A Bride at Last (22 page)

Clearing her throat, Kate picked up her fork. “The ham’s good. I just got lost in thought.”

“Do you need me for anything?” Mrs. Logan wiped her hands on her dish towel. The dishes were all put away. No wonder her ham had cooled.

“Can I ask you a question?” She knew her hostess had questioned the time she spent with Silas, but what other woman did she have in her life to ask?

“What do you want to know?”

She swallowed and busied herself with cutting her meat into tiny squares. “I . . . well . . . Did you marry for love?”

“I find that question highly improper.” She tilted her chin higher.

What did she do that this woman didn’t consider improper? She wilted, but drove on. “It’s just that, I’ve had two men . . . or well . . . three now, offer their hand to me without being in
love. I just wondered if there was something wrong with me, or . . . as a spinster, is that all I can hope for?”

“I thought your contract explicitly stated you can’t court while teaching.”

“It does.”

“Then I don’t see why you’re contemplating your marital status.”

“But what if I want to change it?”

“You can’t until the end of the term.”

“Right.” She sighed. The hope of getting motherly advice was evidently for naught.

And Mrs. Logan was correct. She couldn’t make a decision right now as a teacher anyway, didn’t even have to.

This time her exhale took a weight off her shoulders.

She had her answer. She’d write Silas as he suggested and learn more about him, and she’d have the whole rest of the school year to decide. To see if the ache of missing Anthony got stronger. To see if there was more behind Silas’s proposal than the need of a mother for his son.

“Thank you, Mrs. Logan. You’ve helped me tremendously.” She lifted a piece of meat to her mouth, where she could still feel the weight of Silas’s lips. The sensation of which she could experience again within days if she’d only—

Blast the memory of his lips on hers. She needed to be patient and careful for once in her life. If she ever felt his mouth on hers again, it’d be a year from now.

Silas groaned and rolled over. Since returning to his homestead outside of Salt Flatts, nights on his cabin floor had not been kind. He should get to work making another bed, but the mess Peter Hicks had left drove him to do as much as possible before a cold snap made outside work even more unpleasant.

He lifted his head off the quilts he’d piled on the floor and squinted into the early morning light filtering across where Anthony slept on the bed.

His hip aching at how he must have lain throughout the night, Silas pulled himself up off the floor and onto the chair he’d dragged in. The boy’s joints and muscles probably would’ve taken sleeping on the floor better, but it was the least he could do to help Anthony look favorably on his new home.

Taking his clothing from yesterday off the back of the chair, Silas slipped them on before heading into the kitchen to stoke the fire for coffee.

A few minutes later, Anthony came stumbling in, rubbing at his eyes.

“Good morning, son.” He smiled. The cricks in his body and the weight of dread over the coming winter lessened a smidge just by uttering the word
son
.

“Can I go to school today?”

Silas pressed a hand to his complaining stomach and slid the pot onto the burner. “Maybe next week. We have pears to gather and some of the persimmons are dropping, so we need to gather those right away and make persimmon leather.” They needed everything he could store considering how much of the garden had been left to rot or was eaten by wildlife. Evidently Peter Hicks had done nothing more than load as much of Silas’s goods on Silas’s wagon as possible and head west. The man had told him he needed a job to help him start his own homestead but had failed to explain he planned to take Silas’s stuff to do so.

At least the bulk of his savings had been in the bank, but with the way Kansas weather went, he needed to keep every dime there in case next year’s crop failed or the winter was harsh. So in the meantime, he’d scrounge every wild growing thing possible.

“While I fix something for breakfast, why don’t you throw
the scraps to the pig?” One pig. The other two hadn’t survived without being watered for weeks.

The boy groaned but worked to put his muddy pants back on.

“Maybe you could do the laundry before our clothes walk away from us. Kate said you worked at a laundry once. Could you do so without help?”

Anthony stopped pulling his boots on to frown at him. “Back in Breton you said you didn’t need me for chores. That’s all I’ve done since we got here.”

He swallowed. “This isn’t the situation I expected to bring you home to.”

Anthony gave him a glare the orphanage directors would have clocked him for, then tromped over to the washstand and scrubbed his face.

Silas followed him out to the barn but stopped in the middle of the yard. “Right, no milk.”

His milk cow had gone dry. He marched to the coop, where he had been glad to see at least half of his birds had survived, though they were thin. Thankfully Will had found them in time to give them water before they joined the rest of their dehydrated companions.

In the nest boxes, he found two eggs. The stress of their ordeal must be waning. He threw out a handful of corn and clucked at them. “Come on, ladies. Let’s be happy and get back to egg laying. I’m counting on you.” Though he’d saved up quite a bit of their summer production, he’d now have to pay for milk and cheese and butter, so the more eggs the better.

The jangle of a bridle caught his attention, and sticking his head outside the coop, he waved at Will driving into his yard. “Over here.”

His friend searched for him and smiled when he found him.

Silas opened the yard gate to let the chickens forage and strode toward Will. As much as he wanted to talk with his
friend, he really needed to work. He shook his head—he could stand to chat a little, considering the man had basically saved the livestock he had left.

But the days were growing short.

“Hey.” Will hopped down from his wagon, his thick hair flopping into his eyes as usual, but with two paper bags in his hands, he had to whip his head to get his bangs out of the way. “Brought breakfast.”

Silas swallowed against the shame of knowing seconds ago he’d halfway wished his friend hadn’t stopped by.

“I’m headed to the Gentrys’ to check on their baby. Eliza sent me off with muffins.”

“Wonderful. All I got was two eggs this morning.” He held up the speckled ovals. “Better than another morning of crackers and jelly though.”

Will tossed him the bags and leaned into the back of his wagon. “And Eliza caught the milkman this morning and bought you a jar.”

