Deeply Devoted (7 page)

“I didn’t say that,” he said. “I’m just saying I might not have even left our bed this morning. I’d have you snuggled close to me until I
had
to go take care of the animals.” He grinned mischievously and his lips twitched when she leaned back to flash him a smile. He reached up to tuck a loose curl behind her ear. “You smell so good.”

“Oh. If you say so.”

“I say so, and since I’m the master of the house, what I say is a fact,” he teased. He kissed her brow before releasing her. “Will the girls be back soon?”

“We’re here now, Peter,” Greta said as she came through the kitchen door. Anna traipsed in behind her with grass stains on her dress and her blonde hair wild and loose.

“Anna, what happened to you?” Catharine stepped toward her sister.

“What?” Anna looked down at the marks on her dress. “Oh, that . . . well,
ja
, I suppose it’s from sitting in the grass by the creek. It’ll wash out, won’t it?”

Catharine just shook her head, “
Ja
, but you’ll be the one to scrub it.”

Peter pulled out the chairs for them, then took his seat. “I’ll bless the food.” After he said “Amen,” he dished a helping of green beans onto his plate, then passed the bowl to Anna. She wrinkled her nose at the dish, passed it to Greta, then reached for the bread.

Catharine waited until there was a lull in the conversation, then asked, “Peter, do you think you could make out a list tonight of certain chores you could assign to us?” She filled his water glass again.

Peter blotted his mouth before answering. “Well . . . let’s see now, there’s milking to be done, meals to prepare, taking care of the house and laundry, gardening, cleaning the stables, caring for the livestock, wheat harvest—” He paused when Catharine squirmed in her chair. “But we can divide some of the chores between you three. I’ll be in charge of taking care of the wheat since it’s already planted, but I may need some help with that later on.”

“Well, I was counting on finding a job soon, but there’s more than enough work around here,” Greta said.

“Are you ever going to hire some help for the house?” Anna asked innocently.

“Anna!” Catharine snapped. “I believe that will be left up to me and Peter.”

“To tell you the truth, my mother had some help when she lived here, but I’ve not felt the need to. I’m sorry if that disappoints all of you.” Peter’s jaw tightened, causing his mustache to flatten across his upper lip.

Catharine straightened her shoulders and passed the bread around. “We’ll be fine, Peter, but there may be a few things you’ll have to teach us.”

“Nothing I do around here is hard to learn, really. Anything you want to know, just ask, and I’ll be more than happy to show you how it’s done.” He shoved his chair back. “I’d better get on back to work. I’m going to ride out to the fields and make sure there’s no break in the fence line. I’ll be back by supper. Thanks for lunch.” He clapped his hat back on but stopped when he got to the back door and came back to kiss Catharine on the top of her head. “By the way, there’s meat hanging out in the smokehouse that you can cook or make a stew with. It’s up to you. See you ladies later.” Then he was gone.

“If I only knew how . . .” Catharine muttered, then she turned to face Anna, placing her hands on her hips. “You are so lucky to have a home and food in your belly! We need to do what we can here to show our gratefulness!” Catharine’s voice rose in irritation. “Anna, why would you have the nerve to ask for help? There are three of us and we
will
make do!”

Anna’s lips trembled. “But we’ve always had servants. I should think you’d want them since you know absolutely nothing about farming.”

Greta smothered a laugh, and Catharine faced her with a look of displeasure. “How do you intend to do all those things he listed?” Greta asked.

Anna slipped in the middle of her sisters, her hands out to each side. “Please, let’s not argue, sisters. We can split the list. I could help Peter with the livestock.”

Catharine nodded. “
Ja
. That’s the attitude that I’m looking for, Anna.” She gave her a pat on the cheek. Anna was a nature lover, and she’d naturally want to do anything that wasn’t related to being indoors.

Greta harrumphed. “You may say that now, but when winter settles in, you won’t be so compliant, little sister.”

Anna stuck her tongue out at Greta. “Catharine, is it all right if I take my pencils and go do some sketching this afternoon before you list our assignments?” she asked, smiling up at Catharine.

