“It’s improper.”
“Supper tasted good tonight.”
She blinked at the change in topic then sniffed. So he had noticed her cooking had improved. “It was all right.”
“I’m starting to miss that slimy green stuff. What was it—okra?”
She glared. “Green beans.”
“And that freshly charcoaled taste on the dinner rolls—I’m starting to miss that too.”
She huffed. “Keep it up, and that’s exactly what you’ll have tomorrow.”
He laughed, but she sensed it was with her, not at her. As if he found her endearing. She noticed the way his eyes crinkled at the corners and the laugh lines around his mouth formed deep grooves when he smiled.
He stopped laughing, and Mara realized she was staring. She commanded herself to look away, but his eyes held her captive. It dawned on her then. He liked her. She could see it in his eyes. Sure, he was attracted to her looks. But it was more than that. He seemed to like her for who she was.
“I like your hair that way,” he said softly.
Self-conscious, she drew her hand through the strands. She must look awful after sweltering in the kitchen all afternoon. But his eyes said differently. Her heart fluttered in her chest like a tiny bird’s wings. Something stirred within her, something she had never felt before.
When he reached out and tucked her hair behind her ear, she felt the sensation down to her toes. He was going to kiss her, and every nerve in her body begged for it.
Please, please don’t let Beth barge in this time. She stopped breathing, though her heart was booming like a drum. His gaze fell to her lips. She could almost feel the kiss already, the gentle feather-whisper of his lips on hers.
He blinked and straightened. Clearing his throat, he muttered something about a chore and disappeared out the door.
Disappointment spread through Mara like a disease. Oh, how she had wanted that kiss! She’d never wanted anything that badly, and the letdown was overwhelming. Why did he leave? She was so sure he was starting to care for her, but he’d turned away as if she meant nothing.
Suddenly, she remembered when other suitors had tried to kiss her. She remembered the times she turned away coyly, stringing them along like a marionette. Had Daniel felt this same keen disappointment when she turned away? Did he go home feeling rejected and miserable?
She saw clearly the way she had acted and hated it. Hated the way her eyes were open now to her behavior. It was a wonder anyone had wanted to kiss her at all.
But Clay had wanted to; she hadn’t mistaken that. He changed his mind for some reason, but he’d wanted to kiss her all the same.
It would only be a few weeks before his aunt returned. The thought saddened her. She would miss seeing Clay every day, and she would miss Beth.
Mara sighed and began collecting dishes from the table. She would make the best of the time she had left here. Perhaps by the time his aunt returned, he would begin calling on her at her house.
❧
He couldn’t continue seeing her like this. Clay ran a curry comb through his favorite mare’s hair. Not that she needed it. But he’d had to get out of that house quick. If he’d watched her tuck that golden hair behind her ears one more time, he was going to grab her and kiss her. He nearly had tonight. Only one thought had kept him from it.
I need Your help, God. I know she’s not one of Yours, but—
No. There were no “buts.” She was off-limits to him. If only he could forget the vulnerable side he saw in her at the barn raising. If only he could think of her as he had when he first met her.
But he knew his first impressions were wrong. She may be like Victoria on the surface, but he could see a side of her now that Victoria didn’t have. Mara had pluck. She was a persistent worker, and beneath that beautiful veneer lay a deeply vulnerable woman.
It was as if she knew all about her outward charms but knew nothing of her inward beauty. He wondered if any of her former beaus had ever seen past the beautiful façade. Had they glimpsed the inward beauty, or had they fallen for her based on her looks alone? He couldn’t pass judgment on them. Hadn’t he done the same with Victoria?
If he could make it through the next few weeks, he would be all right. Once he didn’t have to see her every day, surely these feelings would go away. And maybe Mara would eventually become a believer. With all the changes in her lately, he wouldn’t be surprised. God, please use these circumstances to open her eyes to Your love. Help her to see herself as You see her, not as others see her.
❧
“Fiddlesticks!” Mara said as the berry juice splattered onto her yellow gown. The stain seeped into the fabric, and Mara knew it would never come out. Why hadn’t she put on an apron?
Beth grabbed a towel and dabbed at the spot.
“Another dress ruined.” The week was not going well. Clay had been distant, not even baiting her as he usually did. She had cut her blue gown with the pinking shears, and it was beyond repair.
“By the time I finish my work here, I’ll have nothing decent left to wear.”
Beth gave up on the stain. “It won’t come out.”
“That’s all right. I didn’t think it would.”
At some point she would have to go to the mercantile and select one of those frumpy-looking calicoes. To hear her father talking, though, they didn’t even have money for that now.
“I don’t know what I’ll wear to the harvest social,” she muttered to herself. She had worn all her nice dresses dozens of times, and besides they were too fancy for a harvest social. Her serviceable ones were the ones she had been working in, and most of them were stained or ruined.
“Why don’t you make one?”
Mara laughed grimly. “I haven’t the faintest notion how to make a dress.”
“I do. I can help you.”
Mara stopped stirring the preserves. “You can?”
“Sure. My ma taught me how.”
