Unbroken Hearts (7 page)

    
Roy looked
befuddled.
 

    
Cal actually cracked
a grin. "Uh, it's a gentler stallion."
   

    
"Oh, I
understand," Emily nodded. "Like you and Mr. Roy."

    
Roy snorted. He
considered teasing Cal about it, but quickly bit back the urge. The man was
already in a foul mood, and Roy'd likely find himself in the dirt nursing a
black eye. Instead he turned his head and nodded at Emily. "Well, that's a
dandy compliment . . . I think."

    
Cal turned halfway
around and saw the corners of Sarah's mouth edge up.

    
As they drew closer
they saw cowhands, busy rough breaking a horse in the corral. They paused and
waved. Roy and Cal waved back, and Roy yelled something about taking it easy on
the new man. Sarah saw a tall older woman, with dark hair pulled into knot at
the back of her head, coming around the front of the house. Another woman sat
on the porch, leaning forward slightly in a chair crowded with pillows. The men
waved enthusiastically at the duo.

    
"Howdy Mama!
Howdy Nettie!" Smiles lit the men's faces.

     
The older woman yelled 'hello' and waved back, but the woman in the chair was silent,
and didn't even turn her head toward them as they passed.

    
"That's
Mama," Roy called back to Sarah and Emily with a reverent tone. Sarah thought
it odd that their mother didn't offer a greeting to her own sons.

    
They drew up in front
of the house. Roy and Cal swung down and came to the back of the wagon. Again,
Roy chose to help Emily, and quickly stepped aside for Cal, who wrapped his sound
arm around Sarah's waist as she debarked. Nettie sashayed off the porch to meet
them.

    
Roy made the
introductions. "Nettie, this is Sarah and her sister Emily. They're new in
town and staying with us this evening." He turned back to the sisters. "And
this is our neighbor Mrs. Nettie Newman, who came to tend Mama while we were in
town."

    
Nettie smiled and
offered her hand to each sister.

    
A couple of ranch
hands drifted over to unhitch the horses. Cal ushered the girls onto the porch
and away from the curious cowpuncher's eyes. Then he sauntered to his mother,
and kissed her lightly on the cheek.

    
He squatted down
until his face was even with hers. "Mama, we met these girls today in
town." He paused, swallowed. "The older one is Sarah Anders and
that's her younger sister, Emily. They'll be staying for supper and sleeping
here this evening. And that's all," he added.

    
Cal's mother didn't
reply, but only nodded so slightly as to be barely perceptible. Sarah tried to
smile at the expressionless woman. Mrs. Easton slumped in spite of the pillows
propping up her body. She realized the woman must be sick, perhaps suffering
from dementia.

    
"Pleased to meet
you ma'am." She touched the woman's hand lightly.

    
Sarah was perplexed
by the mother's condition, but her sister was brimming with natural curiosity.
Sarah quickly stepped on Emily's toe to hush her.

    
"Ouch!"
 
Emily
howled. "What did you do that for?"

    
"Excuse me, I
lost my balance."

    
Cal motioned to
Nettie. "Would you sit with Mama while I get Sarah and Emily
settled?"

    
"Be glad to,
Cal," twittered Nettie. "My you girls are pretty. George will be
along any time now to take me home. Take your time Cal. I can watch for him
while I chat with your mama." Then Nettie drew a chair up next to the mute
woman and plopped herself down.

    
Sarah and Emily
entered the ranch house, eyes darting around with rapt interest.

    
Cal paused to hang
his hat and gun belt on wall pegs inside the front door. Sarah and Emily
anxiously peered down the front hallway, which opened onto a parlor on the
right. They saw a study on the left, two desks and bookshelf-lined walls,
crammed tight with volumes of Shakespeare, Tennyson, Scott, and others. The
furniture in the rooms was simple but comfortable and had the usual marks from
years of daily use. A sofa dominated the parlor, and a pianoforte stood against
the long wall. A braided gold and red wool rug warmed the floor.

    
Cal told Sarah to set
her bag in the hallway, and then he led the sisters into a large kitchen at the
back of the house. Sarah and Emily gawked at the clawed legs on the fancy table
while Cal tried to show them a washstand with a pitcher of water and bowl
behind a curtain. He pointed to a clean stack of towels and store-bought soap.
He shyly swept his hand in the direction of the backyard privy. Roy shuffled
past on his way to the pantry, carrying a sack of flour over his shoulder.

    
The younger Easton
grunted.
 

    
"Couple more and
I'll be done," he grunted. "Sarah, you'll oblige us some of those
prize biscuits for supper?" His eyes shone. "I confess to thinking
how mighty good those must taste all the way home. Beef is hanging out back.
You make stew?"

    
Sarah straightened up
proudly.
 

    
"It'd be my
pleasure Mr. Easton."

    
After making do with
campfires on the trail, she considered it a delight to cook in a real kitchen.
Hands to work would distract her mind from troubles, and Lord knew she had
plenty. When was the last time they ate? She couldn't remember. "Emily
always helps," she added.

    
Cal frowned at Roy.
He made a hasty excuse and dragged his brother outside to have a talk about
what constituted gentlemanly conduct around a young lady. And while he was
about it he let Roy know who'd order any suppers, and who'd give out any
biscuit compliments.

    
Sarah and Emily
quickly washed up and took stock of the supplies in the pantry.
 

    
"Oh Sarah, look
at the barrels and jars!" Emily hopped around the provisions. Crammed in
one corner were the usual sacks of flour, cornmeal, coffee, and pinto beans.
Bags of fancy white sugar, soda crackers, boxes of tinned peaches, and jars of
jelly and pickles were stacked haphazardly on shelves that blanketed the walls.

