Serendipity (30 page)

“God could have taken me, but He did not show me that mercy. Everyone knows He has stricken me. You read about it yesterday in Proverbs. ‘Therefore shall his calamity come suddenly; suddenly shall he be broken without remedy.’ ” Ma burst into tears. “That is me. I will be like this for the rest of my life!”

Maggie hopped up and wrapped her arms about her mother-in-law. “Nay, Ma. Don’t think that way. Why, look how much better you are – your face doesn’t droop as much, and you hardly drool at all. And you’re feeding yourself.”

“Ja.” Todd nodded once with zeal. “And Maggie gave you the cane. She expects you to walk again. Thus we will prepare a smooth way for you today.”

“We don’t know that.” Ma’s shoulders shuddered with her sobs.

“We have faith.” Maggie mopped some of the tears away and added, “But faith without works is dead. Now that you’ve recovered from the train ride, I’m going to start cracking the whip and make you put all your efforts into getting back to where you used to be.”

“I cannot.”

“Nonsense!” Maggie tapped the wheel on Ma’s chair. “I’m too stubborn to let you sit around here forever.”

Ma sniffled. “I cannot go back. Arletta is gone.”

Does Ma want to live with Arletta?
Maggie’s mind whirled
. Is
that why Ma’s been so unhappy?

“Sis cannot have you. You are ours.” Todd set down the Bible.

“No one’s going anywhere but church.”

They barely made it to church on time. Linette had saved the end of her pew for them, and Maggie grabbed her hand. “I’m downright giddy. I’m in a real church with a regular parson, betwixt my man and my new friend. Someone’s going to have to shush me on account of me hollering praises to God Almighty long after the worship’s done.”

The woman in front of them turned around. “The Bible says to praise without ceasing.”

“Mrs. Bradle, this is my wife, Maggie, and my mother, Mrs.

Crewel. Mrs. Bradle is the parson’s wife.”

“It’s lovely to meet you. I want to speak with you right after the service.” Mrs. Bradle turned back around as her husband gave the invocation.

Maggie’s heart glowed with delight at each part of the service. Hearing other sopranos and altos surprised her. She’d forgotten what it sounded like for the upper register to blend in harmony with the tenors and basses. Then the reverend plumbed truths from God’s Word.

After the benediction, Mrs. Bradle spun around. “The reverend and I would love to have you all come to supper.”

“Ma’am, your invite is truly generous, but I’d have a trio of hungry bachelors back on Valmer Farm upset with the both of us.”

“Next week, then?”

“We’d be honored, wouldn’t we?”

“Ja,” Ma said as Todd nodded.

Two men in the pew behind them leaned forward. “You’re feeding bachelors?”

“No, she isn’t.” Linette shooed them away.

A blond woman with a little girl on her hip replaced Mrs. Bradle. “This here’s Emmy-Lou and I’m Hope Stauffer. Our farms are catty-wampus. Cowhands and farmers hereabout are like stray hounds. Once you feed ’em, they’ll be showin’ up, stepping on your door every evening, howling for food.”

On the train, Todd warned her Hope invariably mangled sayings. He hadn’t mentioned how endearing it was. Maggie leaned forward and gave Emmy-Lou and Hope a hug together. “They’re not stepping on my door unless they’ve sung for their supper. You’re welcome anytime – music notwithstanding.”

“I tried to come, but I had too many feet in the fire. We’ll make plenty of time in the days to come. I’ll visit just to hear your voice. My mama had that same musical lip.”

Todd’s hand enveloped hers. “My Margaret’s lilt is beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Children’s giggles are music to me.” Ma reached out and gently stroked a little girl’s cheek.

No one seemed in a hurry to leave the churchyard. It wasn’t fitting to conduct business, so Maggie merely confirmed that she bartered when asked. That question came up several times as she met more people.

A couple of men helped get Ma and the wheelchair into the wagon, then Todd lifted Maggie onto the bench and unhobbled Axe and Wrench. “Carver’s Holler boasted a population of fourteen. There’s twice that many women here in Gooding!”

“I promised you woman friends.” Todd climbed up next to her.

“Aye, that you did – and right quick.”
But how long will I have
to wait for your love?

His gaze mesmerized her. “It may take some time, but I keep all my promises.”

Fifteen

Sand, gravel, and Portland cement were all shoveled together, then mixed with water into a thick, heavy mess. “We can start smoothing
it out,” John said.

They’d emptied the house and started at the back. Grandy, a cowboy from a nearby ranch, had done masonry in the past. He’d pointed out two bags of cement had no sand or gravel with which to mix it. A dried creek bed provided both, and his calculations assured Todd they could pour both a floor in the house and a porch.

Todd looked at the rippled, wet muck at the back quarter of the cabin and glanced around the place. Floor, walls, and roof – those were his to worry about. The stuff on them and in between – that was woman territory. Well, except for what went in the pot. Maggie made the food, but he still needed to put meat on the table. Yesterday he’d snared a brace of hares Maggie fried up for their Sunday supper. Every last piece was gone . . . and he’d done his part in making it disappear.

