Spring for Susannah (11 page)

He planted his feet shoulder width apart and rocked back on his heels. “Don't mess with the horses.” He scowled, his jaw lifted high and his eyes narrow.

In Detroit, her father's reputation had buffered her from this sort of resistance. But Father was dead. The name of Charles Edward Underhill, veterinary surgeon, carried no weight with this barbarian. Flies buzzed around the horses' wounds. Susannah held out the tin. “They have open sores—”

The driver stepped closer, menacing. “I said, don't mess with the horses.”

The music stopped.

These days, keeping an eye on his wife was Jesse's favorite occupation. The threshing crew seemed a decent sort, but knowing how rarely they saw women and how easily Susannah spooked, Jesse had been extra vigilant. He noticed she had fixed her hair like Marta's, only Susannah's braid had escaping curls and ended in a twist.

After supper, he watched her inspect the horses, running her tiny hands down their thick legs, poking her fingers near their big choppers, at ease with the four-leggeds of this world. She hurried inside, only to be waylaid by the driver on her return.

Hang on
.
Reinforcements are on the way
.

The driver stuffed his thumbs in his belt loops. “Don't need no woman telling me how to care for these nags.”

Over her head, Jesse gave the driver his best gunslinger's glare. No one messed with his wife. “Mrs. Mason's pa doctored Custer's mounts during the War.”

The threshing crew circled for the best theater they'd seen in months.

The crew chief took the tin from Susannah's hand. “What is this?”

“Gall salve,” she said. “My father's remedy. It heals sores and wounds.”

The driver continued to glare at Susannah. She raised her chin at him and glared right back. Jesse grinned.
Atta girl. Back off, you
old goat
.

The chief pried off the lid and took a sniff. “I understand our boy general's mighty particular about his equine friends.” He returned the tin to Susannah. “Don't see any harm in trying.”

“I'd never harm an animal.”

The driver stomped off. The chief escorted Susannah to the shoulder of the buckskin, who tolerated her ministrations without flinching. Then he followed her to the sorrel. “How often should the salve be used?”

“Morning and evening until healed.” Susannah moved to the first chestnut. “If the straps could be padded with sheepskin or adjusted to rub in a different place, they would heal faster.” She proceeded to the last. “Is there any way to change the power so the horses walk clockwise instead of counterclockwise?”

Jesse's chest swelled with pride. An excellent suggestion from his brilliant wife.

“Clockwise, eh? Then the pull would come from the left shoulder. Yeah, we can do that.” The chief scratched the stubble on his jaw. “I'd better see if I can get some of that gall salve.”

“Why don't you take this?” Susannah handed him the tin.

“Mrs. Mason, you've been most helpful.” He shook her hand, then turned to the crew member in the cavalry uniform. “We'll be leaving one more bag of wheat here.”

“That's really not necessary.”

“I'm sure your father charged for his services, ma'am. You deserve no less.” He pumped Jesse's hand. “Mr. Mason, you got yourself a fine woman here. Thank you for your music and hospitality, but we've got work waiting on us up the river.”

He rounded up his men and set off, while Jesse launched into “Shoo Fly.” Laughing, the crew joined him. All but the driver, who still looked like he was chewing nails.

The Volds, too, drove off into the red sunset. “See you Sunday!”

Susannah took a deep breath. “I'm sorry about interfering with the horses. I didn't mean to make a scene.”

“Are you kidding? We got an extra bag of wheat out of the deal.” Jesse pulled her close and planted a kiss on her temple. “And I'm so proud of you, I could burst.”

Chapter 10

Brave enough to battle the driver but scared
of me. Lord, I just don't understand.

L
et's go home,” Jesse said to Jake. A whole day's hunt and only a prairie chicken to show for it. He would have been better off, surely less footsore, had he brought his fishing pole instead of his gun. The valley was hunted out, like an army had tromped through.

Jesse knew something of foraging armies. Since they were both fairly good shots, the lieutenant had sent him out with Sellers, a fellow from Elmira way. But Sellers, an expert in marriage after twenty-two months of wedded bliss, had been more interested in bending Jesse's ear than securing venison for dinner. To hear him tell it—and every deer in the county had—he'd caught his girl's eye during the sermon, courted her as the congregation shuffled out, and proposed before her family loaded the wagon for home.

So, Lord, how can I win Susannah's heart?

An army on the march or huddled around the campfires had no interest in the next day's battle. The talk was all about wives, sweethearts, and anyone else of the female persuasion. Jesse, being unattached, had been served an ample ration of advice.

A bouquet of posies? Yep, planted in front of the soddy. A book of poetry? Guess he could send off for one. Dancing? Might be able to find a couple musicians in the territory, but they'd all want to twirl his wife. As little time as Susannah had spent in his arms, he surely wasn't ready to see her in anyone else's.

As he crested the bluff, the soddy came into view. Susannah gathered laundry from the slope behind the draw.

Jake galloped to her. She paused to scratch his ears, then scanned the horizon. Ah, she'd been watching for him. She started toward him with a smile, like she might be thinking of hugging, then stopped and clasped her hands in front of her.

“Seems the threshers scared away the big game.” He handed her the bird. “Prairie chicken. Not much meat.”

