by Jill Barnett
At dinner she pretended that the stove heat was almost impossible to regulate, justifying the lumpy mashed potatoes with the little raw chunks. They had crunched in his mouth. She'd heard them. Whenever he hit one, they sounded like carrots. It had been all she could do not to look up. Instead she had blithely taken another forkful and acted as if they were just fine, crunch and all.
The roast was black on the outside, cold and purple in the middle. Addie ate very little because she had eaten the end cuts, which were cooked perfectly and very delicious, before she'd stoked up the stove fire. Of the three perfectly baked apples she'd served, she had eaten two. She'd beaten him to the serving spoons, and when he frowned, she explained about the article she'd read once in Harper's. It said women needed to eat more fruit, to encourage their delicate nature. When he choked and coughed and turned a little blue, she then explained that the same article suggested men should eat more meat, since it fortified their animalistic nature. He'd left soon afterward, making some excuse before beating a path to the water pump and drinking away his cough.
All she did at supper was to add just a teeny bit too much salt to the soup. He hadn't appeared to notice, except he'd made quite a few trips to the water pump that night. She had known because the pump handle must have squeaked over a dozen different times.
At none of these meals did she serve bread of any kind, knowing that most men loved breads. She wanted him to crave bread, to be wanting it so badly that he couldn't stand it, because she had a biscuit revenge recipe all planned—a pleasure for today's dinner.
Tilting up the face of her watch pendant, Addie checked the time. She needed to finish making dinner. Grabbing the feed pail in one hand and the water pail in the other, she left the chicken yard. In two hours she'd have to feed the chicks again. Raising chickens was not easy, but she wasn't afraid of hard work. She'd do whatever was needed to make this venture successful, and to show the toad she could do it.
Once inside her kitchen, she washed up, checked the parsnips and the brisket, and went to the pantry, taking down a big, brown earthenware bowl. She set it on a thick pine work table that stood in the middle of the kitchen. She gathered her ingredients and brought them to the table too. Glancing at the wall across from the table, she smiled at her aunt's collection of potchamania.
Most ladies had taken up the art since true porcelain had become so scarce and dearly priced, and Aunt Emily had been a master at the craft. She'd showed Addie once, how one could cut out small colorful pictures from cards and advertisements and then paste them on the inside of a clear glass dome or vase. Once they dried, she'd applied a thin coat of plaster of paris, which hardened to form a white, porcelainlike background. The final look was one of hand-painted porcelain, and Aunt Emily had at least a dozen prime examples displayed on a mahogany whatnot right across from the kitchen worktable.
Addie hummed as she opened the Rhumford's Baking Powder and measured it into the bowl. Next she added a pinch of salt, and then she grabbed the large, rectangular tin flour sifter. Holding it over the bowl, she scooped out a cup of the lumpy, coarse flour and dumped it into the sifter, turning the iron crank so the fine flour soon drifted downward from the sifter's mesh bottom. As she repeated the process, her eyes locked on the small, yellow sack sitting next to the flour bin. She smiled, opened the sack and scooped out a half cup, adding it to the flour she was sifting into the bowl. Was a half cup enough? She scooped another half cup and dumped it in. Three parts flour to one part plaster of paris… that ought to do it.
She had just added the three walnut-sized balls of lard when she heard the crunch of wagon wheels on the drive. Wiping her hands on her calico apron, she hurried to the front door and out on the porch.
The wagon, a two-seater with three ladies and a child, rolled to a stop. The driver, a stout older woman with a floppy straw hat, turned to Addie. "Good day to you! You must be Emily's niece. I'm Hettie Latimer," she said with a smile, then she ruffled the bright red hair on the boy next to her. "This is Abel…'' She pointed at the women in the back seat. "And these two are my daughters, Elizabeth—we call 'er Lizzie—and the oldest, Rebecca—''
"She don't let no one call'er nuttin'," the little boy interrupted, grinning around his mother's broad back.
