by Jillian Hart
His hands seized her shoulders. Shaking, she kicked him hard in the shin and pushed away from him. It was like hitting the side of a barn, but she startled him. Panic drove her forward and fear made her leap toward the fence. Metal dug into her palms as she grabbed the top wire.
He grabbed her by the hem of the skirt and hauled her back to the ground. Her hands tore, her skirts ripped and she tumbled to the ground.
“You boys! What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” Like thunder, the newcomer’s words snapped Oscar to attention.
He snatched his dollar from the dust. “Nuthin’.”
“Looks like something to me.” Elderly Mr. White, the delivery driver for McIntyre’s, set his brake as if he were intending to stay. “You apologize to Miss Holmstrom and be on your way.”
“Sorry, ma’am.” Oscar didn’t look sorry as he walked over her yard goods on the way to his wagon. He swung up. “Let’s get a move on, Bo.”
The brothers drove off, and Linnea breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, sir.”
“Young men can cause trouble easy enough.” He strolled close. “Looks like they hurt ya.”
“It’s nothing.” She ignored the blood dripping onto the dust. “I appreciate what you did, scaring them off like that, but I’m fine, so you shouldn’t make yourself late. I know how the McIntyres are.”
“Seems only right to offer you a ride.” He knelt in the dust and shook his head. “Looks like you dropped your things. Let me pick them up for you, and I’ll take you on home.”
“No. I’ll be fine. Please, just leave.”
“It don’t seem right—”
“Please.” She couldn’t look at him. “When you deliver our groceries, please don’t say anything to my mother. I don’t want her upset.”
Seconds ticked past and finally he stood and ambled over to his wagon. He walked slowly enough so she could change her mind, but she didn’t.
He drove off, kicking up dust as he passed.
Tremors rocked through her, making it hard as she tore strips from her petticoat, her best one, to make a bandage for her hands.
Careful not to smear blood on the fabrics, she lifted them carefully from the dirt. Her heart sank at the ground-in dust that stained the pretty crochet thread she’d chosen for her mother.
Ginny’s buggy rolled past without stopping. Although the woman didn’t say a word, her amusement felt as damning as the sun that blazed from the sky.
With her purchases clutched in her arms, Linnea trudged home. The beauty of the day was lost, the treasured respect Seth had given her as soiled as the cloth she held.
* * *
“Dotter, I was so worried when Mr. White came here and you were not yet home. Then I thought you must have been having fun at the sewing shop.” Lines eased from Mama’s face as she stepped down from the porch. “Did you have fun? You work so hard. Goodness knows you deserve it.”
“I chose fabric for my next quilt.”
“That means Mrs. Jance was pleased with your work. I am not surprised. I am the one who taught you to sew.”
Pride sparkled rare as diamonds in Mama’s eyes. Misplaced and stubborn and so incredibly priceless, Linnea’s eyes burned. She could never let Mama know what happened. “After the hayers have come and gone, you and I will head to town and treat ourselves.”
“We cannot afford such luxuries for an old woman like me.”
“You are as young as can be and my whole heart, Mama. I want you to have something special. And Mrs. Jance is giving me a discount.”
“That woman is an angel from above.” Mama stooped to pet the calico lazing in the shadow of the porch. “Come inside and tell me of the fabric you chose. Tell me what you are planning. I wish to picture it in my mind.”
“I chose a cream calico for the backing and the alternating squares,” Linnea began, following her mother into the house. Her hands smarted and she was still shaking, but she was safe. “I plan to wash the fabrics this afternoon.”
“Child, it is too hot to boil the water! You must already be warm from your walk. Wait until morning.”
“But I must start the baking for the hayers.” The thought left her feeling weak. All those men would be staring at her, and probably the Hansson boy who’d accosted her today.
Spools of thread tumbled from her wooden fingers. They clattered to the floor and rolled on the polished wood. Chiding herself for her clumsiness, Linnea emptied the load in her arms onto the sofa cushion and knelt to rescue the errant spools.
