Deeply Devoted (18 page)

Greta lowered her eyes and fingered the dress. “I wanted to look pretty for Bryan.”

“Bryan? But you didn’t see him then. You spent the night with the Cristinis.”

“The truth is I did see him. He asked me to meet him and I slipped out.” Greta’s eyes flitted toward the window as if she wished she could fly away.

Stay calm, Catharine
. “Greta . . . where did you meet him?” Catharine was getting all types of images, remembering how Peter had found them at the line shack. Suddenly she was feeling nauseated, and she backed up to the edge of the bed and sat down.

“Cath, are you all right? You look a little pale.” Greta flung the dress on the bed and knelt in front Catharine. “Do you want some water?”

Catharine licked her lips and put a hand to her stomach. “No, I don’t need water. I need you to tell me, where did you meet Bryan?”
Lord, I promised to guide and protect my sisters. I’m a failure in more ways than one.

“Don’t look so disgusted. We went to the Tivoli for a late-night dinner. That’s all. Then he walked me back to the Cristinis’.” Greta’s bright blue eyes were beginning to fill with tears.

“I don’t know . . . you sneaked out once before, and now this. How am I supposed to believe or trust you?” Catharine stared down at Greta, her eyes unwavering.

“I swear. That’s the truth.” Greta crossed her chest with her finger. “Cross my heart. If you don’t believe me, you can ask Clara Andersen. She was at the Tivoli.”

“Is that so?” Catharine felt weak. “Why didn’t you tell us on the ride home then, Greta?”

Greta’s pretty face mirrored remorse. “I know I should have . . . but I knew you’d be angry and I wanted to see Bryan again, so I just didn’t. I’m sorry. But you have to believe me.”

“I want to. Have you seen him since?”

“No, I haven’t, but I’ll be eighteen in a week. Please don’t treat me like a child, Cath.”

Blinking back tears, Catharine took Greta’s hand, the nausea gone now. “I know, but, Greta, I’ve got to tell Peter about your charging the dress to his account.”

“Are you going to tell him about my dinner with Bryan too?” Greta’s face fell.

“I will because the Cristinis are his friends and you shouldn’t have done that when you were entrusted to them overnight. And this is his home. You need to abide by our rules while you live here.”

Greta sat next to her sister on the bed, looking regretful. “I’m sorry.”

Catharine knew that Greta was determined to live her life by her own set of rules. What could she do or say? She still remembered her first love and how she’d felt. “Greta, as long as you live under this roof, you will have to tell Bryan that he must court you properly. If not, you’re surely asking for trouble. Hiding the truth will only bring you heartache and pain. I don’t want that for you. If he cares for you, then tell him to come to our home. Unless you have something to hide. He may be honorable, but passion can interfere with good intentions. I’ll not have it any other way. Can you understand?”

Greta was crying softly now. “Yes.” She hiccuped.

“Trust me, Greta. I haven’t been totally honest with Peter about things, and it’s caused unnecessary heartache.”

Greta’s eyes flew open. “You haven’t told him, Catharine?”

Catharine swallowed hard. “No. I know I should have . . . but I’ve been worried about what he’d think of me.” Now she sounded like the one needing guidance.

“My sweet, sweet Catharine. Peter will understand and love you just the same. You should tell him.”

Catharine bent to give her sister a peck on the cheek. “Don’t look so glum. I’m just protecting you from yourself. But you’re right, once you’re eighteen, you’re really an adult. So make adult decisions, please.”

Greta walked her to the door. “I understand, Cath. I’ll send a letter to Bryan at Fort Russell. I don’t know when he’s off duty again.” She paused at the doorway. “But, Cath, you should know . . . I think I love him.” Her eyes sparkled, and the way her tear-stained face softened when she said his name, Catharine knew she did.

Clara stared at her reflection in the mirror, smiling. There was more color in her face now, and she noticed her eyes appeared brighter, reflecting her renewed interest in living for the first time in years. She felt excited about what each day would bring since getting to know Mac. He’d taken her to dinner, for long walks in the park, and for drives in the country, and he’d promised to accompany her to church soon.
I wonder what he’s doing at this moment. Is he thinking of me too?
Her heart fluttered. She hoped so. She’d almost forgotten the original purpose that had brought them together. They always had something to talk or laugh about, and she hung on to every word he said. The way he told a story or described a situation made her laugh.

