Roses for Mama (7 page)
“I’ll be back in jest a jiffy,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll take this on up to Gus and see how things are goin’.”
Angela nodded and sat stiffly in her chair as she listened to his lumbering footsteps climb the long stairs. A door opened and she heard voices, but they were too far away for her to make any sense of the words.
Soon Charlie was back, his expression sober. “Gus says there’s been no change. We keep hopin’, but it don’t look good. Doc says he—he ain’t likely to come out of it.”
Angela didn’t know whom she felt sorriest for. The crotchety rancher or his devoted foreman and cook. She knew both Charlie and Gus were suffering over the illness of their long-time boss.
“Is there anything we can do?” she asked Charlie. “I could take a shift with the nursing if—”
“No, no. You got ’nough to do carin’ for those young’uns. Me an’ Gus’ll make out just fine.”
“But what about the other work? The cattle and—”
“Got enough hired help around here thet they oughta be able to see to thet. About time thet some of them started to earn their keep,” said Charlie with a wave of his hand.
They had their coffee together and Angela excused herself.
“Be sure to let us know if we can do anything,” she said as she left. “You know we’d be glad to help out.” She could have added, “After all you’ve done for us over the years,” but she didn’t. Charlie probably understood.
“I will. I will,” promised Charlie. “Thet cake was mighty appreciated. Gus hasn’t been doin’ his usual meal-fixin’ lately.”
Angela left with the resolve that she would send over more baking in a couple of days and as often as she felt it was needed until things improved at the Stratton household. It was the least she could do to try to lighten their load.
———
“Come quick! Come quick!” Sara burst frantically into the room and grabbed Angela.
“What’s wrong?” demanded Angela, grasping the young girl’s shoulders and holding her at arms’ length to look into her face.
“Louise!—” shrieked Sara.
“What happened?” Angela cried, shaking the slight shoulders. “Where is she? What happened?”
“She doesn’t know.”
“Where is she?” Angela repeated with another shake.
“In the bedroom,” Sara managed to reply.
Angela released Sara and rushed to the bedroom, her heart hammering within her breast. Louise was there, lying across her bed, sobs shaking her body.
At least she is in one piece
, thought Angela with relief.
“What is it?” Angela asked, dropping to her knees beside the bed and lifting Louise into her arms.
“I—I think I’m—I’m dying,” the child sobbed, a fresh torrent of tears running down her cheeks.
“What is it? Why? Are you ill? Did you—?”
“I don’t know. I must be,” sobbed the frightened girl.
Sara joined Louise in crying.
“Listen, both of you. Stop it. Stop the crying. Tell me what’s wrong.”
After asking only a few questions, Angela realized that her sister was not dying. Angela lifted herself from her knees to the bed and gathered Louise into her arms.
“You poor thing. You poor thing,” she crooned, brushing her hair back from the flushed face.
“It’s all right. You’re fine. Really. You are just growing up, that’s all. I should have known—should have thought—but I didn’t. Mama would have known. She would have talked to you and prepared you. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”
Angela looked from one girl to the other. They had both managed to quit crying. Their faces were still flushed and tear-streaked, and their shoulders still shook with an occasional sob, but they both seemed to be under control again.
Angela patted the bed beside her. “Climb up here beside us, Sara,” she invited. “You are a bit young, but there is no help for it now. You might as well hear what I have to say to Louise.”
Angela took a deep breath, trying hard to remember what her mother had said in their little chat years ago. She wasn’t sure if she did it well, or if she was thoroughly understood by her two young sisters, but she did the best she could. In the end the faces were at peace again. Louise even managed a wobbly smile. Angela was only too glad to finish her mission and escape back to her kitchen.
Thomas had worked hard in the field all day and was still warm and tired when he joined Angela on the veranda where she worked on the hem of a new dress for Louise.
“She’s growing awfully fast, isn’t she?” he observed, and Angela nodded.
Far too quickly as far as I’m concerned
, she thought.
“Do you think—” Thomas began, but Thane’s arrival interrupted the thought.
“What are you up to?” Thomas called to Thane. “Can’t your pa think of anything worthwhile to put you to doing?” he teased.
Thane stepped down from his horse and flipped the reins around the hitching post.
