Grace took care of the horse and buggy when she returned home, then hurried inside to fix supper. Her dad was sitting in the parlor reading and looked up when she entered, giving her a warm smile. How she loved him! A sweeter man never lived, she was certain.
“Pop, I’m sorry I’m running late,” she said, and she leaned over to give him a peck on his wrinkled cheek. “I stopped by to see Ginny. Are you starved?”
He laughed. “Only a little. How was she faring?” He struggled against the arms of his chair to rise, but Grace instantly reached for him.
“Let me help you. Where are you heading?” Grace felt his thin shoulders beneath her hands as she half-lifted him. The doctor had told her he may have had a mild stroke that affected his legs, but Owen was able to walk, though somewhat unsteadily. Only time would tell if his strength would return.
“To the kitchen to help you.” Owen smiled up at his daughter.
Once she got him steady on his feet he held on to her arm as they went toward the kitchen. “Ginny is her usual happy, matchmaker self.”
“I see no harm in her trying, my dear. She wants to see you happy, you know.”
“But I am happy.” Grace steered him to a kitchen chair, then walked over to the stove to heat up supper for them.
Her father harrumphed. “Now, Grace. You can’t be too happy taking care of me all the time and doing most of the chores here single-handedly.”
“All right, have it your way,” she replied. “Truth be told, that’s exactly the reason I went to town today—to post a help wanted ad at the mercantile.”
“You did? I’m glad to hear that. This farm work is too much for one person.” He scratched the stubble on his chin. “It’s been a while since I rode into town. I need to keep up better with what’s happening.”
“Next time, if you’re feeling stronger, you can come with me. I hope I get a response soon.”
“I have a feelin’ you will, daughter—yes, you will.”
Grace nodded, hoping he was right. Her back ached every morning from the previous day’s work. Cutting wood, hauling water to the cow trough, feeding the chickens, and hoeing the garden took all her time and energy. She sighed and thought back to Warren—well dressed, handsome, with an air of confidence. He was only being polite. Grace knew she wasn’t in his league. All she had to do was stare at her calloused hands and fingernails to confirm that she wasn’t a genteel lady like Ginny, raised in the South with servants. She felt her father’s eyes on her. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
He chuckled. “Wondering what was going through that pretty head of yours, that’s all. Want to tell me before the dumplings boil over?”
Drat! She quickly turned back to the stove, reaching for the grate, then slid the pot half off, away from direct heat, and stirred the dumplings to keep them from sticking. Satisfied they were fine, she looked at her father. “Ginny introduced me to Frank’s new business partner.”
“That’s nice. Is he married?” Pop’s watery gray eyes snapped to attention.
“No, but we’re worlds apart, so don’t go getting any ideas.” Grace caught the twinkle in her father’s eyes and shook her head.
3
“Now you kids stay close to camp and I won’t be long.” Robert tightened the cinch below the horse’s belly, then mounted.
“Where ya going?” little Sarah asked innocently. “Can I go?”
“No, Sarah. I’m going to town, so you mind your sister,” he answered. Then he turned to look directly at Tom. “You look after them while I’m gone.”
“What’d you think? That I wouldn’t look after my own sisters?”
Tom’s sullen look grated on his nerves. “I never said you wouldn’t. I’ll be gone long enough to inquire about work, then I’ll be back, unless I get hired on the spot. So don’t go roaming off. I don’t want you young’uns getting into anything while I’m gone.”
Becky stepped up to the horse and looked up at him. “And if you can’t find a job, will we be moving on again?”
“I reckon so. I have to feed us somehow.” Robert pulled his hat snug against his head.
“If you leave that carbine, I can find us a rabbit or somethin’ for supper.” Tom stood with his hands crossed against his chest, chin firm.
“I don’t need a kid running around with a shotgun trying to kill something. You leave that to me.”
“I’m almost thirteen and not a kid anymore!” Tom shouted, stalking off.
