Letter Perfect ( Book #1) (13 page)
He headed back to the stable. There, he silently curried the horse. The repetitive action helped calm him. Afterward, he watered the pony and set him out to pasture.
Plenty of work needed doing, but he stood by the fence and looked at the property. Until two months ago, it had taken both him and Da to get all the chores done. As Da began to weaken, Galen started getting up earlier and going to bed later. He’d also taken to awakening his brother Colin in the morning to help with more chores before he left for school. With summer coming, he’d be able to rely on all three of his brothers for more help—
But, Lord,
what will I do when the school year begins again? We can’t afford to hire a
hand
.
Galen knew he’d need a lot more help by then. He’d have to keep the boys out of school when it came harvesting time—something that troubled him no end. But he couldn’t harvest the corn and do the haying alone.
There was also the orchard. Ma hadn’t been able to decide what she wanted most, so Da gave her a little of everything. Their orchard boasted a variety of trees. Each corner of the lot held a half dozen nut trees—almonds in the east and west, pecans in the south, and walnuts in the north. A stripe of fruit trees drew a line between the nuts—apples on one side, orange on another, pears on a third, and sweet cherries on the last. In the middle of the plot, Mama grew her precious garden.
With all that food, a milk cow, and the chicken coop, Galen knew they’d be able to barter for staples. His family wouldn’t go hungry. The money for the Pony Express would pay the mortgage. With God’s blessing on the crops and careful stewardship, he’d be able to provide for his family. Still, responsibility weighed heavily on his shoulders.
Galen turned to get back to work, but halted. There in the distance, a man sat on his horse. Due to the sun’s glare, Galen couldn’t identify who it was. From the direction he faced, the figure wasn’t looking at the stable, the fields, or the garden. He was staring directly at the clothesline, where Laney and Ruth were beating a rug.
W
hat do you think?” Ruth leaned back so Laney could look at the paint she’d just mixed.
“We can paint a flower here and there, then add more red to get a medium pink. After sprinkling more flowers around with it, we can add more red and have a rosy hue.”
“This is so much fun!” Ruth straightened up and looked about her room. She and Laney had whitewashed the walls the day before. Ruth wore the same dress today. Careful as she’d been, she still got whitewash on the right sleeve and hem yesterday. As long as she might repeat that clumsiness, she figured to just make the damage worse instead of sacrificing another gown.
Josh was right about how work creates a mess, but most of it can be cleaned
up. Well, everything but me. He’s remarkably astute to have figured I need more
dresses
.
“I’m afraid we’ll decide you need more pale pink after we’ve already darkened the mix,” Laney confessed.
“Do you think Hilda has some empty jars? We could just pour each one half-full and not have to worry.”
Several hours later, Ruth glanced across the wall and nodded. “This is turning out far better than I dared imagine. You’re so talented, Laney!”
“I love flowers. I can’t grow them—my gardens always wither away—but I adore painting or arranging them.” Laney dabbed a little more paint on the wall to form one last petal. “Of all the things God created, I love flowers most. What about you?”
Ruth thought for a moment. “Clouds. When I was a little girl, Mama and I used to sit on the seat in the garden and watch the clouds drift by.” The bittersweet memory washed over her. Ruth struggled to keep her voice light. “We’d decide what the clouds looked like.”
“Clouds look like clouds.”
“Only if you don’t pay attention.” Ruth scooted to a new section and started to paint another rose. “When you use your imagination, the shapes suddenly look like things. I’d see a puppy’s head or a boot.” The memories welled up. “Mama never pointed because it’s so rude, but she broke the rule when we played the cloud game. She’d point toward a formation and show me a sailing ship or a lamb.”
“That sounds like a fun thing to do. Maybe we could teach that game to Mr. O’Sullivan so when he sits by his window, he can keep his mind busy. I used to sit with your daddy. He’d bask like a kitten in the sun by the window and read from the Bible to me.”
“Did he have a favorite passage?”
“The Psalms—all of the Psalms.” Laney closed one eye and dabbed a tiny speck more paint on a petal. “He knew lots of them by heart.”
Heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs.
It can’t be Josh. If it were,
his spurs would be making that I-mean-business jangle
.
“I wonder what Hilda’s doing up here at this time of day,” Laney said.
Ruth surveyed the beautiful wall and called out, “Hilda, come see what we’ve gotten done!”
The housekeeper appeared in the doorway. “I’ll be—” Her eyes widened, then narrowed. “Is that what I think it is?”
“A garland of roses,” Laney said. “We still need to mix some green for leaves and st—”
“Those,” Hilda interrupted, “are my muffin tins!”
“Isn’t it clever?” Laney hadn’t turned around, so she couldn’t see the housekeeper’s stern expression. “They make wonderful palettes.”
“They aren’t for paint; they’re meant for food.”
Ruth swallowed hard. “It’s my fault. It was my idea. I’m sorry. We’ll wash them out a dozen times before returning them to the kitchen.”
“Hilda really doesn’t mind. Do you, Hilda?”
The housekeeper stared at Laney, then heaved a theatrical sigh. “I’ll just make cornbread instead of muffins today. But you girls stay outta my kitchen from now on. I have enough to do around here without having to chase down my dishes and clean up your messes.”
“I’m happy to help around the house, Hilda.” Ruth slowly set aside the muffin tin.
“No, no. I need this job. The minute Mr. McCain sees you doing my work, he’ll show me the door.”
“Daddy wouldn’t do that!”
Hilda gave Laney an exasperated look. “Child, your father dotes on you, so you don’t see the forest for the trees. The man pinches pennies till they weep.” She straightened her apron. “Not that being thrifty is a sin. The Good Book tells us to be good stewards of what the Lord gives us. Some folks just take to the notion with more zeal than others.”
Ruth didn’t want to argue with Hilda, but she’d found Mr. McCain to be generous and kind. She’d blundered in the past by voicing unwanted opinions, so instead she offered, “At most of the schools I attended, the headmistresses insisted upon our avoiding the kitchen and laundry. They said if we learned the social graces and feminine wiles, we’d marry wealthy men and never need to do a thing for ourselves.”
“That’s right,” Laney chimed in.
Ruth shook her head. “All of that seems like utter nonsense to me. Just because a man is rich and can afford servants doesn’t mean he’d be a good husband. The reverse of that is also true: just because a man doesn’t have deep pockets wouldn’t mean he’d be a bad mate.”
Hilda huffed. “You’re talking in circles.”
“Laney and I could assist you. In fact, I think we ought to.” Ruth beamed at her. “We’ll tell Mr. McCain that you’re being diligent to prepare us for the day when we marry.”
“That’s right,” Laney agreed.
Hilda looked dubious. “Elaine Louise McCain, your papa doesn’t want to think about your marryin’ up and leaving him. Burying your mama—that hit him hard. Real hard. He don’t wanna turn loose of you.”
“I know,” Laney said quietly.
Hilda waddled off muttering about marriage and muffin tins.
Ruth kept painting, but her heart wasn’t in it.
Lord, why do I
always do the wrong thing? I should have found Hilda and asked her permission.
After the way the cook didn’t want the roasting pan back at school, I should have
known Hilda would be upset. I wanted to make a fresh start here, and I’m
already messing up
.
“Mama used to say Hilda crawled out of the wrong side of the bed every other day,” Laney whispered.
“I didn’t realize she’d been with your family. I just pictured her as having taken care of my father when he was alone here.”
Laney’s brow puckered as she put the finishing strokes on another flower. “When we came along, there were a few sad-looking saddle tramps in the bunkhouse and your father in the little house. Daddy sent me away to school the next day, but I always got the impression your father was a loner.”
“That’s so sad.”
“Oh, things changed. That last year of his life, when I came home, your father was pleasant as could be. I used to play draughts with him. As I said, he’d read to me from the Bible.”
“Thank you for keeping him company. I’m sure it comforted him.”
