“You didn’t eat that, did you?”
Angel nodded as she swallowed. “The floor’s clean.”
Appalled, Constance glared at the girl.
“You scrubbed it twice yesterday,” Angel replied, losing a bit of her defiance as a blush rose on her cheeks. “I didn’t want it to go to waste.”
Thankful patience was a virtue she’d been blessed with in abundance, or had found living with her aunts, Constance poured out six pancakes and waited for the sizzle to ease before she whispered, “No you didn’t.”
The girl bowed her head, telling Constance all she needed to know, except why Angel had purposefully tried to irritate her and Ellis. “As soon as the men are gone, you and I are going to have a talk.” She set the bowl down and emphasized, “A long talk.”
Angel grinned, but there was no sparkle in her eyes. “About kings and queens?”
“No, about manners.”
The chatter at the table quelled a bit as Ellis walked into the room. The frown on his face said he wasn’t out to make friends.
Whatever reason Angel had to annoy him, Constance had more reason to right the situation, for all their sakes. She prepared a plate and handed it to Angel. “Here take this to your father and apologize for what you said.”
Angel lingered, as if the thought distressed her.
“You can just whisper it in his ear,” Constance insisted, allowing a hint of compromise, “and kiss his cheek.”
Angel rarely had to answer for her behaviors, and the struggle inside her was evident. Constance turned her about, unwilling to back down. The girl let out a weary sigh and walked across the room. Constance wished she could hear, but then knew she didn’t need to. The surprised expression on Ellis’s face, and the way his eyes shot across the room told her Angel had followed her instructions.
His gaze then went to his daughter, and Constance could almost feel his anger easing as he grinned at the girl. Relief eased out of her chest, but only until Ellis’s gaze returned to her. It was a serious look, as if he was deeply contemplating what had just happened.
Constance kept her chin up. Discipline was a part of education, and if he questioned that, her job in reforming Angel would be impossible. Doubt seeped in. He probably shouldn’t entrust his daughter to her. She really didn’t know anything about raising children.
He cocked his head slightly, and then the edges of his lips curled as he gave her a slight nod before he lowered his eyes to his plate. His approval had a shattering effect on her body. Pride as she had never felt, along with delight, swirled around her heart.
Angel had six more cakes sizzling on the grill. Constance grasped the spatula. “Go fix your plate and eat with your father.”
“No,” Angel said, tugging the spatula from her fingers. “I’ll wait for you. So we can talk.” Shifting so her shoulder touched Constance’s, she added, “I owe you an apology, too.”
If all of life’s lessons were as easily combated as this one, the world would be a remarkable place. “Accepted,” Constance said, wrapping an arm around Angel. The twinkle in the girl’s eyes had her adding, “You are an imp.”
Angel leaned against her. “I know. But you love me.”
Emotions flooded Constance’s system, locking her lungs and making her knees tremble. Angel’s statement was laced with hope, something Constance knew a lot about. It had been a long time, but one never forgets what it feels like to want to be loved, or to love. Constance increased her hold. “Yes, you little imp. I love you.”
Angel emitted a happy little squeal. “I knew it. I love you, too.”
Ellis couldn’t hear what Angel and Constance whispered about, but he didn’t need to. Ashton’s unclaimed bride had been claimed—by his daughter. He should have known this would happen. Angel never did anything halfway. It was all or nothing. Just like her mother.
Trouble was, Constance was good for Angel. It had been years since Angel had apologized for something. Then again, it had been some time since he’d made her apologize. Instead he’d sloughed off the occasional smart mouth or action, blaming himself for her rough edges.
He pushed away from the table. “The storm’s let up. If we leave now, there should be enough time to get to town before the next wave moves in.”
“We?” Fred Westmaster leaned against the door frame. “You got business in town, Ellis?”
“Yes, I do.” Ellis couldn’t say when, but the decision had been made. He’d go to town and speak to John Hempel himself. The sooner he had a plan for Constance Jennings, the sooner his life would get back in order. “And the sooner we head out, the better off we’ll be,” he added aloud. More for himself than anyone else.
