Unconventional Series Collection (3 page)

Abigail stepped onto the wide porch and entered
the cabin when Brant motioned her forward. Jenny followed and then Brant and
Luke carried her trunk inside. Pausing near a long table, she waited for her
eyes to adjust to the dim light and then scanned the modest interior.

"Please sit down, Miz Vaughn," said
Jenny.

"Since your father is calling me Abby, I'd
be pleased if you would, too."

"Okay…Miz Abby," Jenny said shyly. She
set Ty on the floor and watched him run to climb on a wooden rocking horse near
the hearth, and then she walked to open-faced shelving above wooden countertops
and grabbed some mismatched glasses, setting them on the table. While she
poured tea from a battered metal pitcher, Abigail surveyed the cabin in more
detail. Her gut instinct told her that the faded curtains hanging above a deep
sink with a hand pump had been lovingly sewn by Jenny's mother. She twisted her
hands in her lap, feeling pain for this family who had lost someone so precious
to them. How could she even begin to replace their loss? Inadequacy loomed like
a rain cloud threatening to drench her in misgivings.

Brant and Luke returned from delivering her
trunk into another room and Luke slammed out the front door. Brant stared sadly
after him before turning and patting his daughter on her head of honey colored
hair. "Jenny baked up cookies for your arrival." He reached for a
plate on the table and held it out to Abigail. To show her appreciation, she
smiled and selected the largest odd shaped mound.

"Thank you, Jenny. That was very
considerate." She nibbled on a corner. It was so hard she had to use an
eye tooth to break off a piece. "Hmm, very tasty," she tried to sound
convincing.

Jenny's face lit with an ear-to-ear grin.

Brant grabbed two cookies and walked to the
door, tossing one to Wally, and finishing his own in two bites.

Abigail sipped her tea and did her best to chew
the stone hard cookie. Ty ran to the table and pointed at the plate. His father
grinned and handed him a treat. Abigail wondered how the baby would chew it and
relaxed when he just sucked on it.

She glanced toward the doorway her trunk had
disappeared into. Peering from beneath her lashes, she felt her face flame when
she saw Brant watching her. She thought she saw a tiny quirk at the corner of
his mouth.

"We put your trunk in our extra room. Jenny
and Ty sleep in the room next to yours and Luke sleeps in the loft. My room is
on the opposite side of the cabin."

Abigail crunched another bite of her cookie,
nodded, and studied a spot on the threadbare tablecloth. Glancing sheepishly
up, she asked, "May I go to my room now. I'd like to freshen up."

Brant looked embarrassed. "I don't know
where my mind's been. I'm really sorry. I should have let you do that first
thing. Jenny, pump some water in a pitcher for Miz Abby and bring it to her
room with a cloth. Come on, Abby, let's get you settled in." Ty ran back
to the table and Brant scooped him up.

Relieved that she didn't have to finish the
cookie, she tucked it in her pocket to give to Wally later and followed Brant
across the cabin. He held the bedroom door open and when Ty reached his arms
toward her, he said, "Not now, son; Miz Abby can hold you later."

Abigail entered the room looking forward to a
few minutes solitude to process her emotions. Jenny followed and set a pitcher
of water in a basin on a small table centered under the only window.

Brant said, "You rest as long as you need
to." After he closed the door, she could hear the muffled timbre of his
voice speaking to his children.

For a second, she couldn't move, the alteration
in her lifestyle having stunned her. The glamour of traveling west and changing
her whole life had no doubt blinded her to the reality of living there.
Glancing around the room, she didn't know whether to laugh or cry. It was tiny
and rustic. Other than the small table, the furniture consisted of a narrow
lumpy bed bumped up against the far corner and an old four-drawer chest with a
matching vanity and stool. A kerosene lamp topped the chest. On the timbered
wall above the bed, two pictures of pretty dresses ripped from a catalogue had
been tacked up for ornamentation.

Walking to the vanity, Abigail gazed at her
reflection in the wavy mirror and then fingered the lovely petals of
wildflowers in a mason jar. Suddenly, that simple thoughtfulness, made the
crudeness of the room insignificant.