"Maaatherrr! Make him hush!" Rebecca whined, putting her hands on her hips and glaring at Abel. Addie thought she was a little old to be acting so put-out with a little boy's sass. The girl appeared to be in her early twenties, about Addie's own age. She looked tall and slim, and long, auburn curls fell like dark red apple peelings from beneath a broad-brimmed pink straw bonnet adorned with cornflower-blue ribbons and pink and blue silk flowers. The hat hid the girl's face in shadow, but Addie thought it was a lovely hat, one that would have looked just awful on her.
Remembering her manners, she dropped her apron and descended the stairs, smiling. "It's a pleasure to meet you, all of you. I'm Adelaide Pinkney, but please call me Addie."
Hettie backed down out of the wagon, swiped her hands on the front of her green dimity dress, and she took Addie's outstretched hand. Hettie's hand was as warm as her smile, and Addie immediately liked her. Lizzie, who appeared to be about seventeen, joined her mother. They had the same heart-warming smile, only Lizzie's was a bit shyer. She wore a pretty yellow hat, with green ribbons to match her forest-green skirt and green calico shirtwaist. Her features were plain but pleasant, and her skin was almost as pale as Addie's. Every square inch of her face and neck was covered with freckles, hundreds of little brown freckles, and when she raised her head and looked toward the road, Addie caught a glimpse of some short, carrot-red curls around her forehead.
Rebecca stood behind her mother, completely ignoring Addie and swatting at some flies that buzzed around her face. As she shook her regal head, Addie got a closer look at her. She was beautiful, with a classic straight nose, full, pink lips, and clear blue eyes. Her skin was absolutely flawless. But she didn't smile, not once, and that bothered Addie. Also the woman was very tall, full-bosomed, and elegant. From the way she ignored her, Addie felt like a shorty, squatty, gray pigeon standing next to a peacock.
"Here comes my John," Hettie said, pointing at a heavy wagon that was just making the wide turn onto the gravel drive.
The wagon was loaded high with rough wooden cages that looked to be filled with… chickens, more chickens to feed. Addie stifled a groan.
"Those are Emily's prize hens. Lizzie's been keeping them until you could get out here. They're the finest, fattest, layingest hens you've ever seen. Well over fifty of 'em."
Now she did groan, but it was drowned out by the rattle and crunch of the wagon wheels on the gravel. Then she saw the cows, two of them, moseying along behind the wagon, tied to the gate.
Was she ready for cows? Looked like she had no choice. What do cows eat, and how often?
The wagon stopped and the big man on the seat tipped his straw hat at Addie.
"This is my John," Hettie said with pride in her voice.
Another boy, a bit older than Abel, peered around his father. Abel raced by. "I'll beat ya to the loft!" he shouted, and the older boy bolted from the wagon and ran.
"Amos!" Hettie yelled. "You get back here and pay your respects!"
"Aw, Ma!" He turned around and reluctantly walked toward them.
"That's all right, Hettie, I'll meet him later. Let them go," Addie suggested, noticing that Abel had already disappeared through the barn doors. A strange, guttural sound came from the wagon bed, and she whipped her head around and stared at the cages. She'd never heard chickens sound like that.
"All right, Amos, go on." Hettie relented, shaking her head. "Those two will be the death of me. John? Why don't you get Mabel and Maude settled in the barn so Miz Pinkney doesn't have to."
"Mabel and Maud?" Addie asked.
John Latimer laughed as he untied the lead for the two cows. "That's what your aunt named her cows."
With a strained look on her face, Addie watched them lumber by. Sh
e thought cows mooed and lowed, and then the sound gurgled again from the wagon.
Hettie yelled after her husband, "Have the boys come get Teddy and his friends."
"Teddy?" Addie asked, a high squeak in her voice. "And his friends?" She turned her horrified eyes to the wagon bed. How would she ever remember the names of fifty chickens? "Don't tell me she named all the chickens too."
"Oh my, no. Those are the turkeys," Hettie explained.
Turkeys? Two more guttural gobbles pierced the air. Addie closed her eyes, wondering how often they ate. She nodded her head slightly, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Turkeys," she stated.
Her head hurt.
"You know, my dear," Hettie said, "you've been the talk of the town."
Addie plastered a strained smile on her face. "Why is that?" she asked, intuition telling her she wouldn't like the answer.
"You and that Mr. Creed fellow."
