Chapter 20

20

L eah dried her water-pruned hands on her apron and turned away from the work counter as Miriam strode into the cabin. "Lunch dishes are done," she announced. "What's on our schedule for this afternoon?"

Miriam stepped toward the kitchen, a grimace on her face, and reached for the large pot with caster feet from under the counter. "It's time to kill a chicken."

That caught Leah's attention. "Kill a chicken? You mean to eat?"

"Yes." Miriam's voice was full of reluctance. "The young roosters are old enough now, so we'll fry one for dinner tonight."

"All right." She'd never really considered how the meat had gotten to their kitchen in Richmond, or even in Montana. It made sense, though, that the birds she'd been helping to feed for the last few weeks were intended for more than producing eggs. She swallowed. How hard could it be? "What can I do to help?"

Miriam carried the pot toward the door. "I have everything set up beside the barn. Put on an old dress and apron and come on out. I'll show you what to do."

Leah obeyed, exchanging her apron for one from the bottom of the stack on the hook. She was already wearing the gray wool work gown she'd worn on the train from Richmond. She grabbed her crutch and followed her friend outside. Her steps were quicker now, almost as fast as before her fall.

She hobbled around the corner of the barn where the pot sat over a small campfire. Nearby, an ax lay on a stump. Miriam was nowhere in sight, but a sudden ruckus from the direction of the chicken coop gave Leah an idea as to her whereabouts.

Soon, Miriam rounded the barn with a determined set to her jaw and a rooster dangling by its legs in her left hand. She threw a glance in Leah's direction. "You may want to step back for this part, it gets kind of messy."

Leah took a step away from the tools laid out. Miriam never hesitated, but strode right up to the sawed-off tree base, picked up the ax in her right hand, dangled the chicken over the stump so its head lay on the wood, and brought the ax down hard.

The ensuing scene was not pretty. Wings flapped and blood sprayed. Leah spun away as her middle churned. When the scuffling noises settled down, she finally worked up the nerve to look again.

It was a good thing she'd never been squeamish at the sight of blood, for there was plenty of it around the chopping block. Miriam held the chicken with both hands away from her body, her face turned to the side to avoid splatters from the red that continued to pour from the carcass in her hands. She gave Leah a sympathetic look, but it was hard to tell if the look was really intended for her or for the poor chicken.

She managed to help Miriam as they dipped the carcass in boiling water for a short time, then removed the feathers. After that was complete, Miriam sent another sympathetic look in Leah's direction. Though her middle clenched at that expression, surely whatever lay ahead couldn't be half as bad as killing the chicken had been.

She was wrong.

The cleaning out of the bird might just be the worst part of the whole nasty job. But she managed to keep her own food in her stomach, sometimes only by looking away as Miriam continued to work.

By the time they were back in the kitchen with a chicken body in the basin next to the work counter, her body said she might never eat again. She really wanted to lie down, but one glance at Miriam's blood-covered apron and her own slightly-spattered covering brought necessity to the forefront.

"Miri, let me have your apron and I'll put it to soak. Do you have blood on your dress, too?"

Miriam examined her arms and skirt, then scrunched her nose at Leah. "I'm a mess."

Miriam spoke the truth, from her mussed hair to her stained clothing. Yet love welled in Leah's chest for her vivacious friend who had the courage to do whatever was necessary. She slipped an arm around Miriam's shoulders. "Why don't you go change into something clean while I get things ready? Then you can read from Pride and Prejudice while I do the washing."

When Miriam turned a thankful look to her, exhaustion tugged at the corners of her friend's eyes.

If only she could do more to make things better for her friend.

By the time Gideon came in for dinner that night, Miriam's enthusiasm seemed to have returned.

"Hello, big brother," she chirped, while Gideon hung his hat on a peg.

Leah couldn't help but notice how his brown cotton shirt stretched across his broad shoulders. He resonated strength with every movement.

"Hello, Gideon." She offered a tentative, welcoming smile as she carried the plate of fried chicken to the table. Her greeting earned a nod as his gaze snagged on hers before dropping to the plate of chicken.

