“It is good.” Her lips bowed upward in a smile – a wobbly one, but it counted. She cleared her throat and rasped, “What did you want to do?”
Raising his brows, Todd waited for her to direct the thought. Did she mean in the fields? Or how to spend the next half hour?
The second his brows rose, her eyes widened and she rushed out, “I mean, what did you have in mind?”
Todd lips twitched. She’d mistaken his reaction and dug herself straight into embarrassment.
“For the farm!” she blurted out before he could rescue her. Face aflame, she rubbed a shaking hand across her forehead and rushed, “I mean, what did you plan for us to do – ” Groaning, she tried to jerk free.
Holding tight, he lifted her hand and pressed a kiss on the back of it. Jitters. She had bridal jitters, and he had desires. Even the most innocent phrases could be construed differently. With Ma sitting right there, he couldn’t address the issue, so he acted as if everything she said held nothing other than the innocent, straightforward connotation. “First off, I’ll get the fields in order. The winter wheat – it’s heading up. This year is as dry as the last two, but my yield will be higher, praise God. The alfalfa – I hoped for it to grow better and restore the soil. Two neighbors will bring mares by this week so the stallions can stand stud. Next I must plant either sorghum or corn. Already, I should almost be done with that.”
“Sorghum,” Ma decided. “It tolerates drought best.” She yawned.
Todd carried her to her bed and left so Maggie could tuck her in.
Soon Maggie stepped back outside. “I’ve got a notion. You have the far field and the section yonder that’s ready for a crop. Sorghum’s both drought resistant and grows in marginal soil. Seeing as we’ll be working together, what if we plant both crops?”
A second field wouldn’t take that much water and could bring in more money. Her suggestion tempted him. He resisted. “No. The garden will take that plot. To plant both would mean breaking sod for the garden. You’re already too busy.”
Gesturing to the right, she said softly, “If the vegetables and flowers grew there, Ma could come out and feel like she’s part of things. I don’t know a soul who doesn’t perk up in the garden.”
“We can put a few rows there, I suppose.”
“While the horses are hitched, we may as well do it right.” We. She’d done the same thing about the debt – immediately jumped in and committed herself to sharing the burden.
“So.” He slid his arm around her waist and hoped she realized how much he appreciated her. If he could find the words, she’d probably think he was trying to talk her into bed. The sounds of the night filled the silence. Strands of hair fluttered across her cheek. Automatically, he reached over and used the back of his fingers to tuck them behind her ear. “Weich.” He couldn’t resist touching her cheek and smoothing back another wisp.
Her eyes widened.
“Du bist eine Schönheit.”
Her lips parted and laughter spilled out of her. “Soft? You are such a beauty?”
He didn’t think he’d actually spoken the thoughts aloud. She ought to be pleased, though. “Is it not good for you to know I feel this about you?”
She twisted away from him. “You said those exact things to Eve today.”
Twelve
Her voice shook – but was it mirth of fear? Or anger? If he’d said those very things to the mare today, Maggie might well be furious.
“Are you afraid of me?”
Her rapid breaths answered him.
He took her hands in his. “There’s no need. I’m your husband, and I feel much tenderness toward you.” He jostled her hands. “I assure you, I have never said that to a horse.”
A tremulous smile formed on her lips, but she wouldn’t look him in the eyes. His bride’s voice shook as much as her hands. “I suppose tenderness is . . .”
“A sweet beginning. Just as we will cultivate our land, we’ll take care of our love. Soil and seed and water – you and me and the Living Water – the essentials are together already.”
“You think like a farmer.” She looked off to the side. “But you could be full of beans.”
The earth beneath his boots grated as he shifted to a wider stance. “You would not have married me if you did not trust me.” Slowly, he pulled her closer and wrapped her arms about his waist before he wound his arms about her and cradled her close.
She swallowed. “Uncle Bo told me a husband needs his wife.”
