She hurried into the house and finished her breakfast, before doing all the dishes that were left. She was able to scrub out the rest of the pots after they'd soaked overnight, and she put a large one on the stove, before hurrying out to the springhouse to find some meat. When she stepped into the small building, she shivered again. It was just as cold in there as it was outside and it was almost freezing outside.
She found what looked like beef to her, and she carried a two pound portion into the house, and chopped it into pieces. She put it into a large pot, and added enough water to cover it, wanting the meat cooked before she added the vegetable for the stew.
She then put a pot of water onto boil for the laundry. She was not looking forward to dealing with all of the dirty clothes and bedding, but it had to be done first. She stripped the curtains off the windows, and even found a tablecloth wadded up in one of the kitchen cabinets. She spent over an hour with a scrub board, thankful she didn't have to beat her laundry against a rock. She hadn't been sure he would have a scrub board, but after a bit of searching she found it. Apparently his wife had everything she'd needed to do her job well.
Once everything was hanging on the line, she hurried back into the house and down to the cellar, carrying up potatoes and carrots for the stew. She peeled and cut up the potatoes and carrots and seasoned the water, mixing a little flour with water and adding that in to the pot to thicken it. She smiled, looking down at it. It would be perfect, and ready by the time he came in for lunch. She glanced at the clock and saw it was already ten-thirty, and she felt like she'd accomplished so little.
She took everything out of the pantry and scrubbed it, carefully deciding where she would put each of the things they'd purchased at the mercantile. When she had it just like she wanted it, she scrubbed the fronts of the cabinets and the table again. She'd put the table cloth she'd found on the table before supper, and it would start to feel like home.
Glancing at the clock she saw she still had thirty minutes before he should be there for lunch, assuming he'd eat at noon. "I wish he'd told me what time he'd come back, but at least lunch will be ready whenever he makes it." She talked to herself as she mixed up bread dough, kneading it on the work table. She made enough bread for three loaves, draping a towel over the mixing bowl so the dough could rise.
She cleaned up the small mess she'd made mixing the dough, and washed her hands. She hated how much bread dough clung to her hands when she was baking.
By keeping busy, she'd been able to keep her loneliness at bay. She really hoped she could get some kind of pet, so she wouldn't be alone all the time, but that was something they could discuss at a later time. For now, she had enough work to do that she shouldn't even notice the loneliness.
Lars came into the house at half past twelve, sniffing deeply. Something smelled wonderful. When Olga was alive, he'd have rushed to her and hugged her, telling her how good it smelled. "Something smells nice," he said, knowing he needed to compliment her work, even if she wasn't his first wife.
Meg turned from her spot at the stove. "I'm glad you think so, because this is lunch and supper today."
Lars walked to the sink and washed his hands, using the cake of soap on the edge of the work counter. He was happy to see she was a woman who kept her surroundings clean. He'd had no idea what he was getting when he asked for a mail order bride. "I could eat that for lunch and supper every day for a week and not tire of it."
She grinned. "Maybe you should try a bite before you say that."
He shrugged. "It smells good, and I'm not a picky eater. I wouldn't have survived eating my own cooking if I was." Sitting at the table, he waited for her to bring him a bowl of the stew.
"What would you like to drink with lunch? I can make more coffee or milk? Water?"
"Water is fine for lunch. I prefer milk with supper and coffee with breakfast." He waited as she put the water in front of him, and took a big swallow. "When you make my lunch tomorrow, send me out with a couple of jars of water as well. I'll need them."
Meg nodded, serving herself some stew and a glass of milk. She sat opposite him and took a bite of her stew, smiling with pride. It tasted as good as her mother's. That's all she cared about with a stew. "What did you do this morning?" she asked.
He frowned at her. He shouldn't have to talk about his work. "I plowed the fields, so they would be ready to plant in the spring. I try to get everything done before the first snow flies."
"Has there been snow here yet?" she asked curiously. They'd had one snowfall in Massachusetts before she left, but it hadn't been a big one.
