Letter Perfect ( Book #1) (20 page)

Dad rarely acknowledged his infirmity. In fact, he did all he could to be as independent and helpful as possible. Once, though Josh would never reveal it, he’d seen his father in front of a mirror, practicing gestures and movements to make his left arm look as normal as possible. That injury hurt more than Dad’s arm; it cut his pride.

Josh stretched out his legs. His spurs jangled softly, and he took care not to hit Hilda’s just-polished wood floor with them. If he did, war of a different kind would start right away. “No use in borrowing tomorrow’s troubles. We’re doing well and none of us knows what lies ahead. I’ll pray for wisdom and pray for our nation.”

Swiftly rising to his feet, Dad snapped, “Prayer doesn’t make any difference. If it did, your mother would still be alive. I put up with you and Laney and Ruth asking a blessing on the food because it’s a family tradition, but that’s all it is. Don’t waste my time or your breath talking to God about anything important. He doesn’t listen. He doesn’t care.” He strode from the room, then the front door slammed.

“Oh, dear.” Laney drew in an unsteady breath, then turned to Ruth. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“Your father’s words weren’t a surprise,” Ruth said. “Mrs. O’Sullivan mentioned that he’s not walking with God. Why would he pretend otherwise, just because I’m here?”

“Dad went to church, but he never showed or spoke of his beliefs. When Mom passed on, he turned his back on God.” The admission tore at Josh. “Laney and I keep him in our prayers, hoping he’ll finally come around.”

Unconsciously knotting her stitching up in her fist, Ruth nodded. “When Mama grew so frail, I thought about bargaining with God—only I didn’t have anything to offer. Desperation does strange things to a person. Your father’s been good to me, and I know you love him. I’ll be praying for him, too.”

“Thanks.” The strain on Ruth’s face made him ask, “Your mother … she was a believer, wasn’t she?”

“Yes.” A faint smile flickered across Ruth’s features. “Mama loved the Lord with all her heart.”

“Isn’t it sweet to imagine our mamas together in heaven?” Laney asked.

Ruth nodded, but her expression turned somber once again.

Josh wondered if fresh grief was the only reason Ruth looked so strained.
Of course it isn’t. As if her sorrow isn’t burden enough, I’ve been
surly with her. She’s gotta feel like she’s walking on eggshells whenever I’m
around
.

“If you’re finished with the paper, do you mind if I take it to my room?” Ruth tried to smooth out the wrinkles in the piecework she’d crumpled minutes before.

“Sure. Feel free.” He cleared his throat. “You sound as if you’ve been doing some reading on the upcoming election.”

“I have.”

Laney perked up. “You’ll never guess what Ruth has, Josh!”

“Oh?” He gave Ruth a questioning look.

Ruth gave Laney a baffled glance, and Laney made a slash-like gesture from her shoulder to the opposite hip.

She raised her chin a notch. “Oh, that. I have a red sash I wore when I participated in a suffragette march.”

Josh sat and stared at her.

“I can see I’ve shocked you.” She squared her shoulders. “Well, any worthwhile cause is bound to raise brows.”

“Causes, worthwhile or not, elicit reactions.” He gave her a level stare.

“Am I to infer you feel suffrage isn’t a worthwhile cause?”

Josh waited a moment before responding. “Can’t say I ever gave it any consideration.”

“Neither did I,” Laney said. “Even if I could, I don’t know whom I’d vote for. I’d end up asking Daddy and Josh what they thought.”

Whoa
. Josh steeled himself. One wrong word, and Laney would feel stupid. On the other hand, he could offend Ruth seven ways to Sunday if he came down on another side of the fence.

Ruth turned to Laney and patted her hand. “There’s nothing wrong with that. The Bible tells us to seek wise counsel. Plenty of women out there don’t have brothers or fathers. They have to rely on newspapers, speeches, and those whom they respect. Either way, God gave women sound minds. After gathering information, why shouldn’t a woman also have a voice?”

