The Homesteader's Sweetheart (6 page)

Penny looked down at herself and cringed. “Oh, dear.”

“It’s not so bad,” Breanna offered. “Didja try to help put the fire out? I burnt some cookies once and smoked up the whole kitchen—Ricky and Matty were so mad cause it was the last of the sugar, and—”

Now that Breanna had had a night’s rest to recover from her latest seizure, her good nature was restored, and she rambled on to their guest. Breanna seemed enthralled with the banker’s daughter, and a gaze around the stunned faces of his younger sons—except for Edgar, the most naturally suspicious of the bunch—confirmed that they felt the same just from looking at her pretty face.

“Well, I’m afraid I caught our breakfast and the kitchen wall on fire.” Penny’s clipped statement had his sons staring at her with wide eyes.

“Now, Penny-girl, it isn’t all that bad,” said Walter, coming up beside her with Sam and Jonas’s other sons in tow. A glance behind showed they’d corralled the horses. Jonas also noticed his older sons couldn’t tear their eyes from Penny. He began to brace himself for the onslaught of questions they would inevitably ask as soon as Walt and the Castlerocks left. What was Walt’s granddaughter doing here? Was she attached to anyone?

“Your grandmamma, God rest her soul, burned up a pair of curtains once when we were first married…”

Walt lapsed into silence, obviously remembering his late wife. His statement didn’t change Penny’s expression. She looked dejected, disappointed. But then, as he watched her expressive face, she visibly brightened and looked around at the faces surrounding her.

“I don’t suppose anyone would care to introduce me to this bunch of…um…cowhands?”

The boys all spoke at once, giving their names and greeting her in a cacophony of sound. Jonas whistled again and the boys quieted. “One at a time,” he suggested, pointing to the closest boy.

“Ricky.”

“Matty.”

“I’m Seb, miss. Nice ta meetcha.” His youngest son, just three years older than Breanna, actually stepped forward to shake Penny’s hand.

“D-D-Davy.”

“Hullo. Name’s Oscar, ma’am.”

“Maxwell.”

“Edgar.” Jonas glanced over and noted the tense set of his usually easygoing son’s mouth.

Both Penny and Sam scanned the faces surrounding them—Walt was long used to Jonas’s makeshift family—and Jonas wondered for a moment what they would think.

He put a hand on the two closest boys’ shoulders to show his pride in them. “My sons.”

Chapter Six

P
enny heard the words but with all the chaos from the morning and the teens surrounding her, they didn’t register until she’d been ushered inside and smooshed into the center of one of the two long benches on either side of the food-laden table.

His
sons?

She had no opportunity to ask about it as the boisterous group began dishing out delicious-smelling food. She’d never seen anything like the confusion of reaching arms, and boys half standing out of their seats to get to the food. Sam stared at her with wide eyes, sitting back in his seat across the table. This chaos was completely different from their meals taken with their parents where Ethel served each course. Mrs. Trimble’s training had never discussed what to do in a situation like this!

She looked up to find Jonas’s eyes on her, narrowed as if waiting for her reaction. She kept a placid smile on her face as a biscuit, then eggs and a slice of ham appeared on her plate from both sides. Their manners might be lacking, but at least they’d served their guests.

Penny kept waiting for a woman to appear to take credit for the meal, but none did. Who kept all the children in line?

Finally, when every plate was filled, the table fell silent. From his corner of the overcrowded table, Jonas said, “Let’s pray.”

Penny bowed her head, her eyes flickering over the mismatched plates and cups. They were all completely different, and several of them were chipped.

As Jonas offered a sincere blessing for the meal and thanks for safe travels home, Penny fingered the worn, plain cloth that covered the table. It was far different from the fine embroidered tablecloths she was accustomed to at home.

During the prayer, none of the boys fidgeted, not even the youngest. But after the last “amen” echoed around the table, the noise level rose right back to what it had been before. Penny sat for a moment, just absorbing it. Once again, Jonas caught her eye, his face inscrutable. Was he upset she and her family had barged in on their meal?

“Do ya want some jelly, Miss Penny?” Breanna asked from close to Penny’s side, breaking the connection between Penny and Jonas.

“Oh. All right.” She accepted the somewhat sticky jar from the little girl’s hands and spooned some of what appeared to be blackberry jelly across the fluffy biscuit on her plate.

“Butter?” The boy—she thought it was Ricky—asked from her other side, offering a small bowl for Penny’s consideration.

“Umm, no. Thank you.”

She didn’t have much of an appetite, not after the trouble she’d caused her grandfather. Was the kitchen even usable? What would her grandfather do if he couldn’t cook his own meals?