“He would have liked you.” Laney continued to paint as she mused aloud, “He had the same spark for life that you do. I’ll bet he could have looked at the clouds and imagined all sorts of pictures in them.”
“I’ve never had a friend say a sweeter thing to me.”
“Speaking of sweet things, isn’t Galen the most wonderful man you’ve ever met?”
“No!” After blurting out that response, Ruth scrambled to soften her answer. “Josh and your father are nice, too. And Josh is bigger and more handsome than Galen.”
Oh, dear. What made me say
that?
Ruth hastened on to cover for that silly slip of the tongue. “I’ve been in the academy. I haven’t met many men. For that matter, you haven’t either, have you?” She didn’t wait for Laney to respond, but kept chattering, “Your father is right. We shouldn’t settle for the first man who sweeps us off our feet.”
“Galen hasn’t tried to sweep me off my feet.”
“I didn’t necessarily agree with many of the rules they drilled into us at school, but I do think there is wisdom in not pursuing a man.”
“I’m not pursuing Galen.” Laney waved her paintbrush in the air. “I’m simply making myself available so he can make the first move.”
“What’s the difference?”
Tilting her head at a jaunty angle, Laney wore a satisfied smile. “I’ve been very discreet. Why, when the girl he was sweet on up and ran off with a butcher from Sacramento, a woman who pursued a man would have been on Galen’s doorstep with a pie in hand the very next day. I did no such thing.” She dabbed her brush in paint, then gave Ruth an inquiring look. “Besides, what do you know about chasing and catching a man? Have you had scores of suitors?”
“Mercy, no!” Ruth recoiled. “I’m not even sure I want to marry.”
“You’re playing with me, right?” Laney’s laughter died out. “You’re not teasing—you’re serious!”
Nodding her head, Ruth asserted, “Yes, I’m serious. Men wed because they want namesakes and someone to manage their home. Women accept proposals because of social expectations or because they can’t financially support themselves. Very few marriages turn out to be the love bond that all of the romantics idealize.”
“You’re cynical. I’m not, because Mama and Daddy positively adored one another. Trusted each other, too. A man’s going to have to earn your trust before you’ll ever give him your heart—I can see that.”
“I’m not going to hold my breath until that day comes.” Ruth managed to tilt the muffin tin and slop dark pink onto her left sleeve.
Whitewash on the right, pink on the left
. “Oh, I can’t believe how clumsy I am. I’m a disaster.”
“You are not!” Laney dabbed a little of the paint off Ruth’s sleeve with her brush and proceeded to use it to paint a flower. “Waste not, want not. Besides, we’ll keep that dress as your work dress. A little paint won’t matter, and this beautiful garland will last a lot longer than any old dress would, anyway.”
“You make this sound economical.”
“Economical? That was you asking Josh for barn paint. I wouldn’t have dreamed of mixing that ugly old red with the whitewash, but look at the results!”
Ruth looked from the painted garland to the multicolored muffin tin and back. “I guess all of those art lessons we endured at school finally amounted to something.”
“It’ll look much better when we add the leaves and stems.” Laney paused, then added, “You don’t have to worry about being economical. Hilda’s just being grumpy. Daddy’s always taken very good care of us.”
“I’m sure he has.”
“And as for the difference—with Galen, I mean—well, isn’t a man supposed to notice?”
Ruth wrinkled her nose. “Laney, if I didn’t know the difference between your not pursuing him and just being available, how would he? From what I gather, men tend to be obtuse about the finer points like that.”
“So far, he has been. It vexes me no end. I wish I were clever.
I’d be able to say something witty to capture his attention.”
“Who says you’re not clever?”
“Everybody.” Laney’s chin began to quiver.
“Well, how do you like that? I’m left out again, because I’m not part of ‘everybody.”’
Tears filled Laney’s eyes. “See? That’s what I mean. I’d never think of anything that smart to say.”
“I wasn’t trying to be smart, Laney. I was being honest. I never fit in. Everyone else at the schools and back home thought alike and acted so refined. I stuck out like a sore thumb. The last headmistress actually called me a misfit, and she was right.”