The chorus of uncomfortable “uhs” left Gideon embarrassed. He took his seat as Daniel came in. Daniel answered with undisguised hostility, “Nobody prays here.”
“Papa always said things can change,” Miriam said. She kept hold of Polly’s little hands, dipped her head, and whispered, “I’ll say something, then you say it, too.”
Polly nodded.
“Dear God,” Miriam began.
“Dear God—”
“We give Thee thanks for our food.”
“Thee thanks for food.”
A few more quick lines, and they finished off with a duet of “Amen.”
The whole while, the other brothers respectfully bowed their heads; but Dan had made a point of reaching across the table, noisily serving himself, and grunting a disdainful snort. Gideon resolved to string him up by his heels if he tried that stunt again.
As they filled their plates, Logan said, “Mama taught us a different grace.”
“Then you may teach it to us tomorrow,” Miriam said as she tied a dishcloth around Polly’s neck.
Polly chattered, and Daniel’s brothers tried to make conversation to cover his stony silence. Miriam spoke when directly addressed but otherwise stayed quiet. Her responses were softly spoken and brief, as if she was doing her best to be polite and invisible at the same time. He caught the way she hesitantly glanced at Dan out of the corner of her eye and winced at how her shoulders curled forward just the tiniest bit. Gideon noticed how Miriam’s hands shook, and he worried over her pallor. He’d talk to her after supper and promise that, mad as Daniel might be, she had no cause to fear he’d ever raise a hand to her.
Bowls got passed around again, and his brothers scraped every last morsel of food out of the pans and onto their plates. Gideon thought to offer her more, but she didn’t eat much of what was on her plate, so it seemed silly to ask if she wanted anything else. More went into Polly’s mouth than her own.
The tension bugged him. He said nothing, because Miriam and Daniel would have to work things out between themselves. Surely by morning, Dan would come to terms with the situation and could be counted on to behave himself decently for a few days until Miriam went back home.
Once supper was over, Dan swiped little Polly straight off of Miriam’s lap without so much as a word of warning. Only the ring of his boots on the floor planks broke the crackling silence until he reached the door. He kicked the door shut behind himself.
Every last brother watched as Miriam flinched. Bryce opened his mouth, but Gideon booted him under the table to keep him from saying something stupid.
Titus offered, “I’ll wash the dishes. Paul, you dry.”
“Fine.” Gideon stood. “Bryce, see to the beasts and be sure to check that latch on the chicken coop.”
Miriam wet her lips, then murmured, “Please excuse me.” She slipped out of her chair and across the floor, her gait a soundless glide. Then she shut the door behind herself noiselessly.
“Poor thing,” Titus mumbled.
“Sadder’n a hound that tangled with a porcupine,” Bryce added.
Paul smacked the tabletop, and all of the dishes jumped. “Dan tries that again, and I’m gonna deck him!”
Though he privately agreed, Gideon didn’t want his brothers brawling. “No one’s going to do anything.” He glared at his brothers. “All you’ll do is pour kerosene on his temper if you stand up for her. His temper will burn hotter, and she’ll get the blast. Stay out of it.”
“Now wait just a minute—”
“No, you all hold your horses.” Gideon folded his arms across his chest and stared them down. “Some things are best left alone. Dan’s raging, but he’ll run out of steam. In the meantime, just try to keep her away from him. He’ll come to his senses.”
“It ain’t a matter of keeping her away from him,” Bryce groused. “It’s a matter of keeping him away from her.”
“No,” Gideon said heavily. “He can’t bear the sight of her. She looks too much like Hannah.”
“Ain’t her fault, Giddy.” Bryce cocked his head to the side and continued as if he’d come to a brilliant deduction. “They were sisters.”
Titus ignored Bryce and stacked dishes into a bucket. “The real problem is going to be keeping her away from the kids.”
“I don’t give a hang if Dan doesn’t want her seeing them,” Gideon decided. “There’s nothing wrong with her singing and playing with them.”
“More likely praying,” Logan corrected him.