And she and Sam couldn’t eat at the Whites’ table the whole time they were visiting, could they?

Not wanting to be rude, Penny nibbled on the jelly-covered biscuit. It was still warm. “This is delicious! Who made all of this?”

“Why, Pa, of course,” Breanna answered matter-of-factly.

“Really?” The word escaped on a gasp and the closest conversations ceased.

Jonas’s face reddened.

“Don’cha think boys can cook?” Breanna asked, still shoveling food in her mouth, not noticing that Penny had committed a conversational misstep. “Pa cooks real good, and Poppy Walt can do some easy things.”

“Mmm…like fry cutfish!” Sitting kitty-corner to Penny, Seb—she
thought
it was Seb, the youngest one—spoke with his mouth full, the words distorted. She supposed he meant
fried catfish.

Penny smiled politely and took another small bite of fluffy biscuit. She couldn’t believe Jonas had baked them. Was there really no woman on the premises? It would explain the lack of manners displayed by the children.

“…can’t wait for the Round Up,” one of the boys said to his neighbor.

Penny saw Sam’s head come up from where he’d been staring at his plate, keeping separate from the conversations surrounding him.

“It’s a cowboy exhibition over in Bear Creek. In six weeks.” Maxwell seemed to have noticed Sam’s interest as well. He’d been too shy to speak to Penny earlier, but now tried to include Sam in the conversation. “Oscar and I are thinking of entering one or two of the events.”

“My friends Billy and Louie went to a Round Up over by Cheyenne last year.” Sam addressed his plate, not really looking at any of the other boys, but Penny was encouraged that he attempted to make conversation. “I didn’t get to go.” His mouth turned down in a bitter frown.

“If you’re still stayin’ with Poppy Walt, you should come with us. The Bear Creek Round Up is an awful lot of fun.”

Sam stared at his plate again and didn’t respond, and Penny opened her mouth to thank Maxwell for the invitation when someone laughed, spraying crumbs across the table. Some even landed on Penny’s plate.

She swallowed hard. The impropriety would have been unacceptable at her parents’ table. Her father’s temper would have no doubt exploded by now.

And yet…there was a sense of joy here she’d never experienced at home. Brothers, biological or not, she wasn’t sure, nudged each other, wrestled for the last biscuit. They were obviously close, as evidenced by the camaraderie they shared.

The question was, how had this family come to be?

* * *

Penny insisted on staying to help wash the breakfast dishes, while her grandfather and Sam headed home to try and salvage the kitchen.

She worked with Edgar to clear the table, dumping the used dishes into a sudsy tub of water. Most of the boys’ plates were remarkably clean of food.

After passing the teen several times in silence, she attempted to draw him into conversation.

“Do you get stuck washing dishes often?” She offered a cheerful smile as she stacked the last of the dirty dishes next to the water tub.

His blue eyes shifted quickly to her and away. He slapped a washrag into her hand. “You wash.”

“All right.” She plunged her hands in the hot water, wincing, and plucked a white plate with blue trim from the bottom to scrub.

Edgar didn’t answer her question, but when she handed him the clean plate to dry, he asked almost belligerently, “How come you ain’t come to visit Poppy Walt before?”

She supposed it was a valid query judging by how frail her grandfather had appeared last night, but the delivery had her bristling. Still, her schooling kept her voice even and polite as she answered. “Sam and I live in Calvin with our parents. I suppose sometimes it is hard to get away for a visit.”

“It ain’t that far. You look old enough to drive a wagon up yourself.”

She stared at the dusty blond head not far from her shoulder, but Edgar didn’t look up from drying the brown and white speckled cup she’d handed him a moment ago. Was the boy purposely being uncouth, or was he unaware that he was being rude?

She couldn’t tell him that her father had made his wishes clear and visiting her grandfather hadn’t been what her father wanted.

“I suppose you’re right,” she said, patience ebbing. “It’s not a good excuse, but I didn’t know Grandfather had been ill.”

He handed her back a chipped, crimson-rimmed plate, dripping water across her sleeve. “You missed a spot of grease, there.”

Penny accepted the dish, smile becoming brittle. She scrubbed at the spot he indicated, though she didn’t see any grease on the plate.

“Shouldn’t matter if Poppy Walt was sick or not. He’s your kin, ain’t he?”

His words both irritated her and convicted her. She
had
missed time with her grandfather that she couldn’t get back. Surely if she would’ve pushed harder, her father would’ve let her visit…

“Missed another spot on this one.”

This time, he dropped a mug into the sudsy water, causing it to splash up onto her dress. Penny suppressed an irritated gasp, knowing from living with Sam that it would only serve to encourage this boy in his awful behavior, and strove to change the subject.