“Goodness, you bought more than you claim.” Mama sounded delighted as she reached out and ran her sensitive fingers over the small skeins of embroidery floss. “What a treat.”
“Mama.” Linnea pulled the soiled fabric and crochet threads away from her mother’s very sensitive fingertips. “I almost forgot. I have a letter from Aunt Eva.”
“My dear sister! Come into the shade out back and read it to me. I cannot wait to hear how she is doing.”
“All right, but first I want to get those fabrics soaking while I have the chance,” she insisted, struggling to keep her voice cheerful. “Go sit and I’ll be right out.”
Mama ambled outside where her crocheting and a comfortable seat in the shade awaited her.
With her hands pounding with pain, Linnea gritted her teeth and built a fire in the stove. Her dress was torn, but she would mend it tonight after Mama went to bed. At least the bleeding had stopped. She cut off the bandages so her mother wouldn’t notice.
Humiliation settled over her like the dust in the air. She wouldn’t cry about it. She wouldn’t.
Hadn’t she known it all along? A woman like her had no right to dream.
She set the stained fabrics to soaking and joined her mother in the shade. Mama fidgeted with anticipation as Linnea slipped a pin from her hair and tore open the envelope. The letter inside was folded carefully and writing covered every spot on the page.
Linnea smoothed open the letter, scanning the page quickly. The word wedding jumped out at her. “It looks like your sister has remarried.”
“Married? Truly? After all these years?” Mama beamed with joy. “Quick. Read on. I must hear!”
As Linnea read the aunt’s letter, telling every detail of her wedding, her mind kept wandering to Seth. Always to Seth. And to the ugliness that had happened to her on the road.
“Can you picture the reception? All those flowers. And an arbor. Think of how beautiful it must have been.”
“Yes, Mama. I’m happy for Aunt Eva.”
“What joy for my dear sister. To think she found her true love. Just as I had with my Olaf. Eva was so unhappy in her first marriage, it broke my heart. We were so far apart and could never afford to visit. But now all is well. See? There is always good news to be thankful for.”
“Yes, there is.” She was grateful for what she had.
Happy endings were for some people, but not for her.
* * *
Seth arrived at the Holmstrom shanty before dawn, the flowers in his hand. His body ached from the hard days working the fields, but it was satisfying to work alongside his neighbors. They were accomplishing something grand. After tomorrow, he would have enough feed to keep the horses he thought about purchasing. Or enough to sell so Ginny could buy coal to last the winter.
Satisfaction outweighed the exhaustion, and at least now he knew for a fact he would stay here on this land and spend the rest of his life as a rancher. With Linnea at his side.
He stopped in the fields as he had every morning, choosing a bouquet of blue, yellow and red flowers to make a summery bouquet. A man didn’t get a lot of second chances in a lifetime. He wanted to do this right. To show Linnea all she meant to him.
Curtains fluttered at the windows. The calico slinked around the corner of the house to greet him. He gave her a few scratches between her soft ears and was rewarded with a raspy purr. That’s when he saw them, the flowers wilted and faded on the edge of the porch.
The bouquet he�
�d left yesterday.
It wasn’t like her to forget his meager gift of wildflowers.
Was she all right? Had something happened? He glanced around the yard and saw the calves had fresh hay in their mangers. A washtub was upended against the side of the house that hadn’t been there yesterday.
Maybe she was busy. She had the hayers coming. Yes, that was it. She’d been overwhelmed by the task of cooking for so many men and had forgotten his flowers. It was nothing personal.
Then why had the faded bouquet been moved to one side, off the top step, out of the way?
A rooster crowed in the henhouse, reminding him he had places to go, obligations to meet.
* * *
He left more flowers. Linnea stood in the parlor and watched Seth leave. She could just see him through the fluttering curtains in glimpses that rose and fell in cadence to the breeze.
