The Brides of Chance Collection (6 page)

Miriam shot him a wobbly smile. Gideon sat and swept Polly into his lap. “Bet you’re a hungry little bear today.”

“Uh-huh. She maded ’tatoes.”

Logan chuckled. “Now you’ve done it, Miss Miriam. You made a friend for life. Polly loves taters.”

All of the men sat and started to fill their plates. Miriam stayed at the stove and cut the food on the plate she’d already dished up. One place at the table remained conspicuously vacant. Titus said in a slightly too jovial tone, “Come sit here with us, Miss Miriam.”

Gideon’s fork was halfway to Polly’s mouth when Miriam shook her head. Polly grabbed for the bite. Miriam poured a bit of gravy on her plate, then set the gravy boat in the center of the table. She gently swept Virginia Mae from Bryce’s hold and claimed the plate from the stove.

“Aw, I can feed her. We’re all pretty fair hands at that kind of stuff,” Bryce said.

“I’m sure you are.” Miriam’s gaze swept across the already decimated pots, bowls, and half-cleared plates. Her features went taut. A soundless sigh heaved her bosom, and she left. Gideon scowled. “Hey. Come back here.”

Her voice drifted over her shoulder: “Ginny Mae’s wet.”

In no time at all, the brothers finished off every last speck of food. Daniel hadn’t gotten to eat, but if he didn’t bother to show up, he had no call to bellyache. Food this good deserved to be appreciated down to the last bite. They’d eaten real loaf bread for the first time in ages. Normally they ate either sticky or rock-hard biscuits. She must have kneaded the loaves before she came out to the garden.

“She set beans to soak,” Bryce reported. “Think she’ll sweeten them and add in ham or bacon?”

“I reckon whatever she does,” Titus said as he sopped up the gravy with the last crust of his bread, “it’ll be better than anything we’ve had in a coon’s age.”

Logan sighed appreciatively. “She sure can cook.”

“Yeah, well, quit mooning over the vittles and get back to work. Logan, you take the buckboard to town and fetch Miss Miriam’s trunks. If I so much as catch a whiff of beer or whiskey on you when you get home, I’ll tan your hide so you can’t sit ’til Christmas.”

Titus pumped a bucket of water and dumped the plates into it. He took Polly and said, “I reckon it’s best we keep the girls to their naps. I’ll go tuck this little one in and bring back Miss Miriam’s plate.”

By the time Titus returned, Paul, Logan, and Bryce were long gone. Gideon moved the bucket with the trout onto the table and hoped Miriam would pan-fry them for supper. He had a hankering for a nicely turned hunk of trout. Titus interrupted his longings. “She fed Ginny and was singing her off to sleep.”

“How did Polly do?”

“Much as she don’t cotton to strangers, she truly does head straight to Miss Miriam for a pat or a smile. I told her they both nap a good while this time of the day.”

“I hope she naps, too.”

“I don’t much think so. She asked me where Hannah’s grave was.”

Gideon grimaced.

“I think you’d best leave her alone. She didn’t look none too good. Kind of reminded me of the air Mama carried when she needed us to leave her be.”

“I’d better go anyway. Daniel might be there.”

“Nah. I just saw him. He’s taking all the logs he split to the woodpile.”

Supper came, and Gideon tried not to make a spectacle of himself when Miriam set a platter of trout on the table. Every last piece was fried to crispy, golden brown perfection. She served rice and greens, too. Her day gown was dry. Polly kept a fistful of it and shadowed her every move.

“Logan, go on over to the cottage and bring back a chair,” Gideon ordered under his breath. “Put it at the foot of the table so Miriam has a place.”

Paul brought in the evening milking and asked, “Where do you want this, Miss Miriam?”

“What is it?”

“Milk. I already strained it for you.”

“Do you men drink it or do just the girls?”

“Depends on whether you need any milk for your cooking.”

“Why don’t you save half of it,” she said uncertainly, then turned to open the oven door. Gideon’s mouth watered. The fragrance had teased him ever since he came inside, but he’d tried to deny the possibility. Cobbler. He inhaled deeply. Apple.

“Lord, have mercy,” Bryce moaned.

Miriam set the cobbler on the stove top and shut the door. She moved stiffly and said with great precision, “I hope that was a prayer, because I will not have the Lord’s name taken in vain.”

“Sorry, ma’am. I mean, miss. You surely can take that as a prayer of thanksgiving.”

