Cinda's Surprise

by Davis, Mary

  The anger built inside her as she scanned the room, looking for something, anything about the kitchen that was good. Even the pump creaked and was difficult to use. She turned and heaved the pair of broken spoons at the wall. She should count to ten, but this felt so much better.

  Then she caught her breath. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a stunned Lucas standing in the doorway. She faced him and stared in horror. How long had he been there? She hoped it wasn’t long, but from the pained expression on his face, he had heard enough. He went back outside without a word, looking dejected and downtrodden.

  How could she have said all those things? She had criticized his mother’s kitchen. She hadn’t meant to hurt him. Could she take it all back? No. Once spoken, words can never be retrieved. The damage was done.

  “But the tongue can no man tame; it is an unruly evil, full of deadly poison,” the Bible said. Her tongue had certainly spewed poison, and Lucas was its victim. She fell to her knees next to the pail of water, defeated, and started scrubbing.

  seventeen

  Lucas rose earlier than normal and milked the cow before leaving for town in the wagon.

  He never spent much time in the kitchen, and he hadn’t realized how pathetic it really was. It used to be a nice kitchen, one his mother had been proud to show off to occasional visitors.

  Cinda hadn’t complained once about it. She had asked him to repair the shelves when he had time, but the job didn’t seem urgent, and he forgot. He couldn’t blame her if she wanted to up and leave. He certainly hadn’t provided a very appealing home for her. But that would change. Starting today, he would make it her home too—change whatever she wanted to make her feel like it was hers. He wondered if this was how his father felt when his mother wanted something. He had always gone to the ends of the earth to please her.

  Lucas pulled into town and headed straight for the mercantile. He bought all the lumber Jed Overman had on hand, which wasn’t much, and ordered more. It would be enough to get started. He bought paint, nails, and more of that yellow yard goods Cinda had at the window. At least he had noticed that much. While he was there he picked up the food supplies, so he wouldn’t have to make an extra trip into town.

  “You’re cleaning me out, Lucas,” Jed said with a whistle. “What you doin’, building a whole new house or something?”

  “Or something,” Lucas said smiling. “You got any cooking spoons?”

  “Over there.” Jed pointed to an area to the back. Jed was near fifty, with one arm stumped just below the elbow. He had lost it during the War Between the States. Now he ran the store with his wife and daughter.

  Lucas sifted through the kitchen stuff and came up with a metal spoon. “Is this all the kitchenware you have?”

  “What are you looking for?” Jed said as Lucas moved back to the counter.

  “I don’t know. What do you need in a kitchen?”

  “That’s not my domain.” He turned toward the back. “Maggie, got a customer who needs your help.”

  Maggie appeared from the back room and went through the catalog with Lucas. Lucas ordered everything she suggested.

  “That’s one lucky lady you got yourself, Lucas. Hang on to her,” Maggie Overman said and returned to the back.

  “I intend to, but I’m the lucky one.”

  “Tell me how a no-good scoundrel like you got a beautiful, refined, citified wife,” Lem Dekker said, slapping him on the back. Lem had arrived a few minutes before and had leaned over watching what Lucas chose from the catalog.

  Lucas had gone to school with Lem, and he took his good-natured harassing for the fun it was. “All I can say is I don’t deserve her,” he began but was cut off.

  “We already know you aren’t worthy of such a delicate flower. Whatcha do, hog-tie her?” Jed teased.

  “I know, it was a shotgun weddin’,” Lem jumped in with a chuckle. “That’s the only way a pretty thing like her would have anything to do with a ugly mug like him.” He chucked his thumb toward Lucas.

  Lucas stood there with a smile and took their ribbing.

  Maggie appeared from the back room again with two old dresses their daughter Becky had outgrown years ago. The fabric was still good and could be made into dresses for the twins. “I think it was Lucas’s good looks and charm that won her over.” She handed the dresses to him.

  Lem and Jed looked at Lucas, then at each other and said, “Naw.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Overman,” Lucas said, tipping his head to her. “I believe it was the good Lord Himself who saw fit to bless me.”

  Lem’s smile faded. He shoved his hands into his pockets and walked out. “Hi, Lem,” Becky said sweetly as he brushed past her without a word. Lem had had eyes for Lucas’s sister, Lynnette, and was just as heartbroken as Lucas was when she married and ran off to Seattle. The two men had been through a lot together. Only Lucas was blessed many times over and Lem had nothing.

  Lucas shed his smile as well. He knew Lem felt cursed by God at every turn and struggled to hold on to his faith. Most of the time he simply ignored God and pretended all was well. It pained Lucas to see his friend in such agony.

  “I best be getting along.” Lucas picked up a sack of flour and swung it over his shoulder.

  “You tell that bride of yours to come by for a visit and a cup of tea. Becky and I are dying to get to know her,” Maggie said. “We have too few womenfolk around these parts.”

  “And the ones we do have are looking after men who aren’t looking back,” Jed said, staring at his daughter’s back as she gazed out the window at Lem.

  Lucas headed for the door. “Lucas,” Jed called after him, “Sam over at the post office said to tell you to stop in if I saw you.”

  “Thanks, Jed. I will.”

