by Janette Oke
“We’ll see,” nodded Thomas as Angela turned away.
Thomas gathered up the three younger ones and they headed for home, calling their thank yous over and over as they left. They had enjoyed the party; and Angela was glad, for their sakes, that she had consented to come.
The singing began and Angela found herself tucked between the preacher’s two sons. They sang heartily, one a bass, the other a tenor, of sorts—he never could quite find the right notes.
Angela found it easy to forgive the missed notes, but the constant shuffling and vying for her attention unnerved her.
“I just turned nineteen,” Roger informed her.
Angela congratulated him.
“I’m only six months younger,” said Peter from the other side, edging a bit closer and making Angela feel uncomfortable.
They began another song and Angela joined in heartily, glad for a chance to put an end to the conversation.
At the first break, Peter whispered in her ear, “You want anything? Cake or more punch or anything?”
Angela graciously declined.
“Your shawl?” asked Roger, pointing to where Angela’s shawl still hung on a nearby shrub.
Angela wondered how he could possibly think she needed her shawl. She felt so crowded that she was overly warm, not cool.
“No thank you. I’m fine,” she responded.
“It’s a nice evening, isn’t it?” said Roger. “I bet the stars would really show up away from the campfire. Would you like to walk around a bit?”
Angela declined that offer as well.
She turned her head slightly to see Thane standing just to their left. It was not hard to catch his eye.
She mouthed the words “I think I’m ready to go,” and he must have been able to read her lips. He came immediately to where she was sitting, offered her his hand, and helped her up from her sitting position on the grass.
Angela smiled her good night to two disappointed young men and wound her way through the crowd of young people to thank her hostess.
“When you get home you can tell Thomas—” Trudie began.
Angela nodded in understanding, thanked her for the party and turned to go before Trudie could return to her sentence.
It was a beautiful evening. Even now Angela did not need her shawl. She tossed it carelessly over the back of Thane’s buggy seat and sighed deeply as she looked up at the multitude of stars. The moon cast a soft mystic light on the world about her.
“Have fun?” asked Thane.
“I—I guess I did,” answered Angela. She would never have thought to be anything but candid with Thane. Besides, he knew her so well that he would not have been fooled anyway. “I certainly got the surprise of my life. Why, I never dreamed that—that anyone would have remembered my birthday.”
They rode in silence for a few moments and then Angela asked abruptly, “Has Thomas ever talked to you about—about his—his longing to work with seeds—as a researcher?”
“He shows them to me all the time.”
“No, I mean to really work with plants and things—in a big—Where do they work with seeds, anyway?”
“In a laboratory, I guess—or out in small fields or something.”
“Well, wherever. He would like to do that.”
Thane nodded. He didn’t seem at all surprised.
“What would you like to do?” asked Angela. “If you could do anything you wanted to.”
“Marry a pretty girl,” responded Thane without a moment’s hesitation.
“Be serious,” protested Angela, giving him a little push.
“Oh, I am,” he insisted, but there was teasing in his voice.
“No, really. Tell me. If you could do anything you would like.”
“Farm,” said Thane, and Angela could not have been more surprised at his answer.
“Farm?” she echoed.
She looked at him, her eyes big in the moonlight. “Are you really serious?” she asked.
“Why do you think I spend so much time out at your place?” he asked, and Angela could hear the teasing again.
“You’re joshing,” she said.
His voice softened. “You want the truth. The real truth. Okay. I really would farm. I have always loved helping Tom and learning about planting and harvesting and caring for the animals. But that is not the reason I spend as much time as I can at your place.”
Angela knew he was serious now.
“Are you surprised?”
“Yes,” said Angela. “Yes, I guess I am. Does your—your pa know?”
“About my wanting to farm—or my reason for visiting your place?” Thane was quiet for a minute and then went on. “It doesn’t seem too likely that I ever will farm, so I haven’t really said anything to anyone.”
Angela nodded slowly and then reached out and took Thane’s arm. Thane gave her hand a slight squeeze in response.
“It’s really strange, isn’t it?” Angela said. “Thomas is farming and he wants to leave and do something else. You work with your father in a good business in town—and you want to farm. It seems that life gets terribly mixed up at times.” Angela sighed deeply.
“And you?” asked Thomas.
“I—I want you both to be happy,” replied Angela with deep feeling.
“But for you?” prompted Thane. “What do you want to do?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” sighed Angela, but tears formed in the corners of her eyes. “For now—I guess—I guess I just want to care for the youngsters—to try to raise them as Mama would have. And I can’t. It’s too big a job for me, Thane.”
“You are doing just fine,” Thane assured her, pressing her hand lightly.
Angela pulled out her handkerchief and dabbed her eyes. Then her chin lifted slightly. She looked ready to take up her task.
“And what about your life?” Thane pressed. “They won’t need you forever. Don’t you think you have the right to make some plans of your own?”
“I don’t know,” said Angela honestly. “I try not to think ahead any further than to getting the children raised.”
They reached the farmyard and Thane stepped down from the buggy and turned to lend a hand to Angela. He led her to the veranda and up the steps. He still had not released her hand.
