Please tell me if we’re making a mistake, Lord.
But of course God didn’t answer with a voice or a vision.
A peace maybe? Could you give me a peace?
But he’d already asked for that while imagining marrying her—or not—and his guts still turned with indecision.
Anthony held Kate’s hand as they left the post office. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
Silas followed them out into the chilly air but let them walk ahead.
“I’m glad to see you too.” She pulled the boy closer, wrapping her arm around his shoulders and rubbing his arm.
Though she didn’t say she was glad to be here.
Hadn’t she turned down his proposal in Breton? So what made her come without one letter between them? Something must have happened with her job.
He should’ve taken her to the hotel to eat before retrieving Anthony. Then he could’ve asked her what had spurred her to Kansas without the boy’s listening ears.
“I can’t wait to show you my kitten.” Anthony practically skipped beside Kate down the sidewalk, though he’d surely claim he was too old for such behavior. “I got to pick one from Dr. Stanton’s litter, and I chose the black one with three white socks. Mr. Jonesey said I should name him Socks, but that’s too easy. Maybe you could help me think of something.”
“What’s his personality like?”
“Well, he attacks Mr. Jonesey’s old knotted sock as if it’s a ferocious critter one minute and then falls asleep with it the next.”
And with every step beside Kate, Anthony talked faster.
Silas walked behind them, soaking up the stories his boy told her so freely. They weren’t within sight of the depot yet, and Anthony had already used more words with Kate than he’d bothered to spill since leaving Missouri.
The two of them together, conversing with such ease did his heart good, and yet, he wasn’t a part of it. Would they forever shut him out, or had three decades without bonding with anyone set him up for stilted relationships for the rest of his life?
Chapter 17
Kate primed Silas’s well and pumped water. The handle stuck just as he’d said it would, so she jiggled it. From the dipper, she took a long drink and then leaned against the well’s edge, gazing out over Silas’s land.
During the train ride, she’d tried to erase the picture Silas had painted of his place and envision Lucy’s dismal descriptions.
Either he’d made a lot of improvements since Lucinda left, or her friend had exaggerated the hardships.
Some of both, most likely.
And why had Silas’s friend kept sending him telegrams over the disaster Mr. Hicks had made of the place? Nothing much looked amiss. There was a large pretty yard—or it would be when spring brought back the green. The well sat between the barn and the small whitewashed cabin, which contained a bedroom, a combination sitting room and kitchen, and a loft. Several other small buildings dotted the property, likely root cellars and sheds.
She turned to watch Silas pick the rocks and dirt from the last of his borrowed horse’s hooves. A borrowed wagon and a borrowed nag. Maybe that was why the men were worried about the farm. How much of the stuff she saw was on loan?
If only she’d seen that something in Silas’s eyes when she got off the train yesterday. But after she’d detrained and told him he had to measure up, he’d turned aloof.
Sighing, she shook her head. Could she blame him for going quiet? He didn’t need her to underline his faults when she had plenty herself. “Just ask the school board.”
Silas stopped. “What’d you say?”
She hadn’t realized she’d said that aloud. Oh well, might as well get the conversation started. “The school board.” She shrugged. “They fired me.”
“Because of me?”
“Yes, seems plenty of people saw us . . . at the train station.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m really sorry about kissing you like that. I take full responsibility.”
But her brazen response hadn’t been his fault at all. What if . . . what if he regretted everything? She wrapped her arms around her middle. “Are you sorry I lost my job or that you kissed me?”
He pulled at his collar. “I regret kissing you without thinking about how it’d affect you—your reputation, I mean.”
“But what about the kiss itself?” She forced herself to look up at him.
“I, uh . . .” His gaze landed on her mouth, then darted out over his pastures, his Adam’s apple working harder than necessary. Was he enamored with her even a little bit? He’d certainly been skittish and stiff since she’d arrived—but she hadn’t been particularly warm either, nearly implying he’d lied to her about his property the moment she opened her mouth.
