Courting Miss Amsel (21 page)

Chapter
THIRTY-ONE

“Joel! Joel Townsend, wait up there!”

Joel paused on his way to the wagon. The boys also stopped, turning to watch Luthenia Kinsley trot across the churchyard toward them.

She came to a breathless halt a couple of feet away and panted, patting her chest. “Mercy! I’m gettin’ too old to be runnin’ after folks.” An airy laugh spilled out, and she smiled down at the boys. “Been a long time since you come by my place for cookies.” She sent Joel a pointed look.

Robert took hold of Joel’s hand and swung it. “We can come today, I reckon.”

Miz Kinsley laughed again. “Today I have oatmeal raisin. They’re for dessert, though. Thought maybe you an’ your uncle would like to come help me eat a big ol’ pork roast.”

“Mmm!” Robert licked his lips and tugged at Joel’s hand. “Can we, Uncle Joel?”

Johnny tugged on the other hand. “Can we?”

Joel lifted his shoulders in a sheepish shrug. “We can’t make it today.”

“Awww!” the boys groaned.

He released their hands and gently pushed them toward the wagon. “Go climb in, boys – and mind where you walk.” The spring’s first rain had left behind squashed brown grass and muddy puddles.

Both boys scuffed to the wagon, their heads low.

Joel removed his hat and ran his hand over his hair. “I know the boys’ve missed seein’ you. But we’ve been invited to the Jenkinses’ place for Sunday lunch. I shouldn’t keep Miz Jenkins waiting.”

A smile – half sly, half sad – tipped up the corners of Miz Kinsley’s mouth. “I reckon it’s Maribelle you’re not wantin’ to keep waitin’.”

Joel released a self-conscious chuckle. “Well, Miz Jenkins does most of the cookin’, but Maribelle’s the one who invited us.”

Miz Kinsley crossed her arms over her chest. “You been eatin’ quite a few Sunday dinners at the Jenkinses’ place the past couple months. Are the rumors I’ve been hearin’ around town true? You’re wooin’ Maribelle?”

Heat rushed to Joel’s face. The word
wooing
grated. But what else would he call it? He’d been keeping company with Maribelle for more than six weeks. Folks were bound to notice. He nodded.

“S’pose I oughtta say congratulations, then.”

Joel couldn’t decide from her tone if she was congratulating him or telling herself she needed to. So he just nodded again.

“Maribelle’s a fine girl.” Miz Kinsley spoke slowly, as if she had a hard time forming words. “Seems I might’ve even mentioned that a ways back. As I recall, you told me she was too young for you.”

Joel tapped his hat on his leg. “I reckon she’s aged a bit since then.”

“Yep. So’ve you.” Another odd statement.

Joel gestured toward the wagon, inching backward. “The Jenkinses are waiting, Miz Kinsley, so I better – ”

She flapped both hands at him. “Go. I’ll wrap up them cookies an’ send ’em with Edythe to school. She can give ’em to the boys at the end of the day so the other young’uns won’t be jealous.”

“That sounds fine. Thanks for thinkin’ of ’em.” He plopped his hat into place and trotted off before she could say anything else to hold him up. He climbed into the wagon, released the brake, and snapped the reins. He’d removed the sleigh rails and reattached the wheels a few days ago, and they squeaked as they carried the wagon over the deeply rutted road that led to the Jenkinses’ farm. The boys hunkered in the straw in the back, dozing. With the boys quiet and nobody else around, it gave him time to think. Maybe too much time to think.

Miz Kinsley wasn’t the conniving sort, but he suspected her invitation to dinner was her way of finding out what he was doing with Maribelle. She wouldn’t come right out and question him because she was too polite. Others in town had no such compunction. He’d managed to dodge the questions so far, but speculation abounded, and it wouldn’t be long before he’d have to announce his intentions. Mainly because Maribelle’s folks were asking. As often as they’d fed him and the boys lately, he owed them straight answers.

Maribelle deserved straight answers, too. He’d eaten at her folks’ dinner table six Sundays in a row, sat with her in church, and he and the boys even had taken her to the restaurant in Lincoln Valley one mild Saturday evening in late February. All of those things added up in a woman’s head. Before long, he’d have to, as the fellows said, pop the question. Which was the reason he’d started seeing her in the first place, wasn’t it?