“Boy,” said Thane, “I’m most ready to drop in my tracks, my pa’s been working me so hard. If it hadn’t been that I was worried some about my friend Tom, I would have just fallen in my bed and stayed right there.”
Angela had heard the friendly bantering many times. She listened now with a slight smile. Thane was good for Thomas. His good-natured teasing helped lift the weight from her brother’s young shoulders for a short time.
Angela laid aside the dress she was working on and went to get some refreshments.
“How’s the new seed doing?” she heard Thane asking Thomas.
“Great. Just great. If we had more light, I’d show you. Why do you always come out here in the dark?”
“I tell you,” responded Thane. “If I didn’t come in the dark, I wouldn’t get here at all. Pa’s been pushing me at the store. He’s adding a whole new section on the side. A big storage area and—”
Angela passed out of earshot. She could hear only the murmur of voices and an occasional hearty laugh.
When she returned with the milk and donuts the young men were talking about baseball. Angela passed the refreshments and picked up the garment again. It was too dark now to see well enough to finish the hem. With a sigh she laid the dress down again and settled in her chair to listen to the conversation.
Thane was quick to bring her in. “I hear you’ve been helping out the Stratton household with baking.”
Angela nodded.
“Gus was in town for some supplies and he’s been bragging all over town about what a top-notch cook you are.”
“Nothing fancy about what I’ve been sending,” said Angela, embarrassed. “Guess if one is hungry enough, anything tastes good.”
Thane grinned and winked at Thomas. “Think you and I have tried enough of her cooking over the years to know it isn’t hunger that causes a man to come back for more,” he said, and Angela knew she had just been paid a nice compliment.
“How is Mr. Stratton?” asked Angela.
“Nobody is saying,” responded Thane. “Even Doc is evasive. I don’t think things are going well.” Suddenly his tone changed. “Have you heard the latest bit of news?” he asked.
Angela shook her head.
“Mr. Stratton has a son.”
“A son? I didn’t even know he had a wife.”
“I guess he doesn’t—anymore. But he did at one time. Some of the older neighbors knew her—though they had almost forgotten she ever existed.”
Angela’s eyes opened wide. “Did she live here?” she asked.
“For a short time, it seems.”
“That’s why the house is so nicely decorated!” Angela exclaimed, feeling that the mystery was now solved.
“He built it for her. Tried to have it just the way she wanted. But she didn’t like the West. She was from some big city back east, and I guess this life just didn’t agree with her. She went back home. Took their baby boy with her. Folks say that Mr. Stratton hasn’t seen either one of them since. That was some years ago.”
Angela’s face clouded. “How sad,” she murmured softly. “Really sad. No wonder the poor man looks so gloomy all the time.”
“But that’s not all,” Thane continued. “Rumor has it that the son is heading out this way. Seems that Charlie felt honor-bound to let him know of Mr. Stratton’s condition, and the fellow has decided to come see for himself.”
Angela smiled. Perhaps there would be a happy ending after all. She was glad for Mr. Stratton. She did hope that he was well enough to know and enjoy his grown-up son.
“Gus didn’t sound too excited about it,” Thane continued. “I think he fears that the fellow is just interested in getting his hands on the Stratton money.”
Angela was suddenly angry. Why should Gus go and spoil her dream? Why couldn’t it be concern—if not love—that was bringing the junior Stratton to his father’s bedside?
“Well,” she said defiantly, “perhaps Gus should wait and see before he brands the man as a black-heart. He could at least give him a chance.”
“You’re right,” Thane responded, more serious now. “Maybe we all should.”
“When is he to arrive?” asked Angela.
“I don’t know. Soon, I gather from what Gus said. He was spreading the word around town, though he was none too happy about the situation.”
“That’s awful,” Angela said, still annoyed. “The poor man hasn’t even done anything, and already folks are against him. Fine welcome for someone coming to see his sick pa.”
Angela resolved that she would not be one to brand a man before she knew his intent. She promised herself she would take over some more baking the minute she learned of his arrival.
They spent the remainder of their evening talking of other things. After the moon had climbed high into the sky, Thane announced he’d better get on home.
