Once the girls returned from the privy, Myra questioned them. “Have you been living with your grandmother? Do you have any clothes here?”
Berta, who had yet to say anything to her, surprised Myra by answering. “Ma died and Pa took us to Grandma.”
Johanna contradicted her. “Berta, you know we lived with Grandma before Ma died.” Looking at Myra, she explained. “She was real sick, even before the twins came.”
Myra nodded. “Well, we need to go to your grandmother’s to get you dressed for the day.” Then she suggested, “Probably meals too, I expect.” Johanna’s nod confirmed that.
Telling the girls to wait for her, Myra quickly dressed in a clean, but wrinkled, work dress. Her flying fingers formed a neat bun at the nape of her neck. Throwing the black cloak around her, she picked up Darlene while Johanna carried Dora, and the group set off by the pink light of dawn.
Quiet filled the house. Myra guessed everyone must still be asleep so she whispered as she asked Johanna for diapers. The girl led her through the back door to a small porch off of the kitchen.
Immediately, she noticed a Triumph washing machine and silently thanked God she wouldn’t have to scrub clothes on a washboard. The mangle also stood on the porch. Seeing it, she sent up additional praise that none of the girls’ arms or fingers had been damaged by it, as she knew so often happened.
Grabbing diapers and dresses from stacks of clothes on a scuffed wooden table, Johanna called Darlene over to her. Myra watched aghast as, without laying out a towel or blanket, the girl ordered her sister to plop down on the rough wood of the porch. Then, smiling, she held a diaper out to Myra.
Staring stupidly at the cloth, Myra softly admitted, “I’ve never diapered a child.”
With the diaper still extended toward her step-mother, Johanna encouraged, “It’s the same as putting one on a baby. Go ahead and try.”
Myra stepped back from her. “No, I mean I’ve never diapered anyone, infant or child.” Willing herself to remain calm, she asked Johanna to show her how. “At least for this first time.”
Johanna’s face showed amazement before she shrugged and knelt on her knees at Darlene’s feet. Undressing the tot, the older sister demonstrated the process, giving tips as she worked. With the diaper in place, she urged Myra to put on Dora’s diaper. “It’ll give you a chance to try what I showed you,” she said kindly.
This oldest daughter truly is as sweet as her father is grumpy. What a contrast!
Myra hated to let Darlene stand in just a diaper on the unheated porch, so she dressed the little girl before changing her sister’s diaper. Then she kneeled and patted the spot on the porch as she urged Dora to lay down.
Repelled at first by the feel of the cold, soggy diaper, she almost retched. Reminding herself to be grateful nothing solid filled it, she mimicked Johanna’s earlier movements and fixed the clean one in place. Next time, she told herself to have a warm washcloth handy to keep the twins clean.
I’ll start putting them on the pot in the morning. The quicker both are trained, the better.
Now that both twins were diapered, Myra washed her hands and turned her attention to breakfast. Cooking, at least, was familiar to her.
With Berta helping her sisters stack wooden blocks in a corner, Johanna gathered eggs, butter, and potatoes for Myra. When asked if they had any bacon grease or bacon, the girl retrieved a side of the smoked meat for her. Quickly cutting the meat and placing it in the heated iron skillet, Myra peeled and then diced potatoes before remembering to start coffee.
Johanna began to scramble the eggs without being told. When her new mother thanked her, the girl explained, “This is Pa’s favorite way to eat them. I thought he might need sweetening up this morning.”
Myra realized the nine-year-old had the mind and soul of someone much older. She silently promised the girl she would give her a chance to be a child again, somehow. While she seethed inside that her husband kept his children a secret, Myra knew she was needed here. The girls welcomed her, and that meant so much to her.
After placing the crisp bacon on a covered plate, she added the potatoes to the grease. With everything happening around her, she realized she’d forgotten to make biscuits! “Do you have any bread for toast?” she asked hopefully.
