Deeply Devoted (9 page)

“Mr. Foster—”

“Please, I’d like it much better if you’d call me Mac and allow me to call you by your beautiful name, Clara. Less formal between friends, wouldn’t you say?”

Clara cleared her throat. “I’d hardly call us friends. I don’t know what you’re implying anyway. We merely have a business relationship. One for which I’m paying you a large sum of money, I might add!” He was beginning to make her feel uncomfortable. Her mouth felt as dry as the Cheyenne dust, and she picked up her water glass and took a drink.

“I didn’t mean to imply anything out of the ordinary, Clara. I like being around you, and however businesslike you pretend to be, we can be friends. A little fun never hurt anyone. All work and no play is not a particularly good way to live your life. You did tell me that you were widowed, correct?”

Clara sighed deeply. “Yes, I am.”

“Good. Then there’s no harm in two people getting to know each other better, is there?”

“Er . . . I haven’t said that I wanted to . . . Mac.” She glanced away, not daring to meet his gaze.

“Ah, there’s the rub. You pretend not to be interested, but something tells me you might be persuaded to enjoy my company, if given the chance. That’s all I’m asking for . . . a chance to get to know you better.”

Clara couldn’t believe her ears. Not one man had shown a passing interest in her, though she had been widowed five years. Not that she’d met anyone she wanted to know better. “Are you serious? Or just trying to flatter me so that you can find ways to charge me more?”

Mac laughed and banged his palm on the tabletop, drawing the attention of a few patrons. Once again, Clara felt embarrassed with everyone watching.

“You do have a way with words, don’t you, Miss Clara?”

Clara lifted her chin. “And you, Mr. Mac, are a huge flirt.”

“I think by the becoming blush on your cheeks that you somewhat like it. But have it your way for now.” Mac pulled out an envelope from his breast pocket. “Here’s what I do know. I’ll have validation coming by wire as soon as it’s available.”

Clara’s heart thumped with anticipation, and she hung on to every word Mac said.

Peter enjoyed Pastor Allen’s sermon that morning—doing everything as though you’re working for God. The message was taken from the book of Colossians, chapter three. When he glanced over at Catharine, he could tell the message hit home, and he hoped it made her feel somewhat better after how hard she’d thrown herself into the farm work. She caught on quick.

His heart swelled with pride. The sermon was a good reminder for him about who he’d placed his trust in. He closed his eyes and thanked the Lord for the good fortune to have found his lovely wife.

Catharine gave Peter a poke in the ribs as the congregation was dismissed. He stirred and glanced at her.

“For a moment I thought you’d gone to sleep. Are you tired this morning?” She gave his shoulder a gentle pat.

Peter stood. “No, not at all.” He took her elbow and gently steered her into the aisle while Greta and Anna followed. “I want to say hello to Angelina and Mario. You haven’t met their twin boys yet.”

“Everyone has been so nice and—”

“Peter! Well, hello. It’s been awhile since I’ve seen you.”

Catharine turned in the direction of a lady’s voice, and Peter suddenly stopped, causing Greta and Anna to bump into them and turning Catharine’s straw hat askew. She reached up to adjust it as they all stared at the woman speaking to Peter, her hand touching his sleeve.

Peter stepped back onto Anna’s toe and she groaned. “Anna, I’m so sorry.” He turned to all three of them. “I’d like you to meet Dorothy Miller. She’s one of our finest local schoolteachers.”

Catharine blinked. Why was Dorothy clutching his arm? Didn’t she know that he was married now?

Peter pulled his arm away from Dorothy and wrapped it around Catharine’s waist. “Dorothy, this is my wife, Catharine, and these are her sisters.”

Dorothy’s posture stiffened, and she acknowledged them through cool blue eyes. “Really? Wherever did you two meet?” Her eyes passed over Catharine in one swift glance. But whether or not Catharine met with her approval was hard to guess.

It was an innocent question, but Peter heard the edge in Dorothy’s words. She wasn’t happy, he could tell. He knew that Dorothy had not given up on him, even though he’d made it perfectly clear they were nothing more than friends.

“Does it matter?” Peter shifted uncomfortably, guessing she was probing to provoke him . . . or Catharine.

Dorothy suddenly regained her composure. “Forgive me. Where are my manners? I’m glad to meet you.”

Catharine murmured a hello and shook Dorothy’s hand. “
Hallo
. This is my sister, Greta,” she said with a touch on Greta’s sleeve, “and this is my youngest sister, Anna.”

