“Virginia and I, we could use a day off, too, maybe even a couple of days to go visit some of the places that have teacher openings.”
What a thoughtful brother. Although he hated to admit it, Barden would not have thought Alvin harbored much interest in anyone beside himself, which was entirely normal for a boy that age. “Commendable.”
A strange smile tugged at Alvin’s lips. “Someone has to look after her.”
“Right you are. I’ll put in a good word for you.”
This time only unfettered glee lit Alvin’s face. How long had it been since any of the Tumblestons had left Turtle Springs for an outing? “Thanks.”
“At your service.” Barden made a whisking motion with his hand. “Now be off, so I can get ready.”
After Alvin left, Barden quickly dressed, stopped in at the kitchen for breakfast, tossed scraps to the two stray dogs in the alley, and washed up. Then he grabbed the coffee pot and carried it into the restaurant.
Barden caught Virginia’s eye. Hard to believe such a lovely young lady had already lost her beau. Back in England, they had heard about America’s warring upon itself, but he’d never imagined the toll in human lives it had taken. Truly shocking. Perhaps that was why she had such a great interest in the young soldier she stood near. “Why don’t you sit for a moment, Miss Tumbleston, while I pour for our guests?”
The private jumped to his feet and pulled out a chair beside him. Virginia blushed but sat, arranging her skirts around her.
Alvin lingered by Captain Mitchell and his officers, seated at the center table, plates piled high with food.
Caroline’s brother spoke with more animation than Barden had observed during the weeks prior, his broad hands punctuating his words. The officers nodded.
When Barden approached the table, they became silent. “Good day, gentlemen.”
“Mornin’, pardner.” Andrews chuckled. “Hear you’re going to be a ranch hand today.”
“I reckon I’ll try.” Barden’s attempt at a cowboy accent was dreadful.
Alvin rolled his eyes. “And I reckon I’ll get back to the kitchen.”
Andrews tapped his index finger on the oilcloth covered table. “We’ll speak with you later, young man.”
Alvin ducked his chin and headed off, his step rather bouncy as he went.
“Maybe we can help you out, too.” Lieutenant Andrews held up his mug for a refill of coffee.
How were they helping Alvin? It wasn’t his place to ask. “Oh how so?”
“We’re not cowboys.” Captain Mitchell chuckled. “But our sharpshooters can give you some training on firearms.”
Barden stifled a laugh. “Very kind of you. But unnecessary.”
“No, no, we insist.” Lieutenant Andrews shoved an entire biscuit into his mouth.
Captain Mitchell tugged on his now neatly trimmed moustache. “You’ve treated us so well.”
“Here’s a tip—try to keep your behind in the saddle, too, when you’re riding.” Andrews laughed, sending biscuit crumbs onto the napkin covering his blue uniform.
“We’d like to help you with at least one cowboy skill.” Mitchell was obviously used to having his commands obeyed.
“No use wasting your time.” Barden glanced around, making sure no one was within ear shot, and bent in to whisper. “I’m a crack shot.”
From their wild guffaws, they mustn’t believe him. He waited a moment.
“Good one!” Mitchell offered his cup to Barden for a refill. “An Englishman who cooks and obviously is accustomed to being a servant. We’ll be over in the green, if you’d like some target practice before you go.”
Hands shaking, Barden finished pouring coffee and then left the room, wishing he could punch something.
In the kitchen, Caroline packed a small basket with jars of lemonade and ham biscuits. “Mr. Woodson is bringing the wagon around. Do you mind heading out early?”
He set the pot where it could be refilled and rubbed his forehead.
“Are you all right, Barden?”
“I don’t know. But I am well, if that is what you mean.”
Her features tugged, as though she was working something out that perplexed her.
“Are all employers so thoughtful as you are, Mrs. Kane?”
Her mouth gaped open but then she closed it again. “You’re right. We did have an agreement. Six weeks.”
