The Kissing Tree

by Bice, Prudence

  “Again, I must thank you, Mr. Carson, for rescuing me from a most precarious and possibly dire circumstance. Further, I apologize for any trouble or delay I might have caused you.” She nodded her head and added, “Good day to you.”

  Turning away from him, she gathered her belongings and walked toward her grandfather’s wagon in a stately manner, with poise and grace. She had to at least try to somewhat repair the damage to her genteel image. It was a bit more difficult managing to maintain her poised perfection while climbing up into the wagon seat without anyone’s help. She hadn’t ridden in a wagon in five years. Her hand slipped, and she almost tumbled to the ground before she caught herself. She glanced back to see if anyone had been watching. Her grandfather and Ridge appeared to be deep in conversation while the stagecoach driver unbound the ropes that had held her trunk secure.

  Georgiana sat down on the seat, relieved she hadn’t been seen. Straightening her back, she sat up tall and looked directly ahead as she waited. Even when she heard her trunk being loaded into the rear of the wagon and afterward grandfather thanking Ridge, she did not glance behind her. A minute later, Grandad seated himself next to her and headed in the direction of home.

  At first they rode in silence, her grandfather sensing she was still upset. It wasn’t long, though, before he began to whistle. Right away, she felt her mood lighten and found herself smiling as she recognized some of the old Irish tunes.

  Her grandfather had taught her how to whistle when she was only four years old. She recalled how delighted and proud he had been at her catching on so fast. With that thought in mind, Georgiana joined him as he started on another tune. The rest of the trip home was spent whistling one song after another. By the time they pulled up to the house, her lips were sore.

  Her grandfather smiled at her genuinely as he came around to help her down from the wagon. “ ’Tis good to be havin’ ye home again, darlin’.”

  “It’s good to be home, Grandad,” she said, taking his offered hand.

  After helping her down, he put his arm around her, and she leaned her head on his shoulder as they walked toward the house. Someone had kept the fire going, so even from the outside, the house appeared warm and inviting.

  Immediately upon entering the parlor, a rush of feelings nearly overcame Georgiana, and she stepped away from her grandfather. Hers eyes went to the Irish lace curtains that adorned the windows. They then moved to the mantle over the fireplace. There, upon heavily starched, handmade doilies, were scattered photographs, along with mementos and figurines her grandmother had brought over from the Old Country. Homemade quilts, some she supposed she may have put a childish stitch or two in herself, were draped over the couch and the worn, comfortable-looking parlor chairs.

  Home, she thought. I am truly home.

  Georgiana walked over to one of the chairs, the one her grandmother had always occupied when the family would gather in the parlor on cold evenings to talk and play together while warming themselves by a fire in the great stone hearth. Absentmindedly, she ran her hand back and forth over the Irish rose pattern of the quilt and greedily breathed in the memories, looking around the room.

  In a corner sat a small table upon which lay her father’s old chess set. The pieces were posed as if someone was still in the middle of a game and had merely stood up and walked away briefly. The only sign that a significant amount of time had passed was the thick layer of dust that had settled on the marble figurines and board. Her father had been teaching her to play before he had been killed. She wondered if the game had been sitting that way since he died. They had lived in the house nearly a year after they had lost him. She suspected her mother would have insisted it not be touched. Grandad and Nana must have decided to leave it that way after they’d left.

  Sighing, she walked over to the mantle and picked up a family photograph that had been taken a year before her father’s death. They all looked so happy. She ran her finger along the faces in the glass. She remembered that day when the traveling photographer had come to town. Her mother had been overjoyed and insistent about needing a family photo done. Her father hadn’t shared her mother’s sentiment. Yet he had willingly dressed in his Sunday best and drove them into town. Drawing her finger back over her father’s face, she chuckled softly. She recalled the argument he had gotten in with the photographer. Father wanted his arm around their mother’s shoulder for the photograph, but the photographer insisted everyone’s hands be neatly folded in their lap. They were told they had to remain very still while the photograph was being taken or it wouldn’t turn out. Three times Father had moved and put his arm around Mother before the exposure was finished, ruining the picture each time. Finally, the frustrated little man had given up and taken the picture the way Father wanted. Georgiana was glad. The photograph was evidence of how much her father had adored her mother. She could only hope the man she married would adore her half as much.