The others finished their meals, swiping up the thick syrup left on their plates with hearty chunks of bread and gulping down the last bits of coffee in their cups. His gaze went to the plate of thick-cut bread slices in the center of the table and a tenderness wedged its way into his heart. Frowning, he left the room.
His mind was in worse shape now than it had been earlier. Notions and thoughts swam amongst each other like minnows in a shallow creek. He tried to snatch on to ones that made sense. Ashton’s place probably wasn’t that bad. Jeb said they’d fixed it up. The two of them, Jeb and Miles, had lived out there for several years, so they knew how to weather a storm, and would provide for Constance. If she was to leave, it would be best now, before Angel got any more attached.
He pulled his coat from the hook, but while working the buttons through their holes, his fingers stalled and his gaze roamed the office. Constance had eyed his bookshelves as if there was a hunger in her for the stories between the pages. They were all here—the long-ago written classics, as well as the newer novels of life, love and journeys to find the meanings behind conscious thoughts. He could loan her a few to take to Ashton’s. They’d give her something to do while the winter winds kept her indoors.
The chatter of the men donning their winter gear floated down the hall. Who was he trying to fool? Miles and Jeb wouldn’t be able to hold off the horde of men who’d descend upon her. Leaving the note for Hempel on his desk, he grabbed his gloves and, slapping their stiffness against his thigh, left the room as if it were on fire.
“Let’s go,” he directed toward the men, walking straight to the door.
“Mr. Clayton?”
His feet stuck in such a manner he wondered if they’d all of a sudden glued themselves to the floor. Holding his breath, he turned. Constance held the door to the kitchen open. “We have to go while the weather—” he started.
“Why do you have to go, Pa?” Angel interrupted, poking her head out beside Constance’s shoulder. “We got everything we needed the other day.”
“There’s someone I want to talk to. I’ll be home before nightfall.” He turned and pulled open the front door.
“You will be careful?” The apprehension in Constance’s voice was highlighted by the grimace on her face. There were already enough thoughts rolling around in his head, adding where her concerns came from would be useless. With a brief nod, he exited the house.
Cold air greeted him like a scorned woman, and he paused to fasten the top button of his coat and pull on his gloves. Snow had been cleared away to make a wide path from the house to the barn, and the heels of his boots crunched against the hard crust as he trudged forward. The choice was suddenly made, and he wasn’t one to go back on a decision. The thought of a freezing ride to town was about as thrilling as walking all the way to Mexico, but Constance wasn’t moving out to Ashton’s, whether she could claim it or not. Angel needed her right here.
The barn could have doubled for a train depot with the amount of men moseying about. Ellis gathered his tack and went to saddle a roan.
Hank appeared next to him. “What you doing, Ellis?”
“I decided to go to town myself.”
“Mind if I ride with you?”
Ellis shook his head. The good thing about men who’d worked for you for years was they knew you
, and didn’t question decisions. Hank wasn’t a flap-jaw, either. Good thing, ’cause Ellis didn’t feel like talking.
“I’ll go tell Thomas to check in on the woman folk a couple times today and meet you out front.” Hank disappeared as quickly as he’d appeared.
That was the other good thing about Hank; he knew what needed to be done and saw to it. A finer foreman would be hard to come by. Ellis mounted and led the group of travelers out of the barn. On the way, he nodded
to the cowboy holding the big door against the gusts of wind that had picked up. He had a lot to be thankful for—good men working for him was part of what made Heaven on Earth what it was today. And he was grateful. Tried to remember to thank the Good Lord every night.
So why in tarnation was he so out of sorts? He kneed his horse, leading the way through the homestead and up the winding trail where the winds were sure to be stronger and colder. Hank caught up at the bottom of the draw, giving a nod in greeting as he hunkered down deeper in his coat.
The wind was bitter, but Ellis didn’t bow to it. Rarely did he stoop to anything. That wasn’t his way. Then why the hell was he bending over backward to make sure a little snip of a woman didn’t have to go live in some crude cabin? Was it just because of Angel, or was that an excuse he was trying hard to believe?