At the shake of Johanna’s head, Myra directed her to stand watch over the potatoes. Following a simple recipe that she knew by heart, she mixed up pancakes. Taking down the cast iron griddle hung on the kitchen wall, she forced herself to calmly walk to the stove and place it on the stovetop. Worried that everything wouldn’t be done at the same time, she coached herself to stop fretting and get busy.
Flipping a pancake and adding another to the plate on the warming shelf, she suggested to Johanna that it was time for her to wake Holder. At the girl’s tinkle of laughter, she cast a quizzical look in her direction.
“Pa’s been up at least a couple hours by now. Should be in soon with fresh milk,” the girl explained. As if those words were a stage cue, Myra heard booted feet stomp at the back door. Holder entered with a bucket and Johanna left the potatoes to grab a pitcher and cheesecloth. From the ease with which the girl moved, Myra recognized this procedure as something they must have done hundreds of times before. She expected it would become part of her daily chores in the future.
Greeting her husband sweetly, he grunted at her. Either he still pouted or German men didn’t say good morning. She had pancakes to attend to and ignored his foul mood. Hopefully, Johanna was right and breakfast would sweeten him up.
While he didn’t say much during breakfast and refused to glance at the twins, Holder did appear happy to eat the meal. He smiled at his first bite of the potatoes and even complimented her coffee. “Nice not to make the meal for a change.” It surprised her that he knew how to cook. The only men she’d ever heard of being able to cook were the chefs in expensive restaurants.
A groggy Carl joined them at the table just as everyone had finished eating and giggled at the sight of pancakes. “I love pancakes. Oh, I love bacon. Yum!” It would be a while before she grew used to a man speaking and behaving as he did. She wondered what he’d been like before the beating.
Leaving his brother at the table, Holder rose and, gesturing with the twitch of a finger, beckoned his wife to follow. Feeling like a hound commanded by her master, Myra nevertheless stepped onto the back porch with him.
Keeping his voice quiet, he issued rapid commands. “The girls will sleep here tonight. You will stay in the house until after supper. We will go to the cabin together then.” After saying those words, he turned to reenter the kitchen.
Her softly issued challenge stopped him in mid-pivot. “The girls must sleep in the cabin so we can be a family.”
With a low growl, he used words she’d said yesterday against her. “I thought you didn’t want a ready-made family. Leave them here so you can escape them for a while.”
No nagging. No berating. Her mother’s lessons came to mind and tempered her answer. “Truly, after my brother’s children, I was sure I didn’t.” She paused, confused by a scene that flitted into her mind. “Some memory draws me to the twins. It’s buried deep and I can’t recall much of it”
She stopped, desperate to draw up the memory that had nagged her since meeting the children. Giving up on it for the moment, she continued pleading, “Your girls are absolutely precious and need both of us to help them feel loved. I think letting them sleep in the cabin will give them security.”
He began a rapid spate of guttural words she guessed must be German. Believing in the old adage, “What’s good for the goose is good for the gander,” she spouted in French, a language her mother believed every refined lady should know.
Describing her growing love for the children she’d recently met, her tone changed from angry to tender. He stopped speaking when he heard that shift and asked, “What did you say?”
Not answering him, she said, “Let’s agree to only bicker in English so we both know what’
s said.”
He gave a short nod. “Yesterday, when you told me that you had to sneak away without your trunk, I worried.” She raised an eyebrow in question at that and he explained. “I thought you might not be of age yet. Now I see you are a fussy old maid after all.”
Throwing up his hands, he hissed, “I don’t want the twins in the cabin.” He’d admitted what she already knew. Now that he’d broached the subject, she pushed for answers.
“Why do you treat Darlene and Dora so coldly?” Myra accused. “They are absolute angels.”
“Little mistakes are what they are. Looking at them makes me think about Lydia’s death.” The admission was difficult for him. The grimace marking his features told her that.
“She died in childbirth?” Myra had wondered what happened to his first wife. Johanna mentioned that her mother had been sick while carrying the twins, but that didn’t explain her death.