"Not yet. Soon." He ate quickly, ready to get back to his plowing. "I'll finish work by about six-thirty." He told her, standing and putting his hat back on. "I'll see you then."
He walked out of the house without even thanking her for making his lunch. She made a face. If he couldn't be even a little bit thankful for her hard work, she might have to get angry with him. Of course, she hadn't thanked him for plowing the fields to earn a living for them, so maybe he needed to be shown what she expected. She'd do that later.
Meg did the lunch dishes, punched down the dough, and put it into bread pans to rise again, carefully covering the pans with a towel. Then she got back to work on the house.
After scrubbing the kitchen floor, she turned to the walls, washing them briskly. She'd wait to blacken the stove. It needed it, but she had too many other things that were more important.
Walking outside, she checked the clothes on the line, realized they weren't dry enough to take down yet, and then she went back inside. She found the butter churn in the corner of the kitchen and frowned at it. It was much too dirty for her to be able to use. She cleaned it out, and then got the cream from the last couple of days that was saved in the basement. Thankful they even had a basement to keep things cool, she poured the cream into the churn and began the long process of churning the butter. She'd helped her mother do it more than once, but she'd forgotten that her arms would begin to ache well before the butter was ready.
When she was finished, she put the butter into two bowls and poured the buttermilk into a pitcher. She wasn't fond of butter milk, but if Lars was, she wanted him to be able to have it. If he wasn't, they could pour it over the chicken feed.
She put the bread into the oven, and went down into the basement, getting a pumpkin. She knew he wanted pumpkin pie, and though she wasn't a pumpkin pie lover, she would make sure he had some. She'd even take the cream from the cows that evening to make whipped cream to top it with.
She sang to herself as she got the meat of the pumpkin out, cutting it into chunks. She'd never actually made a pumpkin pie, but she had it in her recipe book. Before she moved out of her mother's house, she'd been presented with all of her mother's recipes written down for her in a notebook. She was thankful for that now, though she'd thought her mother was being silly at the time.
She removed the bread from the oven, smiling at the perfect loaves. It was her first time to bake bread without her mother standing over her, so she was happy it had turned out so well. Back in Beckham, it had been easier to buy her bread from the baker in town than make her own. She'd had the extra money to do what she wanted, because her house had been provided. The small school had paid more than most, but she understood as soon as she started why it had. They knew the kind of children they were asking her to deal with.
Meg sighed and pushed her failure as a teacher from her mind. She'd never realized just how badly she would feel leaving the job half done.
She finished up the pie and slipped it into the oven, smiling to herself. Already having accomplished more than she'd intended to do all day, she went back out to get the clothes in off the line. They were finally dry, thanks to the strong wind blowing across the prairie.
While she was removing a sheet, she heard a soft animal cry from the direction of the house. She walked over and found a tiny kitten, barely old enough to be weaned hiding under a bush. She picked it up, holding it close. "I b
et you'll be a good mouser in a few months, but more importantly, you'll be a good companion now. Why don't you live with me?" She snuggled the kitten under her chin, giggling when its fur tickled her. "What should we name you?" She thought for a moment. "That's it! I'll call you Beth. Beth was everyone's favorite in Little Women, and she was Meg's little sister. I was named after Meg, so you can be named after Beth."
She slid the kitten into the pocket of her skirt and went back to the clothesline, removing the rest of the laundry. "You can help me with my chores and keep me company all day while Lars is out working."
She made up both beds with fresh sheets and blankets, thankful to have something clean for her bed. The quilts were clean too, and she wouldn't feel dirty as she slept under them. There was no better feeling in the world than sliding between fresh clean sheets.
The kitten followed her as she made up the beds, and Meg giggled as she learned to climb the stairs. Beth was afraid to follow her when she went back down, so she scooped her up and carried her.
