Blowing on Dandelions (3 page)

As much as it pained her to make excuses for Mama, Katherine couldn’t permit her daughters to find fault with their grandmother. Better that she set aside her own feelings and teach Amanda and Lucy respect for their elders. “We have to make allowances.” She got up and patted Lucy’s shoulder.

Lucy shrugged. “I suppose, but I hope she doesn’t stay long, or I might just run away.” She flounced down the hall and stomped up the stairs.

Chapter Three

Jeffery Tucker approached the door of the boardinghouse and glanced over his shoulder. Should he walk in or knock? Caution won out, and he rapped against the doorframe. When no one answered, he opened the door and stepped inside the long, narrow foyer that ran the full width of the three-story home. A desk built into a corner stood empty, and no voices echoed from the rooms beyond. Plucking the metal bell off the polished counter of the desk, he rang the thing, wondering how long it would take someone to arrive.

Removing his pocket watch from his vest, he noted the time. He’d had more than his share of waiting from folks who put little stock in courtesy and good manners.

Footsteps tapped down the hall, and the door to the foyer swung open. A slender woman with dark blond hair walked in. “Good day, sir. May I help you?”

He removed his hat and bowed. “Yes, ma’am. My name is Jeffery Tucker. The proprietor at the general store assured me your establishment serves fine meals, has clean linens, and is quite reputable. I’d like to inquire after a room, if I may.”

She stepped behind the desk. “I’m Katherine Galloway. I’m pleased Mr. Snider gave us such a high recommendation, and I hope we’ll live up to your expectations. How long were you planning on staying, Mr. Tucker?”

“That’s yet to be determined, but at least a month, possibly longer. I’m not sure how long my business will keep me in town.” He swept a gaze around the foyer and through the open doorway. “Is that acceptable?”

“We have four rooms available on the second floor, each with a single bed, dresser, small desk, washstand, and window, or a larger room with a full-size bed on the first floor. We also have two small rooms on the third floor, but it tends to get warm in the summer.”

He twisted his hat in his hands. As much as he’d prefer a cooler space, he’d wager the larger ones would cost more. “I assume a smaller room might be the least expensive? If so, I’ll take it.”

“That’s correct.” She placed a book and pencil where he could reach it. “Would you sign the register?”

“Certainly. Might I ask if your husband will be home in the evening, or if you have other male boarders, Mrs. Galloway?”

The woman shook her head. “I’m a widow, Mr. Tucker, and right now it’s my two children, my mother—when she arrives––and myself who live here full time.” She accepted the pencil he held out and slid the book back into its slot. “By the way, breakfast and supper come with the room.” She motioned toward the staircase. “Would you care to see where you’ll be staying?”

“Thank you, I would.”

He followed her up two flights of stairs, listening as she gave him the schedule for the meals and her home’s simple rules. Satisfaction burrowed into his chest. Nothing too difficult and certainly nothing that would stand in the way of the business that brought him to town. Besides, Mrs. Galloway was an attractive woman, even though she appeared to be several years his senior. He might even enjoy his stay in this back-of-nowhere town more than he’d expected.

Micah slapped his gelding on the rump and stepped out of the stall. He’d hoped the physical effort required to unhitch and groom his mules would drive away the vision of Katherine Galloway’s fear-filled eyes. His first glimpse into those blue, anguished depths—beautiful, even when brimming with agony—had lingered. Now guilt and disgust pushed the thought aside. Emma had only been dead for a year and a half. How could he be so callous as to notice another woman, regardless of the circumstances?

Loneliness … that must account for it. He’d had only Zachary’s company for a while now, choosing to live as much of a hermit’s life as possible, rather than chance the pity of his friends. Another reason he’d left Seattle. Too many people—all of them intent on bringing him out of his self-imposed exile. Living in the wilderness and staying away from nosey neighbors would be his preference for a peaceful existence, but he couldn’t do that to his son.

So what if he hadn’t attended church after Emma’s death? It didn’t mean he no longer believed in God. He was just—angry. Yes,
anger
described his feelings quite well. Why hadn’t God kept that wheel from breaking as Emma drove her buggy down that steep hill? The Bible told all sorts of tales about angels. Couldn’t He have spared one to save his wife when the buggy rolled and pinned her beneath its weight, crushing the life from her? His only consolation was that Zachary, who should’ve been with her that day, stayed home from school with a fever.

Micah walked up the stairs located at the back of the livery to the small, dark rooms he and his son called home. No cheerful voice greeted him. No fragrance of a home-cooked meal tickled his senses. Nothing but sadness, regret, and memories whispered in the deep reaches of night when he couldn’t sleep.

He grabbed a pan from a hook and slapped it onto the stove, then gathered kindling and a match. Cooking wasn’t his strong suit, but he could slice potatoes and onions and make a tolerable hash topped by a couple of eggs.

A whistle reached his ears right before the door at the top of the landing opened and his son sauntered into the room, a broad smile stretching his freckled cheeks. “Hi, Pa. Dinner almost ready?”