Maybe today . . .
His mouth went dry at the thought. Giving himself a little shake, he tugged the reins, guiding Jody to turn in at the lane. Moments later, Maribelle welcomed him and the boys into the house. She picked little bits of straw out of Robert’s hair, laughing as she did so. It was a motherly gesture, one that should’ve given Joel’s heart a real lift. But instead he wanted to leap forward and take over the task. He pushed his hands into his trouser pockets.

Maribelle plucked the coats from the boys’ shoulders and flashed a smile at him. “Mother just finished putting dinner on the table – she expected you a bit earlier.”

Not a hint of displeasure colored her tone, although Joel suspected Minnie Jenkins would fuss about his late arrival. He’d never met a more punctilious woman. Fortunately, Maribelle didn’t emulate her mother in that regard.

“We can eat right away,” Maribelle went on. “I imagine you’re hungry, aren’t you, Johnny and Robert?” Her voice took on a lilt – the way folks spoke if they weren’t comfortable talking to children. She’d need to get over that quick when she became his wife.

The boys followed Joel and Maribelle and climbed into the same chairs they’d occupied on previous visits. By now they should’ve been at ease in the Jenkinses’ house, but Joel noted they sat with stiff spines, their hands in their laps, as if afraid of making a mistake. Then he realized he was doing the same thing. He deliberately slumped in the chair, only to catch Miz Jenkins’s lips pinch into a disapproving line. He straightened.

Tad Jenkins asked the blessing. His deep voice reverberated with reverence, and Joel felt a bit of his tension drain away. How could a fellow stay uptight during prayer? Listening to Mr. Jenkins pray warmed him toward Maribelle. A woman who’d been reared by a man with strong faith would know how to pass it along to children.

He took the platter of stewed beef and ladled servings into his and the boys’ plates. “Thank you, Uncle Joel,” they said in turn.

Maribelle beamed. “Such polite boys.” She looked at her mother, her eyebrows high. “Aren’t they polite boys, Ma?”

Miz Jenkins’s lips quirked into something that might pass for a smile. “Very polite.”

Joel continued scooping out food for the three of them. By the time all the dishes were passed, their plates were overflowing. One thing Joel could say about Miz Jenkins – she was a fine cook. The boys thought so, too. They cleaned their plates while the grown-ups chatted.

Joel and Mr. Jenkins discussed the coming planting season. After mentioning his favorite place to get seed corn, Jenkins said, “What’s this I hear about your diggin’ ditches all over your property?”

Joel stabbed his fork into a mound of boiled beets. “My irrigation ditches? They aren’t everywhere – just out in the cornfield.”

Maribelle laughed softly and swatted at his arm, as if he’d made a joke.

Jenkins cleared his throat. “I reckon that took some time, diggin’ ditches.”

“It did.” Joel picked up Robert’s napkin and mopped at gravy on the boy’s chin. “But it was well worth the hours spent. If we don’t get rain, I channel the water from the Little Platte.”

The man frowned. “I trust the Lord to bring rain in due season.”

Joel had heard that argument many times before. But he had a successful corn crop every year thanks to his irrigation ditches. Could the other farmers make the same claim? “I trust the Lord, too. He gave me the brains to come up with a way to water my crops an’ the muscle to do the work digging those ditches. I thank Him for my harvest.”

“Mm-hmm . . .” Jenkins looked across the table at Johnny and Robert. “I see you boys are done.” He sounded gruff but not unkind. At least he spoke to them. Minnie either sent them critical glances or pretended they weren’t there. “You like puppies?”

Both boys nodded, their eyes round. “Yes, sir.”

“We got puppies in the barn. How ’bout I take you out and show you.”

In unison, they looked at Joel.

Joel smiled. “That’d be real nice, Mr. Jenkins.”

“Tad.” The man shot a quick look at his daughter, his cheeks mottling. “Might as well drop all the mister and missus nonsense, given the circumstances.”

Joel read the man’s meaning. He turned to the boys. “Wear your coats, an’ stay with Mr. Jenkins.”