Catharine noted the enthusiasm in Anna’s eyes. Youth and innocence were a dear thing. “Yes, you may. But first let’s open the packages that Peter bought for us and see what he thought we needed so badly in order to work on the farm.”

“They’re right here where he left them.” Greta grumbled under her breath as she picked up the brown paper packages on the counter, then placed them on the kitchen table. Catharine found the scissors in a kitchen drawer, and Greta quickly cut the string on the packages.

Complete silence followed as the three of them stared down. There were several serviceable, heavy dresses in various drab colors for each of them, complete with aprons. The sight of heavy-duty brogans brought a frown to Greta’s face, making Catharine and Anna giggle.

“What in the world . . . ?” Catharine shook her head.

“Are these really for us? Is this what that clerk wrapped up?”

“Oh, look, there’s overalls like our stable boy wore back home.” Anna grinned. “I might like these.”

Catharine held up the overalls in disbelief. “I’m not really sure why we would need these.”

“Peter did say that we would be doing outdoor work, and working in a dress would be difficult in the wheat fields,” Greta said. “These dresses are made of such rough material that I can only guess that’s why they’re for work—they won’t tear easily.”

Anna stripped off her skirt to don her new overalls. “Cath, could you manage the hooks, please?”

Catharine obliged and stood back with approval. “You look adorable in them, Anna!”

Anna slipped on the brogans and spun around. “I think I like these,” she said, then turned to Greta. “Would you mind taking my skirt upstairs when you go? I’ll be back early, Catharine.”

“You know, I can see how it would be easier to do gardening in this than in a skirt with a lot of petticoats, can’t you?” Catharine asked Greta, who was holding a dress up to see if it was the right fit.

“Well . . . you could be right. They seem to be the right sizes. But those shoes are hideous. I can’t see myself in those.” Greta groaned.

Catharine slipped off her shoes and put on one of the brogans. “They’re really not that bad, honestly.” She twisted sideways, hiked up her petticoats, and looked down at her feet. “They’ll give me sure footing while I’m planting a garden. I intend to have a flower garden and a vegetable garden.” She bent down and put the other shoe on and laced them both up. Straightening up, she decided that the shoes would serve their purpose.

“Greta, could you finish the dishes? I’m going to take a walk around the place, unless you’d like to come with me. Fresh air would do us both some good.”

“Maybe another time. You go on ahead and see if you can locate a vegetable garden.” Greta started stacking dishes in the heavy sink. “Guess there’s no time like the present to get my hands wet!” She held up her slender hands, admiring them. “I have a feeling my hands won’t look this good as long as I’m at this farm.”

“Oh, don’t be so self-centered. Your hands will survive.” Catharine tsked. As she slipped out the door and down the porch steps into the warm afternoon sun, guilt pressed in about how she’d chided Greta, but she wondered how she herself would survive this complete change of lifestyle. Would the love between her and Peter grow to be enough?

Peter climbed down from the buckboard and tied his horse to the hitching post in front of Mario’s Ristorante. On his drive to town for necessary supplies, he’d thought constantly about Catharine. The beautiful image of her face kept floating in and out of his mind like the moving clouds across the Wyoming prairie. He was beginning to like the tumble of auburn hair that had a mind of its own. It was hard for him to resist touching the silky curls, which surprised him because he never thought he’d be attracted to a redhead.
I’m such a lucky man!

“Peter! You’re back so soon.” Mario gave Peter a puzzled look when he strode through the door of the restaurant. Delicious garlic and onion smells wafted throughout, reminding Peter of his meager lunch, and his stomach rumbled. The lunch crowd had already dispersed, and Mario and Angelina were cleaning the tables for the dinner hour.

“Have you had lunch yet?” Mario said, clapping Peter on the back.

“I have, such as it was. I wanted to stop in and thank you for standing up for me at the wedding ceremony. I’m sorry about the way my mother acted.” Peter smiled at his best friend.

“Mmm.” Mario fingered his mustache. “You’re welcome, of course, but you needn’t have made a special trip into town just to tell us that.”

Peter shifted from one boot heel to the other, then cast a glance at Angelina, who smiled and waved from the corner of the dining room, then continued with her work. He really liked Angelina. She was sweet and kind, and Peter hoped that she and Catharine would become good friends. But today he wanted to have a word with just Mario.