  Georgiana lovingly placed the old photograph back on the mantle and turned to gaze contentedly about the room once more. Home, she thought again. She couldn’t think it enough. Though the furniture was perhaps old and worn, the decorations out-dated and unfashionable, the room emitted a feeling of welcoming, of belonging. It was as if while standing there she was being wrapped in a soft, loving embrace.

  Everything was so different from the parlor in her aunt’s home in New York, with its brocaded draperies, mohair settee, and Queen Ann chairs, stuffed hard and uncomfortable with horse hair. It was fashionable, to be sure . . . fashionable and sterile!

  Georgiana sighed deeply once again. It had taken so long for her to return, but finally here she stood. Closing her eyes, she wrapped her arms around herself and breathed slowly in and out, allowing the feeling of contentment to wash over her in waves.

  Grandfather cleared his throat softly, breaking her from her reverie.

  “Are ye wantin’ a bite to eat before ya turn in?” he asked thoughtfully. She was too tired to eat and too full of both memories and regrets, so she shook her head no, her eyes still closed. “Would ya like me to bring yar trunk in fer ya then?” he added as he walked to stand beside her.

  “Don’t trouble yourself, Grandad. I’ll make do for tonight,” she answered wearily, opening her eyes and leaning forward to kiss him on the cheek. “Thank you for picking me up from town.” She brought her hand in front of her mouth to hide a yawn. “It was a long trip, and I fear I’m quite fatigued,” she added, slightly embarrassed.

  “Awk! Don’t ye worry yar pretty little head, now. A good night’s sleep and plenty of this blessed Colorado air will have ye as right as rain in no time at all.” His eyes were alight as he looked at her.

  She suspected he was right. Some sleep and a little time and her heart was sure to settle. “Good night then, Grandad.” She gave him another kiss.

  “Good night, Georgie,” he answered, “and sweet dreams ye be havin’. I’ll expect nothin’ less.” He grinned and winked before she turned and went to her room.

  2. Temper, Temper

  As the morning sun filtered through the Irish lace on her windows, Georgiana rubbed the sleep from her eyes and sat up on the edge of her bed. The blankets fell from her shoulders, and the chilling morning air assaulted her bare skin. Her muscles were tender and sore from the stagecoach ride, so she rubbed them and her lower back a moment to relieve the aches.

  Georgiana had slept soundly once she had fallen asleep. At first, her mind had been kept awake with thoughts of Ridge Carson. She hadn’t expected to see him so soon after arriving, though she had often wondered what had become of him. She’d presumed he still lived nearby her grandparents because every so often Nana would mention the Carson family in one of her letters, even mentioning Ridge specifically a time or two. She hadn’t realized he lived so close, and then Grandfather informed her on their ride home last night that Ridge was his foreman. That meant he most likely lived on their ranch, and she would be seeing him every day.

  Rubbing her arms to warm them, Geo
rgiana briefly considered the bothersome goose bumps he had caused when he’d held her the day before. She would need to keep her distance until she could sort through the confusing emotions he had stirred within her.

  Annoyed at herself, Georgiana stood up and walked to her vanity. Withdrawing a brush from the small valise she had brought for the journey, she sat down and began vigorously brushing out her hair. She wasn’t going to waste any more time thinking of him. There was a copious amount of work to be done. Even in the dimness of the firelight last evening, she could see evidence of neglect brought about by her grandmother’s passing. She wasn’t going to fritter away any more time pondering her old school friend. Besides, he was probably married or at least courting some girl by now.

  Georgiana laid her brush down and pinned her hair into a loose bun with some frustration, still contemplating Ridge. They had been close once, but that had been long ago. Still, the idea of him married or even engaged unsettled her slightly. What girl might have finally caught his eye, she curiously wondered, trying to recall some of the girls they’d gone to school with. Many had doted on Ridge. She endeavored now to picture one of them grown up and snuggled in his arms. Instead, her mind kept going back to a picture of herself in his arms. How alive her senses seemed to come at his mere touch!

