Martha held a knitted baby blanket against her chest. “I hope to be able to use this again one day soon.”
Her sly smile sent a shaft of guilt spearing through Sarah. How could she tell this sweet woman that there wouldn’t be any children from her marriage? That her husband wanted a business arrangement and would send her packing once Martha was gone?
She couldn’t. Sarah forced a smile. “Maybe one day.”
“Adam’s little Jonathon is a cherub. He’s got his father’s coloring, much like your blue eyes and dark hair. Adam always hated that he didn’t look much like Quinn and Anna, even though he was Anna’s twin.” Martha seemed to stare off in the distance, as if she were looking right at Adam. She blinked and turned back to Sarah, an ornery smile tilting her lips. “I certainly hope to see Anna’s and Quinn’s children before I leave this world.”
Sarah patted Martha’s arm. She didn’t want to give the woman false hope, but surely it wouldn’t be long before Anna had a baby. “I’m sure you will.”
She picked up the scissors from Martha’s sewing basket and carried the dress to the sofa. She flipped the garment inside out and snipped the threads on the side seams.
If only she could tell Martha the truth. That her marriage was a lie. She peeked over her shoulder at the woman she was quickly growing to love. Martha was kind and generous, opening her home and her heart to Sarah and the children. She’d never asked how Sarah had come to marry her grandson, but rather just seemed happy that she had.
Sarah heaved a sigh. Everything here was perfect. The home was rugged but had most everything they needed. Elke was a good cook, and they were getting used to eating all the German specialties the woman enjoyed making. Ryan had even started eating sauerkraut.
Quinn ran the ranch with expertise. He worked hard and was gone nearly all day. Most times they didn’t see him for the noon meal because he was out on the range tending the cattle. Now that Ryan was riding well, he often accompanied Quinn at least half of the day. The exhausted boy was little trouble and fell asleep most nights on top of his bed with his clothes still on.
The top of the trunk thunked as Martha closed it, and Sarah jumped, stabbing her finger with a pin. She sucked the blood off so that it wouldn’t stain the fabric. She stared at the cold fireplace that took up nearly the whole wall. The room held the scent of wood smoke and furniture wax, giving it a cozy, homey feel.
Martha ambled over and sat beside Sarah, holding the brown dress. She picked up the scissors lying on the couch between them and snipped the threads that secured the hem. “Is everything all right between you and Quinn? I mean, I’m sure you and he didn’t marry for love, since you’d never met before you were married, but are you happy here?”
“Oh yes. I love it here.” Sarah couldn’t tell the whole story, but that much was true. Life at her uncle’s shack had been a daily struggle to survive. She had to hunt for food because he said she owed him. Then she had to clean and cook the meat, if she was fortunate enough to even kill something.
“I’m glad. I’ll admit I was quite surprised when my grandson came home with you and the children, but you’ve been a delight and pulled me out of my grieving.”
Sarah laid her hand over Martha’s. “I’m sorry about your daughter. I wish I could have met her.”
“Parents shouldn’t outlive their children.” Martha rested her hands in her lap. “Things were very difficult when Quinn’s father died, and my grandson had to grow up overnight. He had a ranch to run, a grieving mother to help, and twin siblings who needed guidance. He’s a good man.”
Sarah nodded, thinking again how Quinn had been willing to marry her even though he didn’t know for sure if she was an outlaw. Not many men would have taken that risk. She’d always be grateful that he most likely saved her brother’s and sister’s lives.
“He used to go to church each Sunday, but after his pa died, it was as if something in him closed off. He didn’t want to feel anymore.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I want you to understand him. To know that he’s a good man who has endured a lot of pain and is afraid to open up. You, my dear, are the only person I think who can get him to do so.”
Sarah watched Martha return to her sewing. The older woman had no idea of the burden that she’d just dumped on Sarah. If her marriage to Quinn was a love-match, then maybe she could help him, but she was just a fake wife. One to keep his grandma from ordering another mail-order bride.
