The Brides of Chance Collection Part 4

That bed now filled a fair part of the floor s.p.a.ce in Daniel's cabin. If Miriam were feeling any better, she ought to sleep in the cabin with the girls and have Daniel share the main house with his brothers. That wouldn't be wise tonight. She wasn't feeling up to tending the girls if they woke, and asking Daniel to give up his home and let Miriam sleep in Hannah's bed would likely set off his temper. No, tonight Miriam would have to sleep where she'd spent the previous night.

Gideon slowly rose and planned to carry her in, but she gained her feet and wrapped her arms about herself. He wondered whether she did it because she was cold or whether it was a subconscious way of comforting herself or guarding against the oppressive grief. Either way, he drew her into the lee of his body.

She fit there all too easily and molded her frame to his, making him aware again how fragile and soft women were. Somehow it felt good and right to have her in his arms, but just as quickly as that notion sneaked through his mind, he rejected it.

Bad enough they'd buried Mama and Hannah beneath the majestic pines over to the east of the house. Miriam was every bit as small as her sister had been. Two graves seemed like more than one ranch's fair share for such a short span of time. Sure as shooting, if Miriam stayed more than just a few days, she'd end up raising the count to three. This was no land for a delicate woman. Gideon resolved to hustle her out of here right quick.

"I'm sasorry."

Her apology jarred him out of his grim decision making. "No, sweet pea. You've no call to beg my pardon," he said quietly. He hoped if he kept his tone low, he'd spare her a bit of throbbing in her head. "You have a tender heart is all." That, and a body that's as vulnerable as your spirit. "Let's tuck you in for the night."

He shortened his stride and led her back to the house. Only Paul was inside. He sat by the hearth, sharpening knives on a whetstone. He looked up, and his lips thinned as he took in Miriam's red eyes and nose. Gideon shook his head in a silent warning. Miriam didn't need anyone commenting on the obvious.

She eased away from his side and went to the washstand. For an instant, Gideon worried the pitcher would be empty as usual; but she lifted it, and fresh water trickled into the chipped porcelain basin. Of course. Of course Miss Miriam would have refilled it.

An odd impression struck him. She wasn't prissy about being tidy the way Hannah had been. The corners of Hannah's mouth seemed perpetually tightened, as if she disapproved of just about everything. Oh, she'd pitched in and done all the women's work. She'd been as sweet as honey to Daniel, too. No one would ever fault her on how loving she'd been to little Polly.

More than anything, Gideon came away with the feeling his brother's wife felt a tad put out with the fact of having more than just her own man to care for. He wasn't the only one who sensed her resentment, either. His brothers all yielded to Hannah's picky little preferences and allowed her some of her weepy days. After all, she'd been in a delicate condition nearly two of the three years she'd lived with them.

Then, too, a woman had a right to want a nest of her own. When Daniel appeared out of the blue with a wife, the brothers jumped in and built the cottage straightaway. Though Hannah and Daniel slept there, the fireplace was only sufficient for heat. During the winter, Hannah needed to do the laundry here in the big house, and she'd done the cooking here year-round. Mama always said cooking for two or ten didn't make much difference, but Gideon suspected Hannah would have disagreed.

So far, Miss Miriam didn't seem to mind stepping in front of a stove. Then again, it wasn't a permanent arrangement. She'd only be here a few brief days, so making fancy meals with all the fixings probably suited her. After being stuck on the sailing s.h.i.+p, having the freedom to decide what to eat might well be a treat to her.

Nonetheless, the first thing she'd done was set to sprucing up the place that first night. In his experience, when grief struck, folks did one of two things: They either took to their beds or lost themselves in their usual tasks. Resorting to habits and tasks helped them numb some of the impact of the sorrow. For her to have put her hand to such labor hinted that she was in the habit of keeping a tidy home. Orderliness seemed to be something that came deep from within-not the result of a rule she followed for the sake of being virtuous.

Watching her wash up felt wrong, so he turned away. When the soft splas.h.i.+ng stopped, Gideon saw the frown on Paul's face and turned to see the cause. Miriam had folded her handkerchief, dampened it, and pressed the compress to her forehead as she braced herself against the washstand with the other hand. Her chin rested on her chest as if her head had grown too heavy to hold up.