He blew out a breath and looked back at her. “I’m not sure I’d do it again, but it’s not that I didn’t enjoy it.”
They stood staring at each other for a moment. Then he pointed toward the well. “I need to wash my hands.”
She moved out of his way, but not far enough away she couldn’t smell the cologne and leather and musk of the man. She needed to forget fear, forget reason, and just . . . stop overthinking. Maybe if she stopped being so standoffish, he’d start acting the way he had back in Breton.
But to do that, one of their mouths ought to start moving. . . . Talking, at least. “What’s that heap of rocks for?” She pointed to the haphazard pile sitting a body length away from the cabin.
“I collect them as I plow. Almost enough to make a summer kitchen, I think.”
Surely no bachelor thought a summer kitchen necessary. Had he been collecting all this time in hopes Lucinda would return?
“What’s that back there?” A wooden fence surrounded three towering piles of hay beside an earthen lump overtaken by weeds.
“The soddy I started out in.”
Ah, the dirt hovel Lucinda had complained about. And no wonder. It certainly looked small for two people.
“You want to look at it?”
She nodded. Maybe moving would work the kinks from their awkward conversation. “What kind of wire is that around the garden?” Dead plants drooped in weary lines behind the house.
“Torn ribbon wire. Keeps the cattle and horses from eating my vegetables, though it doesn’t keep chickens out. I wanted to get more wire for the cattle since they’re easier to contain that way, but I won’t be able to afford it for a while now.”
“Eggs, beef, and vegetables.” Was there anything the man was missing from being self-sufficient? “Have you a dairy cow?”
He pointed to a rust-colored lump in the nearest pasture. “Milky’s over there.”
“Milky?”
He shrugged. “She’s not well named at the moment considering she’s dry now.”
“I suppose you have a cat named Cat?” She couldn’t help but laugh at her joke.
“Well yeah. He’s the gray shadow over there under the wheelbarrow.”
She snorted, then put her hands on her hips. “Don’t tell me the dog’s name is Dog.”
“I’m not that bad. He’s Yellow Eyes.”
Was he being humorous, or did he really think Yellow Eyes required more imagination than Dog? No wonder he’d suggested naming the kitten Socks. “Remind me not to let you name the—” Children.
She sped up, hoping he’d not notice the terrible blushing she’d been cursed with lately. Precisely how had she so quickly gotten from worrying about whether or not she should marry him to naming children?
By the time she reached the soddy’s entrance, she’d breathed in enough cool autumn air that the only color that should be left in her cheeks was from exertion. She pinched the building’s sagging wall made of long, thick dirt bricks and rubbed the soil between her fingertips. “How long did you live here?”
“I built the cabin seven years ago, so . . . nearly five years.”
And it wasn’t surprising Lucinda had complained about living in this thing. Kate ducked under the low do
orway into the darkness. Only one deep, east-facing window covered by an oilskin curtain let in any light beyond what came through the doorway. White plaster crumbles littered the floor and speckled the sparse farming equipment stored inside. She tried to imagine a stove, table, bed, chairs, wardrobe, chest, and washstand stuffed inside instead of plows and rakes.
She’d never felt the meaning of the word cramped more keenly than now.
“I’ve let it fall into disrepair. Been too focused on the crops and livestock.” He reached up to the ceiling, where roots dangled through a hole. He pushed against a rotten wood beam to keep from hitting it with his head as he took another step inside. “I know it looks awful. Wasn’t much to live in, but it’s warmer than the cabin in the winter and cooler in the summer. Though both houses have their flaws. Bugs and snakes plagued this one.” He shuddered, then rolled his shoulders as if to shake off the shiver. “The cabin though, well, I’ve had coons holing up under the porch, and once a skunk—”
“Are you trying to make your place sound bad?”
He wiggled the rotten section of the stud until he pulled it from the ceiling. Soil rained down on him. “Figured you needed to know what you might have to deal with.” He swiped the dirt from his hair.