She thought of all she’d lost, and the pain of losing this home hit full force. How long would they be here? A few months? A few years?
Long enough for the children to get settled. Long enough that leaving here would cause them great disappointment.
I can’t think about that day, Lord. It takes more energy than I have. Help me to make things easier for Martha. Keep her healthy and happy, and show me how to make my husband fall in love with me.
Just how did a woman go about making that happen?
Ten
“You missed a spot.” Sarah pared the peeling off the potato in one long swirl.
“Where?” Beth turned a potato over in her hand, her palm effectively covering the last of the peeling.
Sarah lifted her sister’s thumb. “Right there. It’s hiding from you.”
Beth giggled and cut off the last spot.
Sarah leaned her head back against the rocker. Sitting on the porch watching the birds flittering on the railings or the men working a new horse in the corral helped pass the time while she did monotonous chores. A comfortable breeze tugged at her skirt and cooled her legs. Off to her left, two magpies bickered and flapped their wings.
Russet buttes surrounded the cozy valley, forming a natural shelter from the heavy winds that sometimes threatened to blow away anything not tied down. Clean sheets snapped on the line, absorbing the fresh scent created only by the sun and wind. The few trees in the area followed the creek line nearly a quarter of a mile away, offering shade to those willing to take the time to walk down there. Maybe she should take the children to play in the water one afternoon while the temperatures were warm.
Sarah sighed and picked up another potato. If only she could relax and enjoy the peaceful setting, but Quinn’s words still haunted her. She couldn’t let herself get attached to this place, no matter how comfortable it was. Homes were temporary. How many times had her parents moved before settling on the farm? Fire destroyed homes. People destroyed homes. As long as she and the children were together, that was where home was.
Sarah lifted her face to the breeze and sniffed. A hint of something filled the air, so unlike the stench of sugar beets. Sage, maybe.
A rider appeared at the top of the hill, following the trail she and Quinn had taken from town. She shaded her eyes as he drew closer. The roan horse moved into a trot, and Sarah’s heart lurched. Uncle Harlan owned a roan gelding. Had he found them already?
Ryan was safe out on the range somewhere with Quinn. She set three finished spuds in Beth’s bowl, her hand shaking so badly that she dropped one.
“I’ll get it.” Beth jumped up and set her smaller bowl in the rocker next to Sarah’s.
“Why don’t you go inside and wash that potato and give the finished ones to Elke so she can put them to soak. We don’t want them turning brown before we’re ready to use them.”
She glanced at the rider again and let out a relieved sigh. Now that the man was closer, she could tell he was too thin to be her uncle. Thank you, Lord.
He rode toward the house at a comfortable lope, looking too relaxed to be someone bringing trouble. He stopped his horse in front of her and tipped his hat, gazing at her with a curious, but friendly stare. Had he heard that Quinn had married a jailbird?
“Guten tag. I am Howard Heinrich. I am owner of the ranch south of here.”
Sarah nodded and smiled at his thick German accent, which sounded similar to Elke’s. “I’m Quinn’s wife, Sarah McFarland.”
The man gr
inned, revealing yellowed teeth. “I heard about you when I was in the town. Quite a story that is.”
Sarah narrowed her eyes, not sure what he wanted.
“I do not mean harm. I bring mail. Neighbors here do that for one another.” He reached behind him, pulled a small packet from his saddlebags, and thumbed through the letters. He handed three to Sarah.
“Would you like something to drink?” It was the least she could offer after his kindness.
“Danke, Frau McFarland, but I wish to get home before the dark.” He tipped his hat and clucked out the side of his mouth to his horse. He reached the top of the hill and disappeared down the other side before the dust settled on the trail.
Sarah glanced at the mail. Two letters were for Quinn and one for his grandmother. She found Martha in the kitchen, rolling buns for supper.
“You’ve got a letter.” Sarah held it while Martha wiped her hands on her apron.
“Mr. Heinrich must have stopped by.” She smiled and squinted then pushed her spectacles up her nose as she took the letter from Sarah. She slit the envelope with a knife and unfolded a single sheet of paper. “It’s from my husband’s brother.”
