Serendipity (16 page)

The men came back out, and she smacked a bag of rice. “Bare essentials here. Bedding, clothing, and viands.”

Todd helped her down. She filled her arms with bedding. He and Piet each laid a large sack of flour or rice across a crate and carried the load to the cabin. Second time across the threshold – but Todd was busy. So was she. And their arms were just as heavily laden on the third trip. By then, it took something akin to a folk dance to get about the crowded cabin.

“Rub that medicine into Ma. I’ll move the buckboard.”

Maggie paused and took a deep breath. “Uncle Bo didn’t jest when he said they’ll obey only me. Adam’s skittish, but for good cause. I bartered him and Eve away from a wicked-mean man who ruled them through fear and pain. Quick you were, to remind me a beast of his size is dangerous.”

“I do not want you handling him anymore.”

“Soon as it’s safe, I’ll pass his handling to you. Uncle Bo told me you saddled and sat upon Adam. He neither bucked nor brushed you off. That’s far more than any man in the holler ever managed.”

“So you seated me on a horse knowing full well he’d carry me nowhere.”

A guilty smile twisted her mouth. “It’s called horse sense for a reason. Neither of the other horses would have gone, either.” Maggie started for the wagon, and Todd matched her stride. “Seeing you with Adam proved what a talented horseman you are. There’s nary a doubt in my mind that you’ll soon be driving those Belgians.” “But not tonight. I’m displeased, Wife.”

She reached Eve and gave her a loving pat. “Are you looking two gift horses in the mouth because you’ll have to win their loyalty?”

“I am glad to assume responsibility for them.” His eyes bored into her. “But I hold
you
responsible for withholding a truth. This was the same as telling a falsehood. That causes my displeasure.”

Maggie couldn’t exactly argue. He was right. At least they didn’t have an audience for this squabble since Todd’s friends were dropping off things in the barn.

It took little time to unload everything. As everyone rode off, Maggie took a final look around. Foods and household goods sat in one stall; tools, furniture, and miscellaneous things filled another. Before she’d reached the barn, the men had already unloaded everything that went toward her precious legacy. Roses, vegetable garden, household, food, tools and trade goods . . . With this being a very lean starter farm, everything she brought was needed. Surely realizing that their place was on a better footing had soothed Todd’s irritation with her. He’d accepted the tools with alacrity.

Walking side by side, they passed the other stalls. Maggie sensed he wanted to thank her but couldn’t find the words. He waited to one side to shut the barn door and let out a low growl. “You brought too much.”

“You don’t need to thank me, Husband. Everything I have belongs to you.”

“And you brought it all. This is not good, not right.”

“Nonsense. You’re tired. After a delicious breakfast, you’ll see how perfect things will be with me by your side.” Recalling his admonishment about withholding truth, she added, “Besides, this isn’t everything. I only brought the essentials. If we need anything more, I’ll have Uncle Bo send it.”

Obviously overcome with gratitude, Todd didn’t speak another word but shut the barn door. Maggie stepped close and placed her hand on his forearm. He bent his arm and escorted her home. When her groom paused at the threshold, Maggie’s pulse started to race.

He set down the lantern and opened the door. Any second now, he’d sweep her off her feet, kiss her, and carry her over that threshold. She prepared her mind to take in each word and gesture so some day when he was grumpy, she could recall them and still feel cherished.

“Sleep on my cot tonight. I’ll sleep in the barn.”

Predawn’s stillness woke him. Todd rolled over and shoved off the quilt. Stupid thing kept him awake most of the night. Made of several shades of green, it would appeal to any farmer – or so he told himself as he kicked it to the foot of the pile of hay he’d used for an erstwhile mattress. But the cotton pattern deceived him, because the other side turned out to be a deep, soft velvet. And it smelled of roses. He couldn’t blame Magpie for torturing him. He’d grabbed the quilt for himself.

But she’d made it. And certainly, she’d slept under it.

Oh, to have had her beneath it with him! They were husband and wife, so the desire was not wrong – but Ma couldn’t be left alone, and the cot barely supported him. He and his bride couldn’t share it. No matter what, he’d get their bed put together today.

He grabbed a pair of buckets and hiked to the windmill. It wasn’t until he stepped out of the barn and onto dew-covered ground that Todd remembered his boots. He stalked back to the barn. That woman had his mind so turned around, he should be ashamed of his lack of self-control.

Slamming his right foot into a well-worn boot, he snorted. “Who am I kidding? I left her alone last night. That’s either self-control or stupidity.”

Carrying a full bucket of water, he eased into the house. Rickety creaking drew his attention toward the cot. The leaves of the table were propped up, and stacks of garments formed tidy piles. Just beyond that, slender arms extended heavenward in a long stretch. “Mornin’, Savior. ’Twas a rough night, so I’m asking you to help me keep a sweet spirit today.”

The cot’s creaking must have covered the door’s sound. Eavesdropping on her prayer wasn’t right. Intriguing, to be sure, but he couldn’t spy on his wife. Todd mule-kicked the door, and it sounded as if it slammed shut.

“Oh! I . . . um . . . could you please give me a few moments?”

Her hesitation could only mean one thing. He grimaced. “I don’t have a chamber pot.”

“We do now, but I was so tired last night, I forgot to bring it over for Ma. That’ll be at the top of my list. Well, almost at the top. I need to get dressed, Mr. Valmer.” She clutched his old wool blanket to her fortified flannel nightgown.

“Ja, you do.” He folded his arms across his chest and grinned. In a few lighthearted moments on the train, she’d called him Todd. Shyness now sent her careening back to formality – at the most informal time they’d ever shared. Amused, Todd stood and unabashedly stared at her. His bride was cute, all morning-mussed and embarrassed.