Topping the hill, he turned, taking a quick glance at the view below. The wind raced by, whistling a wintry tune. What he saw—the homestead surrounded by thousands of acres of plentiful land—was all he ever wanted. Ever needed. So where had the hollow feeling in his chest come from?
He turned and flicked the ends of the reins aside the roan, jolting the horse into a canter. It would be cold the entire way to Cottonwood. He’d want a warm fire and hot coffee badly by the time he arrived, but arrive he would. If Constance Jennings had inherited Ashton’s place, she had a right to know about it, and he’d be the one to tell her. Then she could decide if she wanted to stay in his warm and comfortable house this winter—fulfilling their agreement—or go live in a cracked and drafty cabin.
Surely she’d understand the risks of living with Jeb, a greenhorn with frozen toes, and Miles, an old coot who didn’t take a bath but twice a year.
Planting his feet firmer in the stirrups, Ellis urged his mount into a steady but quick pace. “Let’s ride, boys. The quicker we get off this hill, the better.”
* * *
Constance’s fingers tightened on the curtain as the tiny dots disappeared over the top of the snow-covered hill. Who did Ellis need to talk to? She’d intended to speak with him as soon as breakfast was over. If he learned her tale from someone else, she was worried the details would be skewed.
A thud caused her to let the curtain loose. There wasn’t anything she could do about it right now. “I said book. Not books,” she explained, picking up three books in Angel’s trail.
“I know, but I didn’t know which one we should start with.” Angel arranged her load into a pile on the table in front of the sofa and plopped onto the cushion with a sigh.
Constance flipped one of the books around, reading the spine. An Etiquette Guide for Young Ladies. She spun the next one about. True Politeness. The third one was titled The Church Society Handbook.
“Oh, goodness.”
“What?” Angel flopped one leg up to rest an ankle on her opposite knee.
Constance set the books on the table and then, one by one, read the covers of the rest of the stack. All six of them were similar to the first ones, having to do with manners and young ladies. Momentarily at a loss, she tapped Angel’s foot. “A young lady sits with both feet on the floor.”
Angel lowered her foot, rearranged her skirt and gave a look that asked, Is that better?
Gesturing to the books, Constance said, “These look brand-new.”
“They are. Pa bought them last year. I started to read that one.” Angel pointed at the one titled The Peacemaker. “I thought it was about the gun.” She leaned back and rolled her eyes to gaze at the ceiling. “But it was about how to behave so you don’t ruffle anyone’s feathers. I only got through the first few pages.” She shivered and groaned dramatically.
The sight sparked a memory for Constance. “Wait here.” Entering Ellis’s office, a smile twitched her lips. The entire house was wonderful, but this room was already her favorite. The rich, wonderful aroma of books and the lingering scent of leather and rawhide mixed together created the one fragrance she’d never been able to find in England. It reminded her of her home in Richmond. Somehow the smell instilled an assurance of well-being and happiness.
Remembering exactly where she’d seen the novel, she plucked it from a shelf of many and darted around the desk. Her flaying skirt caused something to flutter to the floor. She picked up an envelope with the name John Hempel penned across the front and laid it in the middle of the desk.
Back in the parlor, she held out the book she’d collected. “Here. We’ll start with this one.”
“Little Women?” Angel’s tone sounded as if her life was in jeopardy.
“You’ll like it. Trust me.”
“Little Women?” Angel repeated. “Are they leprechauns?” The sound of hope in her voice made Constance smile.
“No, they aren’t leprechauns.” Constance sat down on the sofa. “It’s a wonderful story about four sisters. I’ve read it a couple of times.”
“Is it from England?”
“No, it was published here in the States. In Massachusetts a few years ago.” She ran a hand over the top of the book identical to the copy she’d once owned. Her aunts had given her the book for her birthday. “It’s written by Louisa May Alcott. It’s been said the one character, Jo March, is a reflection of who the author was growing up.”
