Walker's Wedding (8 page)

I
don't want to be underfoot, but that chair would look much better by this window.”

Flo, a hand on her hip, stood by as Sarah bustled around the room cleaning up the final reminders of the previous day's wedding. She'd been as busy as a one-armed wallpaper hanger all afternoon, dusting, polishing, and rearranging. Considering the pinched look on Flo's face, she was getting on the housekeeper's nerves.

“Can't understand all the fuss. I've cleaned for the McKays all these years. I don't know why all of a sudden things need changin'.” Flo sidestepped as Sarah eased past, clutching a broom and a dustpan. “I dust the parlor every morning, but with the extra work lately, getting ready for the wedding, I hadn't had time—”

“Oh, Flo, I don't want to interfere. I know you've kept this home forever, but it's my home now, and I'd feel dreadful having you do all the work.” She swatted an imaginary dust bunny. “Really, don't you think the chair would look better over here?” She stood by the side window. “We can go into town and look for material for new drapes. Then we could change out the lamps—”

“Whoa! Walker's a generous man, but he likes his home the way it is.”

Sarah frowned. “But the drapes are faded—and those old lamps are outdated.” She didn't understand Walker's modest lifestyle when he apparently had all the resources he'd ever need, not to mention her
wealth—which he didn't know about yet. How much could a new pair of drapes and a new lamp cost?

Flo dropped into the chair in question—a large brown leather monstrosity positioned in front of the fireplace. Sarah knew it was Walker's favorite because he sat in it every evening to read.

“Walker likes the drapes—and his mother bought his father this chair for a wedding present. Walker's happy with the way things are, young'un. He won't want you to change anything.”

Sarah cocked her head. “Papa says the house is a woman's domain.”

“Walker ain't Papa.”

Sarah couldn't understand why Flo was being so stubborn about moving a silly old chair a few feet across the room. The more she tried to help, the more Flo vetoed her ideas. How was she supposed to be a good wife if she wasn't allowed to
do
anything? Sarah stared at the chair, determined. It didn't look right where it sat. The light was better by the window.

“Flo, I'll take full responsibility for moving the chair. If Walker notices and says anything, we'll move it back, but I don't think he will, because it'll look ever so much better over here. He'll be so glad for the change that he won't mind that it's not in its normal place.” Sarah touched the worn leather lovingly. “Men don't care about furniture.”

Once, Wadsy had rearranged the whole parlor and Papa hadn't noticed for weeks. Of course, he'd looked a little cross when she lit in on his study.

Flo snorted, crossing her arms. “Walker'll notice.”

“You can tell a lady by the mark she leaves on her home.” Sarah began pushing against the back of the chair with Flo still in it. “Now…please…help…me…move…this.”

Flo got up. “Move it, then. But you'll have to do it yourself. I'll have nothing to do with it.” Muttering something Sarah couldn't make out, the housekeeper left the room, confiscating the broom and dustpan along the way.

With a newfound resolve, Sarah shoved the chair to its new place by the window. After several tries at pushing and pulling and coaxing, she got it where she wanted it. Then she lugged a table from the opposite
side of the room and placed it just so next to the chair for Walker to set his coffee cup on.

“Fresh-cut flowers this summer,” she murmured, “and it's perfect.” She stood back, assessing the newly arranged room with a satisfied smile.

The rest of the day she scurried about the house, polishing, adjusting, and putting her touches on Walker's home. Flo had barricaded herself in the kitchen so Sarah couldn't consult her about further domestic possibilities. There were so many things she could do to convert this house from a bachelor's hideaway to a family home.

She eventually braved her way into the kitchen to see if Flo had started supper. The housekeeper was standing at the sink chopping something green, and she refused Sarah's help when she offered it.

“Two is one too many in the kitchen,” Flo said.

“I just thought I should be cooking for Walker on our first night together.”

Flo paused, giving Sarah an exasperated look. “I've got most of it done, but if you insist, you can make the corn bread. Be sure to watch that it don't burn. I'm going to see if the men are back before I set supper on the table.”

Sarah opened the back door for her, bidding Flo a pleasant goodbye. A minute later she was dumping cornmeal, flour, eggs, buttermilk, salt, pepper, and a wad of bacon grease into a ceramic bowl. Blending the thick mixture, she scraped it into a hot skillet and carefully slid the pan into the oven. Then she hurried upstairs to freshen up before Walker came home. She only had the one calico dress, but she could send for all her clothing once she informed Papa…she paused. She'd been so caught up in wifely duties she hadn't made a trip into town to send Papa a wire.

Walker strode into the parlor, stretching his aching shoulder. He thumped loudly across the room, leaving a trail of boot scuffs across the freshly polished floor.

