The Brides of Chance Collection (13 page)

Reba rested her hands on her hips. “Two dried apple pies, two peach, a custard, two chocolate pudding, and a shoofly.”

A masculine chorus of groans and satisfied grunts filled the air.

“That isn’t all. Miriam made oatmeal cookies.”

Marv Wall elbowed his way toward Miriam. “That does it. I’m not doing another lick of work. I’m proposing marriage so Miss Miriam won’t need a cabin here.”

Gideon was ready to wring Marv’s neck, but Miriam clapped her hands and laughed. “Oh, that was the best joke I’ve heard yet today, sir. You simply must have the first choice of pie for having such a charming sense of humor.”

Marv got a bewildered look on his face. Gideon took pity and bellowed, “The ladies better cut the pie, else he’ll take a whole one to himself!”

“I’m not averse to having a pie of my own, but I’d rather have the cook,” Marv said mournfully.

“The cook,” Miriam singsonged, “is here to take care of her nieces. I’m sure you gentlemen understand, and I’m thankful that you’re here to help me settle in with my family.”

“Guess that says it all, men.” Gideon took a stance by Miriam and stepped out in faith. “I aim to ask a blessing on the food.” The yard went quiet. Gideon’s pulse thundered in his ears as he bowed his head. “Almighty God, we give Thee thanks for the fine things in our lives—for land and livestock, family and food. Draw us close to Thee, we pray, and bless the hands that prepared the meal. Amen.”

“Amen,” the men said in unison.

He gestured toward the food. “Dig in.” Miriam said nothing, but she’d slipped her hand in his as he prayed. It felt…right. Like it belonged. His heart felt right, too. Like he’d come home—not just because they were of one accord, but because he’d been keeping the Lord at a distance, and that had changed.

The men made utter pigs of themselves. It wasn’t until every last speck of food was gone that they decided it was time to start up on the challenge again. “Paul and Titus are going to take forever to get that third cabin done.”

“We’ll see about that!”

Axes rang out and saws grated. Men counted as they worked in accord to heave logs into place. Gideon’s men went back to the far pasture to fetch more logs for the roof. He dusted off his hands and stood back to survey the progress.

His cabin for Miriam would be sound. It still needed chinking and a window set into it, but those things didn’t take much time or effort. It would be a fine little place, and he’d even kept some of the scraps from the floor planks and hammered them together to make a drop leaf to serve as a writing desk that folded against the wall.

The center cabin sat square as could be, and it got a mighty fine breeze going through with both doors wide open.

Gideon surmised what Titus and Paul were doing and gave them a nod of approval. Instead of making a peaked roof, they’d built up the front and left the roof as a simple downward slant to the back. The extra height bore support trusses for a loft.

Paul sauntered over and swiped his sleeve across his damp brow. “Dan and the girls’ll outgrow their little cottage in a few years. Titus and I decided we might as well bump it up a bit.”

“Good thinking.” Gideon looked at the three new buildings with a growing sense of satisfaction and slapped him on the back.

Bryce mopped at his neck with a bandanna. “This is the workin’est day ever.” His sunburned face split into a smile, and he elbowed Paul. “Couldn’t have done it if Dan hadn’t been in such a foul mood and hacked down so many trees.”

Paul and Bryce started laughing.

“Men,” Miriam said as she daintily picked her way across chips of wood and bark. She smiled at them. “I’d like a word, if you will.”

“Better make it quick,” Gideon warned. “Don’t want to slow down our teams.”

Miriam’s eyes sparkled. She reached them and looked from Gideon to Paul and Bryce, then back at Gideon again. “The men have all worked so hard. Would you mind terribly if all of them came for supper after church?”

Gideon toed the dirt and shook his head. “Miriam, there’s a problem.”

She turned a becoming shade of pink. “Oh dear. I’m sorry. I didn’t think about how much food—”

“That’s not the problem.” He sighed. “Sweet pea, other than an occasional itinerant Bible-thumper who happens through, Reliable doesn’t have a church.”

She looked utterly flabbergasted.

“Maybe it’s not quite that heathen,” Paul added hastily. “The last one said he’s riding circuit and will be back through every other month or so.”

Her mouth opened and shut a few times. Then she smoothed her skirts. “Well, we’ll just have to remedy that. It’s summer, and the weather is lovely as can be. We’ll have worship right here in the yard.”

She turned around and sashayed back into the house.

