The Barefoot Bride (21 page)

“Take a deep breath,” Molly ordered.

Patch gasped as Molly pulled the corset laces tighter. “You're squeezing me to death!”

“Just let me tie this off,” Molly said, breathless from exertion. “There. All done. Now, hold your arms up and I'll bring this petticoat down over your head. One more.”

Molly watched Patch's face in the oval dressing mirror and saw the mulish thrust of her lower lip. She had to work fast, before open rebellion broke out. “Arms up again. Let me slip this dress on.” She put a hand against Patch's outthrust hip. “Stand up straight.”

Patch uncocked her knee and drew her shoulders back in an exaggerated pose. “Is that straight enough for you?”

“Yes, fine,” Molly answered. She disregarded Patch's sarcasm, attributing it to the anxiety that was its source.

Molly had cut off her striped silk dress so it came to midcalf on Patch, revealing a pair of black kid boots trimmed with ribbon. The leftover moss-green-striped material had become a sash for the waist. She had added an overskirt of plain green silk bought at I. G. Baker & Co., caught up at the sides with matching rosettes.

Once she finished buttoning up the bodice
of the dress, Molly straightened the sailor collar over the girl's tense shoulders and puffed out the long sleeves. She stood behind Patch and brown eyes met blue in the silvered mirror before them.

“You look lovely, Patch. Every inch a lady.”

“Looks can be deceiving.”

Molly laughed. “You'll do fine.”

Patch tried to sit on the bed in her normal way, but the corset kept her from bending. “Just like I thought. Can't hardly move in this getup.”

“You'll learn. Now let Nessie and me get gussied up, and we'll treat the gentlemen to the presence of three ladies for dinner.”

Molly couldn't have said who was more nervous when they heard the men washing up on the back porch, she or Patch. But Molly wished she could have had a tintype of Seth's face when he first saw his daughter, to save and show him in the years to come. His gray eyes glittered with emotion as he walked up to Patch and took her hands in his to hold her at arm's length. Seth's eyes met Molly's, and she saw it was a powerfully bittersweet moment for him.

“You look like your mother,” he said to Patch. He let go of one hand and held the other over her head so she could turn in a
circle for him. “I wish she were here to see you, Patch.”

Seth felt grateful to Molly for the metamorphosis she had wrought in Patch. But An-narose should have been the one to dress Patch like this. Annarose should have been the one to share the glorious sight of their daughter looking like a proper young lady.

Patch was pleased at her father's approval. But it was the reaction in a set of bright green eyes that she sought. Ethan didn't disappoint her. His glance was warm with admiration and approbation. She stood still for his inspection as he took her hand from her father. His eyes widened slightly at the small bosom revealed by the fitted bodice of the dress.

“You're quite the young lady,” he said with a grin.

Patch flushed. “Do you think so?”

“You're going to be a beautiful woman someday, Patch. Take my word for it.”

Patch felt a fluttery feeling in her stomach, sort of like a butterfly inside. Before she could identify its source, he let go of her hand and picked up Nessie.

“Look at this little lady,” Ethan said. “Aren't you the pretty one.”

As Patch watched Ethan with Nessie, she
experienced a startling and most unpleasant revelation. Ethan was using exactly the same tone of voice—and approximately the same words—to praise the four-year-old that he had used with her. She had wanted to look grown up for Ethan. It was agonizing to realize that to him she was just another little girl.

Patch just wanted to get away, to get out of the room and out of these foolish clothes. But as she started to back out of the room, her pa pulled out a chair for her and said, “May I have the pleasure of seating you, Miss Kendrick?”

His eyes glowed. His smile was so broad, it made her throat ache. How could she disappoint him by running away? She swallowed her bitter letdown and allowed her father to seat her at the table.

The heels on Patch's shoes had only raised her a couple of inches to match Whit's height. But the total visual effect of styled hair, corseted body, and tailored silk dress left Whit feeling that Patch had somehow far outgrown him in a single afternoon. He felt bereft.

“I liked you better in pants,” he said flatly as he sat down beside her.

Soon they were all seated at the table, with Nessie in a special raised chair that Seth had
constructed for her. Molly had used her rose-patterned china, and with the ladies dressed as they were, supper had a festive air that belied the problems they were dealing with on a daily basis.