Gideon closed the distance between them in a heartbeat. "Miss Miriam?"

She turned toward him, and he slipped his arms around her. Poor little gal had run out of steam. Even then, she didn't slump against him. Her hanky got his s.h.i.+rt damp as she whispered, "I know it's early yet, but would you mind too awfully much if I lie down?"

"It would bother me if you didn't." He stooped a bit, hooked an arm behind her knees, and lifted. Once he carried her behind the blanket-curtain in the back room, he set Miriam down and nudged her to sit on his bed. Taking pains to keep his voice low, he ordered, "You go on and get ready for bed. I'll see if I can rustle up some willow bark for your headache."

"That's very kind of you to offer," she half-whispered. "Truly, I believe sleep is all I need."

Later he went to peek in on her. She'd huddled into a ball and fallen asleep-but that knowledge brought him no relief, because the pillow and her cheeks were wet with more tears.

Being a man of the cloth, her father would have known the right things to say. Miriam needed flowery words of eternal peace and a.s.surance. Gideon knew none of them. At the ripe old age of twenty-six, he reckoned he was far too old to learn them now.

In the morning, he'd check on how she felt and make plans to send her back home. To be sure, she'd need two, maybe even three days before he put her aboard a s.h.i.+p. It would let her come to grips with the fact that Hannah had pa.s.sed on to the hereafter and also give Miriam a chance to play a bit with Polly and Ginny Mae. That way, she'd go back home with a few sweet memories to soften the blow.

He'd ask to see her ticket and make inquiries as to when that company had the next s.h.i.+p slated for departure. The ranch needed supplies. He'd take her back to the docks, and as soon as her s.h.i.+p set sail, he'd fill up the buckboard and bring back essentials. That way, he'd only miss one day's work instead of two.

Gideon came back out and took out a sheet of paper. He whittled the nib of his pen and set the inkwell on the clean tabletop. It was nice, sitting down to a clear writing surface. Fact was, the usual chaotic mess around the place didn't much register, let alone bother him, when it was there; but now that it was all cleared away, the uncluttered room felt...well, it felt different. Better. Homey. He shook his head. That doesn't matter. Just make the list and go bed down in the barn.

The next morning, Miriam had already gotten up and set coffee to perk on the stove before he even reached the house. The aroma wafting from the oven promised something delicious for breakfast, and she cracked eggs into a bowl with the efficient moves of a woman accustomed to cooking. She wore a plain slate blue day gown, and a white ap.r.o.n covered most of the front of it. Not a ruffle, speck of embroidery, or ribbon adorned either garment.

"Good morning," she greeted him in a subdued tone.

Gideon looked at her keenly. Was she whispering because her head hurt, or was she trying to stay quiet so his brothers could s.n.a.t.c.h a few last minutes of shut-eye? Either way, she wasn't supposed to have shown her face yet. "You're still supposed to be in bed."

She simply c.o.c.ked her brow askance.

"How does your head feel?"

"Not as bad today." She set aside the eggs and ladled a little hot water from the stove's reservoir into a bowl. Soon the yeasty smell of bread dough mingled with the other aromas. Gideon felt awkward drinking coffee when she already had set herself to doing ch.o.r.es; still, it wasn't right to rob his brothers of the last bit of their sleep just because Miriam Hanc.o.c.k gave a rooster compet.i.tion, racing for sunrise. He sat at the table and frowned. Someone had added several things to the bottom of his shopping list. Neatly penned as the letters were, he knew Miriam had taken it upon herself to get involved.

He squinted, then moved the paper a bit so he could read it more easily. Tea, rolled oats, confectioners' sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, oregano, paprika, curry, cloves, paraffin, pectin, four cards of s.h.i.+rt b.u.t.tons, fabric-one half bolt white medium-weight cotton, one quarter bolt each of blue, brown heavyweight serge, and tan wool.

"What's this?"

"It's a start. I'll add as I take stock of your supplies today. I can do without the curry and cloves if money is tight."

"You won't have time, Miriam."

"Time for what?" She sprinkled flour onto the far end of the table, dumped the bread onto the spot, and kneaded it with negligent ease. Dusted with flour, her hands still looked incapable of managing any but the simplest and lightest of tasks.