“Yes, sir!” The boys bounced up and shot for the corner of the parlor, where Maribelle had laid their jackets across a chair. They jammed their arms into the sleeves then trailed Tad out the door.

Minnie leaned back and placed her palms flat on the table. “Since your father tucked the children out of the way, I’ll begin clearing this table so you two have time to . . .
talk
.”

Joel didn’t miss the subtle emphasis on the last word. He pushed away from the table and held out his elbow. “It’s not too cold today. If you wear your coat” – he glanced at her dress, a lightweight flowered frock that didn’t look as though it would offer any protection from a chill wind – “we could take a little walk and . . . talk.” He used the same inflection her mother had.

“That sounds grand, Joel.” She giggled, the sound very young and feminine. She donned her coat, then slipped her fingers into the bend of his elbow. He felt their quiver, a sign of nervousness. Would an independent woman like Edythe Amsel tremble like a leaf in a stout breeze when walking with her beau? They strolled side by side to the fenced corral, where a lone sorrel horse nosed the muddy ground.

Maribelle released his arm and draped her hands over the top rail. Then she rested her cheek on her knuckles and peeked at him, her eyelids fluttering. “What did you want to talk about?”

He leaned against the fence, hooking one heel on the lowest rail. “I . . . um . . .”

She giggled again. “Joel . . .” One hand slid across the rail and grazed his upper arm. “Are you comin’ over here just to eat my ma’s cookin’, or did you have somethin’ else in mind?”

He blinked twice, gathering his wits, then cleared his throat. “I reckon it’s more’n your ma’s cookin’.” He grinned, his lips twitching. “Although the cookin’ is a powerful draw. I suppose you know all her recipes?”

Her green eyes twinkled. A strand of honey-colored hair slipped free of her ponytail and whisked across her chin, drawing his attention to her smiling mouth. Not once had her lips enticed him to kiss her.

“A few. But not all. I’m the only child, you know. I’ve been a little spoiled.”

Her honesty surprised him. So she might not be a good cook – did that matter? He and the boys had gone more than two years eating mostly beans, and they’d survived. He considered the things he liked about her. She was a Christian – that was important. Open. Honest. And she was pretty. Young, certainly, but she’d mature in time.

Suddenly she popped upright, pinning him with a serious look. “Are you wantin’ to marry me, Joel Townsend?”

He swallowed a snort. She was open, all right.

“ ’Cause Ma an’ Pa would approve. They know you’ve got a fine farm, with a good crop every year, and that you’re a God-fearing man.” Her lashes fluttered again, but Joel suspected she was winking back emotion rather than flirting with him. “If you want to marry me, I’d surely like to hear you say so.”

He recalled similar words from Susannah so long ago.
“A woman wants to hear how a man feels about her
.
”
But he’d never been good at flowery speech. He still wasn’t. But he’d do his best. He opened his mouth to tell her what she waited to hear, but something shouted in his head:
Wait!
He jerked.

She frowned. “Joel?”

He pushed off the fence and faced her. They stood so close he could see his own reflection in her green irises. The green reminded him of the flecks in Miss Amsel’s eyes. “Maribelle, I – ”
Wait!
That voice again. He slapped the fence. “I’m havin’ a hard time finding the right words. . . . Maybe we should – ” He intended to say “wait,” but Johnny and Robert came charging out of the barn and straight toward him, each cradling a puppy.

Maribelle turned to meet them, reaching out to scratch the pups and also tousle the boys’ hair. She flicked a smile in Joel’s direction. “Don’tcha want to pet the pups? They’re real sweet.”

Heaving a sigh, Joel stepped forward and placed his big hand over the head of the puppy Robert held. Maribelle cupped her hand over his, smiling shyly at him. He needed someone to help take care of his boys, and she was willing. “Maribelle . . .”

Wait!

He shook his head. Waiting didn’t make sense. He needed a wife
now
. He pushed the irritating voice aside. “Let’s go ask your pa for his blessing.”

