Deeply Devoted (26 page)

Never had Peter felt as alone as he did after the conversation with his mother.
Why, Lord? Why would Catharine withhold this from me? It makes no sense. Maybe she was afraid that I wouldn’t send for her and marry her if she told me the truth. Would I?
Peter sighed and was overcome with weariness. It was hard enough just trying to hold the farm together, much less this.

An idea suddenly occurred to him. He’d overheard Joe Hankins in the general store saying the widow Lucy Hayes needed a handyman for repairs around her homestead before she left for England. He could stop at her place on his way back home. He considered himself a good carpenter, and it might be able to help him break even. That is, if she hadn’t hired anyone yet.

Peter had met Lucy when she married and joined the church. Some people looked down their noses at her because of her reputation with the men at the local saloon. But that was in her past, before she’d given her heart to the Lord. Peter gave her the benefit of the doubt. After all, who was he to decide the condition of her soul?

With that in mind, he’d drop by her place before he went home. He needed the time to mull over what his mother had told him. He wanted to wait and find out if Mac got word of an official divorce before he confronted Catharine. But how was he supposed to act normal? She’d see right through him.
I’ll just have to work longer hours
.
Lord, help me
, he pleaded. He clicked the reins, urging Star to pick up his pace.

It wasn’t long before Lucy’s homestead came into view, and he guided his wagon to a standstill just outside her picket fence. She must have heard him because the front door swung open. She smiled and walked outside.

“Well, land of Goshen! What brings you to see this ol’ lady?” Lucy wiped her hands on her apron. Silver threads now dusted the hairline at her temples, and there were wrinkles around her eyes when she smiled. She was still a good-looking woman but was older than he remembered, and there was more meat on her bones than the last time he’d seen her. She’d taken her husband Lefty’s death hard.

“Howdy, Mrs. Hayes.” Peter climbed down from the wagon and walked to the porch steps.

“Oh, gracious, please call me Lucy. I’m not
that
much older than you,” she said with a giggle. “Come on in and sit a spell. I’ll get us something cool to drink.”

“Thanks, but I’m on my way back home. I’ve spent the last several days trying to clean up the debris left behind from the locusts.” Peter propped his foot up on the steps, removed his hat, and ran his hand through his hair. “I bet you’re glad you’re not farming now.”

“I certainly am.” Her face softened. “I heard about the grasshoppers. “I’m sorry. Were you hit hard?”

“Not as bad as last year but bad enough, which is the reason I stopped by. I overheard in town that you needed a handyman before you take a trip. Have you hired someone yet?”

Peter couldn’t believe he was asking for a job. All he really had to do was borrow from his mother. On an ordinary day he would have, but not after today. He was too angry with her.

“I haven’t. No one has even asked me about the job. But you’re a true answer to prayer. I’ve heard nothing but good things about you. I want to leave soon for England for the winter, but before I close up the house, there are a few things that need fixing around here. Mostly outside repairs, but a few inside too.”

Peter swallowed his pride. “Then I’d be mighty obliged for the work.”

“Sure thing. That would benefit both of us then. When can you start?”

“Day after tomorrow. There are a few loose ends at my place to take care of first. Will that work?”

“It will indeed. Why don’t you come inside and I’ll show you the leak I have around the dining room window. Lucky for me, we haven’t had any rain lately, but I know it’s only a matter of time. I don’t want my hardwood floors to be ruined.”

He followed her inside and inspected the window, quickly locating a gap in the window seal around the frame. “I’ll need to bring a few things to fix the seal. I can tackle that first thing for you.”

She clasped her hands in front of her. “That’d take a great load off my mind. Sure you don’t want anything to drink?”

“On second thought, I could use a glass of water if it’s no trouble. My throat is parched from the dust.”

“It’s no trouble at all. Have a seat and take a load off your feet. I’ll be back in just a moment.”

She left him standing in the dining room. It was the first time he’d ever been inside her home, and he was mildly surprised at how tidy and homey it was. She had the normal whatnots and doilies, but what caught his eye was the beautiful cherry hutch filled with Blue Willow dishes. Now wouldn’t Catharine just have a conniption if she saw this? He walked closer for a better look.
Wait, I’m supposed to be mad at her. Why do I care if she’d like this display at all?

Lucy returned and handed him a tall glass of water. “I see you’re admiring my Blue Willow. Have you ever seen it before?”

“My wife Catharine brought a couple of pieces with her from Holland. She had a set of her mother’s, but most of it was broken during a storm at sea, though she salvaged a few pieces. It’s right pretty, ma’am.”

