Deeply Devoted (27 page)

Catharine lifted the willow basket with the sheets she’d laundered, and as she lifted her broad-brimmed straw hat from its peg, a folded note fell out. Her heart skipped a beat. Peter must have stuck it in there before he left. She hurried outside and sat down on the back steps, not far from the clothesline, before opening the note.

Catharine,

I know I’ve been a little short with you lately, and I apologize. I guess I’ve had a lot on my mind after losing the wheat crop. I’m still adjusting to having a wife and her sisters as part of my life now. Three totally different personalities can confuse a man just a bit. I pray that you won’t have any more bad dreams since they seem to affect your normally cheerful spirit. Thanks for your sweet note to me. I know that I’m not without my faults, but I believe we can grow closer as we learn more about one another. Everything will work out if we give each other time.

Warmly, Peter

Catharine blinked back tears. She admonished herself for not being sensitive about his adjustment to all of them living in his house. Losing the crop income had been a big blow too.

A smile crossed her face at the mention of her note to him. Sooner or later they would have to be more comfortable to talk openly, and she would tell him about her past.

Catharine tucked the note in her apron pocket and hung the sheets in the bright sun. She loved the way the outdoor smell kissed the laundry with a fresh fragrance all its own. If she could only bottle the smell, she could easily supplement their income. She smiled at the thought. But it was one of those tiny gifts from God that most people never took the time to notice.

A bead of perspiration formed on her upper lip from the heat, so she finished hanging the last pillowcase, then picked up her basket and went back inside.

Greta was working the iron back and forth on a dress, her face serious. “You know, Cath, soon you won’t be lifting a heavy laundry basket.”

Catharine smiled at her sister. “Guess that means you’ll be taking this chore over for me, then?” she teased, trying to get a smile out of Greta. But her sister’s facial expression didn’t change.

Catharine sucked in a deep breath, a pang in her heart for her sister’s hurt. Bryan’s leaving had been hard on Greta, and Catharine felt helpless. Only time would heal a broken heart—she knew that firsthand. But hearts did heal.

“You know I will,” Greta said. “I’m almost through ironing, and if you don’t need anything else from me, I’m going to go write Bryan a letter.”

“You go ahead and do that. I think I’m going to lie down before starting supper. Between the heat and this sleepiness, my energy starts waning about this time of day. What’s Anna up to?”

Greta hung the freshly ironed frock on a hanger and put away the ironing board. “She mentioned something about going to the creek to paint, but what she
really
means is she’s going to go cool off in the water to get out of doing chores.”

“I can’t fault her there. I hope this dry spell breaks soon. I’m tempted to join her, but I’m too sleepy to walk anywhere at the moment.”

“Go on and rest. There’s plenty of time before we start supper.”

Catharine rubbed the small of her back. “I won’t argue with that.”

Later in the week a sudden rain hit without warning, drenching Catharine before she could reach the front porch of the house. Greta and Anna were right behind her, laughing with joy and thoroughly enjoying the pelting rain.

“Ahh . . . it smells so fresh and invigorating,” Catharine said, hugging her arms across her chest. She looked out at the rain, wondering of Peter’s whereabouts. Lately he’d been leaving right after breakfast and returning just in time for supper. She knew there was always plenty to do around the farm, so she didn’t question that he rarely came in for lunch.

She stared hard as if he might appear through the pouring rain.
How foolish! He could be holed up in a line shack or under the protection of a stand of trees instead of fighting the rain just to come inside.
A large clap of thunder made her jump.

Greta shrieked and ran straight for the door. “We need to get inside,” she urged, just as lightning lit up the sky and the barren field.

“I agree. Come on, Anna. Let’s go in and get out of these wet clothes. We’ll have to plant the rest of the vegetables tomorrow.” All three of them left their muddy brogans on the porch and padded inside in their socks.

“At least the rain will be good for the plants that Angelina brought,” Anna said. “I love tomatoes and those other funny plants—what did she call them?”

“Summer squash and eggplant. They’re supposed to be quite tasty, according to Angelina. She cooks them in place of meat sometimes in her dishes.”

“Humph! I can’t imagine,” Greta said as they climbed the stairs to change clothes. “I wonder if Bryan has ever eaten that.”

“You’ll have to ask him in your next letter,” Catharine said. “Why don’t we meet back downstairs and have some hot tea and cookies while we wait for the rain to stop.”

“Sure thing,” Anna agreed, moving past Greta through their bedroom door.