Bryce looked stricken. “Giddy, do something!”

Gideon shrugged. “You did this. You voted for her to stay, and now she’s changing everything. Live with it.”

Chapter 12

E
verything’s changing,” Miriam murmured to herself with delight. Over the last few weeks, she’d settled into her new cottage, tacked up cheery yellow feed sacks as curtains, and braided a small rug to go by her bed.

She’d taken shameless advantage of the big move. When Paul and Titus moved into the loft cabin, she washed their tickings and had the men stuff them with fresh hay. Gideon now occupied the middle cabin. He’d seen to his own bedding, and instead of leaving his doors open all day long as did his brothers, he kept his shut. Logan and Bryce now shared the big bedroom in the main house. Miriam suspected Bryce smuggled one or more of the dogs in there each night, but she said nothing.

As soon as she’d arrived, she’d expanded the garden. Polly loved to “help,” and Ginny Mae relished crawling in the dirt. The biggest challenge was keeping her from eating bugs, worms, and rocks. Polly wore pantalets and simple smocks made from feed sacks instead of hand-me-down shirts. Sweetest of all, she now said prayers.

“Breakfast about ready?” Paul called to her as she stepped out onto the porch. He’d been heading toward the chicken house.

“I need the eggs!”

“Come help.”

She lifted her skirts a bit and skipped across the yard. Back home, there was more sand than dirt, and it took considerable effort to get anywhere. Here, the packed earth made for ease of travel. These men had no concept how fortunate they were to live without the ever-present irritation of sand. Grit from the beach got into every nook and cranny. Dust could be wiped clean; sand never departed.

Paul slid a bolt free and looked down at her. “Might want to stand back a shade. The hens can be pecky after being shut in all night.” He swung two six-foot-high doors open, revealing dozens of boxes full of nesting hens.

“This is like a kitchen cupboard!”

“Yup.” Gideon rested his hands on her shoulders. Miriam had heard him coming. She knew the assured sound of his no-nonsense stride. She fought the urge to lean back into his strength as he explained, “Mama designed it. None of us liked stooping to fit into the crowded, dirty coop. Paul, Speck is off her feed. Bryce is having a look at her.”

Paul hastened toward the stable. Miriam started gathering eggs, and Gideon reached the nests that were up high. Quickly they filled the basket. “I didn’t mean to have him strand you with his chore.”

“I kept chickens on the islands. I don’t mind.”

“You already do plenty around here.”

Miriam slipped her hand beneath a pullet and admitted, “Life here isn’t easy, but it’s good. You men work hard.”

He snorted. “We get filthy and eat like ravenous beasts. I still don’t understand why you’d choose to live here and deal with us.”

Miriam hitched her right shoulder. “It seems to me, no matter where they live, men lose buttons, tear shirts, rip knees, and bleed. Back home, Mama told me a woman’s mending basket and laundry are bottomless. I’m not complaining.”

“Miriam!” Logan called from the house. “Todd Dorsey came to see about a horse trade. Mind if he stays to breakfast?”

Neighbors stopped by with astonishing frequency—and always at mealtime. Gideon never seemed very pleased about those social calls. He bristled. “Yahoos and clods. Ever notice these mooches just so happen to turn up at mealtime?”

Miriam laughed. “I think it does them some good, seeing little Ginny Mae and Polly with all of you big, strapping Chance men. Plain as can be, those little girls need a woman’s touch, and I’m the only woman around.”

The muscle in his jaw twitched. “That’s all they notice, Miriam—you being a woman.” He stomped toward the house, and Miriam mentally dismissed Todd from the breakfast table. No one ever managed to get something past Gideon.
Except me. I’m the exception that proves the rule, because I’m staying here
.

Gideon. Once he’d accepted that she was here to stay, he’d stopped acting as if he’d been invited to his own execution. Responsibility rested heavily on his shoulders, and he took it seriously. But she wanted to be sure Gideon understood she wasn’t another responsibility—she was…
What am I?

Helpmeet
was the first word that came to mind, but that was all wrong. It meant she was his wedded wife. She wasn’t a partner. Neither was she a maidservant nor a relative. Miriam resolved not to label what she was but instead to concentrate on how she would lighten his load and ensure her nieces’ ultimate welfare.

Led by Gideon’s example, most of the other Chance brothers embraced her presence with ease. Some days, it seemed as if she’d been here forever.

