The Brides of Chance Collection (50 page)

“Oh, how thoughtless of me!” Delilah interjected. “Paul’s been working hard whitewashing, and it certainly won’t help to have Logan jostling his arm today, too. Do you mind?”

Paul was gratified to hear the concern in her voice as she neatly made it impossible for Hezzy to refuse.

“Yes’m.” Hezzy shuffled over to the other bench, where Polly obligingly bounced over toward her father. Hezzy hunkered down, and the bench gave an ominous creak.

Obie snatched a biscuit and crammed the whole thing in his mouth while the Chance family joined hands. Paul supposed Micah kicked his brother under the table, because Obie let loose with, “Ow,” spraying his plate and beard with crumbs before catching on and bowing his head for prayer.

“Wait, that hurts!”

Paul looked over at Hezzy to see him pinching Polly’s tiny hand between his forefinger and thumb.

“Open your hand,” she ordered, and the giant obeyed without question. Polly placed her hand in the middle of his palm, then used her other hand to fold Hezzy’s fingers over, completely engulfing her hand and wrist. “See, like this.” Satisfied, she tucked her other hand back in Ginny Mae’s and nodded. “We’re ready now, Unca Gideon.”

Smiling, Gideon closed his eyes and blessed the food before he began ladling the thick venison stew into bowls and passing them down each side of the table. Hezzy grabbed the bowl, looked at it longingly, and tried to give it to Polly before Daniel swiped it from him.

Sitting at the other end of the table, Mike received his stew first.

“Whatcha waitin’ fer?” Obie demanded, indignant to see the untouched meal.

“It’s good manners ta wait fer everyone else,” Mike growled, trying to keep his voice down but failing miserably nevertheless.

“Oh.” Crumbs sprinkled from his beard as Obie nodded sagely.

The moment everyone was served, the three brothers picked up their bowls and tipped them to their mouths, downing the stew as quickly as possible.

Everyone else watched in a kind of morbid fascination when all three plunked their empty bowls back on the table. Micah wiped his mouth with his sleeve while Obie and Hezzy made short work of their biscuits. Only when Obie let loose a satisfied sigh scant moments later did they realize no one else had so much as touched their meal.

Micah and Obie seemed uncomfortable, while Hezzy eyed Polly’s biscuits greedily. “Ya gonna et this ’ere extry biskit?” He poked the bread with a grimy finger.

Wordlessly, Polly pushed the biscuit toward him, head cocked to the side as she watched him bring it up to his mouth. Then Hezzy caught Alisa staring at him, eyes agog.

“Wha’s happenin’?”

No one knew quite how to answer that question. To be honest, Paul didn’t mind the way things were turning out. At least they finished sooner so they’d leave sooner.

“How come you eat like that?” Polly asked, only to receive blank looks from the MacPhersons.

“They’s hungwy!” Ginny Mae piped up.

“Shore are.” Mike latched on to the little girl’s assessment. “We bin livin’ offa Obie’s victuals for nigh on half a year now. Almost fergot how real food tastes.”

“Maybe that’s ’cause you don’t chew.” No one knew quite what to do about Polly’s helpful suggestion until Mike burst out laughing.

“Reckon tha’ might be so, missy,” he choked out as his brothers joined in, giving great guffaws. Relieved, the rest of the table gave way to amused chuckles.

“Would you like seconds?” The words were hardly out of Miriam’s mouth before the brothers thrust their bowls toward her.

“Use your spoon!” Polly said.

Hezzy picked up one of the spoons, dwarfing it in his huge fist. “I never knew why a body would wanna warsh more dishes. Food’s just as good without ’em, so why bother?”

Polly had to think on that for a minute. “So’s you don’t spill.” She reached up her napkin and wiped some soup off of Hezzy’s face.

Micah slurped down his first bite and beamed as he plunged his spoon in for a second. Hezzy got his up to his mouth until it clacked against his teeth. Startled by the noise, he dropped his spoon and bent down to pick it up.

“Would you like me to clean that for you?” Delilah offered.