  “You’re acting like a silly girl!” Georgiana reprimanded herself. She paused to scrutinize her reflection in the mirror. She couldn’t imagine why she was allowing the man to so thoroughly dominate her thoughts. It was a stupid schoolgirl crush, a simple naiveté, and it had been years since she’d swooned at the prospect of one day being his girl. Besides, she had many suitors vying for her attentions back in New York, aside from Dawson. She had only to show just an inkling of interest and they would throng around her. In fact, many of her peers thought it a game to see how many men they could keep dangling at one time. Yet, although it was flattering, Georgiana did not want to unfairly garner their attentions. She didn’t believe in giving false hope to any man or flirting unabashedly in public. She felt it cruel to trifle with the feelings of another. That was why she wouldn’t commit to Dawson without being completely sure of her heart.

  Looking around the once familiar room, Georgiana noticed her trunk sitting on the far wall. Excitedly, she walked over to it. Her grandfather must have brought it in this morning while she slept. Relieved she would not have to don her dusty riding outfit again, she opened it in earnest.

  Having never done any long distance traveling, with the exception of her trip to live with their aunt when she was thirteen, Georgiana was shocked to see the condition of her clothing. Wishing now she had indeed allowed her grandfather to bring her things in the night before, she frowned slightly. If she could have hung up a few articles of clothing last night, some of the wrinkles at least would certainly have been loosened.

  Well, there was nothing she could do about it now. Pulling a pale yellow dress out, she shook it several times in hopes of making it more presentable. There wasn’t much change in its condition, and she shook her head in dismay. Well, it will just have to do, she considered optimistically. Grandad won’t mind, and surely the cowhands will be too tickled to have a woman who can cook about the ranch that they won’t notice either. At least she hoped that would be the case.

  Slipping the dress quickly over her head, she began the tedious job of doing up the small buttons. It was then she realized her foolish mistake in choosing this particular dress to wear. It had too many buttons on the back. Had she remembered, she would have left the useless thing back in New York. There had always been servants to help her with it at her aunt’s home, or at least her mother. Perhaps her grandfather wouldn’t mind for today. Determined to be finished dressing and begin her day, Georgiana quickly exited her room, heading toward the kitchen.

  “Grandad, are you here? Would you mind terribly doing up these last buttons for me?” she called as she walked through the parlor.

  “Um-hmm,” was the answer, and she felt him come from behind and begin buttoning the last of her dress.

  “I don’t know why I even brought this silly thing. It’s shameful when a woman can’t dress herself. I am most grateful for your assistance.”

  “Oh, believe me, the pleasure is all mine,” came the teasing reply.

  Just as she realized that this voice did not belong to her grandfather, he appeared in the doorway of the kitchen in front of her with a hot drink in his hand.

  “Aye, what was it ye were needin’, me girl?”

  With a look of shock frozen on her face, Georgiana spun around and came face-to-face with Ridge, who was smiling mischievously at her.

  “Good mornin’, Miss McLaughlin,” he greeted and tipped his hat to her as if nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred. Georgiana’s face turned three shades of red.

  “Mr. Carson! How dare you take such liberties with me! Why of all the . . . you . . . you . . .” Her grandfather laughed heartily and interrupted before she could finish.

  “Awk, Georgie, what could be wakin’ that Irish temper of yars so early in the morn, now?”

  “Why he . . . I thought that . . . you . . . oh, never mind.” Frustrated, she gave Ridge a venomous glare and stormed off into the kitchen.

  They could both hear the immediate clanking dishes and slamming of cupboard doors.

  “Well now, lad, ye sure managed to get me girl fired up again, didn’t ye?”

  “I’m a thinkin’ it don’t take much to do that,” Ridge spoke, still grinning.

  “Aye, ye be right about that.” Angus chuckled. “Her darlin’ grandmother, ma dear Shannon, ’twas the same, all fire and flame. Truth be known, some days it’s what I miss the most.”

  “Then I ’spect you’re glad to be havin’ Miss Georgiana back home with ya.”

