Chapter 8

8

L orinda sat beside the kitchen table, peeling potatoes for the stew Mrs. Oleson was preparing for tonight's supper. The last two weeks had rushed by while the wonderful woman stirring the pot on the stove helped keep Lorinda's mind off all her losses. Teaching her to knit, something she had always wanted to do. Helping her sew a few things for herself and for the baby. Giving her tasks that were easy for her to complete.

It had to have been Mrs. Oleson's idea to offer her a job with room and board as part of her pay. Franklin Vine never would've come up with that idea by himself. He kept himself aloof from Lorinda, not saying ten words a day to her. But she didn't really care, did she? She and her baby would have a home, and with her not needing to spend much of the money he paid her, she could save for their future. Someday, that money, along with the value of the two pokes of gold she had hidden in her room, would give the two of them a start somewhere else. Of course, she didn't want to settle too far from the property they owned, but maybe she could find a job and a place to stay in Breckenridge, Dillon, or Frisco. Keystone or Silverthorne would be farther than she wanted to go.

Mrs. Oleson turned toward her. "How are you doing with those potatoes?"

"Almost finished." She picked up the last vegetable. "Only one more."

The housekeeper wiped her hands on her apron as she came toward the table. "You finished those quickly. I'll have to set them in water until it's time to add them to the stew. Potatoes don't take as long to cook as the carrots do."

After dropping the peeling, cut in one long curling ribbon, into the bucket for the pigs, Lorinda quickly quartered the potato. "All done." She stood and reached for the filled crockery bowl on the table.

"Here. Let me get that for you." Mrs. Oleson set the potatoes on the cabinet and poured water from a large pitcher into the bowl.

"Why do you do that?" Lorinda peeked around the other woman's shoulder. "Put them in water, I mean."

"So they'll stay crisp and don't turn dark."

"I never knew that. Mine always had black on them if I didn't use them right away."

So much Lorinda hadn't learned about keeping house and cooking. But Mrs. Oleson was patient, teaching her as they worked together. She wondered what the older woman would do if she were to give her a big hug. Her mother had died a long time ago, and she yearned for a motherly touch.

"I'm glad to see you looking better, dear." Mrs. Oleson smiled at her. "I worried about you when you first came. You hadn't been eating as much as you should have. I could tell."

Lorinda nodded. "Sometimes, it wasn't worth the effort when I wasn't feeling so good." She tried not to dwell on that awful time when she was alone for so long. "Of course, I did have good days when I cooked up a storm. I stored the leftovers in the snowbank, and they would last for days. But nothing tasted as good as what I've had here on the ranch."

She put her hands on the sides of her waist and stretched her tired back. The baby grew heavier every day. She patted her swollen belly, and the baby tapped the same place from the inside. Such a wonder to get used to.

"Let's make something special to go with this stew. I brought some dried apples up from the root cellar earlier this morning. They've been simmering with raisins while I worked. How would you like an apple and raisin pie?" Mrs. Oleson set a mixing bowl on the table and gave Lorinda a measuring cup. "We need two cups of flour, full to the top."

After Lorinda followed the directions, the older woman sprinkled a pinch of salt into the flour.

"I love apple pies, but we hardly ever had them. We didn't get much fruit in the winter." Lorinda went to the stove and lifted the lid to take a sniff. "Besides, no one ever taught me how to make crust, so I just stirred up some biscuit dough, added sugar, and plopped it on the top of the apples in the pan. I never cooked them ahead of time either. And I never thought about adding raisins. Of course, we didn't have those very often."

She hoped Mrs. Oleson didn't pity her because of her upbringing. At least, the older woman didn't know the worst of it, and she never would.

"Here's the best way to make a flaky crust." While she demonstrated, Lorinda watched everything the woman did, trying to commit it to memory. Besides the flour and salt, Mrs. Oleson added lard, cutting it into the mixture using two table knives, the same way Lorinda did for the biscuits. And she sprinkled in the cold water, a little at a time, while stirring the dough.

"Why didn't your mother teach you?"

That question caught Lorinda by surprise. She had never told anyone much about her early life, not even Mike. Should she trust this woman with some of the information? Maybe she could let down her walls a little, because Mrs. Oleson had been nothing but kind to her.