“Naw, what fer?” He rubbed it on the front of his shirt before trying again.

When everyone had their fill, the meal was over. Paul felt pretty satisfied with how he’d handled things. After all, not one of the three brothers had sat beside her or even talked to her directly. To the contrary, they’d fallen on the food like animals and done serious damage if they thought they’d convince Delilah to be their bride.

“Got lotta work ta git ta back home. Can’t hardly wait ’til tomorra.” Micah once again served as the spokesman for the group as his older brothers nodded in tandem and patted their full bellies. With that, they got up, strode outside, unhitched the horses, and made for home in their wagon.

“So tomorrow the entire town comes over?”

Under any other circumstances, Paul would be unhappy to see Delilah’s discomfiture, but here it signified her lack of interest in other men.

“Yes,” Alisa confirmed. “So since you’re done whitewashing, maybe you can help me. We’ll need half a dozen pies and more loaves of bread.” Alisa turned to Paul. “Would you mind getting the barn as ready as you can in case it sprinkles and we need to set up inside?”

Paul went to the barn and grabbed a rake. One-handed, it wasn’t easy to clear the floor, but it gave him plenty of time to think. What was he supposed to do when every man in the county would find his way over to sniff around Delilah’s skirts?

Lord, give me patience, temperance, and a few good ideas!

Delilah stretched before Miriam began helping with her buttons.

“Busy day, wasn’t it?” Delilah could hear her cousin’s smile even if she couldn’t see it.

“I thought so,” Delilah confessed hesitantly. “But you just don’t know how wonderful it is to have every day filled up. When I was with Papa, I’d paint or embroider to pass the time, but I haven’t touched a paintbrush since I got here. I’m not exactly sure how to explain it, but planting the garden, cooking, cleaning, watching the girls, whitewashing…it makes me feel…”

“Useful?” Miriam offered.

“Yes.” Delilah turned around and looked her cousin in the eye, trying to put into words what she felt. “But it’s more than that. I feel like a part of something bigger than myself. Does that even make sense?”

“Of course! You’re a part of a family now. And you’re learning everything so quickly, you have a lot to be a part of. I’m so glad God brought you to us, Delilah.” Miriam folded her into a cozy hug.

“You’ve done so much for me,” Delilah whispered.

“It goes both ways. All of those things you’ve listed are of such great help. I do hope, though, we’ll find some time for you to pull out those paintbrushes again!” Miriam scanned the room, seeing the drawers and pegs and quilts she’d brought in. “Where do you keep them?” she wondered aloud.

“In here.” Delilah walked over to the washstand and opened the drawer. “Everything I owned that wasn’t clothes or my pistol is in here. It’s my entire life in one drawer.” She pulled out her paint set along with her sketchbook.

Miriam sat down on the bed and ran her fingers over the much-washed tips of the brushes, eyeing the many hues of Delilah’s paint set. “So many colors.” She picked up the sketchbook. “May I?” At Delilah’s nod, she started flipping through the pages, gazing at the charcoal drawings. “You’ve been so many places! Trains, ships, mountains, fields, wildflowers…and you make them all so beautiful!”

“I’ve seen a lot of things.” Delilah didn’t bother to keep the sadness from her voice. “But I haven’t ever really been anyplace until now. I want to paint Chance Ranch someday.”

“Oh, that would be wonderful. After the baby, I can show you the fishing hole and some of the wildflowers—my favorite places to think and pray. You should draw one for every season! That’d keep you busy for a while longer!” Miriam smiled. “Do you ever draw people, Delilah?”

“No.” Delilah looked away. There had been no one special to paint except Mama and Papa. Some of her favorite memories were of Mama teaching her how to paint. They’d started on houses and flowers, full of little shapes to be painted.

The one time Delilah painted a portrait, it was of her father and mother, done from memory. Oh, how she’d slaved over it, hours upon hours, making sure the sketch was perfect before mixing the exact shade of Mama’s burnished mahogany locks and Papa’s black whiskers. When she’d finally finished, she’d proudly held it up for Mama’s inspection. But Mama’s delight faded quickly into tears.