“How odd.” Susannah inspected it like the veterinary surgeon she was, examining the orange pouches on either side of its neck and the feathers shooting up from its head like horns. “Exotic markings.”

“Apparently birds have as much trouble courting as men do.” Jesse caught her braid. “I like coming home to you.”

She wiggled away. “Is it all right for me to wear my hair in the Norwegian style?”

“Of course. Your hair is pretty every way. Especially loose on the pillow.”

Susannah hung the chicken by its feet at the end of the roof. “It's our odor scaring the animals away.”

Was that why she was keeping her distance? Jesse motioned toward the stack of clean clothes. “Everything's washed but us. I'll bring in the tub.”

“It's early yet.”

“Did my little brother ever mention the Hebrew people started their Sabbath at sundown the night before?” He rested a hand on her shoulder, rubbing the stiff muscles at the base of her neck. “I'm ready for a day of rest. How about you?”

She nodded, tired enough to let him touch her.

He worked both hands across her shoulders. “So, what do you think of your new life?”

“I keep wondering, what would you do without Ivar and Marta? How can they be repaid?”

“When Ivar arrived, I helped him build his soddy and put in his first crop. He gave me pick of the litter when Freya whelped. We've been swapping work ever since.” He pulled the thread off her braid, loosening her hair. “I keep thinking, what would I do without you?”

“You've done just fine.”

He slid his hands down her arms. “Two lonely years, no one to share good or bad times. I used to dread winter, not seeing another person for months. But I'm looking forward to it this year. It'll give me time to get to know you.”

“Shall we bring in the oxen?”

“I already know how practical you are,” he said. “I'll get the washtub, then the oxen, and you can start your bath.” He closed the door, then opened it again and grinned at her. “Laundry on a Saturday? What will the neighbors think?”

And then Susannah surprised him. Taking a lesson from Marta, she snapped her apron at him. “Out.”

“What are you working on?” Jesse finished his bath and climbed out of the tub.

“I thought I should write to Ellen.” The cut glass inkwell sparkled in the lantern's light as she stirred the dark powder and water together. “But I can't think what to say.”

“Thank her for sending you to this handsome husband who waits on you hand and foot and lives in a mansion with running water and a scenic view.”

“She'd think I'd disembarked at the wrong station.”

“I'm not handsome?” He leaned over her shoulder.

“You're dripping.” She blotted the paper with her sleeve, then shot a glance up at him. Yes, he'd put on his nightshirt.

He rubbed his head with the towel. “We should work on the list for the store too. How are you set for winter clothes?”

“Ellen packed my cold weather gear.” Susannah exchanged her pen for a pencil, stationery for scrap.

“We take winter seriously out here. Let's see what you have.” Jesse opened her trunk.

Susannah squirmed as he rooted through her trunk. He seemed bent on destroying every last particle of her privacy.

“Add yarn for more socks, another pair of long johns, and a greatcoat. Your cape may be the latest fashion in Detroit, but a coat with sleeves will keep you warmer in the wind.”

“I could remake it so it has sleeves.”

“Great! That will save some money.” Jesse unwrapped tissue paper, revealing a light gray garment. “Hey, what's this?”

Susannah gasped. “I didn't know Ellen had packed—”

“The dress you were supposed to get married in.” He lifted it up. Heavy satin shimmered in the lamplight. “Let's see it on you.”

“Now?”

“Yes, ma'am.” Eyes twinkling, he handed her the gown and turned his back.

Susannah stepped out of her muslin nightgown and slid the dress over her head. It was a waste of trunk space, entirely too fancy for a farmer's wife. She would have told Ellen not to pack it, had it not been for the laudanum . . .

No, she must not think about Detroit, only about Jesse. He took her in when no one else would. He'd been so kind and patient. Her fingers fumbled with the buttons behind her, an unusual design. “It's supposed to be worn with a bustle and petticoats.”

He turned and inhaled, eyes wide. “Susannah.”

What was he staring at? She looked down. Without undergarments, the fabric accented every curve.

He took her hands. “We should have had a big church wedding to show you off, except I wouldn't want to share you. Mrs. Mason, may I have this dance?” Humming “The Blue Danube” waltz, he guided her around the small space between the table and the bed.

The room spun. “You dance quite well for a Methodist.”

“Episcopalian ancestry. Might I say the same for you?” Jesse bowed over her hand.

“Church of England.” She curtsied in return.

Starting another Strauss waltz, he lifted her left hand to his shoulder and put his right on her waist, touching bare skin. He pulled back, eyebrows raised. Susannah managed to give him a smile. His hand slid inside, slowly, tentatively, along her backbone, sending shivers down to her toes.

“I couldn't reach all the buttons.”

“So soft.” He pressed his mouth to her forehead, nose, lips. He smelled of saleratus from brushing his teeth. His tongue touched her neck, tasting her. She warmed, as if blushing all over. He unbuttoned the rest. Cool air brushed her shoulder blades. Her knees went weak and she clung to him.

“What are you thinking?” he whispered. His warm fingers drew lazy circles on either side of her spine.

“I wish—” She leaned into his shoulder, her heart thundering. She wouldn't insult him by speaking of her fear. “I wish we'd met a long time ago, so we'd be better acquainted.”