Robert shook his head then gave his horse a slight kick with his heels, leaving the girls staring after him.
First, he checked at the mill on the outskirts of Bozeman, but they weren’t currently hiring and told him to come back in a couple of weeks. He didn’t have weeks. He rode into Main Street, a blur of ox trains, mule wagons, emigrant wagons, and cowboys. He tied up his horse at the mercantile store. At least I know about farm implements. Could be they needed another clerk with all this bustling activity in a growing town. He could only hope.
A sudden shout caused him to turn around to see a runaway horse and carriage barreling down on a woman about to cross the street. With surprising alacrity, he bounded to her side, pulling her to safety just as the horse and buggy passed. The driver was struggling to control the wild stallion that suddenly flew past them.
“Whew! That was close. Are you all right, ma’am?” He steadied the attractive woman who clutched her hand to her chest, her face blanching white.
“I suppose so,” she answered while straightening her lopsided hat. “Thank you so much. I believe that was Darrell. He’s always causing trouble. I’ll wager he won’t even come back to see if I’m all right.” Then she stuck out her hand. “I’m Virginia Harrison—Ginny to my friends.”
Her accent was sweet and smooth to his ears. “Robert Frasier.” He shook her hand, struck by her friendliness, and noticed the wedding band on her left hand. He wanted to run. Can’t trust a woman who’s so friendly . . .
“Are you new around these parts?”
“Yes, I am.” But he offered her nothing else. Best not to say much or else someone might pry and find out he was living outdoors with three young children.
“Then welcome to Bozeman, Mr. Frasier. I hope you’ll find our fair city a place to stay.”
“That all depends on finding work or not, but thank you for the welcome.” He felt her eyes sweep across him, not in a condescending way, but rather trying to appraise him—or so he thought. He could tell she was upper class by the fine clothing she wore. He needed to get away. “If you’ll excuse me—”
“Forgive me if I was staring, Mr. Frasier, but I think I know of someone that might be able to help. Follow me into the mercantile?” She tilted her head to hear his response.
“Well, I . . . of course.” Not knowing what else to say, he took a deep breath, said a brief prayer, then followed the lady up the mercantile steps. She sashayed past the busy shoppers and up to the counter where a kindly gentleman stood. As soon as he saw her, he greeted her.
“Mrs. Harrison. Nice to see you this morning so bright and early.” Then he saw Robert slightly behind her. “What can I help you with?”
“Eli.” She turned, indicating Robert. “I’d like you to meet Mr. Frasier, new in town and looking for work.”
The store owner was a kindly older man with a road map of deep grooves imprinted on his smiling face. Eli stretched out his hand and gripped Robert’s in a firm shake.
“I believe Grace posted a help wanted notice on your bulletin board yesterday. Do you know if anyone has responded yet?” Ginny asked.
“How ’do, Mr. Frasier. I don’t rightly know, Ginny, but let’s see if anyone removed the sign while I was busy earlier.” He strode over to the bulletin board, gave it a swift glance, then pulled the paper away from the tack. “Looks like it’s still here, Mr. Frasier. Grace Bidwell is looking for a hired hand to help on her potato farm. Think you can handle that?” Eli looked past Ginny’s head to Robert.
“Sir, I feel
confident that I can. I used to own a farm. Can you tell me where Grace Bidwell lives?” He twisted his hat in his hands, quietly thanking God for the near run-down of Miss Ginny. “I’d like to speak with her.”
“Wonderful!” Ginny clapped her gloved hands together. “Grace is a good friend of mine, so I’ll draw you a little map on the back of this paper.”
Robert nodded. “I can’t thank you enough, Mrs. Harrison.”
———
Ginny’s heart pinged with happiness. This could be the answer to Grace’s predicament and free up a little time for her instead of tying herself to that farm. This man had a sincere face even in his frayed broadcloth coat and faded tweed trousers. There was a certain weariness about his countenance—perhaps from job hunting or lack of sleep? But no matter, Ginny looked beyond the outward and was able to see that underneath his haggard, thin face, was a good man, and she immediately trusted him for some reason. Normally, she was a good judge of character—she hoped so this time.