Seeming to notice Peter’s uneasiness, Mario pulled him to the side of the gleaming wood counter, where water glasses and starched white linen napkins were stacked. He leaned toward his friend. “Is there something on your mind, Peter?”

“Well . . . uh . . .” He shot another look in Angelina’s direction.

That’s all it took for Mario. “Angelina!” he yelled.

Angelina turned her head in their direction. “What
ees
it? You need me, Mario?”

“I’m stepping to the back for a moment. Will you watch for customers?”

“
Sí
.” She smiled and motioned him to go with a wave of her cleaning cloth.

Mario pushed back the swinging doors that led to the kitchen prep area, where row upon rows of staples and canned goods lined an entire wall. He wiped his hands on his apron and crossed his arms. “So, what’s on your mind, my friend?”

Peter shrugged. “I’m not sure anything’s the matter. It’s just . . . I’m not sure . . . last night, Catharine—”

“Ah, I see . . . matters of the heart.” Mario uncrossed his arms and smiled at his friend. “Barely newlywed, and yet . . .” His voice trailed off.

“I think I know nothing about the art of love . . . or maybe women for that matter.” Peter stared past Mario’s shoulder, looking at the big pots on the stove. “I want to make her happy, and I do care for her. She’s . . . she’s beautiful,” he said in a hushed voice. He raised his eyes to meet Mario’s.

His friend tore off a chunk of the fresh bread that was cooling on the table and shoved a piece at him. “Then that’s what really counts! Ahh . . . I’m remembering me and Angelina before Alfredo and Angelo came along. It was bliss, I tell you!” A broad smile lit his face. “Come, sit down.” He patted the chair next to a small table and sat down. “Let me tell you, my friend, the art of love and making a woman happy is not a hard thing to do. You find out what makes her tick. If it’s flowers, then you give her those, or better yet, plant them for her. Do extra small things for her, like draw her bath, brush her hair. Or bring her a cup of hot coffee or tea—whichever she prefers when she least expects it.” He paused a moment. “Don’t rush her, but hold her and tell her sweet and wonderful things you’ve observed about her.”

Peter winced. “That may take some time, but I can try. Our affection grew through our correspondence, you know,” he said, biting into the crusty piece of bread.

“Yes, yes, I do. Sometime I want you to bring her to town for a little honeymoon. Bring her here for dinner, then spend the night at the Inter Ocean. I will prepare the most delicious pasta for you that will melt in your mouth.” Mario pressed his fingers to his lips and kissed them. “
Bellissimo!
It will be so romantic, I assure you.” Mario stood with his hands on his hips.

Peter hesitated, scratching the stubble of hair now sprouting on his chin. “I don’t know . . . maybe. I’ll have to give it some thought.”

Mario’s two young sons came running through the kitchen and chased each other around the table, their dark hair flying and heavy shoes pounding the hardwood floor.

“Alfredo! Angelo! Stop that! Can’t you see we are having a private conversation here?” Mario put his arm out and grabbed Alfredo by the arm.

“Sorry, Father, but Angelo started it,” Alfredo said, breathing hard.

“I did not!” Angelo glared at his brother as he slid to a stop, nearly upending the table.

“No matter, apologize to Mr. Andersen, and then take yourselves outside and run all you like.”

Both of the boys muttered “sorry” to Peter, and off they went racing through the dining room. Peter could hear Angelina yelling something in Italian at them as they went weaving through the tables.

Peter laughed, and Mario raised both arms above his head in exasperation and shrugged. “Sorry, sometimes they can be a handful. But you’ll find out for yourself soon enough.” He chuckled.

“I look forward to that. I’d better get on back home before supper—whatever Catharine will come up with.” Peter chuckled. “Thanks for the advice, Mario.” He moved to the swinging door. “I’ll be in touch.”

“Ciao!”

Peter said goodbye to Angelina, promising to bring Catharine the next time, then hurried out to where he’d hitched the wagon. On the ride home, he pondered what Mario had told him. A honeymoon weekend might be just the thing to make Catharine feel more at ease. He could surprise her, but he wasn’t sure if it was safe to leave her sisters alone out on the farm. He didn’t want to bring them too—that would defeat the whole purpose.