“Ooh . . . do I detect an accent?”

“
Ja
. We traveled all the way from Amsterdam to America.” Anna beamed.

“I see . . . how nice. I’d love to hear all about it and how you came to be in Wyoming. That’s quite a long way.” She tilted her head and stared at Catharine.

“We must move on, Peter.” Greta urged them forward. “We’re blocking the aisle.”

Catharine slipped her arm through Peter’s, taking a step toward the door. He was glad she did.

“Yes, let’s move out of the way. Nice seeing you, Dorothy. Give my regards to your parents.” Peter walked on past her, feeling awkward as she moved aside. He hoped she’d come to accept Catharine and not give her a hard time. He didn’t want any bad feelings between him and Dorothy. He’d always thought highly of her, but she’d never touched that special place in his heart, even though he’d tried to care for her for his mother’s sake. His feelings for her had never grown, but he was certain hers had for him.

While Catharine and Peter began preparing a quick lunch of cold cuts after church, the afternoon heat began to build. She unbuttoned the top of her blouse and fanned her chest. The girls strolled in to help, chattering about the new acquaintances they’d made at church. Catharine suggested they all take their plates to the porch to eat by the trees. At least they’d be cooler there, with the prairie breeze. Everyone agreed and began to gather their plates when the sound of a carriage coming up the drive caught their attention.

“Are you expecting someone, Peter?” Catharine glanced at her husband.

Peter froze. “It must be Mother. I believe I mentioned that she should come to lunch today after church. But since I didn’t see her there, I assumed she wouldn’t.”

“What? Why didn’t you tell me? I haven’t cooked anything.” Catharine’s mind was whirling with what kind of impression that would make on her new mother-in-law. Now what was she supposed to do?

“She’ll have cold cuts, just like us.” Peter reached for another plate for his mother.

“We have potato salad,” Greta said. “I’ll get it while you answer the door, Anna.”

Anna took off to the front door while Catharine quickly pulled out a tray and began filling it with their sandwiches. She dropped the forks in her haste and knocked over the pitcher of milk, which then soaked the sliced bread and made large splats across the floor. “Oh no!”

Peter reached out to steady her hands. “Catharine, she’s not Queen Esther. Please don’t fuss so.”

“I’ll get this cleaned up,” Greta said and moved faster than Catharine had seen in a long time. “Do we have more milk?” She sopped up the milk while Peter dropped the ruined bread in the trash.

Catharine walked toward the pie safe for more bread. “Afraid not, but there’s some lemonade that I made for later—”

“What’s all the fuss about?”

Catharine halted and turned to see Clara standing in the doorway, hands on her hips, with Anna right behind her. Clara’s eyes rested on Catharine’s open buttons, and Catharine quickly buttoned her blouse.

Greta waved her hand. “Oh, it’s nothing we can’t handle. Just a little accident, that’s all.”

Clara stood looking at the mess, disapproval clearly reflected in her eyes. But then she removed her stylish black hat, took the mop propped next to the back door, and began to wipe the floor without a word. “I can see Peter forgot to tell you that I was coming, Catharine, from the looks of the lunch. I can come another time, if that suits you better.” She paused and looked at Catharine.

“Nonsense, Mrs. Andersen. It’s just simpler to have a cold lunch after church, you know. I don’t remember seeing you there this morning.” Catharine wrung the wet dishcloth out into the mop bucket and handed it to Greta. “We were just going to have lunch on the porch because of the heat, but I hope you’ll stay.”

Clara paused before answering, glancing over at Peter. “I guess I could stay for a little while.” It seemed Clara wanted Peter to feel sorry for her and beg her to stay.

“Mother, I wouldn’t have asked you if I hadn’t wanted you to come,” Peter said. “Now grab a plate and help yourself while Catharine slices the bread.”

Peter proceeded to slice enough ham for all of them. Catharine shot him a look of agitation. She was irritated that he’d forgotten to tell her about his mother. Clearly they’d have to start communicating better, especially where his mother was concerned.

Catharine didn’t know when she’d been more unnerved. Her mother-in-law arrived for a lavish Sunday dinner only to find cold cuts and Catharine totally unprepared for company. She was shaking inside and tried not to let her hands show it as she poured the lemonade.
How in the world could Peter forget to tell me something like that?
I’m sure I looked like a bumbling bride in the kitchen
. He should’ve known she would want to fix a special dinner for her mother-in-law’s first time to the home of Mrs. Peter Andersen.