Sarah hoped the note brought good news but couldn’t help wondering how many more relatives the family had that she didn’t know about.
“John is coming for a visit and is bringing Tom and Florinda Phillips with him.” Martha laid the letter on the table next to a bowl of dough. “They come most every year to get away from the heat of the city. Of course, half the time it’s just as hot here as in Chicago.”
“When will they be arriving?” Sarah had barely gotten used to living on the Rocking M and now visitors were coming. Would they ask how she and Quinn met?
Martha glanced at the note again. “Oh, dear. They’ll be here next week. There’s so much to do.”
“The children and I will help get things ready.” Sarah patted Martha’s shoulder, happy to do whatever she could to help. She didn’t want her to stress over this sudden news and take to her bed, even though she hadn’t been in bed a single day since they’d arrived. Sarah suspected the illness Quinn had mentioned was actually Martha grieving over the loss of her daughter, and her Bismarck home and friends. Sarah remembered the three babes her mother had lost before Beth and Ryan had been born. After each loss, her mother had been downhearted and had barely eaten for a long while. Grieving was a process that men didn’t have the time or patience for and often didn’t understand. “Where should I put these letters for Quinn?”
“On his desk in the parlor. I need to make a list of everything we’ll have to do before John comes.” Martha stared off as if deep in thought. Sarah tapped the other two letters against her hand.
Beth walked through the mud room, lugging a bucket with two inches of water with Elke following close behind her. “Elke helped me get water, and I’m gonna wash the ’tatoes, Sissy.”
“That’s being a good helper.” Sarah smiled. Her sister probably had more water running down the front of her dress than in the bucket. She needed to make Beth an apron to protect her new dresses.
As Elke passed by, Sarah lightly touched her arm and leaned toward her. “Thank you for letting Beth help. I realize it makes more work for you.”
The shy, fair-haired woman with pale blue eyes kept her head down, but a soft smile graced her lips. “I like kinder, Frau McFarland. I was oldest of nine.”
“Nine?” Sarah regretted her impulsive response, but it didn’t seem to bother the quiet cook.
“Ja, we have big family.” Elke helped Beth onto a chair and then poured a small amount of water into a basin. Beth washed the potatoes and then dropped them into the bucket of water.
Sarah walked through the dining area and into the parlor, trying to imagine what it would be like to have been raised in such a large family. Maybe that was why Elke wasn’t married. The woman had to be in her early thirties. Maybe she liked children—as long as they weren’t hers.
She placed the letters on Quinn’s desk, noting the neatness of the few items arranged on it. The only thing even partly messy was an open book. She glanced down to see what her husband had been reading and wrinkled her nose at the chapter heading. “New Methods in Castrating Cattle.”
Martha followed her into the parlor and stared up at a family portrait on the wall. Sarah recognized the gangly adolescent as Quinn. A handsome man stood behind a blond woman sitting in a chair. Adam and Anna stood in front of their older brother. Anna’s light-colored hair matched Quinn’s and their mother’s, while Adam’s was dark like his father’s.
“Quinn’s father dreamed of owning a ranch where city folk could visit and find rest from the hectic life of the big towns. Ian received an inheritance from a wealthy uncle who lived in Ireland. He was the only heir and used the money to buy this ranch and to move his family here.” She looked down and fiddled with the hem of her apron. “I didn’t want them to leave Texas, but there been had a long drought. Times were tough, and there were still some problems with Indians sneaking across the Red River from Indian Territory and raiding ranches.”
Sarah lifted her brows. Had Martha ever battled Indians? Ever shot one to protect her family? She stared at the portrait, trying to see a resemblance between Martha and her daughter. “Ellen was very pretty.”
“Yes. She was a sweet woman who endured a hard life. Things up here weren’t much easier than they’d been in Texas.” She motioned toward the horsehair sofa and both women sat.
