Library
Home / Silver Lining / CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 15

?^?

S ince Max had offered to milk Missy while he was in the barn feeding the horses, Louise returned directly to the house after gathering eggs. In the mudroom she removed Max's old winter duster, knocked the snow off, and hung it on a peg. After shaking snow off the shawl she'd tied over her hair, she blew on her cold fingers and hurried into the kitchen to fry up breakfast.

The kitchen was warm and rich with the fragrance of boiling coffee. Louise turned off the lamps, then stood before the window watching the sky brighten above whirling snowflakes tumbling lazily toward earth. Most of the flakes were enormous and reminded her of the lacy center of the doilies that Livvy and Gilly crocheted for tabletops and furniture arms.

Yesterday the thick, wet fall of snow had seemed beautiful as the first snow always was. But today she frowned as she noticed her tracks from the henhouse were rapidly filling and Max's trail to the barn had vanished. Yesterday the cattle could still find grass; today six inches of snow concealed the forage.

Today she and Max would have to feed the beeves.

She'd seen it coming and had prepared by cooking all day yesterday. Extra loaves of bread filled the bread-box. She had plenty of butter; there were boiled eggs and pickles for something quick. They might get weary of ham, but she'd baked enough to see them though several days if need be. And finally she had crowded the icebox with raisin pies and vanilla pudding.

Thick slices of ham sizzled in the skillet, the gravy was bubbling, and the biscuits ready to come out of the oven when she heard Max enter the mudroom and stamp the snow off his boots.

"Something smells good."

Snowflakes still clung to his eyelashes when he entered the kitchen, carrying the bucket of milk. Louise watched as he spooned cream out of the bucket and into his coffee cup. "Do I have time to shave before breakfast?"

"The biscuits are ready now." She didn't like beards because they hid too much of a man's face. And a mustache caught food and concealed the shape of the upper lip. She preferred a man to be clean-shaven so she could see who she was talking to and dealing with. But there was something ruggedly appealing about Max before he stropped up his razor and shaved. She wouldn't have believed that a time would come when she found herself mooning over a man's morning whiskers. She didn't like to admit it, even to herself.

"Damn."

"What's wrong?" Max asked, wiping snow off his face with her dish towel. "Do you regret volunteering to hay the cattle? I wouldn't blame you if you did."

She hadn't realized she'd spoken aloud. "I was just thinking what a foolish woman I am. But not because I volunteered to be a ranch hand. Sit down so I can dish this up."

"You're a lot of things, darlin', but not foolish. Aside from Ma, you're the least foolish woman I've ever met."

The bones melted in her hand, the pan tipped, and biscuits rolled across the plank floor.

Son of a bitch. He'd called her darlin'. The word just rolled off his tongue as easy as pie, like it had been waiting there for just this moment.

"Did you burn yourself?" He jumped up from the table and took the pan out of her hand, dropping it into the sink.

"The biscuits are ruined." It had to be a mistake. He hadn't meant to call her darlin'. Or he didn't mean it as an endearment, it was only an expression. Very likely he addressed a lot of folks as darlin' and wasn't aware that he did. And she hadn't noticed until now.

"A little grit won't hurt." Leaving her rooted to the floor, Max bent to pick up the biscuits, putting them in a bowl. He turned his head sideways. "You're wearing a pair of my trousers under that apron."

"Well, you didn't think I was going out there to feed cows wearing a skirt, did you?" For no reason at all she was suddenly angry enough to bash him over the head with the skillet. Gripping the handle, she stared down at him, wanting to smack him one.

What was this darlin' business, anyway? She did not want to moon around over his unshaved whiskers, and she did not want him calling her darlin'. No sir. When it was time to walk away from here, she wanted to do it without a pang. Without regret, without a single backward glance. And without hearing the wind whistle through a hole in her heart.

Releasing the skillet, she slammed the oven door, then forked up ham slices and slapped them on the plates. Grits slopped over the pan when she ladled out a couple of scoops and smothered the grits and ham beneath a river of red-eye gravy. Not a single egg yoke survived an assault with the spatula.

"Louise?" Max leaned back when she banged his plate down in front of him. "What happened here?

Why do you suddenly have a burr in your blanket?"

"Just eat your breakfast. And don't go calling me darlin' anymore. I mean it."

He blinked. "I called you darling?"

"Damned straight you did, and I don't like it!"

He sat down and snapped a napkin across his lap. "Exactly when did this terrible offense occur? Last night?"