Catharine knew the bumbling was partly true. She was still learning how to fix a full meal by herself, but with Peter’s patient teaching, she was beginning to feel a little more confident. Though not far enough along that she wanted to cook for Clara. Hardly!

A deep breath calmed her somewhat, and she plastered a smile on her face. Once they were settled in rockers and on the porch swing, she lifted the pitcher to fill Clara’s glass, but Clara stopped her.

“If you wouldn’t mind, I’d love to have some of your English tea that Peter’s told me about.” Clara’s dark eyes glinted, but there was no hint of a smile in them.

“It’s no problem at all, Mrs. Andersen. I’ll just go boil the water. Are you sure you don’t want a refreshing glass of lemonade while you wait?”

Clara shifted in the rocker, balancing her plate on her lap. “I guess I could, but I’m not used to holding my eating utensils on my lap. What do you suggest I use for a table?”

“Mother, you can set your glass on the floor like the rest of us. This is not like having a formal dinner, you know.” Peter’s voice seemed a little on edge to Catharine.

Clara harrumphed. “Well, I can tell that, Son.”

“Is that a yes, then?” Greta took the pitcher from Catharine, shooing her toward the kitchen to make the tea.

“Yes, I will have a bit while I wait for the tea.” Clara watched as Greta poured her a glass of lemonade.

Catharine scooted back inside, set the kettle to boil, and ran to the sitting room for her pretty tea set and tray.
At least I can make good tea and present it nicely at the same time.

“Greta, what do you intend to do now that you’re here in Wyoming?” Clara asked with a clipped tone, eyeing the girl. She bit into the thick sandwich, touching the napkin to her lips as though she were in a fine dining room.

Greta laughed good-naturedly. “I have no idea presently. I’m helping Catharine right now, but I’ve given some thought to finding a job in time. I have a few clerical skills that I learned at my father’s shipping company.”

“Mmm. I see.” She shifted her gaze to Anna. “And you, young lady, what do you do all day long?”

Anna swallowed the last bite of her lunch before answering, gazing pensively over the porch’s railing. “I’m really not much help, I’m afraid. With the farm work, I mean. I try, but then I get interested in nature and hiking, painting, and watching the wildlife more, much to my sisters’ displeasure.” She sighed.

Peter quickly inserted, “Ah, but you’ve been a big help to us without knowing it, little one.” He patted her on the head. He began stacking their lunch plates on one arm and left them by the door for later.

Anna turned and smiled at Peter. “
Dank U
, Peter. You make me feel at home. Since I’ve never had a brother, I think I’ll adopt you.”

“I’m honored, Anna.”

When Peter bent to take his mother’s plate, she leaned close to his ear and muttered under her breath, “I must have a private word with you after lunch, dear.”

Catharine, her dress now sticking to her from the hot kitchen and her unruly hair curling out of its braids, stood at the doorway with the tray of tea and caught Clara whispering to Peter. Greta sprung up and held the door open for her. Giving her brightest smile, Catharine held the tray out toward her mother-in-law. “I’m sorry there’s no dessert this time.”

“What have we here? Where’s the rose tea set that I left for you to use, Peter?” Clara frowned but took a cup of tea, then helped herself to two sugar cubes and lemon. “It’s Royal Doulton, you know. Straight from England and very expensive.”

Catharine felt heat rising up from her neck to her face. “This is what’s left of my mother’s Blue Willow tea set, and I treasure it. Isn’t it pretty?” Catharine was determined not to let Clara’s barb bother her. After pouring her sisters and herself some tea, she took a seat next to Peter on the swing. Peter passed on the tea, preferring his lemonade.

“We are fortunate to have any pieces left at all,” Anna added. “Catharine is quite fond of it. We had a terrible storm at sea that broke most of it.”

“I see,” Clara said, sipping her tea. “It’s good. I’m surprised.”

“Why would you be surprised, Mother?” Peter’s voice still seemed a little too sharp, but he looked at Catharine and flashed her a broad smile.

“No reason, dear.” Changing the subject, she dabbed her lips with her napkin. “Greta mentioned your father was in the shipping industry, Catharine. I would’ve thought you’d want to stay in Holland to inherit it at some point, if you have no brothers.”

Catharine swallowed a lump in her throat. “Our parents died at sea while on a mission for one of his shipping ventures. After they died, we thought it best to leave and start over.”