At Delilah’s confusion, Mama took out another portrait and snuggled next to Delilah. “See, baby. This is your papa right before we were married.” But this man with his smooth young face and bright eyes was hardly recognizable in the lined face and tired eyes Delilah had depicted in great detail. “He’s changed so much,” Mama whispered, tears trickling down her face as she pressed the portrait into Delilah’s hand. “Remember him this way, darling.” With that, she bustled out of the room, and Delilah furiously painted over her portrait in thick black strokes. She’d never painted another person and told herself she never would.

But how to explain this now to Miriam? “I prefer to paint landscapes. Mama always said things were easier to see and understand than people.” Certain Miriam would question her tired smile, Delilah changed the subject.

“What about you? What did you have when you came to Chance Ranch?”

“I brought my clothes, a Bible, a cross one of my island friends made for me, my sewing kit, a writing desk, and a present I never had the chance to give my sister.” Now Delilah wasn’t the only one swept away by memories of loved ones gone. Miriam knelt by a small trunk. She pulled out a tiny bundle wrapped in cotton.

“This should have been Hannah’s. One day it will go to her daughters. I suppose we both brought things we haven’t used.” Miriam handed the package to Delilah. The loose material fell away from a small wooden box. She opened the tiny hinges to find the inside glowing with mother-of-pearl inlay.

“This is beautiful,” she breathed.

“Oh, that’s just a teakwood box. Actually, the earrings were for Hannah,” Miriam explained.

Delilah unwrapped another strip of cotton to reveal large pearls set in golden earbobs. “They’re lovely, and pearls like these are so rare!”

“Not on the islands!” Miriam laughed. “But here they’d fetch a fancy price. I hope to have them reset in rings or pendants for the girls.” She gently wrapped everything up again and tucked the treasure in her trunk, then came back and clasped Delilah’s hands.

“Lord, we thank Thee for Thy love and blessings and pray Thou wilt keep Thy hand on our loved ones. Thank Thee for friends, family, and all we hold dear. Jesus, Thou knowest what’s deep in our hearts, how part of us misses our parents and always will. Please provide us with comfort while we’re away from those we love, and help us to remember they live in Thee. Let us not hide behind grief or loneliness but instead concentrate on loving each other. In Christ’s name, amen.”

The words spoke to Delilah, and for the first time, she truly hoped a prayer would be answered.

Chapter 10

T
he sun shone brightly with nary a cloud in the sky.
So why do I feel so cold?
Delilah shivered as she listened to Gideon speak on a passage from the book of Hebrews.

Why is it that every time someone reads from the Bible, it seems as though they’re talking directly to me?
Phrases kept jumping out at her. “ ‘To day if ye will hear his voice, harden not your hearts….Take heed, brethren, lest there be in any of you an evil heart of unbelief, in departing from the living God. But exhort one another daily…lest any of you be hardened through the deceitfulness of sin.’ ”

Between nighttime devotions and sermons on the Lord’s Day—not to mention constant prayers—Delilah felt surrounded by pressure to believe as these wonderful people did.

And for a change, it seemed as though she were one of the few people actually “fixing her thoughts” on the Lord this morning.

Everyone in the township had turned out, and she would have had to be deaf and blind not to realize the vast majority of people were staring at her.

Well, so long as they don’t try to talk to me or touch me or anything, I’ll be just fine
. As they stood for another hymn, she heard a peculiar sound amid the music.

Why won’t men carry handkerchiefs when they need them?
Delilah’s back stiffened as the sound grew louder. Honestly, it was right behind her now.

She heard a muffled yelp and turned her head.

“You’re not gonna do that agin, ya hear?” Mike MacPherson growled as he tightened his hold on another man’s collar. “Ya jist don’ go round sniffin’ ladies. And durin’ preachin’.” He scoffed and released the man, who turned around as though spoiling for a good fight, only to take a small step back as Obie and Hezzy moved closer to their younger brother. He mumbled something unintelligible, shot Delilah a sheepish grin, and realized he’d become the focus of everyone’s attention.