What that had to do with cordiality, he didn’t know. As those six weeks began to draw to an end, though, he couldn’t imagine how hard it would be to tell her he was returning to England. But without a paycheck from her yet, and no word from Father’s rancher friends, might he not be extending his stay? Unless he humbled himself and asked his father for the fare. “Well, I thank you for your thoughtfulness.”
Before long, they were on their way to the ranch. He drove the rig, with Caroline nestled beside him. She remained quiet until they were just outside of town. Overhead, thick clouds bunched up, and their dove-gray underbellies cautioned him that they might have rain.
“Did you live in the countryside in England?” Caroline bunched a lace-trimmed handkerchief in her lap.
“Yes, I did. There were vast swaths of fields and forests and farmland.”
“Sounds lovely.”
Not as lovely as she was.
“Why did you leave? Did something bad happen?”
“Oh no, certainly not.” But if he left America, something bad would happen to him—he’d be leaving Caroline behind.
“When you were living there, did you ever imagine what it would be like to be a mail-order groom?”
Barden began to laugh. What a notion! “Never!” Not that those men who’d just auditioned and found wives were to be mocked. He bit his tongue.
He took his eyes from the road to glance at her. Her face pinked up, making Caroline look even prettier, her lips inviting him to take his eyes fully from the road and kiss her. With that little copse of maple trees ahead, he could pull over to the side of the road, take her in his arms and …
“Barden?”
“Hmm?”
“But you did imagine that you would one day be married, didn’t you?”
“Oh yes, of course.” And to one of the feisty heroines in a Beadle’s novel. An American woman. At least he was finally admitting the truth of his fantasies. He’d mulled over the notion that he would marry whatever proper Englishwoman who’d accept life with the third son of a nobleman. He and his wife might, on occasion, be invited to visit Cheatham Hall. Some ladies might be satisfied with such an arrangement. And there was the one professor’s daughter who’d told him plainly that if his brothers both died and produced no heirs, then Barden would inherit and she’d be interested in being courted. His face flushed at the recollection. How a properly brought up young woman, the daughter of a religion professor, could make so light of his brothers’ lives had repulsed him. He’d never spoken with her again.
Caroline sighed. “Marriage wasn’t quite like I thought it would be.”
He slowed the pair of bays as they crossed a deep rut. Caroline clutched the side of the seat.
As they emerged from the depression in the road, she sighed. “I’d known Frank all my life, but I didn’t really know him—if that makes any sense.”
With regret, Barden contemplated his valet, Sinclair, who’d asked to come with him to America. Barden had been so taken aback. Perhaps he should have known that the man, whom he’d known all his life, and who’d fed his interest in American fiction, albeit of a questionable quality, would want to go to America. “I know I let someone down, who I’d known since I was a child. I truly hadn’t known his wishes. And I wasn’t in a position to fulfill them.” Perhaps if he’d been more thoughtful, more considerate of other’s needs, then perchance he’d have realized and could have better planned.
“Frank didn’t get the chance to fulfill any of his wishes. He wanted to go off and fight in the war, but he died of a terrible fever before he could enlist.”
“But he had ma
rried you. That wish was met. God gave him that.”
Soft sobs were accompanied by sniffs. He wanted to pull over and wrap his arms around her and comfort Caroline.
“God … has taken my mother, my husband …” She hiccupped. “Then He took Pa.”
Barden exhaled a big puff of air. “I don’t know why that happened, Caroline. But I do know that regardless, He loves you. He loved them.”
“Doesn’t … feel like it.”
Barden passed the reins into one hand and pulled his handkerchief out from his vest pocket and pressed it into her hands. “I believe God knows all things. He loves us all. We are in a war with darkness. God knows the devil’s plans. He’ll take us to the heavenly realms when our life on earth no longer is the place for us to be. We’re here but an infinitesimal time, compared to His eternity. We have to trust that God knows why and when we must join Him in glory.”
Caroline sniffed then gently blew her nose. “My father used to read us a passage that talked about God sparing us further difficulties that we couldn’t bear up under.”
“Yes, I believe that’s in Isaiah.”
Drawing in a shuddering breath, Caroline met his eyes. “I guess I just thought once Mama died, that I’d already done without enough.”