“Yeah,” Gideon said, “but Hannah and Mama both would’ve done the selfsame things. Until she leaves, let her enjoy them. We’ve jawed about this enough. You all pitch in and get things done.”
Gideon fought the urge to dab his thumb into a little pile of sugar and cinnamon crumbs left from the cobbler. He’d love that last little taste, but he needed to look stern and in control just now. Sucking a sweet off of his thumb would spoil the effect. Instead, he picked up his plate and shoved it on the top of the teetering stack in Titus’s bucket.
A few more minutes passed. Gideon figured Miriam had gone off to the privy and taken a little extra time to regain her composure, but when she didn’t come back after a while, he grew concerned. He didn’t want his brothers setting off like hounds after a frightened hare, so he silently went in search.
The privy was empty, the door hanging off to the side in careless disregard to privacy. They’d left it that way so Polly wouldn’t be afraid of the dark when they took her there. With Miriam visiting, that needed to be fixed—at least temporarily. All day long, little details like that illustrated just how lackadaisical they’d become in regard to propriety. Having a woman around—even for a handful of days—was making his to-do list grow by leaps and bounds.
Gideon pondered where to turn next. Since his brother had told him she’d asked about the grave, he paced toward the tall pines. Wildflowers lay at the base of the wooden marker Daniel had carved as Hannah’s headstone. That had to be Miriam’s doing, because Dan hadn’t ever once taken flowers to it.
Where was Miriam?
Chapter 6
He found her in the garden. A small basket with a trio of tomatoes and a pair of small melons lay in the soil by her skirts. At first, Gideon thought Miriam was on her knees, leaning forward to pick something. It took a second for him to realize she’d doubled over. She’d huddled down like a pitifully cold little rabbit that couldn’t find its way back to the warren. The backs of her hands rested in the loam, and her fingers curled upward to cup her forehead. She looked so vulnerable and forlorn. He hunkered down beside her and tried to take stock of the situation.
Placing a tentative hand on her shoulder, he murmured, “Miss Miriam? You all right?”
“Head hurts,” she whispered in a voice thick with tears.
“Aw, sweet pea, I’ll bet it does.” He eased his weight onto his knees and pulled her into his arms. She came unresistingly, but she didn’t nestle into him for comfort, either. She was too limp to do anything.
Gideon called himself ten kinds of a fool. After the way Logan flattened her and knocked her noggin, she still had to be feeling poorly. Gideon carefully cupped her head to his chest and amended his assessment. The lump beneath his fingers made him wonder why she hadn’t been cross-eyed and sick as a hound dog. Why had he let her cook and clean most of the day when he’d originally told her to sleep? He should have hauled her back to the house and tied her to the bed instead of letting her wear herself to a frazzle.
Just as bad, she still needed time after getting the awful news. One good cry didn’t wash away grief. It was a marvel she hadn’t dissolved into a puddle of tears over the way Daniel treated her.
Gideon’s fingers slid beneath her thick golden braid and slowly kneaded her nape. Her breath hitched. Every last inch of her shuddered. “Aww,” he murmured, unable to concoct anything meaningful for such a catastrophic time. Her breath hitched again, and he snuggled her closer. He’d tried hard to be strong after Pa and Mama each
died, but he’d ridden Splotch off to a secluded spot and shed his fair share of bitter, aching tears, too. Folks expected a man to be strong, even in adversity, but a woman…
Well, a woman wasn’t supposed to be this brave. She’d spent the last scraps of her composure when Daniel thundered at her, then later at supper. Clearly she was spoiling for a decent caterwaul. “Might as well let loose,” he whispered into her soft hair.
“Weeping w–won’t make it an–nee bet–ter,” she whispered in choppy syllables that made her frame bump against him.
“Holding it all in won’t lessen it,” he countered. His words freed her, at least to some degree. Tears silently slipped down her cheeks and wet his shirt. He could almost taste the salt in them.
Crickets chirped and cicadas whirred. Horses whinnied and the cow lowed. One of the dogs barked a few times. Gideon knelt there and wished he were anywhere else. He wasn’t cut out to comfort a grieving woman. He felt awkward and stupid. Had he thought even once, poor little Miriam wouldn’t have worked herself into such a frazzled mess.