Todd brushed his lips against her temple. What she and I want is opposite. It is a wife’s duty to submit. Submit? The word hit him. Intimacy should be giving and sharing – not demanding or taking. A man was the head of the home, but his wife – she was the heart. There had to be a balance – a harmony between them he’d never considered before. Ma and Dad always seemed to be of one mind. I don’t even know my wife’s mind.
Maggie shivered, and a wave of protectiveness washed over him. How could desire and tenderness be at odds when they belonged together? Perhaps it is my wants and her needs. A husband must be willing to make sacrifices for his wife.
Sensible, practical Magpie. If he gave her a few minutes, she’d come around. Todd continued to nestle her, stroking his hand up and down her back in a steady, reassuring way. She’d plunged right in from the first moments to care for Ma and never stopped working since – other than when they shared a sled. The way she’d fumbled the conversation earlier left her unsettled. Giving her a chance to calm down ought to allow her to regain her poise and start feeling the stirrings of desire, too.
Clasping her hands together behind Todd’s back, Maggie stayed as pliant as a marble pillar. She shivered again. That, and hearing her audible swallow tilted the balance.
“Margaret.” He set her a scant few inches away and lifted her chin. Her lashes lowered so she didn’t look him in the eyes. “To have you fear me, there would be no sweetness. Tonight. I will give you tonight to rest in my arms and in my tenderness. Tomorrow, you will trust me – then we will know one another and it will be good.”
“Thankee!” The word lilted out of her, and she gave him a quick hug before dashing inside.
Scowling, Todd watched her flit away. He’d done the right thing, but did she have to act like she’d just been given a reprieve from a death sentence?
Todd’s comb rested against her hairbrush on the washstand. Earlier Maggie had set down her brush to leave a tiny space between, but he’d finished combing his hair and now the pieces touched. Like them in bed. Both nights, she carefully inched away when he climbed in next to her. He’d swallow up the space in seconds – but he’d kept his word. The first night, he lay on his side, facing away from her. His warmth radiated to her and felt wondrous, but he’d kept his hands to himself. Last night, Todd wound his arms about her. Back in the holler, he’d earned her trust – but this was a deeper, unique kind of trust. Throughout the night, he’d cradled her as though she was his one and only treasure. Doing so gave her a glimpse of what the future could hold . . . and planted hope.
She’d made him a grand breakfast to show her appreciation for his sensitivity. As much as he ate, he’d liked it plenty.
And wait until this afternoon, when I give him some of this! She took a pan from the oven box she pilfered from her trade goods. Fragrant steam wafted from the loaf pan. “Whilst I tend to a few matters, Ma, you can borrow my hairbrush. I’ll put up your hair after it’s nice and smooth.”
“It will take me too long.”
Placing the hairbrush in Ma’s lap, Maggie took a firm tone. “I’m willing to do all you need, but I won’t have you feign helplessness. A family pulls together, each member doing their utmost. Half of your body might not obey your wishes, but that doesn’t excuse you from doing all you can. Todd’s counting on me to be out in the fields with him. I aim to be there, too, so I’m relying on you to pitch in as best you can. Valmer Farm needs to make up for lost time.” A quick tug took the ribbon off the tail of Ma’s nightt
ime plait.
Cheap and filling, beans were a good choice for supper. What, with one trade started, she wouldn’t be surprised to have a caller or two. If no one joined them, she’d have leftovers. With beans set to soak for supper and a batch of soda bread started, Maggie finally turned back to Ma. “Tomorrow I’ll mix up biscuits for you to roll out and cut with a cup. Aye, and put them in a pan. Todd will nigh unto burst his buttons when he sees what you’ve done.”
Ma didn’t respond, but she did rake her right fingers through her hair to unravel the plait. A halfhearted effort at brushing her hair ensued.
“We can ask Dr. Bestman-Van der Vort – ”
“That woman – she was ashamed to take her husband’s name. What woman clings to her past like that? Such a poor example. The Bible says the man is the head of the home.”
“From the way she looks at her husband and speaks to and of him, I’m sure she’s proud to be his wife.” Did Ma always look for the dark side of things and judge? Steering the conversation, Maggie declared, “Todd’s a fine man. A godly man. I count myself blessed and I’m sure you do, too, that he’s the head of our home.”