“Tired?” he asked.
Angela responded with a shrug of her shoulders.
“I guess I am. I—I’m not sure I’m ready for sleep, but I’d better go in. Thomas might want to go back for the sing-song.”
“Is that why you left early?”
Angela laughed. A soft, good-humored laugh. “The real reason,” she confided, “was because those Merrifield boys had me smothered.”
“I noticed,” said Thane, sounding a bit annoyed. “I’d a liked to have banged their heads together—”
“Well, it was time to leave anyway,” Angela responded quickly. “Thanks for bringing me home. I’d better go in.”
“I—I have something for you—before you go.” Thane reached into a pocket of his coat.
“What—?” began Angela.
“A little birthday gift.”
“Oh-h-h, Thane!” exclaimed Angela, “You shouldn’t—”
“Now don’t try to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do,” he chuckled. “Turn around,” he instructed softly, and Angela did as bidden.
He reached his arms over her shoulders to settle something around her neck. In the moonlight she saw it glisten, but it was too dark for her to make it out properly. Thane fastened it without a fumble and then Angela felt something pressed lightly against her hair. Her breath caught. It was as though—as though he had kissed the top of her head like her papa used to do with her mama. But no—surely Thane wouldn’t.
“There,” he said, his lips close to her ear. “Happy birthday. I do hope that we—that you—will have many, many more.”
“Thank you,” she whispered back, wondering why they were speaking so softly. “Thank you. I can—can hardly wait to get into the light so I can see—”
He laughed at her. A soft, merry laugh. “Well, off you go, then. Sweet dreams.”
She stepped away, then back again. Thane had not moved. “Thane,” she said, her voice breathless, “thank you so much for—for everything.” She reached up on tiptoe and gave him a light kiss on the cheek, then hurried across the veranda and into the house.
Thomas was sitting at the kitchen table reading one of the study books. He lifted his head when she entered the room and she pointed to the cameo that hung from her neck on its silver chain. She lifted it with trembling fingers and studied it closely in the light.
“From Thane,” she said softly, her eyes sparkling. “For my birthday.”
Thomas nodded, showing no surprise at her announcement.
“Isn’t it just—just beautiful?” whispered Angela, and she moved toward the stairs with misty eyes. She forgot all about asking Thomas if he wished to go back to the party.
Chapter Eleven
Harvest
As the days moved toward harvest, Angela found herself extremely busy. Thomas suggested that Louise stay home from school for a few days to help, but Angela would hear none of it. Thomas did not argue.
Angela had very little time to think about neighbors, but one day she quizzed Thomas as he hurriedly ate his dinner in the field. “Have you heard how Mr. Stratton is doing?”
“Which Mr. Stratton?”
“You know the one I mean,” she said impatiently.
“Haven’t you been delivering your baked goods lately?”
“You know I haven’t had time—and Charlie hasn’t been over for—for just ages.”
“Poor Charlie,” Thomas commented, and Angela’s eyes opened wide with concern.
“He’s on duty night and day, I hear,” Thomas went on to explain. “If he wasn’t so attached to that crotchety old man, I’m sure he would have left by now.”
“I don’t know how he manages,” agreed Angela. “Nursing Mr. Stratton and running the ranch—”
“Oh, he doesn’t run the ranch anymore,” Thomas interrupted.
Angela swung her head to look at him.
“The son took over as boss of the ranch,” Thomas explained. “About as soon as he got here he made it clear that he would be giving the orders. Charlie was told he was official nursemaid, nothing more.”
“How awful!” exclaimed Angela. “Charlie has always been foreman at the ranch.”
Angela gathered up the lunch things and started back to her kitchen, pondering the new information as she picked her way home through the stubble field.
If Charlie really had been assigned new duties, he must be feeling pretty bad about it, she reasoned. Charlie had loved the ranch and working with the cattle. Angela always got the impression that the herds were sort of like family, or friends, to old Charlie.
“I should get over there,” Angela mused out loud. “Charlie might really be feeling down—and too busy to come calling.”
In spite of her already busy day, Angela prepared a cake for the oven and determined to deliver it as soon as it cooled.
It didn’t take her long to hurry across the fields separating the Petersons from the Strattons. Soon she was rapping lightly on the door of the big house. She recalled her last visit and her surprise when the young Mr. Stratton had answered her knock. She wondered if he would be the one at the door again today. She flushed slightly as she looked down at her Sunday dress. She had changed from her working frock—just in case. And she had pinned her hair a bit more carefully as well, and fastened on her most becoming bonnet.
But it was Gus who opened the door. He seemed genuinely pleased to see her and with great enthusiasm invited her inside.
Angela, recovering quickly from just a twinge of disappointment, said, “I’m sorry it’s been so long. We’ve been so busy with the harvest and all.”
“Of course. Of course,” replied Gus, ushering her into the kitchen. “We haven’t been expectin’ you with everything you have to do. Sit down. Sit down. I’ll jest put on some fresh coffee before I call Charlie.”
“How is—?” Angela was going to say “Charlie,” but she changed her mind, thinking that she would wait and see for herself. “How is Mr. Stratton?” she asked instead.