Micah thumped a bag of potatoes onto the table and pointed at his son. “You’re late. You were supposed to help me load the grain bags after school. That was over an hour ago. Where’ve you been?”

The bright smile faded. “Sorry, Pa. Guess I forgot. I’ll do better tomorrow.”

“I don’t have grain to haul tomorrow. You didn’t answer my question.” He jerked his head toward the bag. “Wash these spuds and slice them while I get the stove going.”

“Yes, sir.” Zachary tumbled some potatoes into the basin, poured a bucket of water over the spuds, then grabbed a cloth and scrubbed the dirt from the skins. “I was talking to … a friend … and we went to the store.”

Micah heard the hesitation in his son’s voice. He struck a match against the side of the stove and placed the flame beneath the newspaper he’d crammed under the dry kindling. The fire flared up, took hold, and gave a satisfying crackle. Swinging the door shut, he focused his full attention on Zachary. Not that Micah minded the boy making friends. He was glad his son didn’t want to stick his head in the sand like his pa to try to escape the world. But it grated on him that Zachary had chosen to do so when chores waited. “Does this
friend
have a name?”

Zachary turned toward his father, his face scrunched and wary. “Lucy Galloway. She lives with her ma at the boardinghouse, and she’s close to my age.”

Something akin to a rock settled in Micah’s stomach.
Galloway.
The pretty woman with the little girl was Mrs. Galloway. She’d mentioned a daughter who hadn’t returned home.
Wonderful.
First, he nearly ran down her younger child, and now Zachary added to the problem by disappearing with the other one.

Chapter Four

Katherine willed her hands to stop shaking the next day as she glanced at the clock on her bureau for the tenth time in as many minutes. At least both girls were in school, and she wouldn’t have to worry about them when Mama arrived. There was no help for it—putting off the trip to meet the stage wouldn’t keep the inevitable from happening. She had thirty minutes before the coach pulled in, so she’d best comb her hair and hurry to town.

She’d need to stiffen her spine and stand up against Mama’s pushy ways now that Daniel wasn’t here to provide a buffer. Thank God for a father who had loved her and hadn’t been afraid to show it. But he’d gone to heaven shortly after her thirteenth birthday and, if anything, Mama grew harsher after his death.

Katherine brushed her hair, taking careful note of her appearance in the oval mirror hanging above her bureau. Leave it to Mama to find a strand out of place and comment on it in public. She lifted her chin. She would
not
be intimidated by Mama. With a quick twist and a couple of pins, she secured her hair on top of her head, swiveling both directions to check for any wayward curls. Plucking her hat off a nearby peg, she carefully positioned it and then gathered her courage. When she realized her muscles were bunched, she shook herself, trying to relax. She was a grown woman, for goodness’ sake.

She made her way downstairs, thankful no one was around at the moment. That new man—what was his name? Oh yes, Jeffery Tucker. Something about him intrigued her. Polite, tidy, and handsome in a rather austere fashion, he held a certain appeal, although he only appeared to be in his mid- to late-twenties.

Another face flashed … one much more rugged and down-to-earth than Mr. Tucker’s. Micah Jacobs, who’d nearly run over Amanda with his team of mules. The man had barely spoken three sentences, and they’d been brusque at best. Why was she thinking of him?

Daniel had been the exact opposite. Studious but talkative, her husband had always offered a ready word of encouragement to anyone in need. Reading had been his passion. He’d laughingly admitted he wasn’t good with his hands and was thankful the good Lord saw fit to make him a teacher, or they’d probably have starved, although he’d found extra work in the mines during the summer. A shudder shook her. She didn’t want to go to that dark place in her soul.

What was she doing thinking of men at a time like this? Mama was enough of a challenge without dredging up more.

Katherine reached for the knob and jerked back in surprise when the door opened.

A diminutive woman in a gray cloak and matching hat with a dust veil drawn over her face stood outside on the stoop. Clutching a valise with one hand, she flipped up the veil with the other and frowned.

Katherine blinked. “Mama! What are you doing here?”

Her mother swept into the foyer, plunking her valise on the floor. She swung to face Katherine, her blue eyes snapping. “Since you didn’t see fit to meet me at the station, I obtained directions and walked.”

Katherine felt like wilting at the biting tone and withering glance but instead gathered her mother into a hug. “I’m sorry. I thought I had time before the coach arrived. I was headed there right now.”

The embrace ended abruptly as the older woman pulled back and adjusted her hat, tucking a gray curl, which still showed an occasional glimmer of gold, under the dust veil. “Humph. Well, I’m glad to be off that rattletrap of a conveyance. Where are my granddaughters? I’ve missed them.”

Katherine briefly closed her eyes. Just like Mama. Not a single pleasant word for her younger daughter. At least her mother loved the girls and treated them well. Katherine could be thankful for that blessing, even if it didn’t extend to her. “They’re in school, but they’ll be home directly. Would you care to sit for a while and have a cup of tea?”

“I’ve been sitting in that confounded coach for the past six hours, and every bone in my body is bruised. I’d like to go to my room.”