Logan arrived with the chair. With supper on the table, everyone flocked to the benches. Gideon seated Miriam and tried to take Polly back with him, but she wouldn’t turn loose of her aunt. “Here, poppet.” Miriam gently lifted their niece onto her lap. She wrapped her arms around Polly’s and folded their hands together into a steeple. “Who asks the blessing?”

The chorus of uncomfortable “uhs” left Gideon embarrassed. He took his seat as Daniel came in. Daniel answered with undisguised hostility, “Nobody prays here.”

“Papa always said things can change,” Miriam said. She kept hold of Polly’s little hands, dipped her head, and whispered, “I’ll say something, then you say it, too.”

Polly nodded.

“Dear God,” Miriam began.

“Dear God—”

“We give Thee thanks for our food.”

“Thee thanks for food.”

A few more quick lines, and they finished off with a duet of “Amen.”

The whole while, the other brothers respectfully bowed their heads; but Dan had made a point of reaching across the table, noisily serving himself, and grunting a disdainful snort. Gideon resolved to string him up by his heels if he tried that stunt again.

As they filled their plates, Logan said, “Mama taught us a different grace.”

“Then you may teach it to us tomorrow,” Miriam said as she tied a dishcloth around Polly’s neck.

Polly chattered, and Daniel’s brothers tried to make conversation to cover his stony silence. Miriam spoke when directly addressed but otherwise stayed quiet. Her responses were softly spoken and brief, as if she was doing her best to be polite and invisible at the same time. He caught the way she hesitantly glanced at Dan out of the corner of her eye and winced at how her shoulders curled forward just the tiniest bit. Gideon noticed how Miriam’s hands shook, and he worried over her pallor. He’d talk to her after supper and promise that, mad as Daniel might be, she had no cause to fear he’d ever raise a hand to her.

Bowls got passed around again, and his brothers scraped every last morsel of food out of the pans and onto their plates. Gideon thought to offer her more, but she didn’t eat much of what was on her plate, so it seemed silly to ask if she wanted anything else. More went into Polly’s mouth than her own.

The tension bugged him. He said nothing, because Miriam and Daniel would have to work things out between themselves. Surely by morning, Dan would come to terms with the situation and could be counted on to behave himself decently for a few days until Miriam went back home.

Once supper was over, Dan swiped little Polly straight off of Miriam’s lap without so much as a word of warning. Only the ring of his boots on the floor planks broke the crackling silence until he reached the door. He kicked the door shut behind himself.

Every last brother watched as Miriam flinched. Bryce opened his mouth, but Gideon booted him under the table to keep him from saying something stupid.

Titus offered, “I’ll wash the dishes. Paul, you dry.”

“Fine.” Gideon stood. “Bryce, see to the beasts and be sure to check that latch on the chicken coop.”

Miriam wet her lips, then murmured, “Please excuse me.” She slipped out of her chair and across the floor, her gait a soundless glide. Then she shut the door behind herself noiselessly.

“Poor thing,” Titus mumbled.

“Sadder’n a hound that tangled with a porcupine,” Bryce added.

Paul smacked the tabletop, and all of the dishes jumped. “Dan tries that again, and I’m gonna deck him!”

Though he privately agreed, Gideon didn’t want his brothers brawling. “No one’s going to do anything.” He glared at his brothers. “All you’ll do is pour kerosene on his temper if you stand up for her. His temper will burn hotter, and she’ll get the blast. Stay out of it.”

“Now wait just a minute—”

“No, you all hold your horses.” Gideon folded his arms across his chest and stared them down. “Some things are best left alone. Dan’s raging, but he’ll run out of steam. In the meantime, just try to keep her away from him. He’ll come to his senses.”

“It ain’t a matter of keeping her away from him,” Bryce groused. “It’s a matter of keeping him away from her.”

“No,” Gideon said heavily. “He can’t bear the sight of her. She looks too much like Hannah.”

“Ain’t her fault, Giddy.” Bryce cocked his head to the side and continued as if he’d come to a brilliant deduction. “They were sisters.”

Titus ignored Bryce and stacked dishes into a bucket. “The real problem is going to be keeping her away from the kids.”

“I don’t give a hang if Dan doesn’t want her seeing them,” Gideon decided. “There’s nothing wrong with her singing and playing with them.”

“More likely
praying,”
Logan corrected him.

“Yeah,” Gideon said, “but Hannah and Mama both would’ve done the selfsame things. Until she leaves, let her enjoy them. We’ve jawed about this enough. You all pitch in and get things done.”