  “That I am, lad . . . that I am.” He walked over and slapped Ridge on the back. “Best we be gettin’ to work then, now. Let the girl cool her head a bit. Them fences won’t be buildin’ themselves.”

  Both men walked outside through the front door, avoiding the kitchen, and crossed the field to where a couple of cowhands were already working on a new fence.

  From the kitchen window, Georgiana watched them go. That Ridge Carson may look like a grown man, but he is ever still a boy, she thought to herself. Imagine the nerve of him, she continued to ponder. Why, if Ms. Wilmington knew I had allowed a grown man to button my dress . . . to see my camisole . . . The thought caused a crimson blush to color her face again, and she began to knead the bread she had started making with more vigor.

  It didn’t take long before the dough was smooth and ready to rise. She was glad her mother had insisted she learn to cook, even at the risk of Aunt Cecilia’s disapproval. As far as Aunt Cecilia was concerned, Georgiana would choose a suitor with great financial means. She would have more important duties to perform on a daily basis than ever having to set foot in the kitchen, except of course when she, on occasion, would have need to instruct the staff. The same had been expected of her mother when she was young.

  However, her mother had fallen in love with her father, a poor Irish immigrant, and had married him secretly against her family’s wishes. Shortly after they’d wed, they headed west to Colorado. They had decided to live with her in-laws, where her husband could work the cattle ranch with his father. She had no homemaking skills other than embroidery and basic sewing. It had been an embarrassment and a shame to her that she could not even cook a simple meal for her new husband. That’s why she had insisted on Georgiana having weekly lessons in the kitchen with her aunt’s cook. Georgiana had developed a love for cooking, and it was a comfort now to know she would be able to take care of her grandfather and the others on the ranch more than adequately with her acquired skills.

  Covering the dough with a cloth, she set it aside to rise. It was then she finally looked around at the disheveled state the kitchen was in. Obviously her grandfather had been doing most of the cooking since her grandmother had passed. She lifted the lid of a g
rimy pan and peered into it. Ugh! She had better spend her first few days cleaning and organizing. Georgiana shook her head in amazement at how much damage one man could do to a kitchen in such a short time. So, after pouring a glass of fresh milk and quickly eating what looked to be a sort of biscuit her grandfather had made, she got to work.

  She was not used to such physical labor, and Georgiana knew she would be feeling the aftereffects for the next few days, but for today, it felt surprisingly good to be working her muscles. As an added bonus, her vigorous cleaning was effectively keeping her mind off a certain incorrigible cowhand. When she was done, she sat down and examined the results. Her grandmother would be proud of her kitchen once again.

  Grabbing a pencil and some paper, Georgiana began jotting down a list of supplies she would need to get in town. When lunchtime rolled around, she had rooted about for something she could fix the men to eat. There were plenty of eggs and milk, but not much else, other than some flour and a small bit of sugar. She’d decided there wasn’t much of a choice other than to make them hotcakes and eggs for lunch.

  The men eagerly consumed the food. She could only imagine what her grandfather had been feeding them.

  Seven men were present at lunch, including Grandad and Ridge. They were refreshingly polite and courteous, and since she hadn’t really known what to expect, it had pleased her immensely. All in all, they seemed a happy lot, and she’d decided she liked each and every one of them.

  Roddy was the oldest and Irish like her grandfather. She learned both Roddy’s mother and her grandfather’s mother had been good friends in Ireland. Then there were the Johnston brothers. Jeremiah and Jonas were a couple of years older than Georgiana and she remembered them from school. They were twins and had an odd habit of finishing each other’s sentences. Next was Pete, whose nickname was Tiny, though he was anything but small. Standing well over six feet tall, he was a burly man and looked to be as strong as an ox. Last, but not least, was Jimmy. He was the youngest, not yet sixteen. He didn’t look much like a cowhand, and Georgiana figured he struggled with much of the required work. But he seemed to possess a determined spirit, and she admired that. Grandad would have had a good reason for hiring such a boy. On the whole, the cowhands seemed to thoroughly enjoy one another’s company, despite a little good-natured teasing.