“I’m not agreeing or disagreeing.” Josh rubbed his chin. “My mother was a highly intelligent woman. Mrs. O’Sullivan’s sharp as they come, and Hilda—you couldn’t find a harder worker. They all deserve respect and could voice a sound opinion. When I stop to think of them, allowing women to vote makes sense. But don’t you think men are more affected by the government?”

Ruth finally gave up on her stitchery. She shoved it off to the side. “Not in the least! Just think about it: When the government repealed the Missouri Compromise with the Kansas-Nebraska Act six years ago, it wasn’t just men who settled the land—they took their wives and daughters along. If a war does occur between the North and the South, men will be fighting it—but that means women will have to keep the homesteads going. Wives and mothers will lose their husbands and sons and have to carry on alone.”

“Your points are well made, but the foundation is an emotional one. There are times in life when decisions are made because facts demand action, not feeling.”

Ruth’s brows rose. “I wouldn’t disagree with that; what I question is your supposition that a woman would be an emotional voter and a man would be a logical one. Not a solitary woman attended the Democratic Convention, where several members walked out in a huff and made it so a candidate couldn’t be nominated.”

“Did that really happen?” Laney’s eyes grew huge.

“Yes,” Josh clipped. “Ruth, I told you, until you just brought it up, I hadn’t given any consideration to suffrage. Many other matters demand my attention.”

“Well, Toledo’s seeing to the chicken coop, and I managed to hang the pictures, so the list of things waiting for your attention is shrinking.” She gave him a cat-that-swallowed-the-canary smile. “We’ll just have to add suffrage to your list.”

“Fine.” He returned her smile. “It’ll be down there after my directing the hands, riding the fence, pulling late-spring calves, breaking horses, keeping an eye on the water level, and a few hundred other details.”

“In no way did I mean to imply that you don’t work hard. It’s plain to see you do. If you think it’s easy for me to sit around and be useless in this partnership, you can guess again. I’ve asked you to assign me chores.”

“We don’t need your help.” As soon as he stated that stark fact, Josh regretted it. Her eyes darkened with pain, and he quickly sought to soften his words. “What I’d ask you to do is help the O’Sullivans. Part of life out here is helping our neighbors, and they’ll be needing more of our assistance. You and Laney can go over to help Mrs. O’Sullivan with the house and her garden. I’d really appreciate that, and I’m sure she would, too.”

“Laney and I already determined to do that.” Ruth rose and stuffed her sewing into a basket. Part of it popped out when she flipped down the lid, and the needle trailed by the thread. “If you don’t mind, I believe I’ll retire and read the newspaper. Laney, I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good night, Ruth. Sweet dreams.” Laney watched as Ruth left the parlor, then she turned to Josh. “How could you?”

“What?”

“You made her feel stupid and useless. For your information, I need her even if you don’t.”

“I’m sure she’s good company for you, sis.”

“She’s more than that.” Laney glanced around to be sure they were alone, then whispered hotly, “Ruth is spending her mornings teaching me to read.”

C
HAPTER
T
WELVE

W
e don’t need your help… .”

        Josh’s words echoed in Ruth’s mind as she angrily reached for her right ankle-top boot. He treated his sister kindly and sang Kelly O’Sullivan’s praises, so it wasn’t that he disliked women.

It’s me
. The elastic gusset on the side of the boot stretched as she yanked the fashionable spool heel. Ruth didn’t have the patience to lace or button her boots. Elastic required no fuss—not only in donning and removing the footwear, but also in polishing, which she rarely remembered to do. Ruth scowled as she pitched her boot toward the armoire. It landed with a satisfying thump.
Actually, maybe it’s not me Josh’s reacting to—maybe he’s angry at the situation.
I suppose he has good cause. If a judge finds favor in my claim, I’ll receive a
portion of what he’s expected to get
.

She yanked off her other boot and sent it sailing across the room, where it landed close to the other one. “It’s not my fault if he was counting his chickens before they hatched,” she muttered to herself. She twisted to lie on her tummy, propped her chin in her hands, and blew a stream of air upward to move a few wild curls that flopped down toward her eyes.