  ❧

  Cinda regretted her little explosion the day before. She told herself it was just because she was so tired. She hadn’t meant to hurt Lucas. She didn’t even know he was there. She wished she could take it back at least a hundred times. If she had only closed the kitchen door, the pig wouldn’t have gotten in. But she had left it open so the floor would dry faster. As it turned out, it didn’t get a chance to dry at all. She looked at the floor and could see several spots she had missed in her fury. She would have to get down on her hands and knees again today to get them.

  Lucas came in with a box of canned goods. “There’s a letter here for you.” He set the box on the table and handed her the letter. The good news quickly edged out her bad feelings.

  “It’s from Allison.” She sat in a chair excited to read the news. “I wonder if she’s had her baby.” She could hardly open it fast enough.

  Lucas went out and returned with a sack of flour draped over his shoulder. “I hope it’s good news.” He put the sack down by the flour barrel. He turned to her when she didn’t answer. He asked again. “Is it a girl or a boy?”

  Cinda looked up at him with tears stinging her eyes. Lucas came over and knelt in front of her. “What is it? It’s not her baby?”

  Cinda shook her head. “I–It’s my. . .m–my. . .my uncle.”

  Lucas wrapped his arms around her and held her close as she cried. When Cinda composed herself, she said with a quivering lip, “Allison says he’s really sick. The doctor doesn’t think he is going to make it.” The tear dam burst again.

  “I’m so sorry,” Lucas said, holding her. “It’s okay. Please don’t cry.”

  He seemed worried by her tears so she did her best to collect herself. “I’m fine now.” She struggled for control. “I don’t want to keep you from your chores.” Lucas didn’t seem to know how to handle a distressed woman. It would be best if she found someplace private to cry. She didn’t want him or anyone else fretting over her. He just nodded and got up to leave.

  “Thank you for getting the provisions,” Cinda said. He made two more trips to bring in the rest of the food he bought, then disappeared until supper.

  Cinda tried to get her work done but caught herself staring blankly i
nto space several times. She never knew how much time passed from her last conscious thought to when she jerked back to reality. She drifted through the day not completely aware of her surroundings.

  Why did it have to be her uncle? He couldn’t die. He had been a second father to her. She still needed him, and now he needed her. Almost as if coming out of a dark closet into the sunlight, she knew what she had to do. She had to go to him. But would Lucas let her? Would he keep her from going? She wouldn’t ask, she would just tell him. . .after supper during their walk.

  Supper went along as if nothing had happened. Why shouldn’t it? For his family, nothing had happened. It wasn’t their uncle on his deathbed. None of them had even met him, except Lucas the day they were married and hastily departed. Cinda lost what little appetite she had. She couldn’t sit there any longer and pretend everything was fine. She shoved away from the table and put her plate in the sink. She slipped out the kitchen door. She was leaning against the peach tree when Lucas joined her a moment later. He stood silently next to her.

  “He is like a father to me,” Cinda said with a cloud of melancholy surrounding her. “He comforted me when my father died. I was always soaking his shirt with my tears. He was my strength. I can’t imagine him sick. He’s never sick, or at least he would never admit it. He can’t be dying. He just can’t.” Tears streamed down her face.

  Lucas encompassed her with his big arms. “Shh. It will be all right.” Now her tears drenched his shirt.

  Cinda appreciated his trying to comfort her, but she knew it wouldn’t be all right. Her uncle was dying. The only person on earth who loved her was dying, and she was so far away.

  “So when do you leave?” he finally asked, his voice heavy.

  “Oh, Lucas, could I?”

  “If you need to.”

  In the depths of his blue eyes she could see he wanted her to say no. “Yes. He needs me.”

  ❧

  Cinda refused to pack her black dress for the impending funeral. She had to think positive. Her uncle would be fine. She did pack her dark gray traveling suit, just in case.

  Lucas leaned against the wall, watching Cinda pack her trunk.

  Did he have to stand there watching her every move? He was always so busy around the farm. “I’m really not sure what to pack.”

  “When are you coming back?” Lucas asked.

  Cinda ignored the forlorn tone in his voice. She couldn’t think about him right now, only her uncle. “I don’t know. It depends on how sick Uncle Barney is.” She heard him shift positions. When she returned to the dresser for another garment, she glanced over at him. He was leaning on the window frame, staring out the window. He was usually so confident and in charge, but right now he looked like an insecure boy.

  “Are you coming back?”

  Cinda froze, staring unseeing at the folded nightgown she had retrieved from the drawer. Coming back? She tried to swallow the sudden lump in her throat. How could she answer him when she didn’t know herself? All she had thought about was getting away from this wretched place and seeing her uncle. . .going home. She hadn’t thought about coming back or the future. She should say something. But what?

  His heavy footsteps crossed the room. The door creaked open, then quietly swung shut. She quickly turned to the door. She was alone, empty and alone. His slow, even footsteps faded down the stairs. Each one stabbed at her pounding heart.

  Her uncle needed her. She couldn’t think about anything else right now. She forced Lucas out of her thoughts and finished packing, but she wasn’t sure who her tears were for—herself, her uncle, or Lucas. It didn’t really matter. She was going and going with her husband’s consent, that’s what mattered. She was going.