Chapter
THIRTY-TWO

By Monday morning, Joel knew he’d made a mistake. A restless night spent under the weight of regret convinced him he’d forged forward when he should’ve held back. Instead, he’d stated his intentions to Maribelle, received her father’s blessing, and by noon today half the town would know he’d asked Maribelle Jenkins to be Mrs. Joel Townsend. How could he turn back now? Especially since she’d already suffered the humiliation of another beau changing his mind.

As he spooned cornmeal mush into bowls for the boys, he told himself things would be all right in the end. After all, Maribelle was a fine girl. Even though he didn’t love her, he held a fondness for her. Love would come in time. At long last, he’d have a helpmeet. Someone to nurture his boys, someone to help in his home, someone to sit with beside the fire late in the evening and talk about the day. The Bible said man shouldn’t be alone, and now he wouldn’t be.

Joel sat down and prayed for their simple breakfast, and when the boys picked up their spoons to dig in to their bowls, he cleared his throat. “Johnny and Robert, I got somethin’ important to tell you.”

Both popped a spoonful of mush into their mouths, their eyes on him, interested and innocent.

He wiped his hand down his face. “It’s been just the three of us ever since you came to live with me, an’ we’ve got along pretty good, but . . .” His mouth felt dry. He gulped a sip of coffee, scalding his tongue. Clapping the cup back on the table, he sucked air to cool his tongue. The boys sent each other a curious glance, then turned in unison to face him again. He swallowed. “Somebody else’ll be joinin’ us soon.”

Robert flipped his spoon upside down in his mouth and let it rest there, his lips pursed around it. Johnny leaned toward his uncle. “Who?”

“Maribelle Jenkins.”

Both boys sat straight up in their chairs, their eyebrows shooting high. Robert lowered his hand, but the spoon still dangled from his mouth. Joel removed it before the boy choked.

“What do you say about that?” Joel forced joviality into his tone. “Won’t that be nice?”

Johnny scowled. “You’re talkin’ like
she
does.”

Joel sent Johnny a puzzled look. “What?”

“Real high and sweetie-sweet. When she talks to me an’ Robert, she changes her voice.”

Joel had observed the same thing and had credited it to a small amount of discomfort. He hadn’t realized he’d adopted the singsong, sugary tone. Did that mean he was uncomfortable sharing the news? A man should feel joyful, saying his intended’s name out loud. The sense of dread that had fallen on him during the night increased in intensity. To combat it, he tweaked Johnny’s ear. “I reckon she’s just tryin’ to be extra nice.”

“She won’t talk like that forever, will she?” Robert yanked up his spoon again and shoved it deep into the mush.

Joel chuckled. “I figure she’ll talk to you just like she’d talk to anybody once she gets to know you better.” His gaze darted back and forth between the pair of freckled, fresh-scrubbed faces. “So . . . do you think you’ll like it . . . having Maribelle here to cook for us an’ help take care of . . . us?”

For long seconds, neither boy spoke. Then Johnny offered a hesitant nod. “Sure, Uncle Joel.”

“Sure,” Robert echoed. Then he shrugged. “Never once had beans at the Jenkinses’ place, so she prob’ly don’t know how to fix ’em.”

Joel released a genuine laugh. Trust Robert to find the most important reason to bring Maribelle into the house. Then he sobered. “Boys, you know this means she’ll be – well, like a ma to the two of you. I want you to be happy. If you don’t think you can be happy with Maribelle, I want you to tell me.” He held his breath. If either of the boys voiced strong feelings against his marrying Maribelle, he’d call things off immediately, even if it did mean upsetting her parents and putting her in an embarrassing position. His heart pattered – part in apprehension and part, he realized, in hope.

“It’ll be all right.” Johnny spoke with confidence, his skinny shoulders squared. “When we came here to live with you, we just wanted Ma an’ Pa. But we love you now. We’ll get to lovin’ Maribelle someday, too.” He looked at his brother. “Right, Robert?”

Robert nodded silently.

Joel tugged Johnny out of his chair and wrapped him in a tight hug. “You’re a fine boy, an’ anyone would be proud to have you as a son. Maribelle will be lovin’ the two of you in no time.” He released the boy with a light pat on the seat of his britches. “Finish up your breakfast now so I can get you off to school. Slow goin’, with the roads muddy – you’ll need to leave a little early.”