“You’re being a rascal, aren’t you?” Swiping a stack from the table, she still refused to turn and meet his gaze. His Magpie tried to act unaffected, but the way her hands shook as she tried to hide her petticoats from him before sneaking them beneath the quilt gave away her frazzled state of mind.

He raised both brows.

“Yes, you. Don’t you dare have the nerve to feign innocence.” She muttered, “Clearly, I’m not going to get an honest answer here. A rascal wouldn’t admit to it.”

Wiggles, squirms, and a few undulations that left his hands itching to yank off the blanket ensued.
I ought to be catching up on
chores
. Yet he didn’t so much as shift in place. Chores would always be there nagging at him, but he promised Bo Carver he’d court Maggie. Right now that vow and the one to make this girl his wife both provided ample cause to stay put. All promises should be such fun to keep!

“If your mama was awake, she’d be scandalized by your horrid manners.” Maggie snatched another stack of garments.

“We’re . . . a . . . well-matched pair. You . . . I don’t think . . .” He shook himself. He could scarcely talk while watching absolutely nothing. His maddening, modest bride drew the blanket entirely over her head. Something started to slip out off the cot, and she barely caught it in time, muttering unintelligible things.

He opened his mouth and couldn’t recall what he’d just said. How had she done this to him? Stuck a mud-brown wool blanket over her head and set him to blithering.

“Well matched,” she huffed, head exiting the blanket. “If we were well matched, you’d notice I’m a lady and you’d be gentleman enough to give me some privacy.”

Ah, yes. That’s what he’d said. The spark in her eyes drew him, and he decided to egg her on. “But you say I’m a rascal. This means you are – ”

“Severely inconvenienced at the moment.” Making an exasperated sound, she lay back and then clamped the blanket between her teeth. By raising her chin and tenting up her knees, she kept the cover away from herself so he could scarcely detect the slightest wave of activity as she put on all of those frothy things.

He sucked in a deep breath. “I’m not the only one with a wayward streak. You put her in a whiskey barrel for the trip home. To Ma, that will always be the worst of all possible transgressions.”

Rustling of cloth sounded, punctuated only by Ma’s occasional light snore.

“Oh!”

“Is something wrong? Need some help?”

“I can . . . get . . . it. . . . There!” Giving him a frown, she made a show of chomping into the blanket to hold it away from herself again as her other hand snuck out to swipe her blouse. While she went through more gyrations on the cot to fasten something more, Todd studied the clothing on the table. Everything on there was far too big for his bride – everything except for the brown-and-rust checked skirt. Casually sliding it over his arm, he smiled at her.

She gaped, and the blanket fell out of her mouth, revealing a misbuttoned blouse. “So help me, Todd Valmer!” Keeping hold of the blanket, she swung her legs over the side of the cot, used the cover as a skirt of sorts, and rose. Or tried to. A second effort didn’t work, either. Lying back down and covering up, she let out a jaw-cracking yawn. “Travel exhausted me more than I realized. Mayhap a tad more sleep will strengthen me.”

Tapping the gate leg back into its storage position beneath the center of the table, Todd lowered a leaf. A simple half-arc drag moved the now smaller table out of his way. One large step forward, and he reached his sweet bride’s side, where he hunkered down and fingered her nighttime plait. Every husband ought to be a rascal – to let his woman know he found her desirable. Or so he’d imagined. But he’d miscalculated.

Skittish. That was the problem. His bride needed to get used to him. Cupping the back of her head in his hand, he smoothed the wisps of hair at her nape.

She froze.

He cleared his throat. “Breakfast – ”

“Will be ready in about two hours. When I can break free from this sudden affliction – ” she yawned once again – “then I’ll cook. I’ll fix you a sound meal.”

“Best I not kiss you, if you’re feeling sickly.” He rose, dropped her skirt on the table, and walked out the door.
Was it my imagination,
or did she look relieved when I said I’d not kiss her?

The dirt beneath his boots made a gritty sound as he strode away. If Maggie truly was sick, he’d fetch the doctor; but if she was misleading him as he believed, she deserved to be caught. He gave it a few moments before borrowing Adam’s trick of circling back unexpectedly.

He couldn’t believe his eyes.

Nine

Maggie wheeled halfway about and almost killed herself. While tying her corset, she’d gotten the laces wrapped around a side slat of the cot. Now she stood looking like a human letter
T.
And Todd had come back to witness it. “Don’t come – Ouch!” She softened her voice to an imperative whisper. “In here.”
How am I going to hide this?

“Woman . . .” Todd’s lips twitched, but he kept from laughing. “What have you done?”

Resting her elbows on the side of the cot and clamping her hands near each end of the frame, Maggie held it at waist-level behind her. She couldn’t hide it, so how should she explain it? If he had even a wee drop of mercy, he’d saunter off.

He didn’t move an inch. He didn’t even blink.

“What have I done?” She let out a small laugh. “Other than getting dressed and putting on my boots, I’ve done nothing much yet.”

“Wife.” He took a step closer, stalking across the tiny cabin like an Arabian tiger. “What are you doing with the cot?”

“As I arose, I felt a sudden urge to rearrange the furniture.”

His voice dropped to a dangerous purr. “Is that all?”

She inched backward. “I ran into a little trouble but know how to work it out. I’m almost done!”

“Tight as that cot’s pulling your laces, you’re almost dead.”

A minute later, he’d freed her from the cot and retied her stays. Burrowed against his chest, she didn’t want to part from him. Maggie knew for certain she couldn’t look him in the eye. Probably not for a week or two.