He cleared his throat and looked for a way to say what seemed almost cruel. "Hannah doesn't need your help anymore, Miriam. Your reason for coming no longer exists."

The heel of her hand sank into the dough and stretched it, then she pinched off a third of the big, fragrant white blob. A few deft flips of her hand shaped a portion of it into a loaf. She made the second loaf and started to form the remaining dough into a third when she said, "If anything, the reasons I came are more pressing now than when Hannah first penned them."

"You can't stay."

Chapter 7.

Miriam blinked at him and thought she'd misheard. The state of affairs in this household was so appalling, the very idea of this man shoving away her help didn't make a speck of sense. Then she reasoned out what he was saying. "Of course I can't stay in the back bedchamber and occupy your bed," she agreed crisply. She hoped her cheeks didn't go pink at the fact that she'd already ousted him from his bed for two nights. "We'll have to come up with an alternative arrangement at once."

"The arrangement," he replied, glowering over the rim of his coffee mug, "is for you to romp with the girls for another day or so, then go back home."

She set her hands on her hips, not caring that she'd leave flour prints on her ap.r.o.n and dress. Flour would brush off easily enough, but she...she would not be brushed out of this home as if she were a bothersome gnat. Gideon Chance had best understand here and now that she'd not back away from duty. She locked gazes with him. "I'm not going to sail back to the islands."

"Listen, lady, I don't know what whim brought you here, but it's nothing more than that: a whim, and a plum crazy one at that."

Her jaw hardened, and she did her best to keep a civil tone as she informed him, "My sister's needs for a.s.sistance const.i.tuted a clear need, sir."

"Hannah must've written on a day she was just a tad blue. A woman in her, um..." He glanced down at the tabletop and mumbled, "Carrying months is ent.i.tled to a melancholy day or two."

Miriam, too, looked down and fiddled with the second loaf. Its shape was a bit off, so she evened it out as she struggled to reply. "Had only one letter been melancholy, we'd have understood; but Hannah was always a cheery soul, and though she mentioned kind things, in all but the first two letters, she couldn't hide her loneliness or the fact that help was necessary."

He folded his arms on the tabletop and leaned forward. His tone went hot. "Well get this, and get it good, Miss Miriam: We live on a ranch. It's not fancy, and we're not rich. We can't afford servants, and every last one of us sweats hard for what we have. Your sister made Daniel a happy man, and he did right by her each and every day. This is a harsh land. If it was too brutal for your sister, it's going to be just as miserable for you. You'd best go now."

"No."

His jaw jutted forward, and his eyes lit with temper. "Women don't belong here."

"Fancy that. In case you haven't reasoned it through yet, my nieces will become women."

"By then, things'll change."

Miriam barely leashed her anger. She punched the bread dough and turned her back just long enough to grab the loaf pans. She'd already greased them, so she dumped a loaf into each one and silently recited the books of the Bible to help her keep her temper. She set the loaf pans beside the stove, emphatically shook out a dishcloth to rest over them, and finally turned back toward Gideon. "I'll stay. I'll help things change."

"Now hang on here."

"That is precisely what I intend to do," she cut in with an icy smile.

"It's not fitting-"

"Oh, I agree. It's not fitting for my nieces to be reared in a pigsty. They've not been taught to say grace, their hair is uncombed, and they'll certainly learn no table manners if left to your brothers' care."

"Now you just hold it right there!"

Miriam stared at him. "Your younger brothers were imbibing devil's brew within the tainted walls of a house of ill repute when I arrived. Don't for one minute expect me to entrust the impressionable hearts and souls of my sister's daughters to men who have no morals or manners. I won't. I can't."

"No one asked your opinion."

"Mr. Chance, I'm afraid you simply don't understand." She looked at him and shook her head. "Girls need tutelage and tenderness. They need social graces and spiritual guidance."

"Every last one of us can read and cipher just fine. Those girls won't lack book learning. As for tenderness, every last one of us loves both of them to distraction, so you needn't fret over that."

"But their manners and morals?"

The muscles in his cheek started to twitch. "Lady, you've got a heap of gall, barging in here and judging us."

"I didn't barge. I was invited."

"Yeah, but Hannah did the inviting, and she isn't-" His voice came to an abrupt halt.