“Bless her.” Will’s wife seemed more concerned about his loss of milk than he was. But didn’t a growing boy need milk? At least babies did. He walked to the house. “You eating with us?”

“I’ve eaten, but thanks for the invite.”

Anthony hadn’t come back yet, and after a quick look around, Silas saw him making his way to the outhouse. “Thanks for thinking of us.”

“No problem. How’s living with Anthony going? He didn’t seem exactly thrilled the night you showed up at my house, but it was three in the morning, so I guess that’s understandable.”

“Well, can you blame him? His mother dies, he finds out the only father he knew isn’t his real father, has to leave behind the one person he loves to live in another state with a stranger, and now he’s not thrilled I’ve kept him from school to help with the farm.” Silas ran a hand through his hair. “You don’t think
that’s wrong, do you? Part of me’s concerned he’ll run off if I don’t keep an eye on him, and with how Peter Hicks left my farm . . . I really need his help getting things put together. I only planned to get myself through the winter, and now I got a boy who’s always hungry to feed.”

He’d not even thought about the amount of food
three
people would require or the accommodations awaiting back home when he’d proposed to Kate. Even when the farm was in good shape he’d have been worried.

Heady with the feel of her in his arms, he’d asked her to marry him without taking enough time to think a lick. Should he write to explain how wrong he’d been to propose when he wasn’t even sure he could keep him and the boy fed this winter, let alone her if she came?

Should he back out for her sake?

But he’d told her he wasn’t the backing-out kind. He could only tell her he’d changed his mind if he was all right with being a liar.

Near the privy, Anthony kicked a stone on the well-worn path.

Of course, he could set up an account with the Hampdens’ mercantile again, but he’d not had to use credit for eight years now. He liked living without that burden, but he’d do so in order to keep his son from going hungry . . . and his potential wife too. . . .

“What are you looking at?” Will was squinting off into the distance, where there was nothing but stubble left from the summer harvest.

“Nothing.” He’d not told Will about his impromptu proposal since his friend would request details he wasn’t ready to share. “Just worried about requiring too much of Anthony.”

“Pa kept me home when there were chores he couldn’t handle alone—didn’t hurt me any.”

“But you and your pa had a good relationship. Anthony doesn’t trust me yet.”

“It’ll take time, I’m sure.” Will waved at Anthony before holding the milk out. “I’d best be off.”

Switching things around in his hands, he took it and nodded good-bye.

Anthony bounded up the porch stairs as Will turned his team to head out. “What do you have?”

“Breakfast.” The milk jar was slipping. He should have put the eggs in his pocket. “Here, take this.”

Anthony grabbed one of the muffin bags.

“No, the milk.”

He pulled on the neck instead of taking it from the bottom.

“Careful!”

The boy winced as if expecting a punch.

The gruff drained right out of him. “Sorry about shouting, but I don’t want to waste the milk.”

“I wasn’t going to waste it.”

Biting his tongue, Silas gently placed a hand on his shoulder and waited for Anthony to look up. “Even if you’d dropped it, I wouldn’t hit you. You know that?”

Anthony’s dark eyes looked wary. “Mother said you hurt her.”

Silas resisted wishing away the past. If he’d not gone through it—hadn’t messed up so poorly—he might not have a son in front of him right now. He gripped Anthony’s shoulder and tried to hold his gaze. “When I drank, I manhandled your ma a bit when she . . .” It wouldn’t do to tell the boy his late mother had been meaner than his Rhode Island Red rooster. “Sometimes we argued and I got angrier than I should have. I shoved my weight around—which isn’t right—but I never hit her.”

Anthony seemed to be searching his eyes as if he could find the truth there but then shrugged. “I’m hungry.”

“All right.” No use forcing the boy through such a painful subject unless he wanted to talk about it. Words wouldn’t matter anyway—time would, just as Will said. Silas backed into the house and got to cooking.

Cracking the two little eggs, he scrambled them, but not quickly enough—Anthony was starting on the third of the four muffins Will had brought by the time he turned around.

He’d been right to worry about having enough to eat this winter if the boy could pack away three muffins without even a sip of milk. He snatched two tin cups and set them down. “Probably should’ve waited for me to pray first.”

Anthony stopped chewing, his cheeks still full.

Silas huffed a chuckle, said grace, and poured out the milk—only half of what he’d normally drink so Anthony could have a full glass. Maybe he could stretch the milk to last three days.

He halved the eggs. Anthony inhaled his portion, then frowned at the muffin Silas had pulled toward himself.

He wanted to make sure the boy had enough to eat, but he had to have something too.

“Where’s the laundry stuff?” Anthony looked as if he’d been asked to wash his clothes in dung rather than soap and water.

Silas could think of plenty of worse chores than laundry, but then, he’d not been forced to work in a laundry as a child. “You can find the tubs and washboard in the lean-to on the side of the barn. The soap’s in that chest over there.”

Maybe he shouldn’t have asked Anthony to do the wash. But the boy hadn’t been enthused about any other chores either. Was it just because he didn’t want to work, or was the sunup to sundown needs of a homestead more than the boy had endured before?

Was he asking too much of him?

Lucy had certainly thought he’d asked too much of her.

Would Kate think so as well?

“Do you got any bluing?”

Silas raised his eyebrows. Maybe his clothes would be better off in the boy’s care from now on, whether Anthony liked the chore or not. “No, but I can put it on the list.”

Anthony shrugged and looked at the last remaining muffin, his eyes as sad as a puppy’s.

“Here.” Silas forced himself to tear off the top and give him the best part. “Have I thanked you for the help you’ve been this past week?”

Shrugging, Anthony stuffed his mouth with the crumbly mass of cake and sugar.