She spread the table cloth over the table and hung the curtains back on the windows. The house looked a great deal better already, and she hadn't had any time to start on the small parlor at the back of the house or the bedrooms yet. She wasn't sure how he'd feel about her cleaning the little nursery, but she was going to do it. There was no way she'd let another inch of dust accumulate on it. Her own child would sleep in that room someday.
Chapter Six
When Lars came into the house at the end of the day, he stopped short, not believing everything his new wife had accomplished. Why, she had worked as hard as he had that day, and he hadn't thought that was possible. The table was set, and the pretty tablecloth Olga had made was gracing the table. It even smelled clean.
"You've worked hard today."
Meg turned to him with a smile. "I did. All of your clothes are clean. You won't have a hard time finding anything to wear." She planned to do just a bit more laundry the following day, because of the clothes they were both wearing. She wanted everything clean. She knew it was silly, but she didn't want to have to deal with the filth she'd dealt with that day ever again.
"I'm impressed. I know women's work isn't easy, but you've done so much you make it look simple." He sighed. "I'll be ready for dinner as soon as I've milked the cow." Just as he turned to leave, he heard a soft meow. Turning back, he frowned. "Was that a cat?"
She nodded. "I found a kitten in the bushes. She seemed hungry so I brought her inside."
"I'm not really fond of cats." He didn't hate them, but found them relatively useless.
"You live on a farm. I've seen a mouse here, and the cat will take care of mice, and she'll keep me company. I don't think I can get by well without some kind of pet. At least until children come."
He frowned. "I suppose you can keep her."
"Thank you!" she said, a huge smile on her face. "Do you like buttermilk?"
He blinked a few times, trying to understand her question. "Not particularly."
"I'll let Beth have it then."
"Beth?"
"The kitten. I was named after Meg in Little Women, so I named her after Beth. You know, the sister who died."
"I have no idea what you're talking about, nor am I sure I want to. I'll be back with the milk." He walked outside, closing the door behind him.
"Well, he's a grump this evening," she told Beth. Pouring some of the buttermilk into a saucer, she giggled as the kitten put a paw in the middle of the milk as she lapped it up. "You're just going to make a mess and have to wash your foot."
The kitten ignored her in favor of her treat, and Meg hurried as she finished the meal preparations. She had the bread and butter on the table when he came back in, and she served them each a large bowl of stew.
Lars set the milk on the counter and washed his hands, eyeing the tabby cat. "She's not a very delicate eater." He grinned as she splashed milk onto the floor.
Meg grinned. "She's still a baby. I'm surprised she's old enough to be weaned. She's drinking milk just fine, though."
"You mentioned buttermilk. Does that mean you made—." He trailed off as she pointed to the butter on a plate in the center of the table beside a loaf of fresh bread. Without thinking about what he was doing, he grabbed her and kissed her with a loud smacking sound. "I have missed fresh bread more than anything!"
Meg laughed. "I'll make sure you always have fresh bread if it makes you happy."
He sat down and immediately cut himself a piece, slathering butter on it. "Delicious," he said, his mouth full of the bread. He took a swig of his milk and sighed. "I needed this."
"Well, enjoy it then." She ladled stew into two bowls and put one on the table beside his arm. "I'd like you to eat some stew as well."
"I won't forget the stew. You're a good cook," he said, cutting off another piece of the bread.
"My mother was a cook for a wealthy family back East. I grew up helping her in the kitchen, and when I left home to teach, she gave me a book with all of her recipes written in it."
"No wonder you cook so well. Do you know how to make cakes and pies?"
"I can make anything. My mother filled the book with many different desserts. And I'm what she called a 'natural cook.' I just seem to know which spices go together to make things taste good."
Lars smiled. "I'm happy to hear that. I will not complain if you want to make something new every night, or if you make this stew every day for a year. Thank you."
The words made Meg's stomach flutter. "Thank you for working all day. You're going to be an easy man to please where food is concerned, and I'm grateful for that."