To tell the truth, if her sisters hadn’t tagged along in the first place, things could have been so much more romantic, but his plans had been squashed when Catharine brought them. He sighed wearily, knowing that if he’d had two brothers to raise, they would’ve come as a package too. It was only the right thing to do, but it just didn’t seem fair.
Well, Lord, I’ll just have to figure out how to make it up to her and myself, since she’s devoted to her family. But it’d be nice if she’d be devoted to me someday.

Catharine pulled the three-legged stool next to the cow, Bessie, who swung her head around at the sound of Catharine’s movements and looked at her with large brown eyes. She patted the cow’s rump and murmured a greeting. “Now see here, Bessie. I know I’m not very good at milking, so please be patient with me.”

Bessie went on chewing her cud. Catharine plopped down on the stool, pushed her skirts between her legs, and reached for Bessie’s udders to wash them gently with warm water before starting to milk her. “I’ve seen milking done before. I might be a complete flop at it, but I’m determined to give it a try, my dear cow.” She giggled, thinking that if someone heard her now, they might be concerned about her sanity.

She placed a milk pail under Bessie and pulled down on one teat. Nothing. Catharine tried again, but no stream of milk appeared. After a few minutes of frustration, she wiped her brow and blew a dangling curl away from her eyes.

The barn door opened and Greta and Anna strode in. “Catharine, we’ve been looking all over for you!” Greta’s eyes glanced over at the empty pail. “No luck, huh?”

Catharine groaned. “Not yet. It looked simple with Peter’s help. But I didn’t learn well enough, I guess.” She sat back, giving her lower back a rub.

“Move, Cath. I think I can wring some milk out of that ol’ cow.” Anna pushed Catharine’s shoulder, then knelt in the straw next to her. “Peter said I’m good at it. I’ll show you how.”

Greta stood by to watch, her arms folded. Catharine knew Anna wasn’t afraid of anything and remembered she’d gotten the hang of milking with the first try.

“See how I kind of roll Bessie’s teat in the palm of my hand?”

Catharine nodded. Anna’s blue eyes sparkled up at her, and she gave Catharine a grin. “Good. After you do that, you pull. Just roll and pull the teat in the palm of your hand in one movement.” Anna demonstrated, and the milky stream hit the empty pail with a loud splash. “Here . . . try again.”

Catharine eyed her sister and pursed her lips with determination. If Anna could do it, surely it couldn’t be that hard. She grabbed another teat and mimicked Anna’s motion. With the first attempt, milk appeared and Greta clapped her hands together.

“You did it, Cath! Good for you. Now you can do
all
the milking while Anna and I explore fun chores more to our liking.” Her lips turned up as she leaned down to look in the pail.

“Oh no you don’t! You’ll help me.”

“But you’re doing so well without our—” Suddenly a squirt of Bessie’s milk hit Greta’s cheek as Catharine directed the teat in her hand right at Greta. Anna laughed so hard she had to hold her stomach. Bessie mooed her sentiments with a loud bellow, making the bell around her neck clang loudly.

After her initial surprise, Greta wiped her cheek with the corner of her apron and pretended to be miffed at her sisters’ laughter, but she giggled good-naturedly. “All right. I guess I deserved that, didn’t I?”

“You certainly did. In fact, I think tomorrow’s your day.” Catharine laughed. “But I think you need to try your hand at it to see if you’ve forgotten how.” She continued to milk Bessie using both hands, now feeling much more confident.

Greta cocked an eyebrow in disdain. “Oh, all right. You win this time. But watch out. Milk could go flying again, you know!”

Catharine shrugged her shoulders playfully, then dried Bessie’s udders with a clean cloth. She breathed a sigh that the chore was done. “You get to milk her tonight.”

Anna clapped her hands. “Oh, this should be fun. I don’t want to miss it!”

Catharine fanned herself with her apron after standing over the hot stove for hours. She couldn’t remember when she’d been this warm, and it made her long for Holland. She opened all the windows and a door to get a cross breeze to cool down the kitchen and was grateful that Wyoming was a windy place.