Hearing their names linked together for the first time stunned her to stone, horrified stone. Oh, my God! she thought, assuming the worst, that the town thought they were… were cohabiting, without the sacrament of marriage. "They think he… uh, I mean… me… they don't think we…''
Hettie's hand flew to her chest. "No! Oh no, my dear, that's not what I meant. The town's just downright bedazzled with the judge's ruling…"
Rebecca snickered, then gave Addie a thorough onceover, making it obvious she found her sadly lacking, and probably incapable of cohabiting with any man, let alone "bedazzling." Before Addie could blink, Lizzie stepped back, bumping her sister and pushing her against the dusty wagon wheel.
"Ohhhh! Look what you've done!" Rebecca glared at Lizzie. "I'm all dusty."
Lizzie swatted at an imaginary fly. The exact imitation of Rebecca's earlier gesture. "Sorry, I didn't know you were there." She turned slightly and winked at Addie as Rebecca pulled her skirt around and swiped at the dust.
"You girls behave!" Hettie ordered before continuing. "We all knew Emily and Josiah, and this was their farm, the Mitchell place. We watched them build it. Heard tell that some doctor owned some land around here, but we had no idea it was the same property. Every woman in this town loved your aunt, and we're all rooting for you, my dear. The grange men are taking bets on how you two will work this out."
"Where is Mr. Creed?" Rebecca asked, looking pointedly at the oak tree, where his clothes still hung and his camp was still set up.
As if summoned from hell, he and that horse ambled around the corner of the barn. He stopped when he saw them, then slowly walked the horse to the group of women. Addie could have sworn that both he and his horse wore the same cocky grin. They stopped a few feet away and he sat back in his saddle, tipping his hat ever so slightly. "Ladies."
His voice would have melted an ice block.
"Well now," Hettie said, "speak of the devil."
"How true," Addie muttered, disgusted with the way he and Rebecca eyed each other. The woman looked like she'd just been served dessert.
It annoyed Addie, for some odd reason, but what really got to her was that she had to admit Mr. Creed did look good enough to eat.
His long legs gripped the horse, and the faded denim of his pants pulled tightly across his thighs, so tightly that she could see his thigh muscle tighten when he leaned back. She looked away briefly, then found her gaze drawn back to him. He still lounged in his saddle, looking like the world was his for the taking. She focused on his shirt pocket but was soon staring at the place where his dark shirt was unbuttoned. She aimed her eyes at his neck, trying not to gape at the hair that covered his chest. She didn't think it was proper to look at body hair, but her curiosity, and some little devil within her, almost pulled her gaze back. She took a deep breath instead.
His face and neck were tanned, even darker than before. The ends of his brown hair curled slightly around his collar, framing his square, hard jaw. He smiled slightly and the dimple deepened. His look was warm, as were those yellow eyes of his. Her stomach fluttered, just as it had on George Ferris's wheel. She'd never had a thrill like this, sparked by a man. The woman in her yearned for a man to look at her like that, just like that.
He slowly tore his gaze away from Rebecca. "Aren't you going to introduce me, Miss Pinky?"
Addie's lips tightened, holding back the need to correct him. She watched him sling his long leg over that obnoxious horse and slide onto the ground. It was done without thought and with a horseman's ease. She could never get down from a horse like that. Her legs were too short. Of course she'd never get on one of those beasts, so she needn't stand there mooning over the fact. She was afflicted with this fear. It was a weakness, and she needed strength, not weakness, when she was around this man.
He turned around and waited, silently. He knew darn well what her name was, but he was baiting her. She was forced by common social decency to introduce them to him. It galled her.
"These are the Latimers, Hettie, Lizzie, and… Becky." Addie couldn't resist.
He smiled, a wonderful, handsome, princely smile that Addie had never before seen. "Rebecca, what a pretty name…''
The woman preened. Addie suppressed the sudden need to kick him in the shins.
"And Elizabeth…'' He blessed Lizzie with the same smile. She shyly nodded back.
How dare he bamboozle that sweet girl! Acting like he was the new preacher in town, the epitome of the gallant gentleman, when he really was a… a toad.