When he'd finished his first bowl of stew and fourth slice of bread, she asked, "Do you want more stew, or do you want a piece of the pumpkin pie I made?"
He seemed torn. "How about another bowl of stew, and then three pieces of pumpkin pie?"
She laughed softly. "I can make that happen." She got to her feet and filled his bowl, bringing it back to him. "How did the plowing go this afternoon?"
"Very well. I'm just about finished. I should be able to do the rest tomorrow, and then I can start working on building more fences."
"Why do you build fences?" she asked.
"To keep predators away. I don't want animals in my fields."
"That makes sense." She looked over at the kitten who had curled up in front of the stove for a nap.
"Are you planning on keeping her inside?" he asked.
"I don't know. What do you think? I definitely want her to be inside some, because I want her for companionship, but I don't mind if she goes outside to hunt at night."
"That little ball of fluff is not ready to hunt." He frowned. "Keep her inside. We can let her out when she wants to go, but there's no use worrying about her getting carried off by a wolf or something."
Meg hadn't thought of the danger the kitten could be in if she was outside. "That's a good idea. She can sleep with me."
He sighed. "You're going to treat her like a baby, aren't you?"
"For as long as she is a baby, she'll be treated as one." Meg didn't care what he thought. Beth was her baby for the time being. She got up and went to the counter, carefully skimming the cream from the top of the milk so she could make whipped cream. A few minutes later, she turned back to Lars, a generous piece of pie with a large helping of whipped cream on a plate for him, along with a fork. She placed it on the table, and watched as he pushed his empty bowl away and picked up the fork, pulling the pie closer.
Taking one bite, Lars let the flavors explode in his mouth. The woman could cook and bake like nothing he'd ever seen. Why, she was a better cook than his own mama back in Norway.
He noticed that she didn't bother with a piece of pie, but instead started right on the dishes. "You don't like pumpkin pie?" he asked.
She shrugged. "I don't like it much. I'd rather save it for you, since you like it. I'll bake a cake in a day or two, and I'll certainly eat my share of that."
Lars sig
hed. "Thank you for making me something that you wouldn't have made for yourself. That means a lot." He didn't want to feel like she was doing special things for him, but he couldn't deny it. "You should make things that you like as well."
"Oh, I will. I could just tell you were really hungry for a pumpkin pie, so I wanted you to have some."
She put a plate over the top of the pie plate to keep the pie fresh for the next day. "I'll put a piece in your lunch tomorrow as well."
"I'd like that." He thought about his decision to eat while he was out, started to tell her he'd changed his mind, but thought better of it. He needed to keep her off his mind while he worked. Love was not in his plans. It couldn't be.
"Do you want another slice of pie? Or can I wash your plate?"
He looked down at his plate, considering. "I would like another slice if you don't mind."
She grinned, happy that he enjoyed it so much. "Happy to do it." She put another slice on his plate, and again added a generous spoonful of the whipped cream. "What's your favorite dessert?"
"Pumpkin pie. Cake. Anything sweet really. I would eat sugar by the spoonful if I thought I could get away with it."
She laughed. "Any sweets you don't like?"
He thought about that for a minute and finally shook his head. "Not that I know of. I'm willing to sample a wide variety to try to find one I don't like, though."
She grinned at that. "I'll see if I can help you do just that."
After she'd finished the last of the dishes, and he'd finished his last slice of pie, she sat down at the table with a book, wondering what they would do in the evenings. There were only a couple of hours before they needed to go to bed, but would he want to talk?
He pulled out a knife and a block of wood, and started to carve huge chunks out of it, not speaking.
She sighed, and read her book, wondering if they would always have so much silence between them. "I'm going to take the kitten outside for a minute or two."
He nodded, not glancing up. As soon as she'd shut the door behind her, he let out a sigh of relief. Too much time in her presence was not good for him, not when he didn't have the right to carry her off to his bed yet. She was too pretty for his own peace of mind.
Mail Order Mistletoe (Brides of Beckham Book 17) Page 5