“It is good you feel that way.” Todd’s voice boomed from outside the window.
Maggie squealed and jumped.
He beckoned. “Come. We’ve much to do.”
Hastily braiding Ma’s hair, Maggie called out, “I’ll be in the barn in a few minutes.” A half-dozen pins slipped into place, and Ma’s hair assumed its normal style. “I’ll sit you by the table today. With a glass of water, the bell, and the Bible I’ve set out, you can fill your heart and summon me if you have need.” She put a threaded needle in Ma’s hand and propped the hoop-enclosed canvas in place.
“Put me back to bed.”
“Nay. When Mr. Walker returns today, you’d be embarrassed to be caught lazing around.” Maggie didn’t give Ma a chance to argue. She positioned her at the table, then hurried to join her husband.
Adam and Eve dragged the plow back and forth, breaking the sod for the vegetable plot. Thick as it was, only the horses’ combined strength made the task bearable. Riding Adam, Maggie echoed the orders Todd called as he manned the gang plow. Both blades bit into the earth, fighting against hundreds of years of stubborn grass roots tangled deep into the soil. Row after row yielded to their brute strength. “Haw!” she called, and the Belgians obeyed, veering slightly. Twenty feet more . . . fifteen . . . five . . . “Whoa!”
After turning the plow to go the opposite direction, Todd grinned. Exposed dark, rich soil gave a promise of good yield. “Hitched to the Belgians, this goes as easy as a spoon through stew. To prepare my other fields, my horses and John’s took a whole day to accomplish this much.”
“We’ll have acres done in no time.” Looking back at the field, Maggie slid off Adam. “Soon we’ll have a bounty for our table. It’s frosty in the morn. Unless you say otherwise, I’m thinking we might need to wait a bit before planting. I’ll want to put in sweet corn, cabbage, potatoes, onions, and some melons.”
“Watermelons are already putting out runners. It’s too late. Gardening here is different because of the drought.”
“So what’s the normal rainfall?”
Todd let out a heavy sigh. “There is no such thing as normal with weather. There is an average, but each year varies. The driest year so far was last year, with ten and a half inches. The greatest known was forty-one. The Farmers’ Almanac says this year will be as parched as last.” Just like the earth they worked, lines plowed furrows across his brow. He said nothing about how the lack of water would impact the yield of all their crops.
“Kickin’ a tin can won’t open it.” Maggie smiled at him. Her man needed her to prop him up. “Bellyaching about a lack of water or watermelons won’t make a difference, either. We’ll plant extra cantaloupe, and I can swap neighbors for watermelons and tomatoes.”
“Tomorrow at church, ask Widow O’Toole or Hope Stauffer when to plant. Widow O’Toole’s known for her garden, and Jakob, Hope’s husband, has farmed here the longest. Their advice would be best.”
“Uncle Bo encouraged me to seek counsel from others with more experience. The Flinn twins always knew the weather and planting times best.” Just mentioning their names swamped Maggie with homesickness. Squinting at something afar, Todd seemed preoccupied.
Heart heavy, she turned away. “Whilst you rest the beasts, I’ll go check on Ma.”
Drawing near the house, Maggie spied the end of a wagon. Hastening to make sure Ma was okay, she threw open the door and stopped cold. Ma sat at the table with two strangers. Nothing but crumbs and an empty loaf pan sat on the table. The prune bread! She gave them the prune bread I baked specially for Todd!
“Mr. Walker couldn’t make it.” Ma took a stitch – only the third – but it was a start. Even if she did it for show, it was progress. “These gentlemen came for him, and they’ve already hung the door.”
“Now that’s good to hear. Thank you.”
One belched loudly as the other rose. “Come on out to the wagon and we’ll see to the rest, Mrs. Valmer.”
Ma answered, “I’ll take care of it here.”
Breath freezing in her lungs, Maggie searched for the best way of handling this. “I’ll be back in a jiffy, Ma.”