Leaving yesterday’s bouquet haven’t discouraged him today. But maybe if she moved this morning’s blossoms aside and left them unattended, he’d figure things out.
It was going to take a little time, but he would stop coming.
And her heart would be forever broken.
* * *
“Linnea, come and see if the beans are ready. They smell warmed through to me.” Mama called through the open kitchen window. “I cannot find the bread knife.”
“I’ll be right there.” The sun was almost directly at the zenith. The men would be here any minute, and she wasn’t ready.
She set out the last of the plates and dashed to the house. The warm scents of baking beans and steaming ham welcomed her as she hurried into the kitchen.
She found the bread knife and rescued the warming pots of beans from the oven. She checked each crock and gave them a stir. They looked presentable, so she carried them out by the handles to the waiting trestle tables.
“Are they making good progress in the fields?” Mama asked as she cut slices of thick bread.
“They are across the road right now, so I can’t see them.” Linnea grabbed the butcher knife and began cutting meat. The fragrant ham fell in juicy slices onto the platter.
Mama tilted her head, turning toward the front windows. “Here they come, dotter. I am finished.”
“Right on time, too.” She couldn’t slice fast enough. “At least the potatoes and beans are on the table. And the pitchers of water.”
“I will take out the platter of bread and then a pitcher of milk. Some have brought their sons and they are still growing boys.”
“Mama, I don’t want you serving food. Wait—”
“Do not fuss. I can find my way.” She lifted the thick and fluffy slices of bread and searched for the cool pitcher left on the counter.
“I’m nearly done, Mama.”
“Here comes the major.”
Sure enough, his step rang with authority as he climbed the back steps. His shirt and denims were covered with bits of mowed grass and his hair looked as rakish as a pirate’s. But his smile shone warm and welcome as he took the platter and pitcher away from Mama.
“Let me help you two beautiful ladies. We’ve got hungry men out there.”
“We have only the ham to slice,” Mama answered. Linnea turned her back, refusing to look at him. She kept slicing, barely able to see the meat in front of her. Seth’s steps tapped away without saying another word.
She sighed in relief. At least she’d avoided speaking to him. So far.
Finished, she set aside the knife and wiped her hands on a towel. As a last thought, she grabbed her sunbonnet and tied it on. She was ready to face the hayers out there, she told herself. But the platter felt heavy as lead in her hands when she stepped onto the porch.
There were twenty men gathered around the table, spooning heaping piles of beans and potatoes onto their plates, passing around the bread, talking loud and gruff. She recognized neighbors she’d hardly seen over the years, but two faces caught and held her attention.
The young men who’d accosted her on the road.
Just take the stairs one at a time, Linnea. Keep one foot in front of the other. Give Seth the meat platter and head back to the house. It was that simple. Nothing was going to happen.
Her feet moved forward, carrying her down the steps and toward the table.
“Linnea.” Seth stood—wonderful Seth—and lifted the platter from her hands. “This is a mighty fine meal you made us.”
“Thank you kindly, ma’am,” Anders Neilson grumbled politely, and others joined in, murmuring their thanks.
“Thank you for coming to hay for us this year.” Linnea’s tongue stumbled over the words, and she stared at the edge of the tablecloth where Anders was digging his knife deep into the butter crock.
A movement caught her eye. Oscar Hansson gave her a broad wink.
“Respect the lady, boy,” Seth reprimanded him, authority booming in his voice. “Jon, your son could use a lesson in manners.”
“I’ll see to it,” the father agreed, glaring at his son.
“Your fingers are like ice,” Seth whispered, and only then did she realize he was holding her hand. “You have nothing to fear.”
Only losing you. He was nobility through and through, a good-hearted man who had no idea what others thought of her.
“I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything. I’ll be cutting strawberry pie for dessert.”
“I bet that’s delicious.” His smile deepened, became more tender, and his fingers tightened around hers. “I’m proud of you. This is a fine meal.”