Mara smiled her first real smile of the day. She could already do laundry, clean, and sometimes cook a half-decent meal. Now she would learn how to make her own gowns. And she had no doubt she could come up with prettier ones than the mercantile carried.
❧
Later that day, Sara McClain and Ingrid Manning stopped by, bringing a teacake with them. Mara served tea to the women while Beth went to play in the creek. Ingrid was far along in her pregnancy, and Mara could hardly help staring at the big round stomach protruding from the small woman. If she were ever that big with child, she would lock herself in her room for the duration!
An awkward silence filled the room after the cakes had been served. Why were they here? She hardly knew Ingrid, and Sara had no reason to be friendly with Mara. But, she admitted, that hadn’t stopped her before.
Sara asked Ingrid about baby names, and Mara was grateful for the end to the uncomfortable silence.
“We’re thinking Adam or perhaps Jonah. Which do you like, Mara?”
Mara was surprised Ingrid was even interested in her opinion. “Either one is very nice. What girl names have you selected?”
Ingrid laughed. “Cade is so certain it’s a boy—he won’t even talk about girl names.”
“Isn’t that just like a man? Nathan was so sure Caroline was a boy that he had me convinced too.”
They went on to talk about the community and church, and before Mara knew it, they were asking her to come the following Sunday for Friend Day.
“Well, I—I don’t know.”
“Please? You can sit by me,” Sara said.
“Or with me and Cade.”
Mara remembered the last time she’d sat with Sara and her toddler and was glad for Ingrid’s offer.
“We’re having a picnic after church,” Sara said.
Beth had been asking her to go as well. Maybe she could use a little help from above as she sorted out her problems.
“All right, I’ll go,” she found herself saying.
Ingrid and Sara smiled at one anothe
r. “Great. I’m so glad,” Sara said.
After the women left, Mara and Beth weeded the garden. She didn’t enjoy crawling through the dirt, but her dress was already ruined. What was a little dirt?
Thirteen
Mara tried her best to pay attention to the minister, and she had to admit she did much better than last time. Of course, it helped that she wasn’t sitting next to a rambunctious toddler. The message this morning was on Romans eight, verse twenty-eight: “And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.”
Could that be true? Mara wondered. Could God use her family’s financial predicament to bring something good into their lives? She thought of the story the minister had shared of Joseph and how God had used his brothers’ evil deed and made it good. Can You do that in my life, God?
Almost before she knew it, they were standing for the final prayer. Some of the women had brought their food with them, but since Mara lived in town, she ran home to get the chicken and sweet potato pie she’d made. She hoped they tasted all right. They looked normal enough, though the chicken appeared a little soggy.
When she returned to the church grounds, she placed her food on the table. Two other platters of fried chicken already sat on the table. They looked crisp and perfect. So much for her chicken.
She turned from the table and had a moment of indecision. Whom would she sit with? She scanned the grassy hillside for a familiar face. She found Beth, but the girl was with her friends and Mara could hardly fit in there. She saw Sara, Nathan, and their little girl under a big oak. She stopped. She couldn’t sit with them; it would be too awkward.
Ingrid! She was sitting all alone in a prime spot under a leafy elm. No sooner had she started walking toward her than she saw Cade crouch down beside her and plant a kiss on her cheek.
She would rather eat alone than interrupt two lovebirds. Mara picked a spot a distance away and spread out her quilt. A line had formed at the food table, but she was in no hurry to eat.
Feeling terribly alone on the expansive blanket, she began wishing she hadn’t come. She didn’t have a friend in the whole town, unless she counted Sara and Ingrid. And she hardly knew them.
It hadn’t bothered her before, because she rarely went to community events without her parents. When a party or a quilting bee was held, she wasn’t invited, but she hadn’t minded. She had considered the townspeople beneath her.
She gazed around at the groups of people clustered here and there on the hillside. They were laughing and talking and having a fine time. Oh, why did I come to this silly picnic anyway?
“Hey, there, Fancy Pants—is there room for me?”
Mara was torn between frustration at his greeting and relief at his appearance.
“Suit yourself.”
He stood beside the quilt. The musky, soapy smell that was all his drifted her way. Her mouth went dry.
“Good to have you in service today,” he said.
“I’ve been before, you know.”
“No need to get your bloomers in a knot. I know you—”
“Will you please refrain from mentioning my”—she lowered her voice to a hiss—“my undergarments!”
He laughed and offered to get her a drink.
Mara watched him stroll away. He had the build of someone who worked with his hands all day. Broad shouldered, narrow waisted. She wondered why some other woman hadn’t snapped him up.
After Clay returned with glasses of tea, they chatted about Beth and the ranch. When the food line grew shorter, Mara and Clay approached the table. She felt safe in his presence. Though she knew no one would harm her physically, she felt she could handle any social rebuffs as long as Clay was at her side.
Mara wondered what everyone was thinking of her and Clay being together. She had attended many functions with any number of beaus, so she decided they probably thought nothing of it.
Clay moved aside to let her in front. Most of the dishes were nearly empty, so she took a small sample from each dish, taking care to save room for her fried chicken. She saw to her dismay that the other two platters of chicken were empty.
“What did you bring?” Clay asked her.
