes? There are some things I need to discuss with Marie.”
This time Marie’s stomach hit the floor. His somewhat demanding tone was back. She shifted her gaze slightly, just to see how the other woman reacted.
Gertrude walked farther into the room. “I do not believe it would be appropriate for you and Marie to be alone together.”
“We aren’t alone,” he said. “And even after you leave this room, we won’t be alone. You’ll be right outside the door.”
Marie gulped at the way Gertrude gasped. She certainly didn’t want Stafford to dismiss the cook, but being a household employee, she’d learned how one should speak to an employer. Gertrude, as much as she did know, didn’t know that.
“I’m not precisely sure what I did to gain your dislike or distrust, Mrs. Baker,” Stafford said. “I would like to discuss it with you, because I do appreciate you being here, but right now, there are some things I need to discuss with Marie concerning Mr. Wagner.”
Marie’s insides were now trembling, and her mouth was so dry she couldn’t speak. Things got worse when Stafford crossed the room and took her by the elbow.
“Marie and I will be in my office, Mrs. Baker,” he said. “I’d appreciate it if you would mind the children.”
Gertrude glared, but nodded.
“Thank you,” he said. “When Marie and I are finished, you and I will have a discussion.”
Marie didn’t dare cast a glance toward the other woman as Stafford led the way to the door, still holding her elbow. A hundred questions were bouncing inside her head, yet she had an inkling that the answer to all of them included an end to her plan. The one that hadn’t worked very well since the beginning.
Chapter Eleven
Stafford waited until Marie was settled in a chair before he pulled the letter out of his pocket. It had still been in his saddlebag in the vestibule. After handing the envelope to her and watching her brows pull down, he walked around his desk and took a seat.
“I’m assuming you recognize that.” A part of him wanted to start questioning her, but another part told him to take it slow, let her reveal her story.
“Yes, it’s the letter I sent Mr. Wagner.” She’d turned it over, was staring at the wax seal on the back.
“I picked it up when I was in town the other day.”
“I mailed it a long time ago,” she said. “I never imagined it would take that long to arrive.”
“It probably didn’t. Mrs. Smith had it. Said she was holding on to it until Mick got back.”
“So he never saw it?”
Stafford shook his head.
“Did Mrs. Smith put this on it?” She was delicately running a finger over the wax seal.
Stafford figured the woman had resealed it, but it made no sense for her to seal a letter that hadn’t been in the first place. “You didn’t?”
“No, I used some of Emma Lou’s—Mrs. Meeker’s—stationery. It was prepasted.” Marie laid the envelope on the desk.
Verna Smith had been a burr in his side—everyone’s side—since she’d married Henry only six weeks after her second husband had died and the two merged their dry-goods stores. The way she’d raised all of Henry’s prices could almost be counted as stealing, and her meddlesome activities irked everyone, but this really irritated him. Stafford lifted the envelope off the desk. “She must not have been able to reseal it, so thought this might fool everyone.”
“Are you implying she opened it and read it?”
“Yes.”
Marie, looking stunned, glanced from him to the envelope and back again. “That would explain how she knew the children’s last name.”
Protectiveness as he’d never known it bloomed inside him. “What did she say?”
/>
“Just something along the lines that they were the Meeker children.”
Her timidity implied that Verna Smith had said more, but he wasn’t going to dwell on that now. “What does the letter say?”
“Open it. Read it. It explains how Emma Lou and John Meeker died in a fire, and since he, Mr. Wagner, that is, was Emma Lou’s cousin, he is the only family the children have left.” With a wave of her hand, she said, “Go ahead. Open it.”
Stafford did, and read it. The letter, in perfect penmanship, explained just that, and how she didn’t think Mick would want the children sent to the orphanage so she was bringing them to him. He read it twice before saying, “It doesn’t say anything about you being Mick’s mail-order bride.”
Her grimace was accompanied by red cheeks. “That was my friend Sarah’s idea. I didn’t have enough money to pay the train fares. Sarah told me about a woman she knew who became a mail-order bride and the husband paid for her travels upon her arrival. When I promised to pay for my ticket, the train agent agreed the children could accompany me, as long as their fares were paid in Huron.”
He had to wonder what anyone would have done if he hadn’t paid their fares. Arrest her? That was doubtful. “You had enough to pay your way?”
She nodded. “I’d saved most of my salary since starting to work for the Meekers, and last year for Christmas they gave me a necklace and ear bobs. They weren’t overly expensive, but I got enough by selling them to provide meals for the children while traveling.” Her sigh echoed across the room. “I waited as long as I could to hear back from Mr. Wagner, but when the man from the bank insisted we had to move out of the house, we had nowhere to go.”
“What happened to everyone else? I’m assuming they had other servants.” He didn’t like using that word when it pertained to her. “Or employees.”
“They did. A cook, maids, a gardener. They all found other positions.”
“You could have, too.”
“The children wouldn’t have had anyone if I’d done that.”
The one question he really wanted answered couldn’t wait any longer. “Are you fully prepared to marry Mick?”
The Wrong Cowboy Page 15