A rush of color heated her cheeks. The last two nights had been, well, spectacular. She wasn't sure how she felt about that, either. It troubled her that she'd done a complete about-face and was starting to enjoy poking so much. And kissing. Kissing was more thrilling than she had ever dreamed it could be.

"Not last night. You said it just now." She'd been right, he didn't even know he'd called her darlin'. On the one hand, that lessened the offense. On the other hand, that he didn't even know he'd said something nice was pretty insulting.

"Now, I'm not saying you're wrong to be angry and offended. But it seems to me there are a lot worse things one person could call another person than darlin'."

When she looked up, his eyes were sparkling and his lips twitched at the corners.

"In fact, if you wanted to call me darlin', I think I could stand it. I imagine I'd shudder the first time, maybe take offense. Then I think I'd settle down and decide that darlin' was a lot nicer than, oh, something like 'you bastard.'"

She narrowed her eyes and stared at him suspiciously. "You're joshing me, right?"

His eyes twinkled and danced above those twitching lips. "Now would I tease an angry woman?"

Good Lord. That's exactly what he was doing. Louise leaned back in her chair. She didn't think anyone had ever teased her before.

"Darlin'," he said, drawing out the word, "finish your breakfast. Time's wasting. We need to get out there in the storm and find out if we've made a mistake or if we're going to be able to feed those beeves all winter."

"Of course we are," she snapped, staring at him. Her mind had turned mushy. She didn't know if she was still pissy that he'd called her darlin', or if she was flattered and pleased that he'd teased her. Well, damn. Here she went, mooning around again. "How are we going to do it?"

"Have you pitched hay before?"

"I've seen it done. You want more coffee?"

"Watching it and doing it are two different things. Yes, thank you, I'd like more coffee."

"Well, get it yourself and I'd like some, too." The way she was mooning around and falling into wifely service was enough to gag a cat. Most of the time she didn't even notice the bad habits she was developing. If she didn't nip this in the bud, pretty soon she'd be polishing his boots and saddles. "How much hay pitching are we going to be doing?"

He blinked and ran his fingers over the pox marks on his chin, then he got up and poured them both more coffee. "We have to fork the hay out of the stack and onto the sled. Then you drive the team and I'll pitch hay off the back. When the first load is distributed, we'll drive back to the haystack and load up again. We'll know more after this morning, but I figure we'll need at least five or six loads."

Louise smiled and relaxed in her chair. "That doesn't sound too hard."

*

She was dead wrong.

By the time she finished washing the breakfast dishes, bundled up, and trudged out behind the barn, Max had hitched the team and was already pitching hay onto the flat bed of the sled. Like her, he wore a bandanna tied over his hat and knotted under his chin to hold his hat in place. But he'd thrown off his duster. After a few minutes Louise threw off her duster, too. Pitching hay was hard labor, and within minutes she'd worked up a sweat. Long before the sled was loaded she thought her arms were going to fall off her body. Only pride and willpower kept her wielding the pitchfork.

Once the sled was mounded, they stopped to wipe their foreheads and catch their breath. In less than a minute, Louise felt the cold seep through her shirt and trousers and settle in her sweat-damp long johns.

In silence they brushed snow off their shoulders and shrugged on their dusters, then Louise took the reins and Max vaulted onto the back of the sled. Squinting, trying to peer through the thickening snow, she drove the sled out onto the range behind the barn and sheds. She drove slowly so Max could fork hay without falling off.

What surprised her was how scattered the cattle were. She had assumed they would bunch up against the weather. Instead, there were a few beeves here and a few beeves there. None of them were smart enough to walk up to the haystacks and pull off a bite. No, someone like her had to take their meal to them. And they weren't all that easy to spot as snow blanketed their backs and ice rimmed their nostrils.

They were easy to mistake for bushes until they shifted weight.

On their second trip out to the range, they stopped at the stock ponds so Max could knock ice away from the edges and keep the access clear. Louise waited with the team, willing her arms to stop twitching and pretending she wasn't cold to the bone.

After a third bout of pitching hay onto the sled, her long johns were soaked and so was her shirt. Her shoulders and back ached like she'd taken a beating. This time when she gripped the reins and led the team into the storm, the cold found a way inside the duster and formed a thin layer of ice on her wet shirt.

Her teeth chattered during the fifth and sixth drives out to the range, and each time it took longer to load the sled. Louise heard cussing from the back, but she didn't turn around. She muttered a few curses herself.

She didn't know why Max worried about the herd being small this year. It seemed to her there were millions of cows out here in the snow, all hungry and unable to feed themselves, and all of them too dumb to stay close to the barn where a person might hope to easily locate their butts.