Catharine hurriedly slipped off her work dress, draped it across the back of a chair, and toweled herself dry. She rubbed her hair with a towel while gazing out the window. The rain was coming down in torrents. Where was Peter? Was he safe? She prayed he was, then plucked another work dress off the hanger and quickly donned it. With a swift stab of a couple of pins, she knotted her long hair into a chignon, picked up her Bible, and headed back downstairs.

Just as Peter was packing up his tools outside the dining room window, he heard the rumble of thunder. He had just enough time to store them in his canvas bag before the rain fell in sheets.
Lucky I got that window sealed properly in the nick of time
. The wind blew hard, and he held his hat down on his head to keep from losing it.

Lucy opened the front door, motioning with her arm for him to hurry inside. As he hesitated, she waved harder, so he went up the steps and placed his bag next to the door.

“You can’t be out in this weather, Peter. Time you took a break,” she said once he was inside. “Come on into the kitchen. I just took out apple cake. I’ll pour us some coffee.”

Peter knew it was no use protesting. Once the lightning stopped and the rain slacked, he’d be on his way home. These storms never lasted long. “The apple cake smells wonderful,” he said as he pulled out a kitchen chair.

“It was Lefty’s favorite. Not too sweet, but sweet enough.” Lucy busied herself slicing them both a huge chunk of cake, then poured two steaming cups of coffee.

“These apples from your orchard?” Peter asked, lifting a forkful of cake.

“Gracious, no. I couldn’t grow an apple tree if I tried. They’re canned by Dorothy Miller. You know her, don’t you?” Lucy took a chair across from him.

This close to her, Peter could see how much she’d aged, but she had a spark in her eyes and a lot of energy in her step. A fully alive attitude. That must be what had kept her going since her husband died. “Yes, I know her. Nice lady.” He savored the taste of the warm cake in his mouth and chased it down with the coffee.

Lucy eyed him. “That’s right . . . weren’t you two courting at one time? Seems I remember seeing you together at church.” She lifted her cup and looked at him over its brim.

Peter shifted in his chair. “We were together a lot . . . and still are friends, but no, we were never serious, much to my mother’s disappointment. But I did care for Dorothy.”

“I see. Tell me, Peter, are you happy with your bride?” Her eyes penetrated his but softened with sincerity. “What is her name again?”

“Her name is Catharine, and of course I’m happy. Why do you ask?”

Lucy lifted the coffeepot from the stove and poured them each another cup. “I’m not rightly sure, but I sense something amiss when a man married only a few months doesn’t rush home as soon as his work is done. And you don’t smile much for someone who says he’s happy. Of course, you can tell me to shut my mouth and I’ll just mind my own business. I reckon I always speak my mind.” She laughed. “Lefty always said I had the eyes of a hawk when it comes to seeing right through people.”

Peter wasn’t used to someone talking so bluntly and realized how intuitive Lucy was. He glanced up from his dessert and swallowed hard, then expelled a deep sigh. “There’s a problem with my mother . . .”

“Well, that’s not so unusual. Mothers feel like they’ve lost their sons when they get married. But I know your mother. She’ll get used to the idea, as long as you include her in your life—”

“I’m afraid it’s not that simple, Lucy. I didn’t tell her I was getting married or, for that matter, corresponding with a mail-order bride. She handpicked Dorothy for me, but she just wouldn’t listen. So I never told her about Catharine. When she found out, she was certain that Catharine was after my money, my land, and a chance to go to America.”

“Well, let her think what she wants. The truth will bear out.” Lucy wiped the crumbs from her mouth with a napkin.

“If only it were that simple. Mother hired an investigator and told me that Catharine has been married before.” Peter’s heart squeezed as he said the words out loud.

“It doesn’t make Catharine any less your wife and someone you love.” Lucy’s forehead wrinkled as she regarded him with concern.

“That’s not all the story. The investigator believes she was never divorced.” Peter spoke the word
divorced
so quietly that he wasn’t sure Lucy had heard him, because she didn’t react immediately.

“Oh . . . I’m so sorry. Catharine never told you any of this?” The surprise was evident in Lucy’s face.

“No, never. It’s bad enough that she kept it a secret from me, but worse if she never got a divorce in the first place.” Peter clenched his fist on the table. “Then there is no real marriage.” It was embarrassing to admit this, and now he’d be the laughingstock of Cheyenne, not to mention a lawbreaker.

Lucy reached over, taking Peter’s clenched fist in her own until his fingers relaxed. “Peter, try to remember things are not always what they seem. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from my past mistakes, it’s not to take everything at face value. I trusted no one until the good Lord came into my heart. Now I listen to His direction. Maybe Catharine is having a hard time trusting anyone completely and there’s a reason for it.” She patted his hand and leaned back in her chair. “What do you really believe? Didn’t you trust her before all this?”