“Whit's bedroom ought to be finished by tomorrow,” Seth announced. “I figure we can move his things in there by late afternoon. Patch can start sleeping in her own bed again.”

Patch opened her mouth to object, but a piercing look from Ethan caused her to shut it again.

Molly glanced at Seth and saw that his gaze was intent on her. Tomorrow they would truly become man and wife. But it was too soon. She needed more time. The patient man had somewhere misplaced his patience.

“By the way,” Seth said to Molly, “since we'll be finished with the room tomorrow, I thought maybe you'd like to have your first riding lesson later in the afternoon.”

“I—I suppose so,” she replied. “What should I wear?”

Seth's brow furrowed. He had planned to teach Molly to ride astride because he didn't have a sidesaddle. “I don't suppose you have a split skirt?”

Molly shook her head.

He grinned. “Then I guess you'll have to wear some of my pants.”

Molly laughed. “I'd look ridiculous.”

“You'll look adorable,” Seth countered in a teasing voice.

“A pair of my pants would fit better,” Ethan said. “You're welcome to them.”

Patch shook her head in disbelief. Why on earth had her pa gone to such lengths to get her into a dress, when he thought Molly would look
adorable
in a pair of his pants? She would never understand grownups if she lived to be a hundred. “I'm gonna get out of this rig and go frog-hunting down at the pond,” she said in disgust. “Anybody want to come along?”

“I do!” Nessie said.

“Me, too,” Whit joined in.

“I think I'll help Molly with the dishes,” Seth said.

Ethan raised a surprised brow, but when Seth winked at him, he quickly rose and said, “I'll keep you kids company.”

“I have to help Patch and Nessie change out of their dresses,” Molly said to Seth. “You can clear the table while you're waiting for me.”

Seth pursed his lips and looked around at the table. Ethan grinned and scooted out the
door after Whit. “Have fun!” he called over his shoulder.

By the time Molly returned, Seth was elbow deep in dishwater. ‘Til finish those for you,” she said.

“I'm almost done. Why don't you sit down and relax? You've put in a hard day.”

“So have you.” She set a plate of bones down for Maverick, absently patting the dog-wolf on the head as she did. She picked up a towel and began drying dishes and putting them away.

“I've been meaning to tell you, I have to go into town again later this week.”

“Oh?”

“It's Mrs. Gulliver again.”

Molly glanced at Seth from the corner of her eye. Was there really a Mrs. Gulliver? She hadn't thought so. But surely Seth wouldn't have brought her up again if she didn't exist. “What's wrong with Mrs. Gulliver, anyway?”

“Bowels,” he said.

That was an intimidating enough subject that Molly shied from pursuing it. She lifted Bandit, the raccoon, off the counter, where he had just finished eating a plate of scraps, and set him on the floor. Then she leaned out the open window and set a bowl of milk on
the back porch. “Here kitty, kitty,” she called. The mountain lion came running.

“How long will you be at Mrs. Gulliver's?” Molly asked as she resumed drying dishes.

“I don't expect to stay the night. But it depends on how poorly the old lady's doing.”

“I'll keep a light burning for you,” she said.

“I'd like that.” Seth leaned over and gave her a quick kiss on the mouth. “Thanks.”

“What for?”

“For turning Patch into a lady.”

Molly smiled. “I have a ways to go yet.”

“Maybe. But getting her into a dress is a major miracle as far as I'm concerned.”

Molly focused on the china coffee cup she was drying. “I haven't wanted to mention this, Seth, because I know how attached you are to Patch. But if you really want to make a lady of your daughter, she needs to go to school.”

“She attends school in town every fall.”

Molly folded the damp dishcloth and laid it over the back of a kitchen chair to dry. She turned to face Seth and said, “I mean she needs to go away to school—to a finishing school for young ladies.”

“No.”

Molly put a hand on Seth's arm. “It wouldn't be forever. And it would open up a
whole new world to her that isn't possible here. Just think about it. Will you?”

“No.”

Molly didn't press him further.

“I think I'll go see if I can catch up to the kids,” Seth said. “Do you want to come along?”

“I need to change my clothes. And it has been a long day. Why don't you go on,” Molly said.