Engrossed in a letter, he headed for his favorite chair, toeing off one boot and then the other as he walked. It had been a long day. He and S.H. had worked on both fences in the back field. The cattle were being moved to greener pastures, so today he'd had one problem after the other. After hours of hard work, the coolness of the wooden floor felt good to his sore feet.

He held the spring issue of his favorite seed catalog tucked under his arm. One of the ranch hands had picked it up at the mercantile just this morning. He'd read it through after dinner, but first he'd peek inside. Pausing in front of the fireplace, he folded the letter, flipped open the catalog, and sat down. Before he could read the first ad, he was flat on his back and seeing stars. The seed catalog flew into the fireplace, where it rested on ashes. Not yet able to grasp what had happened, he heard footsteps coming down the stairs two at a time.

Sarah appeared in the doorway. “Walker? What happened?”

“Where's my chair?”

“By the window.”

Walker struggled to sit up and Sarah hurried to assist him.

“Goodness. Are you injured—”

“Who moved my chair? Flo!”

“Don't yell at Flo. I moved your chair. I thought you'd enjoy more light when you read, so—”

“I want my chair left where it was—Flo!” He shot Sarah a disbelieving look. “Does Flo know you're moving furniture?”

Sarah nodded. “Change does a body good. You need—”

“I want my chair
right
here.” He pointed to the spot where the chair had previously sat. “Not by the window.”

Sarah bristled at his tone.

“Where's my seed catalog?” he demanded. Sarah's eyes switched to the fireplace and his followed. He grunted and reached for the flyer.

“You're getting everything dirty!” she cried, trying to intercept the sooty catalog before he ruined a whole day's work.

Snatching it free, Walker started to shake it clean.

Irritated, Sarah took it back and swiped it across the front of her dress, leaving a black powder mark but saving the rest of the room.

Walker glared at her for a moment before proceeding to move the chair to its original spot. When he turned back, he saw tears hovering in her eyes as she clutched her dirty dress, and his anger cooled. “Look, I'd rather you leave things as they are.”

Blinking, she lifted her chin. “I'm sorry. I was trying to be helpful. I just thought you might enjoy more light.”

Walker uttered something under his breath. Women and tears. He'd forgotten how easy it was to hurt their feelings, especially about womanly things. He fell into his chair, removing his hat. “I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, Sarah, but at the end of the day I want to come home and sit down in my chair in its usual place.” He paused, waiting for the tears to let up. “Flo knows I don't want the furniture moved.”

“Even if it's a better arrangement?”

“I like my furniture kept in the same place, okay? If you want to move something, move the porch furniture.”

“Who cares about porch furniture? A woman leaves her mark on her house—”

“Please leave things alone,” he said, more gently this time. “Flo knows how I like things kept.”

Sarah's brown eyes snapped. “
Flo's
not your wife. I am.”

“Flo has taken care of me for twenty-eight years. You're going to have to live with that.” When he saw a tear roll down her cheek, he mentally kicked himself. Marriage was going to take some getting used to. “I'm not spoiling for a fight, Sarah. I only mean…” he paused, sniffing the air. “What's burning?”

Sarah's jaw dropped. “The corn bread!” She raced out of the room and into the kitchen, where smoke was rolling out of the oven. Walker followed her, pitching the smudged seed catalog onto the table.

Grabbing an oven mitt, she opened the door and reached for the pan of corn bread. A plume of smoke billowed out of the oven, and she jerked back as a blast of hot air and flames assaulted her and burned her arm.

“Here, I'll get that.” Walker stepped in and took the mitt away from
her, and she moved away to smear butter on the burn. He extracted the corn bread, tossed the skillet on top of the stove, and beat out the flames with a dish towel. “There. Fire's out.”

Sarah sank onto a kitchen chair and buried her face in her sooty hands. “I'm so sorry.” She was more than sorry, she was mortified. What wife didn't know how to bake corn bread?

Hands coming to his hips, Walker shifted stances. “Did you burn yourself?”

“Yes.”

He reached for her arm and examined the burn. “It's not bad.”

“Flo told me to watch the bread and not let it burn, but I was busy arguing with you about that silly chair.”

He glanced at the smoking skillet and sighed. “I like burned corn bread.”

Flo came into the kitchen, fanning smoke with her apron. “What's goin' on?”

Walker pointed to the smoldering pan.

Flo focused on Sarah, who dabbed butter on her arm. Flo's eyes switched back to Walker. He shrugged. “Land sakes,” Flo said, eyeing the damage. “I'll stir up a new batch.”

“Set the food on the table, Flo.” Walker winked at Sarah. “Tonight's corn bread will make a man appreciate good cooking when he gets it.”