“Of course.” Katherine motioned toward the valise. “Surely you brought another bag? You can’t have packed all you need for your visit in that.”

Mama snorted. “Visit? Didn’t you get my letter?”

Katherine’s heart skipped a beat, then raced forward like a runaway team. “Only the one letting me know what day you’d arrive.”

“I sent another a couple of days later. I sold your sister’s house.” She waved her hand in the air. “You have a large home, and I’m sure you could use help with Lucy and Amanda. The rest of my trunks and bags are down at the station, waiting to be picked up as soon as you can hire a wagon. Now take me to my room so I can be rested when the girls arrive.”

Katherine set her hand against the doorframe to steady herself against what she feared was to come.

“I’m moving in with you permanently, Katherine. Your mama is here to stay.”

Frances Connors waited until her daughter left the room before sinking onto the edge of the bed. She slipped off one shoe, then the other, rubbing her aching feet. It had been all she could do not to reveal the pain in front of Katherine.
Recurring gout
—that’s what the doctor called it. Whatever it was, the throbbing had become nearly intolerable. But she wasn’t one to complain and didn’t care to burden Katherine with her problems. Based on the occasional letters she’d received since her son-in-law’s death nearly three years ago, Frances had been able to glean that the girl had more than her own share of problems.

Frances carefully removed her hatpins and laid her headpiece on the nearby nightstand. A short nap might relieve the ache. Somehow she’d never envisioned growing older. In her thoughts she still swept through life as the beautiful seventeen-year-old she’d been when she’d married Ben, the love of her life. Of course, fifty-seven wasn’t ancient, but the gray in her hair far eclipsed the blond, and her wrinkles were decidedly pronounced. Aches had sprung up in muscles and joints, and nothing seemed as easy as in her younger days.

Frances struggled daily with the consuming grief brought on by her daughter June’s passing. They had shared a special bond.

And then there was Katherine. Frances sank against the feather pillow on the bed. Sharp edges, prickles, and Katherine’s high expectations marked the relationship with her only surviving child. When young, the girl had been timid, so Frances had done her best to toughen her against the realities of life. Katherine needed to be more decisive and not allow so much to slip through her hands. Not meeting Frances at the stage was a prime example. Her daughter had obviously gotten distracted and allowed trifling concerns to get in the way.

Frances scowled. Weak women wouldn’t survive in this hard country. She’d discovered that when Ben died. Marrying Katherine’s father saved her and June from a life of destitution and misery, but he’d had his own issues. Yes, he treated the girls well, but some of his habits—well, no need to dwell on
that
with him long in the grave.

Rolling onto her side, she stuffed the memories where they belonged—far in the past, not in the present or future. She’d do everything she could to ensure Katherine survived on her own. Her daughter wouldn’t make the same mistake she’d made, remarrying out of desperate need. Not if Frances had anything to say about it.

Katherine wandered through the house, her emotions flittering about like a hummingbird—hovering first on one problem, then another, and never quite landing on a solution. She’d almost forgotten how much turmoil Mama could create by her very presence. How would Katherine keep peace in her household and teach her daughters to respect their grandmother when practically every word out of her mother’s mouth cut or demeaned?

Then there was the issue of money. The boardinghouse needed to bring in more business to pay its way, especially with another mouth to feed. A mouth that planned to stay.

Forever.

“I sold your sister’s house…. I’m moving in with you permanently.”

Katherine’s stomach muscles tightened, and she feared she’d be ill.

She shuddered, hating that she couldn’t welcome her mother’s arrival and rejoice at Mama deciding to make her home with them in her final years. All Katherine could think about was the recurring pain that sliced through her every time Mama rejected her. Not that Mama would ever
say
she didn’t want her—no, she viewed herself as too good a parent for that—but Katherine knew. Deep in her heart she’d always known that June was enough for Mama. Katherine had never been needed, never been wanted.

She grabbed a broom and commenced sweeping the kitchen, although she’d already given it a thorough cleaning that morning. Somehow she had to burn off her disquiet before Lucy and Amanda came home. The girls were her life … all she had left of Daniel and the love they’d shared. She couldn’t allow Mama’s negative influence to touch them. They deserved peace and happiness, and she’d make sure they got it, even if it meant standing up to her mother.

Could she really stand up to Mama? For the girls’ sake, she could, but the idea shook her to the core. Her stomach knotted further, and she dashed outside for some fresh air. She stood on the stoop as a wagon rumbled toward her, raising a cloud of dust in its wake.

The wagon slowed, and Katherine shielded her eyes against the sun. A tremor ran through her body as her gaze met the driver’s.
Micah Jacobs.
Funny, she remembered his name so easily.

“Howdy, ma’am.” He lifted a hand, smiled, but didn’t stop the team.

She returned a brief nod. The man’s quiet, rugged strength wrapped a mantle of peace around her spirit. Katherine allowed her lips to form a smile. “A good day to you, Mr. Jacobs.”

At that moment she determined that, somehow, in spite of Mama, she’d find a way to make this a good day, come what may.