He removed his hat. "Mrs. Latimer, it's a pleasure. Wade Parker has spoken very highly of you. Is your husband here? I've been wanting to meet him."
The toad really had manners.
Hettie gestured toward the barn. "John's inside with our boys. He's getting the stock settled in."
"Come along, Mr. Creed," Rebecca said, linking her arm with his. "I'll be happy to introduce you to Father." She started leading him toward the barn.
He stopped and turned to Hettie. "With your permission, ma'am?"
Not only did the toad have manners, he could be a gentleman. She had never seen that side of him—she bit her lip to hide the hurt—not even once.
That awful horse snorted and the couple stopped. Mr. Creed turned and whistled and that devil of a horse pranced right over to them. It'll nip at her, Addie thought, remembering her experiences and that he'd said his horse didn't like strangers.
She stood there, quietly waiting. Rebecca said something to Mr. Creed and he laughed. He had a wonderful, deep laugh when it wasn't being snide. The girl said something and then held out her hand. Addie winced, now a little afraid for the other woman, and she waited for the horse to bite.
It lifted those awful lips and then took something from her hand, chomping away. Then it nuzzled the woman while she scratched its ornery ears. The horse rubbed its head upward, like it was in pure heaven.
Addie really hated that horse.
They walked away, Rebecca chatting away as if she and Mr. Creed were old friends. The horse trailed behind her like a royal page. It made Addie mad, because it brought home the fact that he really didn't like her. Even his horse didn't like her. But worse yet, she was hurt. Hurt because all Mr. Creed did was shout or swear at her. Hurt because he never treated her that way. Hurt because he didn't treat her with the same respect as he did the other women. She was a woman too. No man had ever looked at her like that, and the woman in her wanted a man to look at her like that, just like that.
Her jaw went up a notch as she masked her feelings. She forced a smile and said, "Please, come inside. I'll fix something to drink and we can have a nice chat. I'd love to hear about my aunt."
Hettie and Lizzie followed her through the house and into the kitchen.
Addie looked at the messy worktable and at the oven. "Oh my Lord! I forgot about dinner!"
She ran to the oven and opened it. The brisket was dry as jerky. She lifted the pan out with her apron and set it on the stove top, next to the smoking parsnips. They were stuck to the bottom of the cast-iron pot. She turned and sighed. "I'm so sorr
y. I can't even ask you to stay and eat."
Hettie marched over to the pan and examined the meat. "Now don't you worry about a thing. I've burned more dinners in my day than I care to mention. We'll just whip up some gravy and boil some potatoes and everything will be fine." She marched over to the water pump and began to wash her hands. "Come along, Lizzie, Addie can get the potatoes and you can peel them."
Addie went in the pantry, filled her apron with potatoes and brought them to the women. Returning to the stove, she jabbed a serving fork into the brisket, jerked it off the bottom of the pan and held it up, eyeing the thing. She didn't think gravy would help this dry, black meat, but she was willing to try.
"Now what is this?" Hettie asked, standing over the earthenware bowl on the worktable.
"Biscuits," Addie answered without thinking. Oh Lord, the plaster of paris!
She rushed over, leaning over the bowl and blocking Hettie's view of the plaster sack that sat next to the sifter. "I'll have to redo these. They're probably ruined." Addie wrapped her arms around the big bowl and heaved it off the table. "I'll just throw this old dough out and make some fresh."
"It looked fine to me, my dear. There were only dry ingredients in that bowl. They can't go bad. Why, you hadn't even cut in the lard or added any liquid yet." She reached out for the bowl. "Here, now, that's way too heavy for a little thing like you." She plucked the bowl from Addie's arms before she could get away.
The little yellow sack of plaster sat right on the table, next to the flour, and with the label facing Hettie. As the woman set the bowl down, Addie grabbed the tin sifter and, turning it upside down, she whipped it over the plaster sack. Hettie was rolling more little lard nuts and smiling at her. Addie smiled back, but it felt more like a wince.
She quickly slid the sifter off the table and covered the bottom with her hand to keep the sack from falling out. Just as she spun around to head for the pantry, Hettie spoke, "Wait, Addie, I'll need the sifter for more flour and for the gravy."
