Mountain Rose (10 page)

Finally, the longest meal Chase had ever sat through was over. The meat and potatoes had been eaten, the coffee drunk. When Jamie said in a forlorn voice, "I'd better get my bedroll and find a pile of hay in the barn," Chase was ready to agree whole-heartedly.

But Raegan spoke before he could open his mouth. "Sleep in the barn!" she said scandalized. "Nonsense. This is your home. You'll sleep in your old room as usual."

"Well, I don't know about that," Jamie drawled, his eyes twinkling. "Me and Chase bunked together. I'm afraid it would be a little crowded—three of us in the bed."

In his aggravation with Raegan, Chase was tempted to let her handle Jamie's remark on her own. But with one look at her flustered face, he softened. He scowled at Jamie when he stood up. When the young man dropped his eyes to his plate, realizing he had pushed his friend too far, Chase looked down at Raegan.

"Come with me, and I'll show you where the bed linens are kept—I'll even help you make up a bed for my ignorant friend with the runaway tongue."

"Come on, Chase," Jamie protested, "you know I was only funnin' Raegan. I wouldn't. . ." He spoke to an empty room. Chase had ushered Raegan out of the kitchen and closed the door behind them.

He's jealous as hell of me, Jamie thought, mischief sparkling in his eyes. This coming summer promised to be a very amusing one. Ole Chase was going to be like a raging buffalo all season. He'd see to it.

"How many bedrooms are there?" Raegan asked as she and Chase walked down the hall.

"There are four, although Molly used one for her sewing room," Chase answered, stopping in front of a tall cabinet near the end of the hall. "There's a loom in there also. She used to weave beautiful rugs on it. I took them off the floors and stored them away in one of the sheds. I'll bring them in tomorrow. You'll most likely want to put them in the bedrooms."

Chase swung open the double doors of what Raegan discovered was a linen closet. She was amazed at the stack of sheets, pillow cases, quilts and bedspreads. She and Mama had gotten by with one set for each bed. Each week they were washed and dried and put back on the bed. And they had never had any quilts—only itchy army-issue blankets.

On the lower shelf was what Raegan imagined were tablecloths and runners for dressers and such. Mama had talked about how her mother would embroider such items in the winter evenings as they sat before the fire.

She looked down at her rough, chapped hands, her worn dress, and wondered what her lady grandmother would think of her only granddaughter if she could see her.

She pushed the useless thought from her mind and returned to the present. The linens were yellowed from disuse, she saw as she took down four sheets and four pillowcases, but they were clean and smelled of dried rose petals. She loaded the articles into Chase's arms, then added two quilts from the top shelf.

"We'll put Jamie in the room next to mine," Chase said, motioning her to open a door on the right side of the hall, "and you can have the one opposite mine. It's the biggest and nicest. It used to be your grandparents' room."

Again stale air greeted Raegan as she stepped inside the large room. When Chase lit a candle on a small bedside table, she walked over to the window and raised the sash. Cool, fresh air floated in, brisk from the hills. She took a deep breath, then set about making up the bed. As she shook out a sheet, Chase moved to the other side of the bed and, catching its edge he tucked the sheet neatly under the feather mattress that lay on top of a straw tick.

"Jamie believes we're married, doesn't he?" Raegan asked, unfolding a top sheet.

"I think he does . . . for the time bein' at least. He's sharp, though. I don't know how long we can fool him."

"Maybe I'd better wait a while before making up my own bed then," Raegan said thoughtfully. "After he's retired."

"A good idea," Chase agreed, and no more was said as cases were pulled over feather pillows and a quilt smoothed over the bed.

Jamie was backed into a corner, a helpless look in his staring eyes when Raegan and Chase returned to the kitchen. "Lobo! No!" Raegan sprang to the side of the snarling wolf. "Friend, Lobo! He's a friend." She grabbed the raised ruff.

"What's wrong, friend?" Chase couldn't help doing a little teasing of his own now, get back a bit of what he'd been put through. "Are you afraid of our pet?"

"Pet, hell," Jamie's voice quavered a bit. "That's a damn wolf. Came walkin' in like he belongs here."