Right now the bitty, worn-out woman needed rest more than anything. His bed would have to do. It didn’t quite seem fitting for her to be sleeping in a room with a bunch of men. Even Mama hadn’t when they moved here.
A banker had cheated them out of their old ranch when Pa died. They’d packed up everything they owned and pretty much started fresh here. Mama was always first up and last to bed, so she’d slept in a bedstead in the main room. Since the stove sat a stone’s throw away from her mattress, she’d been warm enough during the coldest winter nights.
That bed now filled a fair part of the floor space in Daniel’s cabin. If Miriam were feeling any better, she ought to sleep in the cabin with the girls and have Daniel share the main house with his brothers. That wouldn’t be wise tonight. She wasn’t feeling up to tending the girls if they woke, and asking Daniel to give up his home and let Miriam sleep in Hannah’s bed would likely set off his temper. No, tonight Miriam would have to sleep where she’d spent the previous night.
Gideon slowly rose and planned to carry her in, but she gained her feet and wrapped her arms about herself. He wondered whether she did it because she was cold or whether it was a subconscious way of comforting herself or guarding against the oppressive grief. Either way, he drew her into the lee of his body.
She fit there all too easily and molded her frame to his, making him aware again how fragile and soft women were. Somehow it felt good and right to have her in his arms, but just as quickly as that notion sneaked through his mind, he rejected it.
Bad enough they’d buried Mama and Hannah beneath the majestic pines over to the east of the house. Miriam was every bit as small as her sister had been. Two graves seemed like more than one ranch’s fair share for such a short span of time. Sure as shooting, if Miriam stayed more than just a few days, she’d end up raising the count to three. This was no land for a delicate woman. Gideon resolved to hustle her out of here right quick.
“I’m s–sorry.”
Her apology jarred him out of his grim decision making. “No, sweet pea. You’ve no call to beg my pardon,” he said quietly. He hoped if he kept his tone low, he’d spare her a bit of throbbing in her head. “You have a tender heart is all.” That, and a body that’s as vulnerable as your spirit. “Let’s tuck you in for the night.”
He shortened his stride and led her back to the house. Only Paul was inside. He sat by the hearth, sharpening knives on a whetstone. He looked up, and his lips thinned as he took in Miriam’s red eyes and nose. Gideon shook his head in a silent warning. Miriam didn’t need anyone commenting on the obvious.
She eased away from his side and went to the washstand. For an instant, Gideon worried the pitcher would be empty as usual; but she lifted it, and fresh water trickled into the chipped porcelain basin. Of course. Of course Miss Miriam would have refilled it.
An odd impression struck him. She wasn’t prissy about being tidy the way Hannah had been. The corners of Hannah’s mouth seemed perpetually tightened, as if she disapproved of just about everything. Oh, she’d pitched in and done all the women’s work. She’d been as sweet as honey to Daniel, too. No one would ever fault her on how loving she’d been to little Polly.
More than anything, Gideon came away with the feeling his brother’s wife felt a tad put out with the fact of having more than just her own man to care for. He wasn’t the only one who sensed her resentment, either. His brothers all yielded to Hannah’s picky little preferences and allowed her some of her weepy days. After all, she’d been in a delicate condition nearly two of the three years she’d lived with them.
Then, too, a woman had a right to want a nest of her own. When Daniel appeared out of the blue with a wife, the brothers jumped in and built the cottage straightaway. Though Hannah and Daniel slept there, the fireplace was only sufficient for heat. During the winter, Hannah needed to do the laundry here in the big house, and she’d done the cooking here year-round. Mama always said cooking for two or ten didn’t make much difference, but Gideon suspected Hannah would have disagreed.
So far, Miss Miriam didn’t seem to mind stepping in front of a stove. Then again, it wasn’t a permanent arrangement. She’d only be here a few brief days, so making fancy meals with all the fixings probably suited her. After being stuck on the sailing ship, having the freedom to decide what to eat might well be a treat to her.