"Food looks good."

She couldn't keep her grin inside. That was high praise from the man who didn't understand a need for words during daily interaction.

Miriam poured coffee while Leah brought the last of the food. When they were all seated, Gideon offered his typical succinct blessing, and she added her own silent entreaty. Lord, please help the chicken to be good.

The meal began in comfortable silence, with only the sounds of eating utensils scraping tin plates. She wanted to sample her cooking, but just a glance at the chicken brought images to mind that turned her stomach. She settled for an extra biscuit and green beans. Maybe she would sneak a slice of ham later.

Gideon didn't seem to hold the same reluctance toward the meat. He piled two large pieces on his plate and dove in with gusto. In a matter of minutes, both sections were reduced to mere bones. As he loaded another wing and both legs onto his plate, his focus lifted to Leah. When their eyes met, heat rose to her cheeks, but she didn't drop her gaze.

"Chicken's good." A twinkle glimmered in his emeralds, sending a flood of warmth through her chest.

"Thank you." She held his gaze for a moment longer, then he dropped his to the chicken and began eating again.

"So, Gid, how many cows are left to calve?" Miriam spoke up.

"Five." His response was quick and certain. He'd obviously been keeping a tally.

"Do you have any new calves right now?" News about the stock always fascinated Leah. Maybe one day she would get to see the animals.

"A couple that are a few weeks old. Both females."

"Is that good or bad?" The fact he'd called out the gender must be important.

"Good. We keep the females to grow the herd. Bull calves have to be sold off eventually."

Interesting. In a world where women were considered not as important as men, the females of the cattle species were more desired than males.

The meal finished soon after, and Leah rose to stack the dirty dishes. Miriam combined the food scraps into a plate for Drifter. She whistled as she carried the plate across the room to his usual corner, and the dog jumped up from his perch beside Gideon's chair, padding eagerly toward his dinner.

Instead of heading to finish the chores in the barn, Gideon remained seated, sipping coffee thoughtfully.

Leah kept an eye on him as she worked. This was certainly unusual behavior for him. "Can I refill your cup?"

Her question seemed to break through his trance, and he set the mug on the table. "Sure."

Leah went to the stove for the pot, his stare followed her as she hobbled. The hard boards still strapped to her leg kept her gait stiff.

She didn't use the crutch in the kitchen anymore. She could limp around in the small space without wearing out her leg too quickly. As she poured the steamy liquid into Gideon's mug, he watched the dark brew rise up the sides of the light brown pottery.

"I think it's about time to take the splint off your leg."

Her gaze flew to his face. He didn't meet her eyes, but something tugged at the pot in her hands. She looked down as Gideon took the handle from her, coffee overflowing from his mug to form a wide black circle on the wood table.

She sucked in a breath. "I'm so sorry."

He took the coffee pot while she wiped the mess with a rag from the table. Heat crawled up her neck, but she kept her attention on her work.

When she'd cleaned the spill, she reached to take the pot from him, still not quite brave enough to look at him. He didn't release it. Was he angry? Reluctantly, she raised her gaze.

It wasn't anger that darkened his face, but amusement. His dark green eyes danced and his lips pursed, rising on his left side to create the most gorgeous dimple. Her insides melted just a bit. Goodness, he was handsome.

Before she lost herself, she took a step back. She needed to say something. Her mind finally remembered the words that had brought on this little mess to begin with. She blinked, trying to clear away the fog. "You think I should remove the splint, then?"

"Yep." Gideon kept the dimple in his left cheek, as if he knew she was struggling to keep herself composed.

She released a slow breath. "All right, I'll do it tonight."

He shook his head, raising the full mug to his lips. "I need to take a look at it before we cut all the bandages, make sure the bones have joined the way they should."

The thought of his attentions sent a skitter of apprehension through her. Slowly, she nodded. He seemed to know what he was doing, and Miriam had said he was the next best thing to a doctor when it came to broken bones.

Gideon nodded as well, then set his mug on the table and rose from his chair. The matter seemed to be settled in his mind.