When they finally finished, the morning was gone and it was nearly noon . She helped Max unhitch the team then left him to rub down the horses. Lowering her head against the falling snow, she returned to the house and carried in enough wood to fill the stove's firebox.

When Max came in the door and fell onto a kitchen chair with a low sound, she stood stripped down to her long johns, hunched over the warmth of the stove examining the blisters bubbling up on her palms.

"Well, you know what they say. It's not work that kills, but worry." She stared at the blisters. "I was getting soft."

"Who says that?"

"Whoever makes up proverbs. There's always a proverb to make a person feel better about whatever."

"I don't know who I'm madder at. Howard Houser or Shorty Smith." He closed his eyes and stretched his neck against his hand. "Don't go to any trouble over dinner. I'm too tired to eat. Let's just have whatever's left over from breakfast."

"If you can find the energy to slice the ham and bread, I'll stir up some fresh gravy. Lord a'mighty, I'm glad we're finished with that!"

"Darlin', you do know that we have to feed them again before it gets dark."

She groaned, and the string of cuss words that spun out of her mouth would have done a mule skinner proud. But Max was too tired to object to her cussing and she was too tuckered out to object to his calling her darlin'.

After they finished eating in their long johns, they sat in silence, hands cradled around their coffee cups, sober faces turned to the snowy window.

It was going to be a long, hard winter.

*

On sunny days, Louise asked in a hopeful voice whether they still had to feed the cattle, as if Max might announce that beeves didn't get hungry when the sun shone. Like it or not, the snow pack was here to stay until the spring melt, and that meant the cattle couldn't graze, and that meant he and Louise had to feed them. Twice a day. Every day.

Blurred by exhaustion, the days blended into weeks and the sole purpose of life became feeding.

Feeding the horses, the chickens, the cattle, themselves. There wasn't time or energy for much of anything else. He and Louise rolled out of bed and were dressed before dawn; they dropped back in bed shortly after a hurried supper, so fatigued they didn't often try to read but fell asleep within minutes.

Each of them performed only the most necessary chores. The barn didn't get mucked out daily as it had when Shorty was foreman. The only fence lines Max rode were those nearest the house and barn. He chopped enough wood to keep the firebox blazing but couldn't find time to stack logs or chop kindling for tomorrow.

Louise kept them fed and washed what clothing they needed on a piecemeal basis. Housework fell by the wayside except for one item. Every day when she returned from driving the sled, she polished her silver spoon.

On the positive side, Livvy understood they had no spare time for family dinners. For that, Max was grateful and imagined everyone else was, too. But he did make a point of riding up to the main house once a week to check on his mother and make sure her foreman and hands were taking care of business.

Ordinarily Wally would have kept an eye on things, but Wally was riding into town every day to his job at Howard Houser's bank.

Twice Max had seen Philadelphia , but they hadn't spoken. Both times she'd been sitting in the parlor, hands folded in her lap, facing the foyer when he walked in the door. And each time they had stared at each other and he had remembered her running into his arms when he returned from Piney Creek.

Today when he stepped into the foyer and glanced toward the parlor, she wasn't there. Relief or disappointment, he couldn't be sure which, tightened his jaw as he hung up his coat and hat, then went through the house to the kitchen where Livvy waited with coffee and biscuits.

"Eat something," she ordered, sitting at the kitchen table across from him. "I know you miss your dinner when you come over here."

"Just coffee. I had a bite with your hands down at the bunkhouse." Every time he came to the main house, he caught himself listening for footsteps overhead. And sniffing the air for traces of rose petals.

"This situation is never going to seem natural if Philadelphia runs and hides every time I ride down your road. Tell her that she can continue cooking or ironing or sewing or whatever she's doing to help you."

Livvy folded her arms on the table and gave him a long unreadable stare. " Philadelphia 's in town visiting her father," she said finally. "That's good, because you and I have some things to talk about."

He knew that tone of voice. "Am I going to wish I was holding a shot glass instead of a coffee cup?"

"I've talked to Wally. I wasn't sure if I should mention this to you. I'm still not sure if it's the right thing to do."

"The right thing is to tell me what's troubling you. This family has never had secrets."

Livvy moved her coffee cup in circles on the table, then looked up at him. "I think there's something amiss with Philadelphia 's pregnancy. I don't think she'll carry to term."

Max released a breath. "Why do you say that?"

"She's five and a half months along, but no one would know it to look at her. She said she was picking up some waiting clothes today at Mrs. Dame's, but she really doesn't need them. Something's wrong, Max. This baby isn't developing like it should."