“So you’re…what, thirteen? My brother Sam just turned fifteen.”

He bristled. “I’m
fourteen.
”

She couldn’t help smiling at the offended tone he took, and apparently her smile made it worse.

“Pa says I ain’t hit my growin’ spurt yet,” he said defensively.

“Hmm.” Her noncommittal hum seemed to fuel his ire. She enjoyed it probably more than she should. “And your brothers?”

He was quiet for a moment, as if deciding whether he should answer her or not, but finally he said, “Oscar’s oldest. He’s seventeen. Then Maxwell, sixteen, then me, then Davy. Ricky ‘n Matty are both ten. And Seb’s the youngest. Well, the youngest boy. Breanna’s the youngest of all.”

Penny knew Jonas couldn’t be much older than herself. And considering the vast range of ages of his “sons”—two of whom weren’t much younger than Jonas himself—there was no way Jonas had fathered these children. So how had he ended up with all of them in his care?

“I’ll bet my grandmother loved having your family close,” she said softly. “I know she talked about wanting a bigger family when she was younger, but said the Lord didn’t bless her and Grandfather that way.”

He didn’t respond immediately, and Penny noticed that his hands had slowed so he was barely drying the dish he held. After a moment, he asked, almost reluctantly, “You knew Grammy Peg?”

“Yes. I used to spend summers out here with her.” Surprised by the softness in the boy’s voice, Penny blinked at the sudden tears in her eyes. She sniffled, wiping a fallen tear with her shoulder as she scrubbed a spot of baked-on food from the large cast-iron frying pan.

“Are you cryin’?” The boy sounded disgusted and something splooshed back into the water tub, sending more water onto Penny’s skirt.

His horrified reaction to her tears made Penny laugh. “Only a little, don’t worry.”

Using one arm to wipe at her face, warm water rolled down Penny’s arm and dampened her sleeve. Apparently, she wasn’t any better at washing dishes than she’d been at cooking; she’d gotten all wet. Though some of it was Edgar’s fault.

“What’s going on in here? Are you
crying?
”

Penny laughed again at Jonas’s appalled tone—the very same one his son had used.

“Edgar, what did you do?”

The boy whirled toward his father, the towel he’d been using to dry dishes flicking Penny’s arm. “I ain’t done nuthin’!”

“Then why’s she all wet? And crying?”

The boy looked at Penny with narrowed eyes. Did he expect her to rat him out for his rude questions and splashing her? Maybe she should.

Penny wiped away the last of her tears with her wrist. “I’m afraid I’ve been a bit clumsy is all. And Edgar didn’t make me cry. We were talking about my grandmother, and my emotions got a bit carried away.”

Jonas squinted a little, as if he might not believe her. A sideways glance at Edgar revealed he wore a distrustful frown. Not the reaction she’d expected when she’d covered for him with his father.

“You two about done?”

“Reckon we’re close enough,” Edgar answered, nudging Penny away from the bucket that was now more water than suds.

She joined Jonas on the porch, and followed his gaze to two of the older boys, who repaired something along the outside barn wall, near where it and the corral met. Breanna squatted nearby, watching their progress.

Penny took a moment to look around the homestead. From the inside, she’d observed the house was bigger than her grandfather’s, but from out here, it was obvious that at least two of the rooms, probably bedrooms, had been added on after the original structure was built. Had Jonas added them as his family had grown?

The barn was newer than her grandfather’s as well, and appeared to be well maintained, as was the corral where several horses grazed. The yard was clean, with a few chickens scratching.

“You’ve built a fine home for yourself here,” Penny said softly.

Jonas startled, as if he’d forgotten she stood at his elbow. He didn’t move other than a slight turn of his head in her direction, but she sensed his perusal. “It isn’t a mansion, but my family is happy here.”

She wanted to ask more about his family and how it had come to be, but held her tongue. Mrs. Trimble would’ve been proud of her restraint.

“Thank you for sharing your breakfast,” she said instead.

He shrugged, moving down the porch steps. “That’s what neighbors do out here. Walt and Peg helped me out plenty when I first came out here.”

“Really?”

“Yep.” He motioned her to join him on the ground. “I’ll walk you part way back. Ease Walt’s mind.”

“Will Breanna be all right with the boys?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder to where the girl seemed awfully close to the swinging tools the teen boys used.

“They’ll watch out for her. And I won’t be gone long.”

Penny slipped her hands into the pockets of her gown as she fell into step with Jonas; her right hand touched the dollar bills she’d tucked there this morning. In the disorder of arriving at her grandfather’s place last night, she’d forgotten to give Jonas the money they’d agreed on for the wagon ride.