Grace settled her father in his easy chair and carried out the wash to hang in the stiff breeze. She loved the smell of sunshine on the sheets when she crawled into bed exhausted at night. Holding the wooden pins at the corner of her mouth, she bent down, lifting a sheet to pin on the clothesline. After she clipped one sheet in place, she looked beyond the clothesline, and saw a lone rider in the clearing walking his horse. Maybe his horse has lost a shoe?
She dropped her hands to her side as he stopped a few yards away, removed his hat, and waved.
“Begging your pardon, ma’am, but can I have a few minutes of your time?” He held out a piece of paper that she recognized as her ad.
She nodded. “Go ahead.” While he spoke, she sized him up. He was about her age, she guessed, but rather gaunt for his height.
He nodded. “A friend of yours showed me this at the mercantile store, and I came to apply for the job. I’m a farmer by trade.”
“Friend?” How would he know any of my friends? One had to be cautious. Just because he held the ad in his hand meant nothing. He could be a road agent, or worse.
“Yes. She said her name was Ginny and she introduced me to Eli.”
“I see.” He did seem sincere when she looked directly into his eyes the color of tempered steel. “Let’s go inside to talk instead of underneath the sheets.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said with reserve, but she noticed he squashed the quiver at the edge of his mouth at her comment.
She took him to the parlor, where her dad looked up from his place beside the window and put aside his book. “Pop, we have an interested person come to inquire about helping out around here.” She did a half-turn and introduced them. “This is my father, Owen Miller. And you are?”
Robert stretched out his hand. “Oh, sorry. My name is Robert Frasier.”
“Forgive me if I don’t stand, young man,” Owen answered. “Please have a seat and tell us about yourself.”
“Yes, sir.” He backed up and took a straight-back chair that creaked as he took a seat. Placing his hat on one knee, he began. “I’m a farmer by trade—wheat farmer, actually—and if it’s a handyman you’re needin’ then I’m a jack-of-all-trades, so to speak.”
“Wheat farmer, you say?”
Grace knew sometimes her pop was hard of hearing but also had a habit of repeating things anyway.
“Then what in tarnation brings you here?” Owen asked.
Grace watched as the man looked down at his hands briefly, then up again. “I need the money, and unfortunately my wheat crop wasn’t enough to sustain the farm the last couple of years.”
Owen rubbed his chin. “I think I see. You lose your farm?”
Mr. Frasier nodded sheepishly.
“Well, I’m sorry about that.”
Standing next to her father’s chair, her hand on his shoulder, Grace cleared her throat. “Please, Mr. Frasier, tell us if you’ll be staying long or just passing through Bozeman.”
“I have no immediate plans for the future except to find a decent job. If I work for you, then I’ll be staying right here until you no longer have a need for me.”
“We need help with planting the potatoes as soon as possible if we intend to harvest them by August. Sounds like you’re used to hard work, so I shouldn’t think that would be a problem. There’s always something that needs to be repaired around here as well. My health is not what it used to be, but my daughter has been a big help.” Owen smiled up at Grace, then after asking Robert a few more questions, they agreed on his salary. Owen squeezed Grace’s hand in affirmation.
“Mr. Frasier, you’re hired, and for now we can make a place for you in the barn if you’d like so you wouldn’t have to travel from town each day . . . unless you have a family,” Owen said.
“That won’t be necessary.” He glanced at Grace but didn’t smile. “I’m an early riser by habit.” He stood, twisting his hat in his hands nervously.
Owen shot a quick glance at her. “Suit yourself,” he grunted. “Can you start tomorrow?”
“Indeed I can, sir,” he answered, gripping his hat until his knuckles were white.
“Great! Then we’ll see you bright and early in the morning.” Owen grinned, shaking Robert’s hand when he leaned over.