  She went to the jewel box Lucas had given her for her birthday and caressed the top of the ceramic box before opening it. She put her emerald ring on her right hand and pinned her mother’s cameo at her throat. For a moment, she held the pearls in her hand, rolling their smooth, glossy texture between her fingers and thumb. She let them pour out of her hand and back into the jewel box, and then she took her mother’s wedding ring and slipped it in her reticule. Like closing a coffin, she slowly closed the lid of the jewel box.

  When she opened the bedroom door, Trevor was propped up against the wall, waiting for her. He took her suitcase, and she followed him downstairs. She expected Lucas to be in the wagon, but he was nowhere in sight.

  “Where’s Lucas?”

  Trevor shrugged and helped Cinda aboard. He climbed in after her.

  “Isn’t Lucas driving me into town?”

  “Guess not. He told me to take you and see you got on the stagecoach all right,” he said, like it was perfectly normal for her husband not to take her.

  Dewight appeared next to the wagon holding out a single meadow daisy for Cinda. When she took it, he bowed and left without his usual rambling.

  Trevor snapped the reins and the wagon jerked into motion. Cinda took one last look at the farm. She thought she saw someone standing in the shadow of the open barn door. The shadow disappeared before she could make out who it was. Was it Lucas or just wishful imagination?

  She got on the stage and waved to Trevor. Cinda was not looking forward to the bone-rattling ride. The coach managed to stay upright, barely, the only good thing about the trip.

  After two days of bouncing around in the stage, Cinda was relieved to step aboard the train. As the train pulled out of town, Cinda noticed a lone rider on a hill. She hoped it wasn’t a train robber—another traveling unpredictability. Then he disappeared. Cinda looked nervously for a robber and his buddies to appear. They never did. It was probably just her active imagination running wild because of the stress of traveling alone, her uncle being so ill, and too little sleep. She let go of the image and focused on the remainder of the trip.

  eighteen

  Stepping off the train, her eyes moistened. The familiar sights and sounds were refreshing. She had never noticed before, but there was even a distinct aroma to her home. She drank it all in.

  “Cinda,” a familiar voice called.

  Cinda turned to see Allison sitting in a nearby buggy, waving her arm. She rushed over to her dear friend whose stomach was as big and round as a watermelon. After a quick hug, David loaded Cinda’s trunk into the back of the buggy, and they were off to Cinda’s old house.

  As they drove through town, Cinda took in the faces of those she knew growing up. The places seemed more wondrous than she had ever realized. The simple school building she graduated from brought tears to her eyes, and when they passed her church, her heart quickened. She and Lucas were married there. Why had that thought popped into her head? It happened so quickly, she wouldn’t have thought it would have made a lasting connection with her church of many years. Of all her memories of her childhood church, why did that one memory come to mind? Probably because it was my last memory of the building, she told herself.

  Her thoughts turned to her uncle. “How is he?”

  “He’s failing fast. The doctor doesn’t think he’ll hang on much longer.” Her friend patted her hand. “It’s a good thing you got here when you did.”

  When they pulled up to her aunt and uncle’s house, Cinda’s first thought was. . .home. Funny, she had never thought of it that way before. Being away made it seem different somehow—less cold and lonesome.

  She looked woefully at the doctor’s buggy parked in front of the house.

  “If you need anything, just let me know,” Allison said as Cinda went through the gate.

  Cinda nodded. “I will. Thanks.”

  David and Allison drove away as Cinda closed the gate. Lucas’s face flashed before her. The night they first met, she had barricaded herself behind the gate. She left the memory lingering there as she continued up the front walk.

  An eerie chill swept over her as she entered the deathly quiet house. Was the house always this quiet? Or had it been such a long time since she had been in absolute quiet that now the silence seemed loud
?

  She set down her suitcase and went up the stairs slowly, cautiously. Each step was one step closer to her uncle’s passing. If she stayed on that last step, maybe she could stop time itself and her uncle’s imminent demise. She stood as still as a statue, staring at her uncle and aunt’s bedroom door. That would be where he rested, if. . .

  When the bedroom door opened, Cinda caught her breath. The doctor exited with his medical bag and a grim expression. He held the door open for her. She moved slowly to the doorway, her feet dragging like lead. Her stomach twisted.

  “It’s only a matter of time,” the doctor said as Cinda passed him at the door. “Send for me when he gets worse. I can’t do anything for him but ease his pain. I’ll be back in the morning to check on him.” He closed the door and left.

  There was no hope then. She walked in and sat at her uncle’s bedside. Her aunt stared out the window.

  “I don’t know why you bothered to come. He’s not likely to wake again,” Aunt Ginny said toward the window.

  Cinda ignored her and scooped her uncle’s hand in hers. He would know she was there whether he woke or not. “I’m here, Uncle Barney. Your little Cinda is home.” The words seemed odd to her somehow—because she was calling herself little or because of the tightness in her chest when she said home? This would never feel like home again without her uncle to warm it.

  When he gets worse. The doctor’s words kept echoing in her head, louder and louder.

  WHEN.