Before leaving he reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew a small brown bag that he handed without comment to Angela. Like a small child, she could not resist a peek. Pink peppermints. Her favorite. She gave Thane a warm smile in thank you. He acknowledged it with a smile of his own, touched his cap, and was gone.
———
Mrs. Blackwell called. Even though she maintained that the young Petersons should be left strictly on their own, she still made it her neighborly duty to drop by now and then to see that they were doing things right. Angela had seen her coming and longed to slip out the back door and escape to the fields where Thomas and Derek were stacking the summer hay.
Instead, she laid aside her soiled apron and pushed the kettle forward on the stove to make a cup of tea.
Mrs. Blackwell was puffing her way up the veranda steps when Angela opened the door and smiled a welcome.
“My, that sun is hot today” was the only greeting the woman offered. She whisked off her heavy black bonnet and wiped her perspiring face.
Angela stepped aside to let her enter the kitchen. She headed directly for a chair beside the table, her eyes traveling hither and yon to survey the room.
“It’s cool in here,” she observed. “Guess you haven’t been doin’ any bakin’ for a while.”
“No,” acknowledged Angela slowly, “when the weather is like this I try to do enough in one day to last us the week.”
Mrs. Blackwell nodded her head but made no immediate comment. She wiped her face again and sat down heavily on the chair.
“How do you keep it fresh?” she asked forthrightly.
“We have an extra icebox in the shed out back. I wrap it and put it in there.”
The woman frowned. Angela knew Mrs. Blackwell had no spare icebox and was probably thinking it wasn’t fair that someone so young should have things she didn’t.
“S’pose you heard about poor Mr. Stratton?” Mrs. Blackwell asked.
Angela nodded and willed the kettle to boil quickly.
“Such a shame. But then—jest another reminder thet the Lord don’t take kindly to sin. One reaps what one sows—jest as the Book says.”
Angela was glad she could turn to lift the teapot down from the shelf and not have to comment.
“You use that one for everyday? My, looks to me like your mama would have kept thet for special occasions.”
“Mama felt it a special occasion when a neighbor came to call,” Angela answered sweetly and gave the woman a nice smile.
Mrs. Blackwell flushed an even deeper red and busied herself with fanning for several moments before she found her tongue again.
“This here Mr. Stratton—has him a son. Did ya ever hear of such a thing? Comin’ on out. Seems to me it woulda set better had he been here all those years helpin’ his pa out. Might have saved his heart, or whatever the man has, iffen he would’ve been here. Doc won’t say none what’s ailin’ the fella.”
Angela set two china cups and saucers on the table and went for the cream and sugar.
“Well, I’m thinkin’ thet he’ll likely scoop up what he can get his hands on an’ head straight back east to his mama—thet’s what I’m thinkin’. He’s probably a chip off the old block—as stingy and unneighborly as his pa. I remember the woman—shouldn’t you let that tea steep a bit longer?—she was a flighty thing, let me tell you. Pretty as a picture—an’ ’bout as flimsy. Couldn’t lift her hand in her own kitchen. An’ the mister. He tried to give her everything so thet she would be happy here. We knew it would never work. Some of us tried to tell him, but he jest turned a deaf ear. Well, I guess he learned.”
Angela set the tea before Mrs. Blackwell and turned for the sponge cake.
“Yer brothers hayin’?” the woman asked.
Angela nodded.
“Wonder iffen it’s quite dry enough. You can sure ruin good hay iffen you don’t give it time to dry proper.”
Angela bit her lip and then boldly suggested that they thank the Lord for the refreshments. Mrs. Blackwell looked surprised, as though tea and cake were hardly worth a prayer.
Angela’s prayer was simple and sincere. When she lifted her head she passed the cake to her neighbor.
“Those sisters of yours big enough to be of any use to you yet?” asked Mrs. Blackwell as she stirred the cream and sugar into her tea.
“They have always been of use to us,” responded Angela a bit too quickly.
“Work? Work?” hurried on Mrs. Blackwell in explanation. “Are they able to help with—?”
“Oh yes,” cut in Angela. “They’ve had their own chores from when they were tiny—which they see to on their own,” she informed the older woman, feeling a bit smug.
“Where are they now?” asked Mrs. Blackwell, her eyes traveling about as though she thought the two young girls should be scurrying about the kitchen.