“I’ll show you out,” Grace said, quickly leading the way to the front door. She trusted her father’s intuition and hoped the hired man would relieve some of her burden.
———
Owen sat quietly, ruminating over the young fella he’d just hired. He felt empathy for him but wasn’t sure why, other than the fact that he’d lost his wheat farm. Maybe he simply reminded him of his youth. He wasn’t the first one to go through hard times, Owen thought sadly. But he seemed decent enough. One plus was the fact that he wasn’t too proud to admit his failure and look for work. That showed some ambition. However, there was a hollow look in his eyes. There was something about him that Owen couldn’t figure out. Why on earth would a man not be able to find work in his hometown? Did he want a fresh start, or was he hiding something? Usually he considered himself a good judge of character, and he knew time would tell if he was correct in his thinking. Anything was better than no help for Grace if they were to make a go of it this year.
Sometimes he wished he’d entered the pearly gates when he’d gotten sick. Then he wouldn’t be such a burden to Grace. If only Victor hadn’t up and died suddenly, she’d be busy with a family instead of caring for him. She deserved better than working herself to death and seeing to all his needs. But that was too much wishful thinking, he surmised. That never got him anywhere, so he leaned his head back in his chair for a little snooze. Perhaps he’d dream of Margaret.
Robert followed Grace out to the porch. “I’m much obliged, ma’am.” His lips formed a tight smile but his eyes spoke something different. Grace decided he was a troubled man.
“No need to thank me. We’ll have to see how you work out, then I’ll be thanking you.” She smiled at him, then stood with her hands behind her back, waiting for him to leave so she could finish the wash. He seemed to want to say something.
“Pardon me, but if you don’t mind me asking—what’s wrong with your father? Is there any way I can help?”
His question surprised her. “I don’t mind telling you. He had a spell with weakness in both legs and isn’t strong. Dr. Avery thinks it was a possible stroke. I can handle him okay, but having someone to help with the farm will ease my workload immensely.”
A squirrel skittered across the yard between them, giving her a start. Robert made some sort of sound, but not laughter.
“I thought maybe that might be the problem for him,” he said. “Anyway, my offer is open when or if you need assistance.” He tipped his hat, then walked to his horse. After gathering the reins, he turned to face her. “See you bright and early then. And you can let me know what you need me to start first, which I suspect is the plowing.” He mounted his horse and folded his arms across the saddle horn with ease, gazing down at her wit
h his hazy gray eyes.
Grace shielded her eyes from the sun with her hand as a gentle breeze lifted her bangs. His gaze wasn’t unfriendly. Instead, it seemed to hold no emotion. “You’re right, Mr. Frasier. Have a good evening.”
After he rode away, she went back inside and found her pop sound asleep in his chair—which was how she found him more often than not. His mouth was slack and his chin relaxed against his chest. She tiptoed to the kitchen, filled with thoughts of losing him too. She was already lonely enough.
4
On the ride back to camp, Robert wondered about Grace. Why was a comely woman like her living alone with her invalid father? Hard work could break a woman. He should know—his mother exemplified that, God rest her soul.
He found himself missing Ada even though their marriage had been brief. He shook his head. Would I have married her if I’d known about the children? Hard to say, but he rather doubted it. He wished she hadn’t kept it a secret. That’s the main reason he’d left when the wheat crop failed—he’d felt humiliated the day an attorney and Ada’s sister had shown up with three children, only hours after her funeral. Humiliated and shocked, he’d been the laughingstock of his own community.
So here he was, trying to scrape out a living to support her children, and it angered him! Teach him to trust any woman again. He vowed to himself he’d never marry again. Someday, when the children were old enough to be on their own, he’d leave the country. ’Course he’d be so old by then, love would be the furthest thing from his mind.
He tried hard to change his attitude as he entered the clearing where he’d left the children. He knew in his heart they didn’t deserve his anger. All three of them were sitting on rocks, leaning over and drawing in the dirt with a stick.
Trusting Grace Page 2