“You’ve got a nice place, Silas. I can’t imagine the dedication needed to build this by yourself.”
He blinked at her. “I’m always behind on everything, and I’ll be even more so this coming season since Peter Hicks ruined quite a bit of what I’d built up. I’ve lost crops, animals, and equipment.”
“I’m sorry about your setback. I hope the trust you had in God back in Breton will help you get through this winter.”
“He did honor that trust, didn’t He?” His voice was soft, contemplative. “So He could certainly do it again. . . .”
“You should be proud of your place—not trying to make me think poorly of it just because things need improvement or repair.”
“I shouldn’t?” He took a step closer.
She’d thought the place was cramped before, but his nearness created a panicky feeling of another kind.
She licked her lips. “Why are you making your homestead sound worse than it is? Are you trying to talk me out of marrying you?”
Since her eyes hadn’t quite adjusted to the dim room, she couldn’t tell what the dark look on Silas’s face signified, but the air around them suddenly felt serious—if air could be filled with emotion.
“Are you saying yes, then?”
She swallowed and her lungs quit working. What was she saying? Nothing she’d seen in Kansas proved he’d lied about who he was or what he had, and she hadn’t money or opportunity to do much else but marry.
But more importantly, she loved Anthony and trusted Silas.
How could she have expected a declaration of love when she’d disembarked in Kansas? Of course he couldn’t say he loved her; what sane person declared such a thing after only a few weeks?
She’d seen what kind of person he was in the middle of a crisis—and she thought all the better of him for it. There was respect, admiration, and an attraction to build on.
Her heartbeat ratcheted up in anticipation of voicing her reply. Once she answered, she couldn’t unsay it. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “I’m saying, yes.”
“Good. That’s good.” He nodded, as if trying to convince himself getting married was indeed good.
His gaze lowered to her mouth.
Or at least she thought he was looking at her mouth in the dim light.
With all the quickness of a summer storm, she wanted him to kiss her again—something she’d feared he’d do without any warning at the Salt Flatts depot, but now . . . She stepped forward, placed a hand on his chest, and tilted her head back. Tiptoeing, she left only a breath’s distance between her lips and his.
And she waited.
His shaky hand came up to her jaw, tipping it back ever so slightly, then his mouth landed on hers as light as a whisper.
She had no job to lose now.
Sliding her arms around his neck, she pressed her lips harder against his until he crushed her to him like he had before. His hands came up to entwine themselves into her hair and his thumbs swept the errant tresses back from both her temples. She held on tighter and kissed back—until he broke away.
He cleared his throat. “When are you wanting to get married?”
She forced open her lazy eyelids, her head still cradled in his hands. “Um, this Sunday?”
“Then, I think—” he reached back to grab her wrists and gently untangle them from his neck—“that I should show you, the uh . . . necessary now.”
She squinted. “The outhouse?”
“Well, yes, you need to know where that is, of course. You said you wanted to see everything.” He released her and left the soddy as if maybe he needed to visit the necessary.
She’d come to Salt Flatts hoping to find an excuse to keep them from wedding quickly, but after the overwhelming desire to kiss him again had hit her like a falling soddy brick, and how her heart couldn’t find a steady rhythm right now . . .
If she thought she’d be planting her feet in Kansas soil just for Anthony, she’d been so very wrong.
Silas pushed his plate away and smiled at Kate across the hotel table. He still couldn’t believe she’d said yes. He’d braced himself for her to break off the engagement. Who didn’t cut ties with him when he got close? Yet despite what his hired hand had done to his farm, she’d not once mentioned leaving.
“Would you like pie?”
He jumped at Mrs. Studdard’s voice so near his ear—again. The hotel owner’s wife lived to eavesdrop, and her wide, toothy grin proved she’d pieced together enough tidbits to start the rumor mill.