“Yes, sir.” The boys turned their focus to emptying their bowls.

Joel pushed the mush around in his bowl, unable to eat. He hoped he’d been truthful with the boys. Maribelle hadn’t acted disinclined to taking on his boys, but she was so young and she was an only child. What kind of mother would she be? Then Joel realized Miss Amsel had been even younger when she’d stepped into the role of mothering her brothers and sisters. If she could handle it at fourteen, surely Maribelle, who was already twenty-one, would manage.

Sure she would. They’d be just fine . . . wouldn’t they?

A few seconds before three o’clock, Edythe stood behind her desk and clapped her palms sharply together to gain the attention of her students. “William, it’s your turn to clean the blackboards.” She ignored his grimace of displeasure and turned to face Johnny and Robert Townsend. “Boys, I need to speak with you before you leave.” She grinned to assure them they weren’t in trouble, then glanced at the clock. The minute hand clicked up to the twelve. “Class dismissed.”

The children charged toward the cloakroom, and William trudged to the blackboard along the east wall. Edythe stepped off the teaching platform to speak with the Townsend boys. Aware of William’s listening ears, she spoke softly. “I have a little something for you from Mrs. Kinsley.” She pressed a cloth-wrapped bundle into Johnny’s hands.

The boys’ faces lit. “Thank you, Miss Amsel!” they said in unison.

“You’re very welcome.” Her fingers itched to smooth Robert’s hair into place – one tuft stuck straight up on the left side of his head. She linked her fingers together before she succumbed to the urge. How she would miss these boys when she left town . . . “Be sure to tell her thank you when you see her next. She’s kind to treat you.”

Robert blinked up at her, his expression filled with an emotion Edythe couldn’t quite define. “She prob’ly won’t have to bake us cookies anymore, though. We’re gettin’ a new mother to bake us cookies.”

Edythe’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh?”

Johnny scowled at his brother. “Robert, Uncle Joel didn’t say we could tell.”

“Didn’t say we couldn’t, either.”

“Even so . . .”

Before they could launch a full-fledged argument, Edythe interrupted. “That’s fine, boys. You needn’t share any personal information with me.” Besides, she’d already heard the news. Maribelle Jenkins would receive a real gift in the form of two towheaded, round-cheeked boys with big hearts and tender spirits. Tears stung behind her eyes.

“You two better hurry on home now before your uncle starts to worry about you.” Her voice came out unnaturally high, an attempt to hide her writhing emotions. “Johnny, put that packet in your lunch bucket, hmm?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Robert poked Johnny on the arm. “Wanna race?”

“I can beat you hoppin’ on one foot,” Johnny bragged.

Robert spun and shot toward the cloakroom, and Johnny tore after him.

William wadded up the cleaning rag and placed it in the bucket beside the blackboard. “All done, Miss Amsel.”

Smudges clouded the square of black, but Edythe decided to let William go rather than insist he use a wet cloth to thoroughly clean the board. Eagerness to hurry to Luthenia’s and ask if she knew about Robert’s announcement made her wave a hand of dismissal at the boy. He dashed out the door with a grin.

Edythe quickly performed her end-of-the-day duties, then scurried outside and locked the door behind her. All of the children were gone except Missy and Martha Sterbinz, who stood chatting beside the Sterbinzes’ wagon. Terrill sat on the high seat, his elbows on his knees, looking toward the schoolhouse. When Edythe stepped off the porch, he whipped off his hat.

“Afternoon, Miss Amsel. Told Missy here I’d tote you ladies to town. Gotta take Martha anyways – no trouble to give you a ride, too.”

Edythe walked slowly toward the wagon. She’d managed to hold herself aloof from Martha’s older brother, and she didn’t want to give him the impression she’d changed her mind about keeping company with him. But desire to quiz Luthenia about Joel Townsend prevailed over determination to keep Terrill at a distance. “Thank you, Mr. Sterbinz. That’s very kind of you.”