Gideon fought the urge to dab his thumb into a little pile of sugar and cinnamon crumbs left from the cobbler. He’d love that last little taste, but he needed to look stern and in control just now. Sucking a sweet off of his thumb would spoil the effect. Instead, he picked up his plate and shoved it on the top of the teetering stack in Titus’s bucket.

A few more minutes passed. Gideon figured Miriam had gone off to the privy and taken a little extra time to regain her composure, but when she didn’t come back after a while, he grew concerned. He didn’t want his brothers setting off like hounds after a frightened hare, so he silently went in search.

The privy was empty, the door hanging off to the side in careless disregard to privacy. They’d left it that way so Polly wouldn’t be afraid of the dark when they took her there. With Miriam visiting, that needed to be fixed—at least temporarily. All day long, little details like that illustrated just how lackadaisical they’d become in regard to propriety. Having a woman around—even for a handful of days—was making his to-do list grow by leaps and bounds.

Gideon pondered where to turn next. Since his brother had told him she’d asked about the grave, he paced toward the tall pines. Wildflowers lay at the base of the wooden marker Daniel had carved as Hannah’s headstone. That had to be Miriam’s doing, because Dan hadn’t ever once taken flowers to it.

Where was Miriam?

Chapter 6

H
e found her in the garden. A small basket with a trio of tomatoes and a pair of small melons lay in the soil by her skirts. At first, Gideon thought Miriam was on her knees, leaning forward to pick something. It took a second for him to realize she’d doubled over. She’d huddled down like a pitifully cold little rabbit that couldn’t find its way back to the warren. The backs of her hands rested in the loam, and her fingers curled upward to cup her forehead. She looked so vulnerable and forlorn. He hunkered down beside her and tried to take stock of the situation.

Placing a tentative hand on her shoulder, he murmured, “Miss Miriam? You all right?”

“Head hurts,” she whispered in a voice thick with tears.

“Aw, sweet pea, I’ll bet it does.” He eased his weight onto his knees and pulled her into his arms. She came unresistingly, but she didn’t nestle into him for comfort, either. She was too limp to do anything.

Gideon called himself ten kinds of a fool. After the way Logan flattened her and knocked her noggin, she still had to be feeling poorly. Gideon carefully cupped her head to his chest and amended his assessment. The lump beneath his fingers made him wonder why she hadn’t been cross-eyed and sick as a hound dog. Why had he let her cook and clean most of the day when he’d originally told her to sleep? He should have hauled her back to the house and tied her to the bed instead of letting her wear herself to a frazzle.

Just as bad, she still needed time after getting the awful news. One good cry didn’t wash away grief. It was a marvel she hadn’t dissolved into a puddle of tears over the way Daniel treated her.

Gideon’s fingers slid beneath her thick golden braid and slowly kneaded her nape. Her breath hitched. Every last inch of her shuddered. “Aww,” he murmured, unable to concoct anything meaningful for such a catastrophic time. Her breath hitched again, and he snuggled her closer. He’d tried hard to be strong after Pa and Mama each died, but he’d ridden Splotch off to a secluded spot and shed his fair share of bitter, aching tears, too. Folks expected a man to be strong, even in adversity, but a woman…

Well, a woman wasn’t supposed to be this brave. She’d spent the last scraps of her composure when Daniel thundered at her, then later at supper. Clearly she was spoiling for a decent caterwaul. “Might as well let loose,” he whispered into her soft hair.

“Weeping w–won’t make it an–nee bet–ter,” she whispered in choppy syllables that made her frame bump against him.

“Holding it all in won’t lessen it,” he countered. His words freed her, at least to some degree. Tears silently slipped down her cheeks and wet his shirt. He could almost taste the salt in them.

Crickets chirped and cicadas whirred. Horses whinnied and the cow lowed. One of the dogs barked a few times. Gideon knelt there and wished he were anywhere else. He wasn’t cut out to comfort a grieving woman. He felt awkward and stupid. Had he thought even once, poor little Miriam wouldn’t have worked herself into such a frazzled mess.

Right now the bitty, worn-out woman needed rest more than anything. His bed would have to do. It didn’t quite seem fitting for her to be sleeping in a room with a bunch of men. Even Mama hadn’t when they moved here.

A banker had cheated them out of their old ranch when Pa died. They’d packed up everything they owned and pretty much started fresh here. Mama was always first up and last to bed, so she’d slept in a bedstead in the main room. Since the stove sat a stone’s throw away from her mattress, she’d been warm enough during the coldest winter nights.