“He’s poorly. Poorly,” answered Gus, repeating himself, a little habit he had.
“I’m sorry,” said Angela. “It must be awfully hard for all of you.”
Gus nodded. “Tough. Tough,” he admitted, his eyes clouding.
Gus did not have to leave the kitchen to call Charlie. Angela heard a step on the back stairs and Charlie entered the room looking tired and old. Angela had never seen him looking so down. He had not even shaved.
His eyes brightened when he saw her, and he straightened his bent shoulders just a bit.
“I’ve been worried about you,” Angela admitted, and Charlie gave her a nod.
“I hear he is no better,” Angela went on.
Charlie settled himself in a chair across from her at the small kitchen table and rubbed a hand over his unshaven face. A look of shock filled his eyes, as though he suddenly realized how he must look to the young girl.
“Didn’t have time—” he began apologetically, but Angela would not let him finish.
“I hear you are nursing night and day. You must be worn out.”
Charlie nodded and let his hand drop to the table. Angela wondered how much longer he would be able to hang on.
“I’ll go on up for a while and give you a break,” said Gus, and he lifted a piece of the fresh cake from the pan and headed for the stairway.
“Bring me some coffee when the pot boils,” he called back over his shoulder.
“How are you?” Angela asked as soon as Gus had gone.
Charlie looked confused over the question and Angela wondered if he had been getting any sleep.
“Thomas said you don’t care for the cattle anymore.”
Charlie nodded, but Angela didn’t see pain in his eyes as she had expected.
“The young Stratton does that,” Charlie admitted.
“Does he know how?” Angela asked before she could stop herself.
Charlie nodded a tired nod. “He’s sharp enough—even though he is a city-slicker. He studies on it—and he asks if he doesn’t know. I gotta hand him thet.”
“Does he—does he plan to stay then? I mean—I thought—well, I just assumed that he would be going back to—to wherever, as soon as—”
Angela couldn’t finish.
“Sounds to me like he means to stay,” said Charlie.
Angela felt a tingle pass through her.
“And what will you do?” asked Angela.
Charlie just shrugged. “I’ll figure thet out when the time comes,” he replied, revealing neither concern nor enthusiasm.
“What you need is a good night’s sleep,” declared Angela. “Couldn’t I come and stay with Mr. Stratton for a night or two and—?”
Charlie shook his head adamantly, stirring for the first time. “We make out fine—and it won’t be much longer, I fear. Thet sickroom is no place fer a young lady.”
“But—”
“No, ma’am,” insisted Charlie, and Angela knew it was useless to argue further.
“I’d best get on home.” She stood up and smoothed the skirt of her dress, feeling a little foolish now and wishing she had come over in her kitchen frock.
“Gus might like his cup of coffee now,” Angela prompted.
Charlie swore softly under his breath. “I fergot all about it,” he murmured, rising quickly and lifting a big mug from the cupboard shelf.
Angela let herself out and started for home deeply troubled. It was clear that Charlie was about at the breaking point. She wished there were something she could do.
She was so absorbed in her thoughts that she did not hear the approaching horse until the rider had reined in beside her.
“Good afternoon, miss.”
Angela jumped in surprise.
“My ap
ology, Miss Peterson,” the young Stratton quickly responded, stepping down from the horse with one smooth motion. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you quite all right?”
He took her hand and drew her toward him.
Angela flushed and stepped back. “Oh, I—I’m fine,” she faltered. “You—you just caught me off guard for a minute. I was too deep in thought, I guess.” She took another small step backward and he released her hand.
They stood there—face-to-face—assessing each other.
Angela watched his eyes move from her bonnet to her shoes and back to her face. He smiled approvingly, and she wondered if that meant she was as pretty as the city girls he knew.
Angela used the time to take a full look at the young man before her. He was even taller than she had realized. He was not dressed in the finery of their first meeting. Instead, he wore western garb—and wore it well. His clothing was newer and more expensive looking than the working clothes worn by most of the local young men. His chaps were still highly polished dark leather, his shirt unfaded from the summer sun. His wide-brimmed hat was not yet stained from rain and snow, nor his gloves hardened into the shape of curled fingers. He removed a glove and reached up to lift his hat from his head. He stood before her, dark hair glistening in the sun, dark eyes softened with concern for her welfare. Angela found him most appealing.
“I was—was just checking on your—your father—and Charlie,” Angela said suddenly, taking one more step backward.
He was suddenly the young man she had met before—in spite of his change of outfit.
“I’m hurt,” he said. “I was hoping you had called to see me.”
Angela had regained her composure, realizing that she probably made a rather striking picture in her Sunday dress and bonnet. She turned her blue eyes directly on the young man and allowed her lips to curl into a teasing smile. “I assumed the boss would have little time for afternoon tea parties,” she countered.
The young man tipped his head to one side and his eyes studied her face. Angela felt her cheeks glow under the close scrutiny.
“I must apologize for my appearance,” he said at last, “but if you will give me a few minutes, I will rid myself of the dust and filth and be happy to share that cup of tea.”