"Ma died when I was young. I barely remember her. After that, Pa and me just muddled along the best we could. Most times, we didn't do a very good job."

She knew that was vague, but she didn't want to tell her the whole truth. The shame she carried most of her life. At least, Mike hadn't probed too deeply, so he loved her instead of pitying her.

"Then you had no way of learning what you needed to know. That's not your fault."

Mrs. Oleson's words poured over her like warm honey, filling the cracks in her defenses. Lorinda nodded.

"You've really picked up on the things I've been showing you. I imagine you could probably write down a receipt for the pie crust since you were listening so intently." Mrs. Oleson sprinkled flour over one end of the table, then turned the dough out of the bowl and patted it down until it was about an inch thick. Then she used her well-worn, wooden rolling pin to start flattening it even more. "You don't want to work the dough too much, or it'll become tough. Would you like some paper so you can write down the instructions?"

Lorinda would, but paper was a luxury item to her.

"Did you go to school?" That must have been an afterthought for the older woman.

"Not much. But after we were married, Mike taught me to read and write. I can even cipher numbers. Maybe not really big ones, but some."

Mrs. Oleson wiped her hands on her apron and left the room, returning with a sheet of the nicest paper Lorinda had ever seen and a sharpened pencil. "Go ahead and write it down. When you're finished, sprinkle cinnamon and sugar over the apples and raisins then mix it all together."

While they finished creating the pie, their conversation flowed like an ebbing river. Lorinda lost herself in the rhythm of the words. Having a woman discuss things with her was heavenly. Pa had hardly spoken to her unless he was drunk, and the things he said then felt more like rocks hitting her heart. Mike had talked to her, but he didn't really listen to what she wanted. His way was the only way to do things. At least, his lovemaking made up for all the rest...almost.

"So you can read. What kinds of books do you like?"

"The only book I've ever had was my mother's Bible. But Mike and I read it together a lot." She watched how Mrs. Oleson folded the crust to transfer it to the greased pie tin. That looked easy enough.

"I like to read on a long winter evening after all the chores are done, so I have quite a few books. I'd be glad for you to borrow some of them."

Lorinda thought this must be what heaven was like. Being treated with such honest caring, having plenty to eat, and even books she could explore.

If only she didn't feel like an interloper here.

Today, while he worked with the hands on the ranch, Franklin also checked for signs the arsonist might still be in the area. None of the patrols his men had been on could find a trace of him beyond the footprints he left at the Sullivan claim, and they only led to where a horse had trampled the snow. After the man had mounted his horse, he made his way to the road across the mountain, so there was no way to follow him beyond where his hoofprints intermingled with so many others. Maybe it was time to relax and quit worrying about the blackguard. He was probably long gone.

Every time his thoughts turned toward the miscreant, they then meandered in the direction of Lorinda. No matter how hard he tried to keep his mind on his business, his thoughts had a will of their own.

When he'd been at the house these last couple of weeks, he'd done his best to stay away from the woman. Mainly just seeing her at mealtime. That suited him just fine. Of course, Mrs. Oleson kept him apprized of the events at the house, and the woman had been settling in quite nicely. Even if that wasn't what he wanted. And the two women got along really well.

After arriving back at the stable behind the ranch house, he took care of Major before heading in to supper. An enticing smell greeted him at the door, a mingling of hearty stew and his favorite pie. Apple raisin. His stomach gave an appreciative growl, and hunger overtook him. He quickly cleaned up in the mud room and entered the warm, brightly-lit kitchen.

"Mrs. Oleson, something smells delicious."

Lorinda glanced up from where she was setting the table, her blue eyes reminding him of a warm summer day, instead of the lingering cold of spring. She quickly averted her gaze.

The woman looked much healthier than she had when he'd found her beside her burned-out cabin. Staying at his ranch must be good for her. Until now, he hadn't noticed how much her size had changed the last two weeks. Her impending motherhood had progressed, and her arms and face looked like they had filled out. All that did was increase her beauty. He took a deep breath and looked away.

He would have been married by now, probably with a child or two, if Miriam and Marvin hadn't broken his heart. No matter how much he wanted a son to inherit his vast holdings, it wasn't going to happen … ever.