Miriam carried the egg basket into the house. Daniel sat on the floor, struggling with a knot in the lace of his boot. Miriam set down the egg basket and handed him a fork. “Try this. The tine can help you tease it loose.”

He nodded and kept his head bowed over the stubborn tangle.

Daniel seemed to be changing, too—but slowly. Instead of being surly or belligerent most of the time, he now stayed silent. Miriam removed a stove lid and shoved in another log as she mentally gave Hannah’s husband credit for the love he gave his children. He cherished both daughters to distraction and showed them great tenderness. Because their welfare was his first concern, he’d grudgingly accepted the fact that Miriam would now play a role in their upbringing.

“Oh!” Miriam jerked away from the stove and started beating at the flames on her left sleeve.

“Here.”
Whoosh
. Something wrapped around her, and Gideon was part of it. He held her in tight confines and rubbed her arm. “I’ve got it. You’re okay. Titus, get the water pitcher.”

Miriam rested against Gideon’s chest and stared off to the side. Plates, mugs, and silverware dappled the just-swept floor.
But I set the table
.

“Quick thinking,” Titus said as he hastened up with the water pitcher from the washstand.

“Here. Let me take a look.” Gideon stopped rubbing and tried to twist her.

Miriam couldn’t help herself. She burrowed closer.

“It’s all right, sweet pea.”

“Of course it is,” she said. “I’m just cold.”

“How can you be cold?” Logan slanted her an odd look. “You were on fire.”

While Logan reminded her of that dreadful fact, Gideon managed to tug on her. Miriam wiggled, then looked down. “That’s our only tablecloth! It better not—”

“Hush.” Gideon finished unwinding her and proceeded to yank what was left of her sleeve clean off her dress. “Pour the water on her.”

“At least let me put my arm over the sink.”

Gideon made an impatient sound and glowered at Titus. Titus immediately emptied the entire gallon of water over her arm. As the last few ounces slid over her, Gideon ordered, “Now let me see how you look.”

“It’s just a little burn.”

He looked at her arm and carefully turned her hand so he could see more of her forearm. Miriam reached over to cover the center of the sizable pink splotch with her other hand, but Gideon smoothly manacled that wrist and turned his attention toward her injured palm. “We’ll wait to see if you blister. Hopefully we caught it before the heat went that deep.”

“Truly it’s nothing much. My dress took the brunt of it.”

“Not much of a loss, if you ask me.” Logan picked up the charred remains of the sleeve. “I don’t mean you any insult, but that dress is ugly as a mud-stuck fence.”

“It was serviceable.”
Serviceable—a
word she’d learned in her youth.

“Came out of a missionary barrel, didn’t it?” Gideon’s voice carried a healthy dose of disgust.

“Well, I—how did you know about missionary barrels?” As soon as the words left her mouth, Miriam regretted asking. “My arm’s fine. You men must be starving.”

“You sit down. We’ll keep a cold compress on your arm. Dan, scramble some eggs. Logan, pick up the dishes.”

Miriam watched in dismay as Logan took the plates and shoved them back onto the table. “I need to wash those!”

He used his sleeve to wipe away a speck. “No need. You just swept this morning. Fact is, afore you came, lots of the time, we didn’t wash the dishes.”

Gideon hovered during breakfast, changing the cool compress on her arm and buttering her bread. “I’m taking Miriam into town.”

“I need to change.”

“No, you’re not.” Gideon made the pronouncement as if it were chiseled in stone.

“I can’t very well saunter about in polite company in a shredded gown!”

“Town isn’t polite company.”

Fifteen minutes later, Gideon tucked the shawl around her shoulders as the buckboard jounced toward town. “Listen here, Miriam. You’re not a missionary’s daughter anymore.”

“Of course I am. Just because Daddy and Mama are overseas doesn’t change the fact—”

“You’re Ginny Mae and Polly’s aunt. Ugly day gowns like this don’t teach them to be ladies. Part of the reason you’re here is to teach them the feminine side of things, and you’re traipsing around like a penniless waif in a servant’s castoffs.”

She smoothed her brown skirts. “Serge is durable and—”

“Homely as mud. Tell me, why did Hannah show up with feminine colors? I remember her dresses being pink, and they had doodads.”

Miriam smiled. “The rose-colored fabric came in a barrel. I made that as her honeymoon dress. Papa couldn’t very well insist that her gowns be somber when she was celebrating her marriage.”