    
Sarah lifted a large
pot from a ceiling hook and dug potatoes from a sack, automatically counting
how many were left after she removed them. She laughed at herself; old habits
were hard to shake.
 

    
"Sarah let's
bake a cake!"
 
Emily's
eyebrows flew up. "For Mr. Easton's birthday!"

   
Sarah took a few moments to
consider the idea. Emily was always excited about birthdays.

    
"I 'spose we
could . . ."

    
The girls tied on
aprons they found on a nail behind the pantry door, and they gleefully danced
around the kitchen, each pretending that this was home, yet even better owing
to no mean uncle.

    
"Oh Sarah, I
wish we could stay here. The Eastons need us. You could work at cooking. I
could help with the horses."

    
Sarah sighed. "They get on fine. Look at all the help they have. Besides, it wouldn't be
proper for us to stay with two bachelor ranchers. And it likely takes shovels
of money to run a ranch like this, pay and feed ranch hands, fix fences, buy
saddles, and tools." She forced the words out slowly. "Mr. Cal Easton
wasn't happy about us coming here."

    
"I'd work for no
pay if I could ride a horse every day."

    
Sarah frowned on
Emily's fanciful notions. "Well, wishing for things we can't have is
useless. We need to be practical now."
I've set aside my dreams,
Emily.
 
But I'll keep trying to
help you find yours,
she
added silently
.

    
Sarah mixed dough for
the biscuits while Emily cleaned the potatoes. After a time, Cal came to the
kitchen. He leaned his hard length lazily against the doorframe. He watched the
sisters working together for a few moments before he spoke.

    
"Nettie went
back home. I need to help Roy out in the barn for a while." He hesitated.
"Uh, if I bring Mama in here can you keep a watch on her while you
cook?"

    
Sarah's face clouded
with uneasiness. "Oh. OK." She cleared her throat.

    
Cal's expression
eased, and he walked into the room and sank into a chair. "I need to
explain about Mama," he said quietly. He thrust a hand through his hair.
"She has paralysis owing to a fit of apoplexy she had a couple months
back. She can't move much on her own, just her head a little bit and sometimes
her right arm."
 
He suddenly
appeared weary, shifted, and looked down at the table. "She can swallow food,
but can't chew too good. But Doc Chandler says she can hear, and she can
understand everything we say, so you can chat with her, if'n you get the
inclination." His voice drifted lower. "I'd appreciate your
help."

    
Sarah's heart
swelled. She felt the weight of the burden Cal Easton carried. And something
else warmed -- the kind of tingling that comes like an embrace as the handsome
but disheveled Cal confided the details of his mother's ailment.

    
She swallowed.
"Oh, we'll be happy to have her company." Sarah nervously pushed
dough into a pan. "I know something about nursing sick people." She
paused and her eyes flickered to the left, remembering. "I took care of my
papa when he was ill." Her voice fell to a whisper. "At the
last."

     
Anguish
flickered at the memory of her father. Cal's mouth tightened, and he twisted
his hat in his hands.

    
"Obliged,"
Cal nodded. Then he cleared his throat, thrust his hat back on his head, and
strode out to the porch. A minute later he pushed Mama into the kitchen. He
leaned down and adjusted pillows in her chair. He gently smoothed her skirt
where it was rumpled.

    
A lump formed in her
throat as Sarah watched Cal attend so lovingly to his mother, and a part of her
suddenly ached for her own mother.

    
Cal brushed a kiss on his mama's cheek,
and he pushed the loose locks of her hair back from her face, tucked them
behind her ears, lingering a bit over the task, as if this might be the last
time he'd touch her. Then he glanced up at Sarah, and caught her staring. She
looked away and blushed, sensing that she'd intruded on a private intimacy. Cal
frowned, straightened awkwardly, and walked briskly out the back door, headed
straight toward the barn.

    
Sarah and Emily happily chatted as they resumed their
work. Keeping up the banter, mostly for mama's benefit, they talked about how
much molasses to add to the birthday cake, and they wondered aloud whether
onions grew in the garden they saw on the ride up to the house.

    
Emily paused over
setting the table.
 

    
"I wish we had a
birthday gift for Mr. Easton."

    
A good idea,
thought Sarah.
If we cook him a good
meal, and we give him a small present, then maybe . . . .

    
She put a hand to her
hip as she mentally sorted through the old satchel with the items she'd
recovered from the wagon.
 

    
"Emily I think
we do have something to give Mr. Easton."

     
Sarah poked at
the coals in the stove, then she swished down the hall and fetched the bag. She
dug until she found their small treasure and carried it back to the kitchen.
Emily ran into the pantry and she emerged with a piece of brown paper to
wrap the gift. Sarah glanced at Mrs. Easton, and she could have sworn she saw
the slightest hint of a smile at the corners of her lips.
 

    
"Oh, Oh, I hope
you can keep a secret Mrs. Easton," said Emily. Her face was lit with an
angelic smile, and she hopped from one foot to the other.

    
When Sarah looked at
Mrs. Easton she was stunned to see her graying head slumped forward. Tears ran
from her sparkling blue eyes. She hurried across to Mrs. Easton's side, wiping
her hands on her apron as she closed the distance between them. Lacking a
handkerchief, Sarah frantically wiped Mrs. Easton's tears from her soft skin
with the back of her hands.

    
"Did I say
something wrong?" Emily fretted.

    
"No, Emily."
Sarah dropped to her knees and took Mrs. Easton's hands into her own, holding
them as if she were protecting a baby bird that fell out of its nest. She
looked into the old woman's face. "Mrs. Easton, if we've hurt your
feelings, we're truly sorry."