Spears of jealousy lanced his gut. How could he be envious of a dead man? It hardly seemed fair that a corpse's wife was nearing her delivery time, and Franklin had no hope of a family. No way would he ever trust his heart to another woman, even if she was beautiful, with curls the color of summer sunshine. Why would a loving God let such a thing happen to him?

"Did you want to eat now or after you read the mail Terrell brought from town when he went in for supplies?" His housekeeper stood beside the stove, stirring the pot of stew.

Needing to rein in his emotions, he headed toward the doorway to the hall. "I'll just check what arrived. I should be back to eat in about fifteen minutes."

"Dinner will be on the table by then." He heard Mrs. Oleson put the cover on the simmering stew pot.

He didn't look back as he hurried toward his office. After reaching the desk, he shuffled through the envelopes, reading the return addresses. Nothing looked to be pressing, so he walked over to the front windows. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared out at the mountain peaks in the distance.

He loved this land. When he was younger he'd had dreams of being like his father and passing it on, but all that was futile now. Why was he working so hard to preserve the ranch? Probably because he didn't know what else to do. Maybe when he died, the ranch could be divided between his most loyal employees.

He huffed out a deep breath. Why was he worrying about that? He was a young man with plenty of time to decide what to do. Mike Sullivan didn't expect to die when he did either. He was younger than you are. The sudden thought blind-sided him. Well, he didn't need to dwell on that. Good food awaited him.

On the way back down the hallway to the kitchen, he identified the pleasing aroma of baking biscuits intermingling with the other scents. Once more, his stomach let him know he was way past hungry. With all the work today, he'd developed an enormous appetite.

Mrs. Oleson looked up when he stopped in the doorway. "You're right on time, Franklin. Lorinda and I just put out the last of the food." She tucked the tea towel around the golden biscuits to keep them hot.

He took his place at the head of the table with a woman on either side of him, facing each other. At least, his newest employee wasn't across from him where he'd see every move she made.

After they were all seated, he bowed his head. "Father God, thank you for the food and the hands that prepared it. In Jesus' name. Amen."

Before he started eating, he turned his gaze toward Mrs. Oleson. "Everything looks delicious."

"I made the stew for the most part. Lorinda peeled the potatoes."

He nodded his thanks toward the younger woman. When his housekeeper passed the basket of biscuits to him, he took two and put them on the saucer beside his bowl of steaming stew.

While he reached for the butter, Mrs. Oleson added, "Lorinda made these biscuits and helped me with the pie. She's a good cook."

He glanced once more toward the younger woman and found her sitting with her hands in her lap and her face turned down as if she were still praying. A becoming blush stained her cheeks. Maybe she wasn't used to compliments, but surely her husband had told her he liked her cooking...and how lovely she was. If not, the man was an ingrate.

After a moment, she picked up her spoon and tasted the stew.

Why hadn't he paid any attention to the woman? His callous treatment may have contributed to her reticence. Perhaps he should make her feel welcome as long as she was here in his home anyway. He wouldn't have treated any of his other employees the way he'd been treating her.

He sank his teeth into the biscuit dripping with melted butter, the perfect accompaniment to the steaming beef stew. "These biscuits are every bit as good as Mrs. Oleson's. Thank you, Mrs. Sullivan."

A slow smile spread across her face, finally reaching her eyes. "Th...thank you, Mr. Vine."

That broke the ice, and the conversation flowed freely throughout supper.

When they had finished eating the main part of the meal, Mrs. Oleson cut the pie. Franklin noticed Lorinda didn't take a taste until after he did.

"Ladies, this is wonderful. It's still warm." He shoved another bite into his mouth, and that shy smile once again crept over her features.

After Mrs. Oleson set down with her dessert, she smiled at the younger woman. "Lorinda dear, I have a cedar chest I'm not using anymore. I'll have one of the hands move it into your room. You can put all your new things for the baby in it."

Lorinda's eyes widened, then tears glistened on her lashes. "Thank you."

"That's a good idea." Franklin got up and patted his stomach. "I'm as full as a tick on a hound dog."

Both women laughed.

"I can move the cedar chest for you." Franklin welcomed his housekeeper's thoughtfulness. From now on, he would try to be more kind to the young widow.

After all, she wouldn't be here very long.