“The answers are always in the Bible.”
Her mother’s gentle words streamed through Ruth’s mind. She wiggled a little farther, grabbed her Bible from the bedside table, and clutched it to her bosom. “Lord, I don’t know what to do. I came here to start a new life, and all I’m doing is a whole lot of nothing. Surely you must have a purpose for me. Can’t you show me the way?”

Someone tapped on her door. “Ruth?”

Lifting her head, she gave serious thought to ignoring Josh.

The tap grew louder. “Ruth?”

Suspecting if she didn’t answer, he’d bang on the door and bellow her name as loudly as he’d called for Hilda on the day he brought her here, Ruth huffed, “What?”

“I don’t want to talk to you through the door.”

She set aside her Bible, walked to the door, and opened it as she observed, “You’ve been doing a fair job of it.”

“We need to talk.”

Her hand tightened around the ornate brass doorknob. He leaned to the side and propped his tall form against the doorframe, as if he could wait all night long for her to yield to his invitation. She, on the other hand, curled her stocking-covered toes under and rued the two inches she’d lost by taking off her boots.

He tilted his head toward the stairs and cajoled, “Come back down to the parlor.”

A small, tense laugh bubbled out of her.

“What’s so funny?”

“I was thinking of a rhyme.” His brows rose in silent inquiry, so she quoted the first line of the Mary Howitt poem, ““‘Will you walk into my parlor?” said the Spider to the Fly… .”’

Josh let out a short bark of a laugh. “Rest assured, I’m not going to pounce and murder you.”

She shifted, then stopped.

“What’s wrong?”

“I took off my shoes.”

“So what?” His arm snaked out and his hand hooked around her elbow. Drawing her into the hallway, he said, “We’re going down to hold a conversation, not a cotillion.”

“Then I suppose one of the two of us ought to be pleased. I tend to put my foot in my mouth whenever I speak, so not having a shoe on will make it less awkward for me. If it were a cotillion— well, with my lack of grace, you’d be far safer with me unshod.”

His mouth twitched.

Ruth heaved a sigh. “Yes, I know. Unshod makes me sound like a horse. But ladies aren’t supposed to mention specific garments.”

“Back to the rules, huh?”

“I’d hoped I could abandon most of them, seeing as the West is reputed to be untamed.” She started down the stairs. “So far, the only things that have changed are Hilda uses less silver at each place setting and I didn’t need a calling card when we visited the O’Sullivans.”

“That’s all?”

“For me, it is. It’s far different for men. Many of you go about in your shirtsleeves and gloveless in public. Regardless of the normal dictates, men seem to wear whichever hat suits their fancy. Men address women to whom they’ve not been introduced, and they bellow to one another instead of closing the distance and speaking in moderate tones. I could dither on and on, but I’m sure you understand what I mean.”

“All of those differences reflect simple practicality.”

“I suppose they do.” Ruth wrinkled her nose. “But if practicality is valued, why don’t you allow me to pitch in and help? I’m strong and can put my hands to a task.”

“Toledo will finish expanding the chicken coop by tomorrow. You can take over gathering eggs and feeding the chickens.”

“That’s a start. What about—”

He held up a hand to silence her, then cast a quick look over his shoulder. In a bare whisper, he ordered, “Wait till we’re in the parlor. I don’t want Dad to overhear this.”

Ruth bobbed her head. Josh led her into the parlor, seated her on the settee, then proceeded to take the spot immediately beside her.
Well, there’s another difference. Back home, a man didn’t share a woman’s
settee unless they were courting. Josh is far more likely to kick me out than kiss
me
.

“Ruth, Laney needs your help,” he said a muted tone. “She tells me you’re working with her, teaching her to read. Don’t you think that’s far more important than mucking a stall or pitching hay?”

“I’m doing that because she’s my friend and I care about her. There’s a vast difference between assisting a friend and doing real work.”

“I disagree. When you go visit Kelly O’Sullivan, you delve in and take over whatever chore she’s doing. Galen’s even told me so.”