"He does, Jamie," Raegan said quietly. "He's my pet wolf. Keep your voice down, and I'll explain to him that you won't harm me."

Jamie looked dubious, but didn't move a muscle, barely breathed as Raegan knelt beside the big animal and gazed into his eyes. After a moment Lobo's tongue came out and licked her cheek, then he stalked over beside the table and flopped down on the floor.

"Whew!" Jamie exclaimed, rubbing the back of his hand across his sweating forehead. I thought for a minute there that I was a goner. I was so scared, I lost my voice. I couldn't even yell for help." He slid a wary glance at Lobo, who now lay with his great head between his paws "Are you sure he's tame?"

"He's tame enough," Raegan answered, beginning to gather up the dirty dishes. "It would be unkind to take all the wildness out of him. I only allow a few select people to know him. If I let him think that everyone is his friend, he'd be no more than a pet dog."

"I guess," Jamie agreed reluctantly, wondering why Raegan couldn't be satisfied with owning a dog. He looked at Chase. "I'm gonna look in on my mount before turnin' in. Comin' with me?"

"Yeah." Chase nodded, pulling a sack of tobacco from his shirt pocket as he followed Jamie out the door. A few moments later the aromatic smell of burning tobacco drifted through the open kitchen door.

Raegan sniffed deeply, a memory of her father coming to mind. He, too, always rolled a cigarette after his meals. "Don't think of Papa," she whispered, "Put aside your memories for now, concentrate on what's at hand. Like making some order out of this mess called a kitchen."

The mellow boom of the clock in the parlor struck eleven times as Raegan snuffed out two of the candles on the kitchen table. She picked up the third burning one and lighted her way down the hall to the bedroom alloted to her.

Chase and Jamie had long since retired, Chase saying a gruff good-night as they passed through the kitchen, Jamie lingering a moment to ask if he could help in shoveling out the dirt, and did she need more wood brought in?

She had smilingly shook her head to both questions, thanking him for his offer. "I work best alone," she'd added.

And work, she had. Raegan stretched her aching back. She had heated numerous kettles of water, washed dishes and cooking utensils until her fingers were wrinkled from their long submersion in hot soapy water.

Then the broom got a work-out after she had cleared the corners of rubbish and carried piles of soiled clothing out onto the back porch. Her last act was to scrub the floor.

But she was aware of a sensation of satisfaction as she paused mid-way down the hall to open the doors to the linen closet. By the wavering light of the candle flame she took out two sheets, two pillowcases, and a quilt.

The candle, now only a stub, burned out just as she stepped inside her grandparents' room. Half asleep on her feet, she made up the big bed by the moonlight filtering through the open window. She undressed down to her mid-thigh bloomers and camisole, then climbed into bed, sighing her pleasure in the cool breeze coming through the window. Chase must have opened it to clear the air, she thought muzzily.

She fell asleep to the sound of a lonesome wolf yowling at the moon.

The sun striking her across the face awakened Raegan the next morning. She was disoriented for a moment, having slept so soundly. She blinked at a large dresser directly opposite the bed, not at first glance recognizing her own image, her tousled curls hanging over one eye.

Everything came back to her then, and she was clearly cognizant of her surroundings, even though she hadn't fully seen the room last night. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafted under the crack of the closed door and she gave a horrified gasp when she smelled bacon.

"My clean kitchen!" She visualized splattered grease all over the stove she had scrubbed and polished until her arms ached. "And probably all over the floor," she muttered, scooting out of bed and grimacing as she pulled yesterday's dirty dress over her head. She had no idea where

Chase had put her bag of clothing.

Then, as she combed her fingers through her hair, she saw the carpet bag leaning against the dresser. When had he put it there? Had it been in the room last night and she hadn't seen it in the darkness, or had he brought it while she slept?

She knew the answer when she saw steam rising from the big porcelain pitcher sitting on a long, narrow table beneath the window. Chase had been here, and not too long ago, judging by the hot water.

Moving across the room to the pitcher, she looked down into its matching basin. An oblong bar of pink, scented soap lay inside it, a wash cloth and soft towel beside it. She smoothed a finger over the painted flowers on the water receptacle, which had been filled to the top. She remembered sadly the old chipped gray one she and Mama had shared. It could only be filled part way, the top six inches having a deep crack through which the water seeped out.

