Seven Brides for Seven Mail-Order Husbands Romance Collection

by Davis, Susan Page; Dietze, Susanne; Franklin, Darlene

  Once again Debbie prayed Zack was the right one for her.

  When he rejoined them, as comfortable on horseback as a Kansas cowboy, she couldn’t hold back a smile. Oh my, he embodied everything she’d dreamed of. He resembled a war-weary knight returning from battle to protect his family and his castle. A proven leader, one ready to confront whatever challenges lay within his realm. His saddlebags and blanket roll held everything he’d need to confront and conquer his enemies.

  Once again she felt certain she’d picked the right man. She said a quick prayer before urging her horse to step forward. “Are you ready to get your first look at the Barker Family Homestead?”

  Silence reigned during the trip from Turtle Springs to the homestead. Zack scanned the area they passed through. The land was as different from his Connecticut home as he’d expected—hoped, even. After the war had turned his life upside down, he wanted a place to make a new life for himself.

  So far he saw farm country. Small buildings indicated the transition from prairie to acres plowed under and animals straining against their yokes to plant the year’s crops.

  Zack had hoped to see miles of grassland, as endless as the ocean with the wind blowing through its waves. The Flint Hills got in the way. Hills rose and fell wherever he looked. In between farms and up the hills and filling the valleys, he glimpsed grass tall enough for a horse to pass through unnoticed. He hoped that meant rich farmland.

  Debbie noticed his interest. “I could tell you the names of most of the families along this road, but I thought that would be overwhelming.”

  “You can entertain me later with their names and stories. Were any of them involved in the audition today?”

  “Yes.” Debbie’s pretty pink cheeks looked nice with her golden hair. “The lady seated to my right, Alanna Radle. She chose Sidney Anderson.” She glanced over her shoulder. “I believe they’re about half a mile behind us. We’re coming up on their farm.”

  The Radle homestead marked the end of the farms clustered close together near the town. After that, the distance between the homes grew and the smaller the cultivated plots became.

  The abundance of flint Zack saw glittering in the mountains—the reason Zebulon Pike had dubbed the region the Flint Hills in his journal on his journey west—interested him as a mechanic and inventor of practical machinery for agriculture. Zack squelched the thoughts. From today on, Zack Gage was a good ol’ farm boy. And he’d learn to like it.

  When the Barkers shifted in their seats, Zack looked around for the home they would share. Only a thin path led between the blowing grass; he didn’t see any buildings at all.

  After a few minutes, they arrived at the most basic of homesteads Zack had seen so far. Housing for humans—a small dirt soddy, probably one compact room. Housing for animals—the same, across a small patch of cleared land. A trodden path allowed them to access the nearby river. In the distance, he saw evidence of a field being prepared for planting. A rope fence indicated the extent to which Mr. Barker—Charles—hoped to finish plowing. He hadn’t even reached the halfway point yet.

  Debbie pulled her lips over her teeth before forcing a smile on her face. “Welcome home, Zack. It’s actually quite nice inside. Just a little snug.” She held her hat in front of her, at her waist, expecting—what?

  “It’s fine. Impressive. You told me you arrived late last fall. You’ve come a long way in a short time.” He hesitated. “If accommodations inside are crowded, I’d be happy to sleep outside. I even have a tent, if it rains.”

  Debbie opened her arms wide and gestured around her. “I know it’s not much. But after your years of service to the Union, I hate for you to sleep on the ground. Why don’t you check our setup and then decide?”

  After such a heartfelt invitation, Zack would sleep inside, whatever the condition. She took him by the hand and through the door. A reminder of their old home greeted them as soon as they entered, a small framed watercolor of a boat on the Atlantic on a sunny day.

  Although Zack was of average height, the ceiling only cleared his head by six inches. Every inch was neat and organized. Blocks of soil accomplished what rough logs had for the colonists in New England, creating a single rectangular room. The furniture was rough but functional. Mattresses were rolled and stacked in the corner.