Inhaling a shaky breath, she removed her
traveling jacket and straw hat and poured water into the bowl. Squeezing out
the threadbare cloth, she wiped her face and neck before stretching out on the
bed and lifting her forearm over her eyes, fighting the need to sleep.
Eventually, she lost the battle and drifted into dreams of a rebellious
teenager, a sweet girl, a needy baby, and a rancher with eyes bluer than a
summer sky.

A tapping sound confused Abigail. "What?
Yes? Come in," she groggily croaked. The door to her room cracked open and
Brant peeked around it.

"Uh, ma'am, Jenny has supper on the table.
We figured you was plum tuckered out, but you still need to eat."

Awareness flooded her and she jumped to a
sitting position in the middle of the bed. The sun had almost set and cast the
room in shadow.

"Goodness, I guess I fell asleep." She
reached to pat her hair and almost groaned aloud. It had escaped her bun and
hung in natural waves down her shoulders and past her breasts. "I'll be
right out."

"Yes, ma'am." Brant closed the door.

* * *

On the opposite side of the door, Brant laid his
forehead against it. Good golly, the low light was playing tricks with his
eyes. When Abby had jumped up and a mane of glorious mahogany hair covered her,
she'd looked like an exotic creature of myths, and his body had reacted. Since
Molly's death, he had only enjoyed the carnal side of his nature a couple of
times, and that was when he'd traveled to the city on business. His loneliness
had driven him to the saloon for whiskey and companionship. The gal had been
older and they'd talked for a long time before doing the deed. On his next
trip, he'd looked her up again and done a repeat of before. After that, he'd
made up his mind to find a wife. Now, seeing Abby without her ramrod stiffness,
he'd had a crazy inclination to ride out and find the preacher just so he could
enjoy the body of a woman. Inhaling slowly, he lifted his head and turned when
Ty let out a wail.

"He's tired, Pa. You want me to feed him
and put him to bed?" asked Jenny.

"Ah, sure, that sounds like a good
idea."

"You okay, Pa?"

"Yep. I'm fine." He glanced up at the
loft. "Luke! It's supper time!"

Brant heard shuffling, but his son didn't
answer.

"Answer me, Luke!"

"I'm comin', Pa."

Brant lifted Ty into the highchair he'd built
with his own hands and Jenny set a small bowl of stew in front of him.
"It's hot son. Let your sister help you."

Ty nodded. "Otay, Papa."

Jenny sat beside Ty and blew on a spoonful of
stew before lifting it to the baby's mouth.

Brant heard Abby's door open and looked up. She
had combed her hair back into its severe bun and become the epitome of an old
maid again.

Luke climbed down the loft ladder and plopped on
one of the benches that ran the length of the table.

"Luke, bless the food," he said
softly.

Luke gave his father a grim look, but obeyed,
saying a simple prayer of thanksgiving.

Brant looked at Abby. "Pass me your bowl,
Abby, and I'll fill it with stew. Jenny, put a cornbread on her plate."

The meal progressed in stilted conversation and
Ty got increasingly cranky. Finally, Brant said, "He's ready for bed,
Jenny."

"Okay, Pa, I'll take him and then come back
and clean the dishes."

Abby interjected, "Please, let me help.
What would you like me to do?"

Jenny looked from her Pa to Abby. "You want
to help me put Ty to bed and tell him a story?"

"Yes, very much so, and then I'll help
clean the dishes."

Brant nodded his approval. "Luke and I are
going to check the animals and finish a few chores. Come on, son."

Luke opened his mouth to say something, but
seemed to think better of it when he got a stern look from his father.

* * *

Abigail followed Jenny as she carried Ty to the
bedroom they shared. Upon entering, her heart jumped into her throat. The
little girl had done her best to decorate a room as small as Abigail's own, and
just as in her room, pages from a catalogue had been torn out and tacked on the
wall beside the bed. Mostly, they were pictures of dolls or pretty dresses. An
old trunk sat at the foot of the same type of narrow bed and she knew instinctively
that the quilt covering the bed had been lovingly sewn by Jenny's mother. Jenny
pulled the quilt back and laid Ty down, kissing his cheek. "You want Miz
Abby to tell you a story?"