Throwing all caution aside, Barden wrapped an arm around her and pulled her closer, kissing the top of her head. “I’m sorry you’ve gone through this, Caroline. I truly am. And I pray that the Lord will bless the rest of your life in abundance.”
He was surprised when she didn’t resist but leaned toward him, as though this was the most natural thing in the world.
And it surely felt like it was. He could hold her like this forever, drawing in the sweet scent of lemon soap mixed with vanilla and sugar. Barden couldn’t help smiling. This rush of emotions, of wanting to protect her, yet at the same time wanting to kiss her silly had his senses roiling. Could he bring her back with him to the parish? Was there some way they could be together?
Pulling away from him, and looking up with wide eyes, Caroline exhaled a loud breath. “I think we best continue on.”
“At your service.” Barden kept Caroline close by his side, not wanting to release her, until he needed the use of both hands to steer the horses toward the turn to the Martinchek ranch.
When they got there, Joel jogged out from the barn to greet them. He assisted Caroline down and she rewarded him with a peck on his cheek.
He waved for one of the men to move the wagon. “Water the horses, too, while you’re at it.”
“Yes, sir!” The blond man saluted Martinchek then turned and winked at the rancher’s wife, who had joined Caroline.
When Mrs. Martinchek scowled at the ranch hand, Barden felt a check in his spirit.
Caroline muttered under her breath, “Scotty better watch himself.”
So she sensed it, too.
Barden jumped down onto the hard-packed earth and handed off the reins to the cocky cowboy, who wasn’t quite as tall as him, but with a thick neck and muscles bulging his plaid cotton shirt.
Barden, wearing his only clean pair of trousers, a vest, and a broadcloth shirt probably didn’t look as out of place on the ranch as he felt. But standing next to this ranch hand, he felt the fraud he was. Had he arrived in his clerical attire, or even in his casual clothing from home, he’d have appeared as foreign as he felt. But would he not, then, have been genuine?
Scotty directed the horses to pull the wagon to the side of the barn.
Beyond him, in fenced pastures that extended for acres, cattle munched on grass. In the barn loft, a ranch hand forked hay down below while others, outside, hauled buckets full of water to the troughs. Barden inhaled the fresh scent of the hay, longing to run and join them. This was the sole reason for his jaunt across the ocean. But at every turn he’d been frustrated. Why, Lord? And what had happened with Caroline back there? Something between them had shifted, had deepened into a friendship he didn’t want to abandon. But he’d spent a lifetime awaiting this chance.
If he couldn’t find a cowboy experience in Turtle Springs, perhaps his godfather or his father’s friends, who ranched in a small cow town many hours south, would finally reply to his telegram. Perhaps before he left, he’d visit there, despite his father’s wrath, which would surely be invoked if he ever heard.
Several massive dogs burst from the barn and headed straight at the wagon. Joel whistled, but the dogs ignored their master. Barden stepped between Caroline and the animals as he assessed the situation. The oncoming dogs ranged from a yipping beagle to a wolfhound who might weigh more than Barden did.
“Jojo, stop!” Still the rancher’s command had no effect.
When Barden perceived all three wagging their tails, he rummaged in his vest pocket for one of the treats he offered the stray dogs back at the inn. All three stopped and sat at his feet, reminding him so much of a hound pack after a hunt. After rubbing each of their heads, Barden divvied up the hard biscuit amongst the trio.
“Well played, old chap.” Martinchek’s attempt at a British accent was almost as dreadful as Barden’s fake drawl. “I hear you’ve adopted several of Turtle Springs’ strays.”
“Even the least of God’s creatures deserves some care.”
“As one of the church deacons, I’d agree.” The rancher jerked his thumb toward the hands, several sitting atop a fence rail. “Just don’t be speaking too much of that around them. I don’t like them thinking about what happens to all those cattle we drive to auction.”
“I understand. And, Deacon Martinchek, I’m continuing to pray for the pastor.” Especially since the inn’s gossip was circulating that Reverend Smith might be retiring after he’d suffered his recent injury. At home, they’d send a supply minister if the vicar was ill or must travel. But apparently not in this part of America.