  In spite of his promise, Zack would prefer to sleep under the open sky. Solitude would allow him to wrestle with the situations that had brought him to Kansas. He didn’t know how well he would sleep, resting only a few feet away from one of the prettiest creatures he’d ever laid eyes on. During the long hours of the night, his thoughts might stray where a Christian’s shouldn’t go before marriage. But he had promised.

  “You’ve organized so well.” His voice sounded hoarse, and he took a drink from his canteen. “This will work.” He nodded to Mrs. Barker—Kathleen. “I love the picture of the ocean.”

  She pointed to Debbie, who had raised her right hand. “Guilty. We brought that one painting with us.” Tears glistened in her eyes. “When I look at this picture, I ask God to help me see the Flint Hills differently. The hills remind me a little of the Appalachians, but I miss the ocean.”

  “And not a maple tree in sight.”

  Debbie laughed out loud. “I wish I had pressed a perfect red leaf to carry with us. But it wouldn’t have survived the journey.”

  What could he say? “I traveled long distances in the Army. I learned one thing better than everything else: wherever we are, God is there—and He doesn’t change.”

  She nodded in appreciation. “Amen. And now I’d better help Mama prepare supper. She wants to make your first meal with us memorable.” She chuckled. “Another time we’ll prepare baked beans New England style. We weren’t expecting a fellow New Englander.”

  “That sounds good.” He rubbed his hands together. “Where can I find your father?”

  “Taking care of chores.”

  “Then I’ll join him until you sound the dinner bell.” His saddlebags could stay on the wagon bed for a little while longer. He wasn’t sure where they would fit in the soddy.

  They might be glad he didn’t own many possessions. Where would they put them? The Barker homestead was such a blank slate, it certainly provided the new beginning he wanted.

  With a spring in his step, Zack looked around until he found the spot where Mr. Barker—Charles—was currying the horses after their trip to town. He’d already tied down the wagon under a tarp, safe and snug.

  “What can I do to help? The ladies are busy with dinner.”

  Charles chuckled. “I stay outside as long as I can. Not enough room for a man to turn around inside that place.” He sighed. “I’m sorry I don’t have a better home to offer you.”

  “I’m not afraid of hard work.” Zack grabbed a curry comb and started on the second horse.

  The homestead did lack one thing, what he hungered for more than anything else. Beauty. Whatever is lovely, think on these things.

  If there was loveliness to be found on the Barker homestead, God would have to lead him to it.

  Debbie’s head appeared in the doorway. Then again, God had already showed him the greatest beauty of all. Now to discover more details of God’s gracious creation.

  Chapter 3

  They did extra wash on Saturday. Debbie peeked into Zack’s personal belongings. He couldn’t have worn these in the war. They would have been more worn out. He also didn’t have his army uniform. Was he ashamed of something that happened during the war? No. She shook her head. More likely, he wanted to forget about it.

  His clothes were of good quality, but not suitable for farming. The next time they went to the mercantile, she would buy material to make him something suitable. She studied him in the distance, imagining him in his new clothes.

  Mama saw her looking at Zack. “It’s kind of nice to have them where we can see them, isn’t it?”

  Unlike during the war when families didn’t hear from fathers and husbands, brothers and sons for
months at a time.

  Debbie nodded. “I was thinking of making him farm clothes.” She held her breath, waiting for Mama’s reaction.

  Mama shook her head. “Not yet. He might feel beholden to you.”

  Mama was right, as usual. “I want to do something for him. To thank him for—”

  “Auditioning?” Mama smiled. “He’s here. You chose him, and he accepted. That’s the best thank you of all, in my opinion.” She shook her head. “I never heard of such a thing, but we’ve never lost so many young men like the war took from us.”

  Mama stared at Zack as if she were imagining her son Robert. They were of a similar height, the same ease of standing, but there the similarities ended.

  Mama and Papa wanted the son they had lost. Debbie wanted love, a family of her own—the ordinary life every schoolgirl dreamed of until the Confederacy fired upon Appomattox.