Brows wrinkled, one man looked at the other. “Did Boss say which Mrs. Valmer – ”
“I’m Mrs. Valmer,” Maggie forced a smile. “Ma’s surname is Crewel. Let’s go on out to the wagon.”
A minute later the man said, “Boss got too busy to get the wood last night. He sent this instead.”
An odd item lay clear across the flatbed wagon. “What is it?”
The men exchanged a quick look. “It’s practically a ready-made porch. Which side of the door d’ya want it on?”
Maggie ran her hand along the upraised edges. “This is going to cause trouble with Ma’s wheelchair. I traded for lumber because it needs to be flat.”
“Boss wanted to be fair. Said if you liked, he’d throw in this canvas. To make an awning. Just in case, he sent some rods. That must be some chair he’s getting from you.”
The fast-talking man’s trying to saddle me with a skunk. “Bartering requires honor. Mr. Walker dealt for a special, one-of-a-kind item, and he’s sending castoffs instead of prime goods. You already hung the door, but I’m a-gonna have to have you men take it back down.”
“Aw, c’mon, lady.”
The other leaned against the wagon. “Mr. Walker’s not a man to be crossed, ma’am. And your man won’t have to waste any time making a deck for the old cripple – ”
“Now you’ve done it.” Maggie stepped back and set her hands on her hips. “You just hightail it on out of here. I won’t stand for anyone to be disrespectful. My man’ll return the outhouse door.”
The other got a stricken look on his face. “He didn’t mean it the way it sounded!”
“Sure and certain enough, he did. You just go tell your boss the deal’s off.” She turned around and practically bounced off Todd’s chest.
“You heard my wife.” Todd wrapped his arm around her waist and stared at them.
As the men drove off, Maggie poked Todd in the chest. “You’re stealthy as a mountain cat on the prowl. I nigh unto leapt out of my boots when I found you behind me.”
“What are you doing dealing with Mr. Walker in the first place?” Todd set her away from him and kept hold of her upper arms.
His curiosity pleased her. Uncle Bo always wanted to know with whom she’d traded, how they met, and the details of the deal. “Piet told him about the good-luck gambling chair, and he sought it.” “Which tells you much about his character!”
“Aye, it warned he’s a rogue with more money than scruples.” Todd worried about her. Wasn’t that sweet? She leaned a little closer. He smelled of fresh, rich earth and radiated a warmth that tempted her to give him a hug – but she wasn’t that brazen. “Ma’s too embarrassed to use the seat, and we have no space for it. Better
to barter it than burn it. I can’t abide waste.”
“I will get what we need.”
“I don’t doubt that in the least. Best thing you got us was this farm full of rich soil. That will provide for us now and for generations to come.” She bobbed her head. “Aye. And as your helpmeet, I’m supposed to work alongside you. I was just doing my part.”
Lightning flashed from his eyes, and his voice went thunderously low. “Dealing with the saloon owner? Getting a pool table?”
“A table that’s a pool? So we could have ourselves some ducks and geese?”
Yanking off his hat, Todd made an impatient sound. “Nein. It is a game. Sticks hit balls into holes. Men place bets and play it.”
“Well, it’s good I held my ground and sent them packing. They already hung a door on the outhouse – ”
“I heard.” A muscle in his cheek twitched. “There was nothing wrong with a blanket.”
Jehoshaphat, he was prickly as a jar of toothpicks. “We’ll go on ahead and make do with that blanket until God sends a door.”
“God will not use a saloon owner to deliver what He wants.”
“Most often, I’d agree with you.” A quick kiss on the cheek never failed to sweeten her uncles’ sour moods. Did she dare? What’s a-wrong with me? A minute ago, I wouldn’t hug him and now I’m considering a kiss? Dour as he’s getting, I’ve got to do something quick. Maggie went up on tiptoe and gave Todd’s cheek a quick peck. Pleased with herself, she got a little sassy. “But the story of Balaam comes to mind. God spoke through a donkey. Is a saloon owner then not a possibility?”
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