On their drive in the country, he’d parked the buggy under a huge cottonwood tree, then pressed warm kisses to her waiting mouth and along her neck until she drew up short and cautioned herself. He was romantic, yes. But there had been no declarations of love. Yet. Surely it was just a matter of time before he declared his intentions. He’d brought her flowers and taken her to afternoon tea last week. All promising . . . very promising.

Tomorrow Mac was taking her to see Sarah Bernhardt perform at the Cheyenne Opera House. She wanted to look her very best as he paraded her amid the other “important” socialites of Cheyenne. He must do very well as an investigator. Several times he’d traveled out of town, saying how much he’d missed her when he’d returned. He’d only asked her once for an advance to continue the investigation, and when before she was reluctant, now she was eager to give him what he needed in order to speed up the process.

Clara had seen Peter and Catharine at church and was cordial to both of them, preferring to be civil until she had proof of a prior marriage. Peter seemed even more distant, and though he continued to respect her as his mother, he spent very little time talking to her. It had been a long time since he’d come to visit her. It pained her deeply to think she had such little place in his life now.

She turned her attention to the chifforobe, where she’d hung a royal blue dress of satin with black jets adorning the bodice and the back bustle. It was one of the finest gowns she’d bought in a long time. She fished around in her jewelry box for the jet earrings that were a present from her deceased husband. She sighed as she remembered the Christmas he’d given them to her. It was one of the few things he’d bought her in all the years they were married.

Clara wiped away an unbidden tear and shook her head. Well, that was in the past, and when she’d least expected it, Mac had become a part of her life. While she’d loved her husband and respected him, she’d never felt for him the way she did for Mac. Besides Peter, she now had a purpose for living.

Later that afternoon, Peter stepped from the barn and watched as Catharine lugged a pail of water to her ever-drooping flowers. A sorrier site he’d never seen, but she was determined to keep them watered. He glanced up at the sky for any sign of a cloud, but it was as vast and empty as the desert. Looking back at his wife, he saw the heat was getting the best of her as she stood and fanned herself with her apron, gazing at her sad little flower patch. Her calico work dress was stained with perspiration, and dirt clung to the hemline. Now was the time to ease her burden, just as she’d tried to ease his concerns about the crop. Peter had seen more than a few grasshoppers about, which was normal . . . but he felt a strange foreboding.

He lumbered over and slipped his arms about her waist, then picked her up and spun her around until her hair fell from its pins and they were both dizzy with delight.

“Peter,” she exclaimed, “what’s gotten into you? Put me down.” But her eyes told him a different story.

“Baby,” he whispered in her ear, then leveled a gaze deep into her sparkling green eyes. “You need to rest. You look plumb tuckered out.” He still held her against him, and as usual he felt an intense rush of emotions. A slow smile crossed her face, and she kissed the tip of his nose.

“I’m nearly finished here and feel like resting in the shade of the porch with something cool to drink. What do you say . . . interested?” She flashed him a coy look and ran a finger along his brow.

Peter gave her a lingering kiss and then released her. He loved her lips and their softness as they yielded to his kiss. “We’ve been working too hard around here without a break, and I think we could use a trip to town to see that play at the opera house featuring Sarah Bernhardt.”

“Oh, Peter!” She clapped her hands. “When?” She had the enthusiasm of a young girl, and it did his heart good to see her smile light up her tired face.

“How about tomorrow night? I spoke to Dorothy after church, and she’ll meet us there with the tickets.” He saw her smile fade. Was she jealous of Dorothy? He couldn’t believe it but felt a twinge of flattery that she would be. “I thought it’d be nice to take Greta and Anna too. It can be a birthday celebration for Greta.”

“What a wonderful idea, Peter. You’re so thoughtful. You spoil them, you know.” She took his hand, and he picked up the water bucket as they walked back to the house.