Missy and Martha clambered into the back, giggling. Edythe moved toward the rear of the wagon, intending to join them, but Terrill leaped down and stepped into her pathway. “Plenty of room on the seat.” He clutched her elbow and propelled her along the ground. Then he grabbed her around the waist and lifted her. She let out a little squeak of surprise. Martha and Missy exploded in a fresh round of giggles.

Edythe’s face burned with embarrassment as she settled onto the wagon’s seat, and she flashed a stern look at her sister. Missy grinned impishly in response, even daring to wink. Edythe whirled around and sat straight-spined, her face aimed ahead, while Terrill jogged to the other side and climbed aboard. He gave her a broad grin and took up the reins. “Giddy-yap!”

The wagon jolted forward, and Edythe smacked her hands over her books to keep them from flying off her lap. Missy and Martha visited in the back, but Edythe and Terrill rode in silence. She sensed him sending her sidelong glances, but she determinedly kept her gaze forward, pretending not to notice.

Terrill drew the horse to a stop outside Luthenia’s house. Missy scrambled out of the back. “Bye, Martha! See you tomorrow!”

“Bye, Missy,” Martha said.

Edythe shifted to the edge of the seat, hugging her books to her chest with one arm and clutching the seat’s raised lip with the other. She placed her foot on the wheel’s hub, prepared to hop down. “Good-bye, Martha. Thank you for the ride, Mr. Sterbinz.”

Terrill caught her arm, holding her in place.

She sent an unsmiling look over her shoulder, but he didn’t let loose.

“I was wonderin’ if you’d care to drive over to Lincoln Valley Friday evenin’ for supper at the hotel?” His grin stretched wide, his bearing sure.

How many times must the man be told no before he finally accepted the message? Edythe drew in a breath, seeking patience.

“Their dining room serves up a good meal. Be a pleasure to take you. Missy could come, too, an’ Martha. Be a real treat for the girls.”

Martha beamed, curling her hands over the back of the seat. “It’d be fun, Miss Amsel.”

Missy stood on the ground, her hands clasped in supplication beneath her chin. “I’ve never eaten at a hotel dining room.”

Edythe looked from Missy to Martha to Terrill. Two pleading faces and one overconfident one.

Missy crooned, “Please, Edie? Can’t we go?”

Martha’s blue eyes begged.

Edythe wanted to refuse, but how could she do so without crushing the girls? She blew out the air she’d been holding. “I suppose.”

The girls squealed with glee, startling the horse into nervous shifting. Terrill held tight to the traces. When the horse settled down, he caught Edythe’s elbow again and helped her over the edge. “I’ll pick you ladies up from school on Friday an’ we’ll head straight to Lincoln Valley. ’Bout a thirty-minute ride. I’ll see you then.” He flicked the reins, and the wagon rolled away with Martha waving from the back.

Edythe shot Missy a stern look. “A lot of help you are.”

Missy feigned innocence. “What did I do?”

Edythe rolled her eyes. “Never mind.”

Missy dashed for the house. She banged through the front door, calling, “Mrs. Kinsley! Edie an’ me are going to Lincoln Valley for supper on Friday!”

Edythe closed the door behind her and dropped her books on the sofa. Luthenia bustled in from the kitchen as Edythe let out a groan of frustration. The older woman chuckled. “For someone who got a dinner invitation, you don’t look too happy.”

Edythe scowled. “I’m not.” She shifted to look at Missy, who leaned against the kitchen doorway and grinned. “Take my books upstairs, please. Then get started on your homework.”

“But – ”

“
Now
, Missy.”

Missy let out a little huff, but she disappeared around the corner.

Edythe folded her arms over her chest and scowled at Luthenia. “Terrill Sterbinz asked Missy and me to accompany him and Martha to Lincoln Valley Friday evening for supper.”

Luthenia didn’t even blink an eye.

“If the girls hadn’t been so excited, I would have declined. But I suspect he knew I wouldn’t be able to disappoint them.”

A slight grin twitched at Luthenia’s cheek. “I reckon you’re right there.”

Edythe sank onto the edge of the sofa, looking up at Luthenia in dismay. “I’ve done my utmost to convince him – and the entire community – that I’m not interested in being courted. Going to Lincoln Valley with Terrill will send the opposite message.”