“Not exactly. She just became weaker each day of her lying in until she could no longer eat or drink.” Confusion and hurt colored his voice as he described that time for her. “Fevers bothered her daily. Besides that, Lydia spoke often of how sad giving me two more girls made her. In the end, well…”
He broke off his retelling and looked down at his feet. When he raised his eyes to hers, a determination showed in them. Grabbing her shoulders, he pulled her to him and firmly kissed her. When his kiss turned tender, she felt herself melting into him. Too soon, he removed his hands and stepped back from her. “Do what you want about the girls. Just give me a son.”
Watching him stomp away, she searched her mind for the clues she had to his true nature. He’d joked about the church being decorated for their wedding. Carrying her into the cabin last night had been a romantic gesture. Just now his kiss had been more than pleasant.
Too, he had given in about the twins. Something forced him to act uncaring and unreasonable. What, though? Was it some tradition connected with his heritage?
Carl still sat at the kitchen table when she left the porch, so Myra ordered him to stay put. Explaining where to find her reticule, Myra sent Johanna running to fetch it.
Then she turned back to her brother-in-law. Smiling sadly at his ever-present ridiculous grin, she slowly instructed, “Now, you are going to town today for me. I want you to buy eight peppermint sticks and eight oranges if you can find them. If not get lemons.” Repeating what she wanted, Myra then had Carl parrot back what he would buy for her. After she realized he couldn’t remember the items, she asked Berta to find paper and a pencil for her.
By the time she had a note composed for the mercantile owner, Johanna arrived with her handbag. Handing Carl some coins left over from the money Holder sent the matchmaker and the note, she sent him into Idyll Wood. “Remember Carl, if you don’t do this, you won’t have a Christmas present.” He bobbed his head up and down, grinning all the while.
When she finished with the dishes, Myra asked Johanna to introduce her to Jennie.
The girl led her into a darkened room. Smelling the unwashed body and sickness, she gagged at first. The sight of a faded face against a yellowed pillowcase tugged at her heart and helped her ignore the smell. Cleaning this room and bathing the poor woman would be a priority for her today.
In fact, everyone should have a bath since tonight was Christmas Eve, she decided. The family might not have decorated for the holiday, but she intended to celebrate it in small ways at least.
Her mother-in-law proved to be a sweet and undemanding woman. She easily gave in to whatever Myra suggested. Though a tub bath was out of the question, she agreed to Myra sponging her clean and stood over the sink, with Johanna steadying her, long enough to have her hair washed. While they did this, Myra asked Jennie about the typical meals she made as well as whether they owned any Christmas decorations.
While her granddaughter brushed her blonde-gray hair dry, Myra found fresh sheets and remade the bed. Cleaner and more comfortable now, the woman gratefully settled back into her freshly made bed. In her heavily accented English, she blessed her new daughter-in-law, “Thank der Herr above you are here. Much needed.” Closing her eyes, she sighed and nodded off quickly.
Tiptoeing out of the room, Myra began a pot of beans on the stove before bathing the girls. She knew laundry could wait until after Christmas and focused on clean bodies instead of clean clothes. After braiding the girls’ now washed hair she even managed a quick bath, though she had no other clothes at the house to don. At least hers had been fresh that morning.
By that time, Holder returned, looking for his mid-day meal. As he ate his beans and cornbread, he looked at the girls with some surprise. “Your mother has you prettied up.” Then he continued eating. At least he notices them. Both Johanna and Berta beamed at his words.
As he rose and put on his coat to leave, his wife also left the table and followed him out the back door, onto the porch. This made her giggle and he looked at her oddly. She shrugged and explained, “This seems to be the spot where we talk. That struck me as humorous.”
His look told her he didn’t find it funny. “Never mind. I wanted to ask about Christmas. Will we go to the service tonight?”
He shook his head. “Not with the cloudbank in the west. It promises a storm.”
When he didn’t volunteer anymore about how they would celebrate, she hesitantly admitted, “I’ve sent Carl for oranges and stick candy. Do you have any gifts for your daughters?”
For a brief minute, sadness filled his eyes. It faded quickly, replaced by the hardness he donned like a cloak. Once again, she believed it was more a role he played rather than being his true personality. “I’ve no plans. Do what you want.”