He knew as much about pregnancy as most men, which was to say he knew next to nothing. He spread his hands. "You're saying she should be larger?"

His mother shoved a lock of hair off her forehead with an exasperated motion. " Philadelphia insists she's gained considerable weight and seems astonished that I don't see her belly. She believes she's enormous and has lost her figure, but I sure don't see it. I've almost begged her to consult Doc Pope, but she won't.

So far no one in Fort Houser knows of her pregnancy, and she doesn't want them to. I believe Doc Pope would be discreet, but if she doesn't agree, then I think she should consult a doctor in Denver . But she refuses."

"Do you want me to speak to her?"

"Good Lord, no! Stay out of this, Max. I'm telling you only because it's your baby and you have the right to know there may be something wrong. If anyone tries to talk some sense to her, it should be her husband. Wally's doing what he can, but she's headstrong and so far he hasn't been successful."

Wally, not him. Lowering his head, he rubbed his knuckles across his forehead. "Is her life or health in danger?" He would never forgive himself if something terrible happened to Philadelphia because of him.

"That's what's so frustrating! I don't know. She needs a doctor to check her. She looks healthy, you know that, but something is definitely not right."

Max stood and moved to stare out the kitchen window. Knots rippled along his jawline like beads on a string. Every instinct urged him to ride into town right now, find her, and take her to Doc Pope's. She would listen to him.

"No, Max. I know what you're thinking, but you don't have the right to interfere," Livvy said softly. A sigh lifted her shoulders. "Either Wally will convince her to see a doctor, or he won't. In either case, I think she's healthy and she'll come through with no lasting ill effects." After a long pause, she stood and checked on something in the oven. "Maybe I shouldn't have mentioned this."

"No, you did the right thing."

"It just makes a hard situation harder." She returned to the table and sat down. "Which brings me to the next thing. I guess you already know that Wally spoke to Howard, but Howard brushed him aside. There isn't a cowboy in the region who will sign on with you if he wants to spend his wages. But a lot of people are watching what's going on out at your place."

Then it wasn't his imagination that the traffic had increased on dry, clear days. "Why would anyone care?"

"About half the town believed Louise seduced you into jilting Philadelphia and Philadelphia ran off with Wally out of spite. When word got out that you might lose your cattle, folks pretty much figured you and Louise got your just desserts. That attitude is changing. Those who have seen Louise when she goes in to buy provisions don't see a woman who looks like a temptress. They see a polite, no-nonsense woman who couldn't be flirtatious if you gave her lessons. And when a few folks rode past your place to gloat, they saw you and your wife working like dogs to keep your cattle alive. People are talking. Eventually, Howard will be forced to back off his position."

"It won't happen before spring."

"Probably not," Livvy agreed. "But it will happen. In the meantime, Wally has told Howard that he and Dave intend to help you on Sundays so Louise can have a day free from men's work. Howard objected, but Wally backed him down by saying you're his brother and that's how it's going to be. Gilly and I will come, too, and help Louise cook ahead so it'll be easier during the week. Wash and mend and clean.

Whatever needs doing." She didn't mention Philadelphia .

Max rocked back on his boot heels and pushed a hand in his pocket, catching the green marble between his fingers.

"Wally is living my life," he said softly, keeping his gaze on the snowy ground outside the window.

"And he's thriving," Livvy agreed in a crisp voice. "Wally has found his calling, and it's banking. When he puts on that starched white collar every morning, he sees a circle of power, prestige, and influence. What would you have seen, Max? I don't think it would have taken long for you to start looking at that starched collar as a noose. Or a leash."

"Who knows?"

"In your heart I think you do. It wasn't a banker who built that house five miles outside of town."

Stubbornly, he set his jaw and said nothing.

"As long as we're speaking frankly, there's something I want to say to you." She drew a breath. "I wasn't happy when you brought home a wife named Low Down who'd been willing to bear a child out of wedlock and wasn't particular who the father was."

Max continued to stare out the window and roll the marble against his palm. The person his mother described sounded like a stranger. It was hard to reconcile the woman he had believed he'd married with the woman who worked beside him every frigid morning, pitching hay.

"I'll tell you something that I've thought a lot about," Livvy said. "I don't know three women who would have stayed through a smallpox epidemic no matter how desperately the victims needed her. And I don't know three women who would work as hard as Louise is doing no matter if it's sunny out there or a blizzard is raging. Without her, Max, you'd lose those cattle."

He nodded, his eyebrows clamping in a frown.