“I hope so, because I’m rather fond of them.” They stepped up to the porch and plopped onto the porch swing. “Ahh, it’s cooler here.”

“Let me get us something to drink.” Catharine started to get up, but he pressed her back into the swing.

“No. You sit, I’ll go. You’ve worked hard enough for one day.” Peter rose and disappeared inside the house.

Catharine refastened her hairpins again, creating a neat bun at the nape, and closed her eyes.

That evening Peter slipped out of the house once Catharine was fast asleep, which lately seemed to be almost as soon as her head hit the pillow. Concerns over his wheat crop were nagging him. The last couple of years, the locusts had been a huge problem, and he was seeing evidence of the insects again. He learned from the Department of Agriculture how to plow a strip between his wheat field and the sod land when there was evidence the grasshoppers were hatching. Then he would fill the strips with bait to kill the grasshoppers, thereby saving the crop . . . at least he hoped. He’d already inquired around town to hire some laborers to help him. Come Monday morning, that’s just what he’d be doing. But tomorrow he intended to show Catharine a good time away from the farm.

If the crop was good, he’d hire someone to help in the house. Greta and Anna were not cut out for housekeeping. He gave a little chuckle. Bless their hearts. They tried, but mostly they gave just halfhearted attempts in order to help their sister.

With the weather so dry, Catharine’s little flower patch was a pitiful sight to behold—he could see it clearly with the light from the full moon. Even after they fertilized, the ground needed moisture. And they sure weren’t getting any rain.

Besides the crop, he was worried about the chasm between him and his mother. He’d seen his mother only a handful of times at church and was cordial to her, but he wasted no time getting out of the building, afraid she may have more accusations about his wife. He couldn’t be happier with Catharine than if he’d known her for years, and that was good enough for him.

Before returning to the house, Peter leaned against the fence post, admiring how the silvery moonlight illuminated the prairie. The wind whispered through the trees, and he felt a peculiar need to offer up a prayer from his heart.

Lord, I stand amazed in Your presence that You love me and care about my every need. I thank You for this land, for I know it belongs to You. I’m happy living here doing what I’m doing. But most of all I want to thank You for my sweet wife. I consider her a gift, because I asked You to send me someone special and You did. She’s worked hard learning to pitch in around the farm just for me. I’m asking You to remove this nagging doubt I have about her. I want to give my entire heart to her. I don’t know how to handle this. If what my mother says turns out to be true, then I need direction. I want to turn it all over to You. Amen.

Feeling a weight lifted, Peter made his way back to the house, eager to snuggle against his sweet woman.

Excitement filled the farmhouse while everyone hurried around with last-minute touches to their toilette before leaving for the opera. Catharine was filled with love for Peter that he would do this for Greta’s birthday. He looked so handsome, stirring her heart in his pinstriped trousers with leather braces. She’d ironed the white shirt he’d paired with a brocade burgundy vest, then helped him tie his black string tie and tuck it into his vest. Finishing off his look, Peter sported a wool felt-top hat with grosgrain ribbon around the band and a black frock coat.

“You look dashing, my love.” Catharine watched him as he admired his reflection in the hallway mirror.

“Thank you, but I’m already feeling quite warm.” Peter removed his coat. “I’ll just wait until we get there, then put the coat on.” He turned around to get a better look at her, and his jaw dropped. “Catharine, my dear, you are simply stunning! I’ll be proud to have you on my arm, and I’m sure the envy of my friends.” He held her hands at arm’s length to admire her outfit, then leaned in to kiss her brow.

“I’m glad you like my gown. It’s not new, but I hoped I’d get the chance to wear it again,” Catharine said, then walked over to the mirror. The off-shoulder, jewel-green taffeta with its daring décolletage complemented her auburn hair. She had dusted her face to tone down the freckles and smiled at her reflection. “Do you think my hair is all right?” It was pulled up into a pompadour with a few curls tickling the nape of her neck and the sides of her face.

Peter reached for her and pulled her against him with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Maybe we should just let the girls go and we can stay here.”