Angel rested her head on Constance’s shoulder. “What’s it about? Are they short?”
“They’re young women. Girls really. Just like you. It’s the story of them growing up and how they discover who they are.” She touched the tip of Angel’s nose. “They also must overcome some natural imperfections. For Jo, it’s her temperament. For Meg—she’s the oldest sister—it’s vanity. Beth is younger than Jo, and is very shy. And the youngest is Amy. She’s a tad selfish.”
Angel’s eyes proved her interest was piqued. She opened the front cover. “You promise it’s not boring?”
“I promise.” Constance snuggled deeper into the sofa and tugged Angel with her. “Turn to chapter one and read it to me.”
“Out loud?”
“Uh-huh,” she mumbled. “I love having stories read to me.”
“Why? Don’t you know how to read?”
Constance opened one eye, peering down at Angel. “Hasn’t anyone ever read to you?”
“My mother did, before she died. I can kinda remember it. And Pa did, but not since I learned how to read myself.”
The trials and errors of Ellis raising his spirited daughter by himself tugged at Constance’s heartstrings. With her free hand, she thread through the first few pages until she found their starting point. “You read chapter one to me, and I’ll read chapter two to you.”
“You will?”
“Yes, I will.” She rested her cheek against Angel’s head. “Go on, start reading.”
That’s how it went for the next few hours, each of them reading, pausing to discuss a character or the twisting and turning plot. They were on chapter four, with Constance reading and feeling each and every word, when the front door opened.
Before they climbed off the sofa, Thomas Ketchum, with his red-bearded face, poked his head around the door frame.
“It’s just me, ma’am. I thought I better check the fires.”
Constance handed the book to Angel and smoothed her skirt as she rose. “Thank you, Mr. Ketchum. I’m afraid the time has gotten away from us.”
“It’ll only take me a few minutes, and then I’ll refill the wood boxes.” He tipped the front brim of his hat before he moved down the hall.
Constance turned to Angel. “Run int
o your father’s office and find a scrap of paper to mark our page.”
“Can’t we read some more? It’s really good.”
“I know it’s really good.” Constance flicked a finger over Angel’s nose. “And waiting to read more will make us get the household chores done even faster.”
Angel giggled and then skipped to the doorway. She flipped around before exiting the room. “Constance?”
Pausing to lift her head as she gathered the stack of books off the table, Constance replied, “Yes?”
“Thank you. I like reading to you. And I like you reading to me.” Angel was gone then, racing down the hall.
“You’re welcome,” Constance whispered. The enjoyment she’d experienced the past two days was quickly becoming a highlight of her life. Times she’d remember when she was old and gray, and long for when they were no more. Her fingers shook as she picked up the books. Her time here was temporary—Angel wouldn’t need her for long. Self-imposed insight continued to flood her mind. She wasn’t a young girl like Angel, or the March sisters. And she had discovered what her flaw was. History. Her past. It not only haunted her, it repeated itself. Two dead husbands—well, one husband and one soon-to-be husband had he not died. How could a person outgrow a flaw like that?
Thomas Ketchum entered the parlor, causing her to gather the books and leave the room. Her mind wasn’t done, and as she walked down the hall, her family came to mind. It wasn’t just husbands. Everyone in her life died—tragic, unexpected deaths that left her reeling.
A gasp had her glancing up when she entered the office. Angel’s cheeks were flushed and alarm filled her eyes. Something fluttered out of the girl’s fingers. The envelope Constance had knocked on the floor earlier sat opened on the top of the thickly varnished desk.
“Angel!” Constance crossed the room quickly, replacing the books in the empty space on one of the many shelves. “I know you know better than to read someone else’s mail.”
“It’s not mail, it’s a note Pa wrote to—”
“That constitutes mail,” she interrupted. Aware of Mr. Ketchum across the hall, Constance moved to the desk. “Mail is a very personal and private thing. I’m ashamed of you. And you should be, too.”
Unclaimed Bride Page 9