Nonetheless, the first thing she’d done was set to sprucing up the place that first night. In his experience, when grief struck, folks did one of two things: They either took to their beds or lost themselves in their usual tasks. Resorting to habits and tasks helped them numb some of the impact of the sorrow. For her to have put her hand to such labor hinted that she was in the habit of keeping a tidy home. Orderliness seemed to be something that came deep from within—not the result of a rule she followed for the sake of being virtuous.
Watching her wash up felt wrong, so he turned away. When the soft splashing stopped, Gideon saw the frown on Paul’s face and turned to see the cause. Miriam had folded her handkerchief, dampened it, and pressed the compress to her forehead as she braced herself against the washstand with the other hand. Her chin rested on her chest as if her head had grown too heavy to hold up.
Gideon closed the distance between them in a heartbeat. “Miss Miriam?”
She turned toward him, and he slipped his arms around her. Poor little gal had run out of steam. Even then, she didn’t slump against him. Her hanky got his shirt damp as she whispered, “I know it’s early yet, but would you mind too awfully much if I lie down?”
“It would bother me if you didn’t.” He stooped a bit, hooked an arm behind her knees, and lifted. Once he carried her behind the blanket-curtain in the back room, he set Miriam down and nudged her to sit on his bed. Taking pains to keep his voice low, he ordered, “You go on and get ready for bed. I’ll see if I can rustle up some willow bark for your headache.”
“That’s very kind of you to offer,” she half-whispered. “Truly, I believe sleep is all I need.”
Later he went to peek in on her. She’d huddled into a ball and fallen asleep—but that knowledge brought him no relief, because the pillow and her cheeks were wet with more tears.
Being a man of the cloth, her father would have known the right things to say. Miriam needed flowery words of eternal peace and assurance. Gideon knew none of them. At the ripe old age of twenty-six, he reckoned he was far too old to learn them now.
In the morning, he’d check on how she felt and make plans to send her back home. To be sure, she’d need two, maybe even three days before he put her aboard a ship. It would let her come to grips with the fact that Hannah had passed on to the hereafter and also give Miriam a chance to play a bit with Polly and Ginny Mae. That way, she’d go back home with a few sweet memories to soften the blow.
He’d ask to see her ticket and make inquiries as to when that company had the next ship slated for departure. The ranch needed supplies.
He’d take her back to the docks, and as soon as her ship set sail, he’d fill up the buckboard and bring back essentials. That way, he’d only miss one day’s work instead of two.
Gideon came back out and took out a sheet of paper. He whittled the nib of his pen and set the inkwell on the clean tabletop. It was nice, sitting down to a clear writing surface. Fact was, the usual chaotic mess around the place didn’t much register, let alone bother him, when it was there; but now that it was all cleared away, the uncluttered room felt…well, it felt different. Better. Homey. He shook his head. That doesn’t matter. Just make the list and go bed down in the barn.
The next morning, Miriam had already gotten up and set coffee to perk on the stove before he even reached the house. The aroma wafting from the oven promised something delicious for breakfast, and she cracked eggs into a bowl with the efficient moves of a woman accustomed to cooking. She wore a plain slate blue day gown, and a white apron covered most of the front of it. Not a ruffle, speck of embroidery, or ribbon adorned either garment.
“Good morning,” she greeted him in a subdued tone.
Gideon looked at her keenly. Was she whispering because her head hurt, or was she trying to stay quiet so his brothers could snatch a few last minutes of shut-eye? Either way, she wasn’t supposed to have shown her face yet. “You’re still supposed to be in bed.”
She simply cocked her brow askance.
“How does your head feel?”
“Not as bad today.” She set aside the eggs and ladled a little hot water from the stove’s reservoir into a bowl. Soon the yeasty smell of bread dough mingled with the other aromas. Gideon felt awkward drinking coffee when she already had set herself to doing chores; still, it wasn’t right to rob his brothers of the last bit of their sleep just because Miriam Hancock gave a rooster competition, racing for sunrise. He sat at the table and frowned. Someone had added several things to the bottom of his shopping list. Neatly penned as the letters were, he knew Miriam had taken it upon herself to get involved.
The Brides of Chance Collection Page 5