“Yes, it is. Lefty insisted that I have it, though I rarely entertain. Most people around Cheyenne don’t want to associate with me.” Lucy’s bottom lip quivered and Peter was afraid she was going to cry.

“I’m sorry about that. Sometimes people have a hard time accepting a big change in a person’s character.” He gulped the water.

Lucy’s face turned pink. “I’ve tried so hard, but I can’t do enough to prove to them that I’ve changed, can I?”

Peter searched for the right words to say. “Probably not for some, but you need to remember the ones who
do
accept you . . . kinda like the way the Lord sees us.”

“You’re right, and I’m very grateful for those few friends.” She motioned with her hand. “Let’s step outside and I’ll show you where some shingles are missing.”

He was glad she’d changed the subject.

Before he left, he asked her to make a list of everything she needed him to repair, promising to return after breakfast in a day or so.

Peter was taking a longer time in town than Catharine thought he’d planned to today. He was in a mood she couldn’t seem to penetrate. No matter, she had plenty to keep her busy. Tonight she’d boil chicken for the dumplings that Peter loved. She’d finally learned from watching him and was able to roll out the dough to make them light and fluffy. But she wanted to squeeze in a little nap before starting supper if she could. She was having trouble keeping her eyes open lately and knew it was from the pregnancy.

Catharine slipped off her dress before lying down. The sheets felt cool against her cheek, and the smoothness of the pillowcase was somehow comforting. After a few moments daydreaming of Peter’s warm kisses and sweet embraces, she fell asleep. She dreamed of a gentle prairie breeze skimming the plentiful wheat fields, undulating like waves over the beautiful golden grains, their heads seeming to bow to their maker. Peter moved toward her slowly, holding out his hands to the child in Catharine’s arms. Lifting the little girl above his head, he swung her around while sunlight played on their shoulders. Catharine breathed a deep sigh of contentment and love for the blessing of her new family . . .

Someone tapped on the bedroom door, pulling Catharine away from the tranquility of her dream. “Come in. I’m awake.” Catharine looked at the clock and then at Anna. “Sorry, I should have been up by now. Is Peter home?”

“Hello, sleepyhead. I think Peter is in the barn, though he hasn’t been back for long. Greta and I started supper.”

Catharine got up and shimmied back into her housedress. “Oh my! He’ll think I’m a lazy wife.”

Anna giggled as she buttoned the back of Catharine’s dress. “He’ll think no such thing. Now that you’re going to have a baby . . .”

“Shh. I haven’t told him yet. He has too much on his mind at the moment. But I’m glad I told you and Greta. It was hard to keep the news to myself.”

“I can hardly wait. It’s so dull around here. But you know I’ll be in school most of the time. I can’t imagine how much fun it will be.” Her face shone with excitement. “There, you’re all buttoned now.”

“I had the most incredible dream,” Catharine said. “I had a little girl, and Peter and I were in a wheat field that was ripe for harvest, with the sun shining down on us.”

“Mother always said that God speaks to some through dreams.” Anna’s face was serious. “Maybe that means the wheat will grow in abundance and your baby will be healthy.”

Catharine pondered her words. “I think I’d like to believe it was a sign from God that everything is going to be all right this time.” She grabbed her apron. “Let’s go, I have dumplings to roll out.”

Peter barely made it home in time for supper, and as soon as he’d eaten he made a hasty exit, mumbling something about working some more on clearing the field while the sun was still up. By the time he came in and washed up, Catharine was in bed, sleepy but waiting for him. He climbed in bed, and she marveled at the well-defined muscles in his biceps and across his chest and stomach.

She reached out to stroke his chest lightly and remarked, “You have a farmer’s tan on your neck, hands, and forearms.” She laughed softly. Peter flinched and didn’t pull her to him the way he normally did. “Are you tired?”

“I guess I am. I want to finish clearing the field tomorrow.” He folded his arms to his chest, then turned away from her.

“You know, I’ll be glad to help you,” she said, continuing to touch him, delighting in the feel of his skin. She scooted closer. She wanted him to hold her and kiss her and was surprised when he didn’t.

“No, you have plenty to do with the garden and the cooking,” he mumbled.

He must be really tired
, she thought. She lay against him and listened to his breathing, wanting him as she finally drifted off to sleep.

Peter listened to the even breathing of his wife, steeling himself not to touch her in spite of the stroking of her fingers. He feigned sleep, but the image of her full breasts and shapely form that he’d glimpsed through her nightgown was embedded on his brain. She was beautiful, but he was hoarding anger and was torn in two—the desire was strong to make love to her and hold her all through the night, but at the same time he wanted to demand the truth.

He stifled the words. He’d know soon enough. Rest assured his mother wouldn’t relax until she had all the facts.