Joel looped his thumbs into his waistband. “The boys have been wanting to have a little fun. Do a shooting match. Are you up to it?”
Between the army officers and now this rancher, men were pushing for him to prove his mettle with a gun. Granted, such a skill was necessary with the number of rustlers around.
“I’d welcome the opportunity.” If given the proper equipment.
“Well then, let’s get our crew out here.”
Caroline and Lorraine stood behind the row of men. “I can’t believe Joel would allow Barden to humiliate himself like this.”
“He wouldn’t.” Her sister patted the side of her flaxen hair, upswept, with a dozen ringlets dangling from her neck.
“What do you mean?”
“I trust my husband. He’s not that kind of man. I think he knows exactly what he’s doing.”
Had her sister gone plum loco over her husband? Lorraine certainly wanted to be alone with Joel. She’d had Caroline and their siblings out to the ranch only a handful of times since the wedding. From the corner of her eye, Caroline watched Lorraine surreptitiously pull at the waistband of her robin’s-egg blue skirt.
“Joel is the best rancher in these parts.” Too bad he couldn’t see what a dolt Scotty was.
“Do you even know what Barden did before he came to Turtle Springs?”
“He worked at Mary’s place for a while.”
“She sent me a letter. Someone has been looking for Barden. A big man. English, and older, but she wrote that he had meaty fists like a boxer.”
Uziah Freeman had boxed for a while to earn his living before they’d bought the restaurant.
“You still have Pa’s rifle in the kitchen, don’t you?”
Caroline’s heartbeat hammered in her chest as the men loaded their guns.
Lorraine removed a small pistol from her skirt pocket and handed it to Caroline. “Some of the men who’ve come to town have turned out to be criminals.”
“Not Barden. If anything, he sounds more like a …”
“A what?” Lorraine’s lips turned downward in irritation.
“A preacher.”
Her sister laughed. “A
fine looking man like that? I think not.”
Joel took aim at a line of cans and began to fire. Caroline flinched as her brother-in-law shot repeatedly, knocking over three of the seven cans.
“Gotta do better’n that, boss!” Scotty ambled across the yard and set up more cans.
When he returned, he shoved his broad hand through hair that matched Lorraine’s color, and he winked up at her. “Watch this ladies!”
Didn’t Joel even care how the man acted toward his wife?
Five of the seven cans went down.
When Scotty laughed and began to jog toward the hay bales, Barden called out. “I say, old chap, have you got something smaller?”
Lorraine frowned. “Smaller?”
Barden glanced in her direction. “Some small potatoes, perhaps?”
“What?” Caroline cocked her head.
Within minutes, Lorraine had retrieved potatoes from the root cellar and Scotty had set them up, mocking Barden as he placed them on the haystacks.
Both Caroline and Lorraine sat on the edge of the wooden bench as Barden began to fire.
Every tiny potato had been struck.
Joel strafed his hand along his neck. “Maybe our mayor should have hired you for sheriff.”
“Sheriff Ingram got here first,” Lorraine called out.
She turned to Caroline. “You better find out more about him and what he’s up to.”
Yes, she had better.
“I think you’d make a right fine cowboy, and if Caroline ever cuts you loose from the Tumble Inn, you’d be welcome over here, Granville!” Joel clapped Barden’s shoulder.
“Splendid!”
“As long as you can ride like you shoot.”
Chapter 7
The kitchen gleamed, all the supper dishes had been put away, and the Tumbleston siblings had gone to the Town Green to listen to some of the soldiers play banjo and some of the other instruments they had.
Barden wiped his hands on one of the towels and rehung it from its wooden bar. “I’m heading out, Mae.” Not to listen to the delightful American music be played, but to practice a Western style of riding.
The older woman reached for the bottle of Dr. Williams’s Best Liniment, one the Granville’s butler swore by. “I think this is helping me. Thank you for having the mercantile order it.”
Seven Brides for Seven Mail-Order Husbands Romance Collection Page 43