She wasn't surprised when Seth turned and left her without another word. It was a lot to spring on him in one night—to see his daughter as a young woman, and then to tell him that he had to send her away.

But Molly knew there was only so much she could accomplish with Patch. Seth's daughter had been forced to become independent at a very early age. It wasn't easy for Patch to take advice or direction from anyone. Molly could polish off the rough edges, but Patch very likely wouldn't allow more change than that.

Seth got no farther than the back porch when he spied a figure huddled near the woodpile. “Who's out there?”

“It's me, Whit.”

Seth crossed over to sit down beside the boy on a pile of split logs that was stacked to
be cut for firewood. “What are you doing out here?”

Whit held up a stick in one hand and a knife in the other. “Whittling.”

Seth perused the knife Whit held out to him. “Mighty fine knife. Sharp.”

“My da gave it to me. He taught me how to whittle. Said it helps a sailor pass the time at sea.”

Seth pulled a Bowie knife from the scabbard at his belt. “My pa taught me to whittle too,” he said. He searched around till he found a stick the right size, then began to shave the bark from it. “It does a fine job of passing the time around the campfire, too.”

“When you whittle, you don't have to think about anything,” Whit said.

“Nope,” Seth agreed.

“And however you're feeling, why, you can take it out on the wood.”

“Yep,” Seth agreed. Wood shavings began to pile up in front of him.

“My mother says it's silly to whittle. ‘Cause you don't have anything to show for it when you're done.”

“Shows how much she knows,” Seth muttered under his breath.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“I especially like whittling ‘cause I can do it alone,” Whit said.

“Me, too,” Seth agreed. “But I'm glad you let me join you tonight.”

“Yeah, well, I'm getting kind of used to having you around.”

Molly had stood by the kitchen window and listened shamelessly to the conversation by the woodpile. Seth Kendrick was a kind, caring man. What woman wouldn't fall in love with him?

A grieving widow.

Clamoring voices announced the return of Patch, Nessie, and Ethan. Molly pulled her robe more closely around herself and stepped out of the kitchen door to join them on the back porch.

Nessie came running up to her and held out both hands. “See my frog, Mama?”

Molly bent down just as Nessie opened her hands. The frog she was holding leaped straight up in the air, actually grazing Molly's cheek on its way past. She yelped in surprise, to the accompaniment of laughter from everyone on the porch, including Nessie.

Molly collapsed in a heap on the porch step and pulled Nessie into her lap with a breathless
laugh of her own. “I nearly had a seizure!”

The dog-wolf, Maverick, and Rebel, the mountain lion, soon appeared to stalk Nessie's frog, which was finding the porch a much less safe place than the pond.

Molly sat quietly and held Nessie while she listened to Patch tell her father about the huge bullfrog she had almost caught.

“But he got away,” she said at last. “No thanks to Ethan.”

“I didn't think your pa'd want you to go swimming in the dark,” Ethan said.

“I ain't afraid.”

“Never said you were,” Ethan replied. “But it'd be a shame to get that pretty hair of yours all wet.”

Patch reached up and patted the ribbon in her hair, as though to make sure it was still there. “Yeah, well, it would have dried.”

“I think maybe it's time for you kids to get to bed,” Seth said.

“I'll be waiting for you, Patch,” Ethan said as he headed off toward his cabin.

In a tradition as old as the ages, Seth's and Molly's children wheedled and fought against the end of the day as their parents readied them for bed. Molly insisted on removing the ribbon and brushing Patch's hair
fifty strokes before she would allow the girl to escape to Ethan's cabin. Whit and Nessie had passed the stage of exhaustion, yet they resisted the pull of sleep that sought to claim their consciousness.

At long last, the bedroom lamps were out, the children tucked in and kissed and told they were loved. And Molly and Seth were alone, and awake, and very much aware of each other.

“Would you like to go for a walk now?” Seth asked. “Or just sit and talk?”

Molly began to back away from him. “I really ought to go to bed. I—”

“Please don't go.”

Seth reached out and grasped her hand.

Molly felt a slow warmth travel up her arm and spread throughout her body. She looked up into Seth's eyes and found them avid with desire. His nostrils were flared for the scent of her, and his body was taut with need.