  Zack appeared to swing his arms with ease, as if he knew everything about breaking up sod, and tossed it on the waiting wagon.

  “Stop staring at Zack so we can finish hanging the wash,” Mama said.

  “Let’s change sides, then.”

  Mama looked at her as if she were a crazy fool but they switched places. With Debbie’s back to the field, her fingers flew to the clothespins and she hung the clothes straight to avoid extra ironing. At her height, she blocked Ma’s view of the field as well. “From what I could see, they made great progress this morning. We’re gathering enough sod to add an extra room if we want to.” A pleading note crept into Debbie’s voice. She might not miss the vast ocean so badly if she could see more than the tiny soddy threatening to close in on her.

  “That’s a girl. Keep working hard, and maybe you’ll wear yourself out enough to sleep tonight.” Mama said in a singsong voice.

  At least the sheet between them prevented Mama from seeing the heat in Debbie’s cheeks. So Mama had noticed her sleeplessness. With Zack so close, so real, she struggled to keep her eyes closed at night.

  Her presence didn’t seem to trouble him. His snores alone might have kept her awake even if she’d been able to still her wandering heart.

  Silence fell between them. Papa and Zack worked well together, but did they get along? Could they imagine living side by side, here in Kansas? She wished she could eavesdrop on their conversation. If only she could shrink small enough to ride on a bird’s back and listen to them talk.

  An unexpected sound reached across the fields, and she strained her ears to listen. “They’re singing hymns.” As quickly as it started, the music ended.

  Too soon, Debbie and her mother finished hanging the laundry and headed inside to fix the meal. She rang the cowbell and waited for the man of her prayers and dreams to come home. Her hands covered her heart, as if she could protect herself from falling in love with a man who might still choose to leave.

  His smile widened when he noticed her, and she relaxed. So far, he had chosen to stay, in spite of working so hard.

  Mama dished out food, which the men devoured in a few bites. Zack answered Debbie’s questions with single words, and neither one said much before they finished.

  When Debbie spied Zack at the pump, she ran out to him with a towel. His angry red hands brought her to a halt. “Oh no.”

  “It’s nothing.” He grinned as if they didn’t hurt. “They’ll toughen up. I’ll wear gloves this afternoon. Don’t know what I was thinking this morning.”

  “Let me get some bag balm for your hands.”

  He left before she reached the door. “Tonight.” He joined Papa and they headed for the field.

  At least he pulled gloves over his hands.

  Debbie marched into the soddy, wanting to hit something. Instead, she pounded hard on the sod. “I didn’t expect Papa to work him so hard. If he keeps this up, Zack might decide he’d get better treatment somewhere else.”

  “Oh, Debbie.” Mama pulled her close. “He’s not working any harder than your father.”

  “Maybe not.” Debbie had hoped having two men working the farm would help Papa slow down. Maybe in time. She hurried through her afternoon chores. If she couldn’t get them to slow down, maybe she could work by their side.

  What were they going to do with all the sod they had removed today?

  Build a house for when Zack married Debbie—if they wed?

  Charles hadn’t told Zack his plans for the extra sod.

  When Debbie wanted to tend to his hands after lunch, Zack called on all his willpower to follow Charles. His hands hurt. Cleaning out the ground-in dirt had sent firebolts raging up his arms, but leaving it ground in could have created problems later. The gloves that had seen him through four years of war should suffice until the sun went down.

  Charles seemed oblivious to Zack’s discomfort. “If we finish our plot today, tomorrow we can start preparing the land for planting.” They were about two-thirds of the way down the roped-in area. His shoulders sagged. “Maybe tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow would be tremendous progress.” Zack closed his eyes and called on God’s strength to keep going. He lifted his arms high overhead. What did God tell Adam? He would earn his food by the sweat of his brow? Thanks, Adam. Wonder what his workweek was like before the fall? Pruning a few branches every now and then?

  Since Charles wasn’t talking much, Zack asked questions. Singing hymns this morning had brought them together, dreaming of the day they’d be “bringing in the sheaves.”