Knowing Ma needed rest, Maggie had hauled Ma’s mattress to the barn. With Ma bedded down, Maggie kept herself busy. Walking around the work, she carried a bucket and gave the men dippers of cool water and wiped Todd’s face with a damp cloth. As if his bride could sense the heaviness in his heart, she gave him a searching look more than once. “Hot, hard work,” he explained.

“A grand result. I’m proud of you – of all of you – for this.” She wiped his face again and went to refill the water bucket.

“That’s some wife you caught.” Grandy gripped the handles of the wheelbarrow.

Todd nodded. A man didn’t boast about enjoying what others didn’t have. The facts spoke for themselves – a good meal, freshly plowed fields, and a comely wife. In his absence, these men had all witnessed the decline of his farm. A few things still weren’t quite up to Todd’s standards, but the additional plowed field for sorghum ought to yield some profit. Ought to – but might not. The talk he’d heard at church weighed heavy on his heart.

After they finished the job, Maggie gave each man a paper-wrapped stack of cookies. The first few times he’d tasted Maggie’s cooking, Todd acted just as crazed as these men. He and Maggie traded an amused look as they rode off.

They caught up on the essential Sunday chores, and he tested the edge of the porch. “Not ready.”

“Reckoned it wouldn’t be. I got Ma set up so she’ll keep warm and snug in the barn tonight.” In the waning light, he noticed the hectic color filling Maggie’s cheeks.

“We will use the loft.”

She bobbed her head in acknowledgment. “Back home, when they set a foundation, it was customary for the owners to each make a mark.”

“The last part over on the side’s still able to take an imprint.” Todd refused the pencil-thick twig she extended to him. “It is your custom – you make the first mark.”

“Nay. As head of the home, it’s your right and responsibility to lead.”

Such a silly waste of time. He’d already been on his knees all day. The last thing he wanted to do was hunker down and mess up a glass-smooth finish. Only she stood there, eyes full of stars. He chose a spot and scribed,
Maggie and Todd Valmer March 15, 1893
. Once he started, the idea grew. His bride’s soft, pleased gasp made him glad he’d done this. After scripting,
God bless our home,
he passed the twig to her. “Now it is your turn.”

Beneath his writing, she drew a cross, a shamrock, a heart, and a rose. Between them she wrote
FAITH, HOPE, LOVE, CARE
. He thought she was done and cupped her shoulders to help her up. “One last thing.” Leaning forward, she tapped and smoothed something and doctored it with the twig. Popping up onto her tiptoes, she whispered in a playful lilt, “ ‘Beware the Ides of March.’ ” Todd peered down in the failing light. She’d doctored the five, turning it into a three. He’d gotten their wedding date wrong.

Todd held Maggie close all night. If only he could stop time to the moments they’d marked the cement and he’d kissed the laughter off her lips but left it in her eyes. She’d been so happy. But for how much longer? Todd ran his hand down her luxurious hair. At some point earlier, he’d unwoven her nighttime plait, wanting it as wild and free as she was. Only from what he’d heard at church, they weren’t free at all. Every hour of labor used to represent a greater yield; this week the price of grain plummeted to the point that it cost almost exactly as much to grow it as he’d earn. In the months between now and harvest, if the price dipped more, his production costs would be greater than the crop brought in. He’d poured that floor in a home he couldn’t afford. Etching into the cement
God
bless our home
had been a plea for the Lord to let this home remain theirs. But the bank had every right to sell the house – the farm – everything because he’d mired them in debt.

Sometime before dawn, Maggie woke. Pushing a lock of hair from his forehead, she murmured, “Your mind is troubled.”

For an instant, he considered denying it. Though Maggie knew of the debt and that finances were real tight, he longed to shield her from the looming disaster. But his wife deserved the truth, and it should come from him. “It is.”

She shivered.

“Here.” Todd wrapped his arms about her as if he’d keep her world together and hold back any ugliness. But God would have to intervene, because their situation was far beyond what Todd – or the two of them – could handle. “Wheat. A few years ago, it sold for $2.24 a bushel. Last year, I got $1.09. It was enough to cover the mortgage note and met the expenses, but that was all.”

Tilting her head back, she smiled. “You had unusual bills because of your horses – Hammer tangled with the barbed wire and the wolves preyed on Nuts and Bolts.”

“Don’t you think I took that into account? It is beyond that. At church yesterday I heard the price for wheat now is at seventy-eight cents. Seventy-eight stinking cents.”

“But the yield this year will be higher – oft you’ve said so. What with the sorghum we’ve added, it should be more than enough. Especially since we’ll need so little in the way of provender. The garden will yield plenty. The farm’s self-sufficient when it comes to feed. Aye, then there are buyers for my rose goods.”

She believed they’d be fine; short of a miracle, he knew they’d be lucky to hold on. More than half of the farmers who came west failed. He just never imagined he might be among them. “You deserve to know.”

Snuggling back down, she murmured, “We’ll be fine. I have faith in you and in God.”

Todd let her fall asleep, then inched away and went out to work in the dark. He couldn’t ask the Lord to bless his farm if he didn’t put in his full share of work – and more. Maggie believed in both of them, and he refused to disappoint her.