Her throat closed, and she fled to the house. To the safety of the four walls that had sheltered her all her life.
* * *
Something was wrong. Seth noticed it as Linnea returned with fresh pitchers of cool well water. Returned again with platters full of bread, ham and another bowl of creamy mashed potatoes. She refused to meet his gaze, and he saw the same sadness in her he’d noticed when they’d first met.
She’s tired, he told himself. She had to be. She’d clearly been baking and cooking for more than a day, and dark circles bruised the delicate skin beneath her eyes.
But even so, she looked like heaven to him breezing out of the house in her blue calico dress and matching sunbonnet. Her golden curls were tucked up out of sight except for the spill of gold over her brow, but he knew what was hidden beneath the soft fabric of her bonnet.
She cleared the table, quiet and pale. Without a word to him, she returned with generous slices of pie dolloped with whipped cream. Probably without a doubt the best pie he’d ever eaten, but he didn’t get the chance to tell her that. She kept her back to him.
She stayed in the house until the men departed for the field, but he headed straight for the house.
“Major, is that you?” Mrs. Holmstrom asked from the counter where she was busy covering extra loaves of bread. “Did the men get enough to eat?”
“More than enough. It was a mighty fine feast.”
“Linnea worked so hard. I am pleased, because she does not have to cut the hay herself this year, working like a man in the fields. I owe you a fine supper when this is all over.”
“I’ll be happy to take you up on that. You know I love your cooking.” Since Linnea was nowhere in sight, he headed back outside.
There she was, like an angel from heaven, with her skirts swirling around her like poetry and her golden curls escaping from her bonnet. The plates clattered as she stacked them.
Her back was to him and he couldn’t help admiring the fine cut of her neck or how delicate she looked there, where her collar hugged her soft white skin. She would be like that all over, porcelain fine and creamy soft.
His blood heated and he reminded himself that she was a lady. She demanded his respect.
For the rest of his life.
“Hi, beauty.” He stepped closer.
She gasped and dropped the plates. They clanged together, the chime of enamel against enamel. She spun around to face him, her eyes wide, her face so pale.
&n
bsp; “You made me proud,” he told her, reaching out to her. They were alone. The men were on the other side of the house and heading toward the field. They couldn’t see as he pulled her close to him.
“Seth.” She wrestled her wrist from his grip and backed away. “You should be in the fields.”
“I wanted to see how you were. To thank you—”
“It’s not necessary.” She took a step back and turned to gather the fallen plates. “You’d better go.”
The hair on the back on his neck prickled. “You’re mad at me. That’s why you left the flowers. You didn’t forget them.”
“I’m not angry with you.” She took the stack of plates and swung away from him. “I’m busy.”
“I don’t have much time now, but I want to straighten this out later. When I’m done with the haying.”
“There’s nothing to straighten out.” Her chin lifted and she took off for the house. “Don’t bother leaving me flowers. That’s not necessary.”
“But I—”
“Goodbye, Seth.” She retreated into the house, his angel and his heart, and slammed the door.
Ginny. It had to be Ginny. Angrier than he could ever remember being, he stormed past the house and into the field. He worked hard well into the afternoon before the sting of his fury faded.
Chapter Twelve
Here it comes, Ginny thought the minute she caught sight of Seth through the open kitchen window, striding toward the house.
She felt sick inside at what she’d done. For days the anxiety had been eating her up until she could hardly concentrate on her work. She’d ruined an entire batch of corn bread telling herself how foolish she’d been, letting her pride get the best of her in Ellie Jance’s shop.
The pleasure of putting Linnea in her place was long gone. Now she was afraid of what Linnea had told Seth. And what he would do to her. Ginny rescued the corn bread from the oven before she let this batch scorch, and set the thick fragrant loaves on racks to cool.
“Ginny.” His knock rattled the ill-fitting screen door in its frame.
He was furious all right. “I’ll be ready for the men tomorrow. Got everything done that I can tonight.”