“You’re a McFarland now. I doubt Quinn will tell you about his family history, but you ought to know. His father built this wonderful home, and things were going well. They were building up their herd by selling off longhorns and purchasing hardy cattle that fared better in the colder winters we have. Then Ian died in a tragic accident.”
“What happened?” Sarah shivered as a vision of the fire seared her memory. She and her husband had suffered similar losses.
“He was returning from town with a wagon of supplies and a bad storm set in while he was gone. His wagon wheels slipped on the ice—we think—and the wagon went off a cliff. Thank the good Lord none of the children were with him.”
Sarah laid her hand over Martha’s. “I’m sorry.”
“It was a long time ago, but Quinn’s life changed that day. He went from being a fairly responsible adolescent who liked to hunt and fish to helping raise the twins and being in charge of the ranch. I think he’s always felt that he failed his father by not opening the ranch up to city folk, other than family and a few cattlemen who come occasionally. You can see why I’m hoping you and he will be very happy together. He desperately needs some happiness in his life.”
“I suppose that’s why this home has so many bedrooms.” Sarah wanted to encourage Martha, but she wouldn’t give her false hopes about her marriage.
Martha nodded. “Yes. We can put John and Mr. Phillips in that empty room with the two beds. I’m afraid we’ll need to move Beth into Ryan’s room as long as the company is here. Do you think that will be all right? They’re both still young enough to sleep together.”
“It will be fine. We all shared a—” She caught herself before saying mat. She didn’t want Martha to know they’d slept on buffalo skins on the hard floor of her uncle’s shack. She didn’t need the woman’s pity. “We slept together for a time after my parents died.”
“That will make things easier. We can put Florinda in Anna’s old room.”
“Florinda?”
Martha’s lips pulled into a tight grimace. “Yes, she’s Tom Phillips’s daughter and usually accompanies him when he comes to visit. He’s a well-known beef supplier and buys cattle from Quinn and then ships them to a Chicago slaughterhouse that he owns. Florinda has always been a bit. . .flighty. I think the only reason she comes is because of Qui—” Martha suddenly looked as if she’d swallowed a fly. “Well, never mind.”
Because of Quinn. That’s what she’d almost said. Sarah was certain of it. Did this Florinda have designs on Q
uinn? Sarah wondered why a city woman would want to visit such an isolated ranch. Surely she would be bored here, but then she must like it if she’d been here before. Or maybe she just liked Quinn. What would Florinda do when she learned he was now married?
The idea of another woman attracted to her handsome husband made Sarah’s stomach swirl as if she’d downed a glass of sour milk. Had Quinn been attracted to their guest? If so, why did he marry Sarah? Would she have to do battle to keep the husband who already wanted to be rid of her?
❧
“They’re coming! I see them.” Beth ran through the open front door, her braids flying behind her.
Ryan tugged at the collar of his new white shirt. “I don’t see why we have to wear our fancy clothes just ’cause company’s coming?” He fidgeted on the steps.
Sarah wished she’d been able to purchase new shoes for him and Beth, but at least Martha had insisted they draw an outline of the children’s feet, so Quinn could drop it off at the mercantile. Next time someone went into town, the new shoes, ordered from a cobbler in Dickinson, should be waiting.
Martha hurried through the parlor in the tan and gold church dress that Sarah had ironed for her the day before. The older woman, eager to see her husband’s younger brother, looked excited, even vibrant, and not a bit sick. Sarah mumbled a thank-you to God for that.
She smoothed down the front of her dress, glad that she was able to complete the dark blue calico before their guests arrived. Her hands trembled. She’d worked herself into a tizzy the past few days worrying about Florinda Phillips. So what if the woman had designs on Quinn? What could she do now that he was married?
Sarah took a deep breath. She knew she shouldn’t worry so. God had provided this home and family to care for them, and He would work out their future.
Beth bounced up and down, and Sarah rested her hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Settle down. Those folks aren’t coming to see us.” She couldn’t understand why Beth was so excited. Maybe it had to do with the cookies they would be serving once their guests had settled in.
Straight For The Heart Page 10