  “What made you decide on Kansas? It’s a long way from Maine.” Zack kept working. Charles might scold him if he slowed down.

  Charles broke his rhythm while he considered the question. “When my son didn’t come back from the war, I wanted to start over.” His mouth pulled into an expression as much grimace as smile. “And I wanted something as different from Maine as possible.”

  “So, no ocean. Not California or Oregon or Washington.”

  Barker shook his head.

  “You could’ve headed for the desert. I hear it’s high and dry in places like Arizona and New Mexico.”

  Barker looked shocked. “But how could I farm there?”

  Okay, Charles was a farmer at heart. He wanted to farm wherever he went.

  Zack placed the latest block of sod in the wagon. The bed groaned. He could fix the wheel if necessary, but he hoped his hands would heal before he had to prove his mechanical skills. “These Flint Hills remind me a little of the Taconic Mountains in Connecticut.”

  Charles grunted. “We got misdirected along the way. I think it’s flatter when you get farther north. Or south. But when we reached Turtle Springs, we liked the people and decided we’d stay put.”

  “Seems like a nice spot. The people I’ve met so far are fine Christian folk,” Zack said.

  “Glad to hear you say that. Guess fighting in the war, you’ve gotten more used to the thought God is everywhere.” Charles chuckled. “What a thing to say. What did God have to do with that terrible conflict?”

  There was no good answer to that question. They fell back to working in silence. Didn’t Charles have any questions for the man who might marry his daughter?

  Although it had only been one day, so far Zack felt more like a hired hand than a guest. Rather, make that a soldier obeying the orders of his commanding officer. His lips twisted as he finished digging out yet another square of sod. How open would Charles be to suggestions? Zack could think of other uses for this land than farming. Would he be willing to listen? After the first crop came in, maybe. Zack had known he was playing for the long haul before he arrived.

  When Zack felt like he couldn’t break the crust of top soil one more time, he saw a mirage of Debbie walking through the meadow in his direction. Wind caught her slate-blue skirt, rounding it as fashionably as any hoop. Her delicate beauty could preside in the salons of high society, but she also possessed the strength to survive New England’s harsh winters.

  It was Debbie in the flesh, of course. The war had made women like Debbie stronger, not weaker. Every sinew
, nerve, and lovely curve filled with purpose.

  Charles’s eyes narrowed, as if he were ready to speak.

  Zack shook himself. Stop daydreaming and finish the slice, he commanded himself. His cut was sloppy. If it went in a house, they’d need twice as much mud daub to cover the cracks. Maybe a peace branch was in order. “You can’t blame a man for looking. You’ve raised a beautiful daughter, sir, both inside and out.”

  “Is that so?” Debbie’s voice carried across the grass.

  Zack threw his scythe wide again. The piece ended up looking like some geometrical shape.

  The corners of Mr. Barker’s mouth twitched. “You’ll do better on the next one.”

  Zack doubted that, not as long as Debbie was around to distract him.

  “I wasn’t expecting to see you. Did Mama offer to finish the laundry by herself?”

  Debbie shrugged, unconcerned about her father’s gruff tone, as if used to it. “We finished early. The sunshine and a stiff breeze beat all the dampness out of the clothes in no time at all. Besides”—she tilted her head back so Zack could see her eyes, the color of the sky—“it’s later than you think. I thought you’d like a drink before you dried up like apples for pie.”

  “Water.” Zack’s throat constricted. “I’d like some.”

  Debbie had walked across the field under the broiling soil, carrying a heavy pail—just for him. The haze of late afternoon light bathed her in sunshine like the angel she was.

  Chapter 4

  Debbie tapped her toes, thankful they didn’t make a sound on the dirt floor. Papa wouldn’t like it. Quiet, that’s what he craved. No idle chatter beyond “please pass the potatoes” marred their evening meals.

  Zack didn’t speak either. Was he taciturn, like Papa? Maybe he was just tired. He did compliment Mama on her cooking.

  “Debbie cooked most of it.”