She pointed to the greasy chicken and took a piece for herself. At least most people didn’t know she’d made it.
She saw Clay take two pieces for his heaping plate. They each took a slice of her sweet potato pie, and Mara consoled herself that at least the pie had turned out.
As she and Clay ate, they talked about his aunt and parents, who had died of cholera. He told her about his mother’s people, the Navajos. His father was a missionary when he met and fell in love with his mother. Clay made Mara laugh with stories of practical jokes he and his ranch hands played on one another.
As they talked, Mara discreetly watched Clay. When others walked by their spot, they stopped to say hello to him. He was obviously well-liked and respected already. She wondered if the people knew he was half-Indian. Now that she knew, it seemed obvious. His thick, black hair, though short, was as dark as the Indian daguerreotypes she’d seen. His skin was dark, but no more so than some others who worked outdoors. His eyes were the biggest foil, their grayish hues—
Mara realized suddenly that Clay had stopped talking and was watching her stare at him. By his look she could tell her admiration had been apparent. She was sure the flush of pink was blooming in her cheeks even now. Did he know how her feelings toward him had grown? It was no longer the crush she’d had at the beginning, before she knew him. Now he had taken root in the deepest places of her heart. She remembered the compassion he showed her at the barn raising. He spoke then as if he truly thought she was special—as if, even without her money and royal heritage, she was still valuable.
Clay cleared his throat and looked away.
Mara felt bereft all of a sudden. As if a cold wind had blown through their grove. She knew he must care for her a little at least. Why else had he almost kissed her twice?
Almost. Why had he turned away each time? He’d wanted to kiss her; she saw it in his eyes. If she could answer that question, she would be well on her way to having what she was starting to want above all else—Clay Stedman.
❧
The next day she and Beth made a trip to the mercantile to purchase fabric and notions for the dress they would be making. She was in fine spirits as she thought of having a new gown and hoped that, with Beth’s help, she could fashion a beautiful one.
With her own money tucked in her reticule she opened the door. The bells on the door jingled in welcome, and Mrs. Parnell came out of the back room.
“Miss Lawton.” She nodded her head in greeting. “What can I help you with today?”
She wore that cautious look people had been giving her for weeks. As if they expected her to bite them. Mara wondered again if she had been so mean that people had steered clear of her.
“I’d like to look at the fabrics, please.”
Surprise lit the woman’s eyes. “Why, of course. We have a new catalogue in, too, if you’d care to look at it.”
“No, thank you—I’ll be making a gown myself.” The thought gave her a hint of pride.
“Well, the material is back in the corner.” She pointed the way. “You let me know if you need help.”
“Can I look at the candy?” Beth asked, holding up the two pennies Clay had given her.
“Yes, go on.” Mara walked around the corner to the little nook where the fabrics were shelved.
She shook her head. How many varieties of calico could there be? She sorted through the stacks in hopes of finding something elegant and special. Some of the fabrics she recognized as belonging to various women of the town. She could picture them in their shirtwaists as she sorted through the bolts.
The bell on the door jingled as customers entered. Mara scarcely noticed as she discovered a lovely pale blue organdy. She held it next to her skin, admiring the way it enhanced her coloring. And with her bl
ue eyes, it would— She stopped mid-thought when she heard her name.
“Peg said Clay Stedman sat with her at the church picnic,” Mara heard one woman saying from the other side of the corner.
“Honestly!” another woman said. “Men are so blind.”
“Not so. If they were blind, they wouldn’t be enamored with her.”
Both women laughed, and a heavy weight settled in Mara’s stomach. Her skin prickled with heat.
“Well,” one of them said, “you know he can’t be after her money.”
“Is it true then?”
“William Lawton told Peg, and she told me. Supposedly their father lost it in some investments.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “But some people think he gambled it away.”
Mara’s blood boiled at the outright lie. Her father had never gambled.
“How will Mara ever do without her fancy dresses and hats?”
“At least we won’t have to hear her boasting about her ties to Queen Elizabeth. You did hear about the drunk who claimed to be Mara’s mother, didn’t you?”
“I heard. And I think it’s highly amusing. Serves her right for being so persnickety.”
Dismay and humiliation filled Mara. Is this what everyone was thinking of her? She wanted to melt right through the floorboards.
“Hello, Mrs. Parnell—I’d like five pounds of flour, please,” the voice said.
“Surely, Miss Guilding.”
Mara turned and saw, to her dismay, that the two women had approached the counter. If they turned, they would see her, and she desperately wanted to leave unseen! It was humiliating enough to hear the things they said, but for them to know she heard—
Footsteps approached, and she held her breath. Please, God.
“Are you ready, Miss Lawton?” Beth rounded the corner, and at the same time the two women at the counter turned.
Time froze, as did the expressions on their faces. Mara looked away. Her face heated, and she wanted nothing more than to disappear.
“Time to go, Beth.”
“But you haven’t—”
“Come along.” She dropped the bolt of fabric, took hold of Beth’s arm, and steered her out of the store. She could feel the women’s gazes boring into her back. Worse yet, she could hear their laughter echoing the bell’s tinkling as they exited the store.
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