"I told you not to think back, Raegan O'Keefe," she ordered herself, blinking back the tears that gathered in her eyes.

She filled the basin with water, undressed, then opened the bag. There were few clothes inside it, and it only took a moment to bring out fresh underclothing and a checked gingham dress. The soap was sweet-scented and lathered luxuriously as she rubbed it over the wet wash cloth. It felt like warm cream sliding over her breasts and down her flat stomach. And suddenly, without warning, she imagined that it was Chase's palm caressing her bare skin. She closed her eyes in growing ecstasy.

The angry squawk of a crow outside her window startled Raegan back to reality. "What's wrong with you?" She glared at her reflection in the glass panes, then began to scrub her skin briskly. "Chase Donlin has no interest in you that way, you simpleton. How many times must I tell you that?"

She hurriedly dried off her body, then after she had dressed, she dragged a brush through her shoulder-length curls. "Set your sights on Jamie," she ordered, laying the brush down. "Maybe he's interested in you."

As she left the room and walked down the hall, however, she knew that although Jamie was handsome and would be a wonderful companion, she could never love him in a romantic way.

Raegan walked into the kitchen with dread. What kind of mess would she find? She stood in the doorway, a slow smile spreading over her face. She had worried needlessly. Everything was spotless, just as she had left it last night.

She walked over to the table where a plate, cup, and flatware had been set out and picked up the note folded inside the cup. "Raegan," she read out loud, "your breakfast is keeping warm in the oven. Jamie and I have gone hunting. Won't be gone long. Have your list ready by the time we get back, and don't go far from the cabin without Lobo. Remember the Tillamooks. Chase."

Raegan smiled, thinking how very thoughtful Chase was to have made her breakfast. She took the bacon and eggs from the oven and consumed it in record time. She had been starved. As she sipped at a cup of coffee, a little too strong for her taste, she began jotting down her grocery list on the pad of paper Chase had left on the table, along with the pencil.

Soap headed the list. There was only a sliver left of the bar she'd started out with yesterday. She had noted, while inspecting the contents of the pantry, that the sugar container was nearly empty, and she hadn't found any molasses. Pancakes was her favorite breakfast meal. When she could think of nothing else, she wrote kerosene in her neat hand.

Her coffee finished, Raegan rose, picking up the pad and pencil. She walked to the dry sink and pulled open the drawer built into one side of the maplewood cabinet. She had seen the pad of paper lying there yesterday when she was looking for a dish towel. As she started to place the pad back in its proper place, her attention was caught by a flat, age-worn book. Across the front of the thin volume was printed in bold letters,
Personal Recipes of Molly Donlin.
Her eyes alight, Raegan picked the book up and carried it to the table. She poured herself another cup of coffee, then opened the book.

As if in answer to a prayer, the first page was labled "Light Bread." She quickly scanned the page for the ingredients she would need to try her hand at making bread. One large potato, two cups warm water, three level teaspoons sugar, salt and flour, and a cake of yeast. Yeast? Had she seen any in the pantry?

Raegan chewed thoughtfully on a thumb nail for a moment, then stood up and opened the door to the long pantry. She sorted through the staples kept on the shelves, wondering if she should be looking for a tin box or a paper bag. She was about to give up when she spotted a small wrapped package about a half inch thick and two inches long. Could this be it? she wondered, turning the small container over in her fingers.

She grinned when the word "yeast" seemed to jump out at her. Carrying it carefully, much as a miner would a gold nugget, she laid it on the table. She went back to the pantry then and picked through a sack of potatoes until she found one the size of Chase's fist, which was a big one.

She cut a finger slightly on the sharp knife in her hurry to peel the potato and put it on the stove to boil. The recipe had said to cook and mash the vegetable.

When it began to simmer, Raegan amassed all the other essential items according to her grandmother's instructions, then measured them into a bowl. Twenty minutes later, the potatoes were cooked and mashed and added to the first step to making a loaf of bread. After stirring the mixture throughly together, she put it near the warmth of the sun shinning through the window, a warm place in which to rise.