Miriam sucked in a sharp breath and let it out very slowly. "Here anymore," she finished. Her voice carried a taste of the woe she felt. She paused for a moment, then said, "And that is precisely why I must stay. In honor of her memory and as a tribute to the very principles she held inviolate, it falls upon me to make sure her daughters are reared in an appropriate and decent manner."

"You can't stay."

"You've already said as much, but I'm afraid you'll simply have to reconsider."

"Daniel-"

"Is grieving. I understand that. I've already promised not to wear any of my sister's clothing."

"It's not just the clothing."

She nodded. "I know Hannah and I look-" She caught herself, gulped a big breath, then forged ahead. "Looked quite similar. Seeing me must have been a terrible shock for him. I'll wear my hair differently, and that should help."

"Only a woman would come up with a silly plan like that." He waved his hand in a gesture of disgust. "Applying that boneheaded logic, as if slapping a different saddle on my mare would make her-"

"You're not," she interrupted, "comparing me to a horse, are you, Mr. Chance?"

"Now don't go pitching a hissy fit."

"I'm not given to having fits, sir. You're addressing that comment to the wrong person. Daniel is the one who has let his emotions sway behavior beyond reason. Nevertheless, I understand grief is to blame, and I'll manage to deal with it. By and by, he'll become accustomed to my presence."

Gideon cast a quick glance at the closed bedroom door. Miriam understood why. The last thing either of them wanted was for this to turn into a shouting match. His brothers didn't need to overhear this conversation at all. His voice lowered to a growl. "This is his home. You make him...uncomfortable."

Miriam stopped and looked at him. For a moment, their gazes held. "Mr. Gideon Chance, this isn't about what makes your brother comfortable. We're all bound to be uncomfortable for some time. I'm scarcely accustomed to any of this myself, but this is not about adults' feelings-it is about children's needs."

"Polly and Ginny Mae have all they need!"

She shook her head sadly. "I'm afraid that simply proves my point. They are warm and fed, but the same can be said of your horses and hounds. Why, when I took the laundry down from the line last evening, Polly claimed the smallest man's s.h.i.+rts as her own dresses!"

Gideon's neck and ears went ruddy.

"At first, I could scarcely credit it, but then I took stock of the clothing, and I realized my niece was wearing the only dress she owns! Pardon me if I'm drawing the wrong conclusion, but as far as I can tell, you men let that little girl run about in a man's s.h.i.+rt. How could you allow such a travesty?"

"Travesty? It's no travesty. Bryce and Logan outgrew those s.h.i.+rts. It's shameful to waste."

"Shameful! Why, you cannot mean-"

"They serve Polly just fine." He glowered at her. "Besides, who's going to see her but us, anyhow?"

His a.s.sertions left her spluttering. The matter was far from closed in her opinion. He wasn't about to have her dictate his family's ways; she refused to leave her sweet little nieces alone with a band of barely civilized men. He folded his arms akimbo.

"Best you forget these opinions and wild notions about staying, Miss Miriam. For the next few days, you'd do well to rest. You're looking peaked, and that won't make for a very good voyage."

"Voyage?"

"Home," he a.s.serted. His head nodded, as if to paint an exclamation mark in the air to punctuate his feelings. "We'll just trade in your return ticket for an earlier departure."

"What return ticket?"

Chapter 8.

What return ticket?" Gideon echoed for the dozenth time as he went out to work with the horses. He smacked his gloves against the fence post and tamped down the urge to bellow in outrage. He wanted to shake the teeth right out of Miriam's pretty head. How could she have come halfway around the world and planned to stay? Her father must be daft, sending her to Hannah. Hannah was only a tad bit older, so expecting her to s.h.i.+eld Miriam from the real world and shelter her from harm was utter nonsense. In essence, they expected Daniel to shoulder that burden-but Daniel was in no shape to do so, and Gideon wasn't at all eager to fill those shoes.

"How much does a trip to the islands cost?" he wondered aloud. He moaned. Money was tight. Real tight. They had enough for provisions but not enough for frills. He yanked on his right glove. Faced with being strapped for another year or getting saddled with a prissy missionary's daughter, he'd go for the lesser of the two evils. Miriam would have to go-and soon.