If Clara was surprised, she didn’t show it outwardly.

Peter reached over and stroked Catharine’s shoulder. She looked down at her teacup and took a sip with trembling hands.
Please, Lord, don’t let her ask any more personal questions.

To her relief, Clara stood and set her cup and saucer back on the tray. “Thank you for lunch and the tea. Peter, would you walk me to my buggy?”

“Please come again, Mrs. Andersen,” Catharine said, and her sisters waved goodbye. Now she could breathe a sigh of relief and enjoy what was left of their Sunday afternoon.

“So what did you think of our new pastor?” Greta kicked off her shoes and tucked her feet up under her, getting comfortable in the rocking chair.

“He seems nice enough. With a name like Culpepper, I’m sure he gets a few jokes.” Catharine laughed. “I really took a liking to Cora Jenkins, the librarian. We need to go visit the library sometime.”

“Me too!” Anna sat up at the mention of a library. “I wonder if they’d loan me some books.”

Greta shook her head. “
Ja
, silly. That’s why it’s called a library.”

Anna stuck her tongue out at her. “I’m not familiar with the ways of Wyoming, and neither are you.”

“We’ll do that soon. I promise.” Catharine leaned her head back and closed her eyes, wondering what was keeping Peter. She was soon asleep in the afternoon breeze.

Peter had followed his mother down the steps into the yard at the end of the drive where Clara’s buggy was parked underneath one of the spreading elm trees.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Clara started her chattering. Pausing next to the buggy, she pulled on her gloves. “Peter, I believe that I have bad news to tell you, and I know of no other way than to just say it.”

“Mother, for heaven’s sake, why do you have to make a big secret of everything? Whatever you have to say could be said in front of my wife. We’re a married couple, and couples share everything.”

“Everything?”

“Yes, mother,
everything
.”

“Well . . . maybe not for long.” Clara avoided his gaze.

“What are you talking about—what’s on your mind?”

“Very well . . . I hired a private investigator to look into Catharine’s background—”

“What did you say?” Peter was sure he hadn’t heard her right.

“You heard me. Now don’t be angry with me,” she said.

Peter stood with his hands on his hips. “Mother, so help me—”

“Just listen to me, Peter. I was worried about you, and since you never told me one whit about her, I thought it best. You have too much at stake to lose to a conniving foreigner.”

The muscle in his jaw twitched as he clenched his fists at his sides.
If she wasn’t my mother, I’d make a scene right here and now.
“Are you calling my wife a conniving foreigner?” he said through gritted teeth.

She touched his arm. “Peter, if you will just listen for one moment—”

“I’ve heard enough!” He flung her arm away and spun around to leave. “I know everything about Catharine that I need to know!” He started to walk away.

“Do you need to know that she was married?” Clara spat out.

Peter froze, a flash of pain hitting him in the gut. His mouth suddenly felt dry and he licked his lips.

Clara continued. “But not divorced!”

“Mother, I don’t know why you’d tell me a story like that. But stop right where you are.” Was this the same sweet mother who had raised him, sang to him, and baked cookies when he was a child, but now thought she needed to continue orchestrating every detail of his life?
Lord, help me. I don’t want to say anything to hurt my mother.

Clara groaned. “Sooo, you didn’t know then. It’s just as I feared.”

Peter walked back toward her. “Why did you do this?”

Clara shrank back. “I should think you’d be happy to find out the truth now, before children come along.”

Through gritted teeth, he said, “I asked you a question, Mother. Why?”

“I was trying to protect you. You’re my son and I’m devoted to you, and I have only your best interests at heart.”

“I don’t believe it, and frankly, I’m saddened by what you call your ‘devotion’ to me. And I’ll ask you to never talk about Catharine that way again!” It was all Peter could do to keep his voice down. “And I don’t want that kind of devotion!” He strode back toward the house, never looking back, his fury so thick he thought he’d choke.

“You’ll thank me later,” Clara called after him as she climbed into the buggy.

Anna, wearing Clara’s fancy hat on her head, came down the steps and passed Peter, but he never gave her so much as the time of day. He flew past her, thundering up the steps and into the house. He looked through the screen door and saw Anna waving at his mother.

“
Hallo
, Mrs. Andersen . . . you left your hat!” Anna called out as the buggy rumbled down the road. But Clara didn’t stop. She whipped the horse into a trot away from the Andersen farm.