"I've always known what you were thinking. You're squeezing that marble in your pocket and you're thinking your cattle wouldn't be at risk if it weren't for Louise. And maybe you're right. But take a hard look, son. When you see that woman working up a sweat pitching hay like a hired hand … you're looking at character.

"And if we ever have another family dinner that goes like the last one did, you pay attention. I have an idea that your Louise doesn't sit still for too many insults, and I imagine she could cut someone down to size in about three sentences if she wanted to. But she sat silent while Philadelphia ridiculed and belittled her. Louise did this out of respect for you and this family. That is also character .

"Maybe you really believe Wally is living your life. If so, then you haven't been honest with yourself. And you haven't taken a good hard look at the life you have. Mark my words, Max. Someday you're going to hold that marble, and it won't be a symbol of all you lost. That marble will be the gold you went to Piney Creek to find. It will be the most precious thing you own. I say this because I didn't raise any stupid sons."

"Maybe you did," he said finally.

He knew what his mother was advising, but it would never happen. He might forget for a while that Philadelphia would bear his child and another man would raise it. But the knowledge was always there, weighing down the back of his mind, ready to raise up and strike him with guilt and remorse every time he touched Louise or appreciated her or enjoyed her company.

*

"I'm bored and I'm perishing of loneliness! I wantto move back home. Livvy doesn't fold my handkerchiefs like Pansy does, and she makes me feel guilty and inadequate in the bargain."

Her father leaned back in his chair and watched her pace in front of his desk. "The decision that you and Wally should live at the McCord ranch was made for excellent reasons that have not changed."

"There is absolutely nothing to do out there! How many pillowcases can a person embroider? How many stupid books can I read? If we moved to town, I'd have callers. But no one is going to drive clear out there." She glared at him, then resumed pacing.

"It isn't the distance, my dear. Perhaps you've forgotten, but you're in the center of a scandal that is going to worsen when you start—" He waved a hand at her stomach.

"You could make people call on me, you know you could. Whatever threats you used to drive off Max's cowboys, you could use to make people receive me!"

"I learned something a long time ago, Philadelphia . Society is the province of women. They guard their realm zealously and brook no interference. The surest way to ruin my bank is to pressure the clientele to force their wives and daughters into making social choices to please me. Those wives and daughters will make my clients' life hell on earth until they move their accounts to a bank in Denver that will not dictate their women's guest list. While we're on this subject, you are not the only person feeling the effects of the scandal. The bank has lost a few accounts over this. Not many, but there will be more once your pregnancy is known."

She stamped her foot to point out that he was digressing. And she let tears well and swim in her eyes.

"You don't know what I have to endure out there! I overheard Mrs. McCord and her insipid daughter talking about me. They think I'm coddled and spoiled. And that's not all. As shocking and unbelievable as it sounds, I sometimes think they prefer the company of that debauched creature who stole Max!" She stared at him. "Well? Do you really want me to live with people like that?"

He came around the desk, patted her back, and said, "There, there." Such mild comfort infuriated her.

"I don't want to hear 'There, there.' I want you to fix this! I want you to get me away from the ranch!"

"Nothing can be done until after the baby is born. Then we'll talk about the future." He set her back from him and lifted her chin. "Now dry your eyes. Your husband is waiting to take you to luncheon."

She found one of Livvy's poorly folded handkerchiefs in her beaded fringed bag and dabbed her lashes.

It had been her suggestion to have her noon dinner with Wally at the hotel. She'd harbored some nebulous idea about letting everyone see her hold her head high. She'd hoped to encounter a few previous friends and shame them for deserting her in her time of trouble.

"Wally is doing very well, by the way. Exceptionally well. Your husband is a natural-born banker. He's taken to it faster than I could ever have imagined. In fact, in many ways he reminds me of myself at that age."

Philadelphia looked up, and her mouth dropped. She had never dreamed that Wally would actually succeed. Therefore, hearing the praise and pride in her father's voice confused her. Certainly she was pleased that Wally's performance exceeded anyone's expectations. But she suddenly experienced an unpleasant vision of a future wherein her father discussed business with Wally and ignored her.

Absently patting her hand, he led her to his office door. "From my point of view, you married the right man. This one is a banker, by God!"

She stared at him in horror. Wally was not the right man for her. Max was and always would be.

Comments

0 Comments
Best Newest

Contents
Settings
  • T
  • T
  • T
  • T
Font

Welcome to FullEpub

Create or log into your account to access terrific novels and protect your data

Don’t Have an account?
Click above to create an account.

lf you continue, you are agreeing to the
Terms Of Use and Privacy Policy.