He grabbed her shoulders like he’d done earlier on the porch, yet the tenderness of his kiss contradicted that movement. Force and roughness were absent, and he rubbed her shoulders gently with his hands as his lips touched hers. Then he left without a word.
Well, I expect this sternness will disappear quickly if that kiss is anything to go by.
Chapter 4
The girls enjoyed a happy Christmas day. Myra knew she would forever treasure the memory of it.
The day before, after setting bread and rolls to rise near the warmth of the cookstove, she led the girls into the woods. There they cut pine boughs and gathered holly leaves and berries.
Back at the house her daughters, as she now thought of them, giggled and sang carols with her as they decorated the parlor. From her room, Jennie sang along with them but in German. Johanna arranged the family’s small manger scene on the fireplace mantle, placing holly leaves around it.
That evening they had the oyster soup which had rested overnight in the springhouse. Following her grandmother’s instructions, Johanna had prepared it the previous morning. “We always have this for Christmas Eve,” she’d explained to her new mother.
Carl managed to return with oranges as well as candy and his sister-in-law hid the items in a cupboard as a surprise for the girls. Wanting to maintain the family’s traditions, Myra placed the candy and fruit by the girls’ plates at breakfast. She sent them into the parlor for a moment as she did so. When they returned, squeals of delight erupted from the two older girls at the presents. Looking confused, Darlene and Dora nonetheless squeal as well and jumped up and down while holding hands with each other. The joy of these four was all the Christmas gift Myra needed that year.
That joy was balanced by something Fred brought from the jail. Her brother had sent her an unwelcome surprise.
“It says on this poster, Myra, that you’re a danger to yourself and possibly violent to others,” Fred commented. Then he teased, “You don’t look like you plan to poison the Christmas ham.”
“What should we do, Holder?” Rather than asking her brother-in-law, she turned to her husband for help and he smiled one of his rare grins.
Holder moved to stand beside her in front of the fireplace. With a possessive hand placed around her hip, he pulled her close to him. The touch brought a bl
ush to his wife’s cheeks, as it brought to her mind what they’d shared the previous night.
“Fred, anything you think we can do about this poster?” Holder asked, taking over the conversation.
His brother nodded. “Yeah, get her to town. Have Myra meet people so they can see how normal she is. Be sure to go to church Sunday.”
The idea of going to town thrilled Myra and eased some of the panic created in her by the poster. “Oh please, Holder. I’d love to get fabric for a dress. Johanna’s are so short.”
Whether because of Christmas or the threat presented by the poster, he gave in easily. Fred wasn’t finished discussing the poster though. “This was sent by the Pinkerton Agency. Tomorrow, I plan to wire them. The Pinkertons need to know this is a mistake.”
Pinning Myra with a stare, Fred switched from being a brother to his sheriff role. With command evident in his voice, he questioned, “Why would your brother try to get you back? Do you know what he wants?”
Frightened by their uncle’s tone, Darlene and Dora stopped playing and ran to Myra for comfort. They claimed her as their mother so easily. When she knelt to embrace both girls, Holder moved away from them.
Let him be that way. My girls come first!
As she hugged her daughters, that same memory flashed in her mind again. This time it came to her with greater clarity. She was quite young, like Darlene and Dora. She felt frightened and her mother knelt in front of her and held out her arms. “You’re home now,” she said.
Didn’t I always live with Mother and Father? How strange.
Looking up at Fred, she suggested, “I think whatever is going on has to do with a strange thing my family members have often said. It’s something about what I brought to the family every month.” Considering this statement for a moment, she continued, “It reminded me of the way someone speaks about a monthly allowance, but why would they get money because of me and who would give it to them?”
Rubbing his chin as he stood deep in thought, Fred didn’t respond for several minutes. When he spoke, his satisfied tone declared his happiness with his plan. “I’ll wire your family lawyer, if you know his name. I’d like to wire any aunts you have, also.”
A Farmer For Christmas (Spinster Mail-Order Brides Book 4) Page 4