Kate put down the spoon she’d used to stir her coffee and raised her eyebrows in question. How could he order pie when he shouldn’t have even spent the money to eat at the hotel? But how could he tell her no when he’d asked her to lunch so they could talk? Not that they’d done much of that with Mrs. Studdard constantly checking on them. “Would you like to share a slice or have your own?”
A faint blush settled on her cheeks—it seemed her cheeks were looking rather rosy of late. She wore a plain-colored dress, as usual, but with her Sunday collar and cuffs. Yet she somehow looked exquisite in mud brown.
“I think it’d be better if we each had our own piece.”
Mrs. Studdard clasped her hands together. “Our chocolate pie is a dream.”
“Two of those?” He didn’t want to annoy Kate by ordering for her.
She nodded. Mrs. Studdard moved away, and he sucked in air.
“She likes to hover, doesn’t she?” Kate watched their hostess glide to the kitchen.
He chuffed. “How else can you mine gossip fodder if you aren’t close enough to unearth every word?”
“I thought you told me Mrs. Graves was the town gossip.”
He held up two fingers entwined together. “Best friends.”
“But why would she care about us?” Kate’s confused pout made him want to kiss her again. Soon.
Not if, not maybe, not hopefully—he would indeed kiss her soon.
But he shouldn’t kiss her anymore until the wedding. If he couldn’t behave himself in broad daylight in front of an entire town, he certainly could make a huge mistake alone with her on his farm—especially with the way she kissed. He closed his eyes to rein in his thoughts so he could make conversation.
“For ten years, if I couldn’t get home to eat, I dined here—alone.” No one had ever cared much about him until he moved here, not even his mother, but in Salt Flatts everyone seemed interested in him . . . and his failings. “She’s probably pacing in the back perturbed that she knows nothing more than your name.”
“You must have been so lonely.”
“Yes, and you? How long have you been away from family?”
“About two and a half years, but then, it wasn’t the happiest of situations,
so it’s nothing I pine for.” She wiped her mouth and looked out the window. Evidently not a topic she was comfortable discussing. “My parents have been gone for thirteen years, and I still miss them terribly.”
“Were they good to you?”
“The best.” She sighed and closed her eyes. “Mother never cared that I ran around and got dirty. She gave me plenty of time to get into mischief.”
Leaning back against his bench seat, he settled his arm across the top and looked to make sure Mrs. Studdard wasn’t returning before taking a long glance at the woman across from him. As much as he preferred to give them more time to get to know each other before the wedding, he couldn’t afford to pay for her room any longer.
And she’d be such a help cooking and cleaning and caring for Anthony while he worked extra hard to make up for what he’d lost to Peter Hicks. He could chop extra firewood this winter to sell next year and maybe replace the tools he’d lost without dipping into his savings. But what could he do to make extra money for the next few months? He’d have to ask around for odd jobs.
Mrs. Studdard swept in like a Kansas breeze—knocking off his fork, stepping on his boot, her skirt dragging his napkin off the table as she plopped down their pies. “Hope you enjoy. Special night, huh?”
“Is it Tuesday?” He looked at Kate with the most confused expression he could muster.
“I believe so.” Kate’s eyes widened comically. “That is special.”
“Very special. Thank you, Mrs. Studdard. Looks good.”
The woman’s bright face dimmed, and her lower lip popped out. “All right, then.” She stomped away.
Kate giggled. “We broke her heart.”
He frowned at the utensil on the floor. “Ah, but she dirtied my fork.” He grabbed his spoon.
Kate stared at him a little before nibbling on her pie. Was it a terrible thing if they settled into a comfortable silence? She’d never really been quiet in Missouri, but then, she’d been bossy most of the time and was constantly worrying about Anthony. Had his mentioning Mrs. Studdard’s eavesdropping scared Kate into keeping quiet? Or maybe he’d lucked out with a woman who wouldn’t be upset with him for sitting on the porch, sharpening his knives, and staring at the horizon after a long day of work. Lucy had always nagged him about the slightest idleness on his part.
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