He nodded sleepily. "Yeth."

Jenny stepped back. "You go ahead and sit
beside him, Miz Abby. I'm gonna wet a cloth to wipe his face."

Positioning herself next to the baby, Abigail
reached and caressed his silky hair. She'd often made up stories for her
students and a particularly favorite one was about a prince rescuing a maiden
from the Land of Mysterious Places.

She waited for Jenny to return before reciting
the fairytale. Ty twisted away from his sister when she tried to wash his face
and hands, and Abigail reached for the cloth, pretending it was the prince's
royal cape. Jenny sat at the foot of the bed and listened enraptured by the
story. Even though Ty fell immediately to sleep, Abigail continued the tale.
About a third of the way through, she smiled, "That's enough for tonight.
We want to save some for tomorrow and the next night."

"I love that story! I just know the prince
is going to fall in love with the girl and make her his princess!"

Abigail smiled, "You'll find out soon
enough. Now, let's go clean those dishes."

Jenny looked toward her door. "Hi, Pa. Miz
Abby tells great stories."

"Yes, I heard."

Color tinged Abigail's cheeks. How long had he
been standing there?

Long into the night, Abigail lay in her lumpy
bed and thought about each family member—Ty, so young and helpless, needing the
care of a mother; Jenny, shouldering responsibilities that belonged to a
mother; Luke, heartbroken and bitter over the loss of his mother; and Brant,
selflessly thinking of the needs of his children, but longing for his first
wife. Abigail turned her head into her pillow and silently wept.

Muffled sounds jerked Abigail awake. Reaching
for her pocket watch that she'd set on the floor beside her bed, she barely
made out the time in the light before dawn; four fifty.
What time does this
family get up?
She was used to rising between six and six thirty, but this
was ridiculous. Groaning, she sat on the side of the bed and stretched.
Might
as well join everyone and hope this day goes smoother than yesterday.

By the light of her kerosene lamp, she washed in
the basin of water and dressed in one of her most sturdy dresses. Because she
could barely see her reflection in the wavy mirror, she had to comb and pin her
hair into its usual bun from years of repetition.

Her body screamed that she needed to make a trip
to the outhouse soon. She'd been holding her bladder most of the night because
she didn't want to use the chamber pot.

Tentatively opening her door to the smell of
fresh coffee, she peered around it to see Brant, Luke, and Jenny sitting at the
table, cups in hand and talking. She usually sipped hot tea with a little cream
and sugar every morning, but the bracing aroma smelled heavenly. She stepped
past her door.

"Hello, Miz Abby," Jenny said
cheerily.

"Mornin', Ma'am," Luke said solemnly
after his father nudged him.

Brant smiled. "Good morning, Abby. I didn't
expect you to be up so early. You may want to sleep late the next few days
until you feel rested from your trip."

"Good morning, everyone. I'm not feeling
overly tired so I'd like to rise when you do." She stifled a yawn and
watched that barely visible quirk of Brant's mouth.

"Come join us for coffee. We usually take a
few minutes each morning to discuss the day. Then we work a couple of hours or
so while Jenny collects eggs and makes breakfast. After that, we work until
noon, eat lunch, work until around five, then clean up and have supper around
six."

Abigail motioned to the door. "I think I
should uh…"

"Oh, sure; nature's call," Brant said
easily.

Abigail stepped onto the porch and inhaled the
crisp air. Dawn's light was just peeking over the horizon and cast a magical
glow all around. For the briefest of moments she felt happy and carefree.
Following the path to the outhouse that Jenny had shown her the evening before,
she longed for an indoor bathroom like the one she'd had in Philadelphia.
Sighing, she opened the door to the small and smelly enclosure and did her
business.

Returning to the cabin, Brant motioned toward
the coffee pot. "Would you like some coffee?"

"Yes, thank you."

He started to rise.

"No, I'll get it." Abigail walked to
the sink to rinse her hands and then reached into the open cupboard for a tin.
Picking up a ragged pot holder, she grasped the metal pot from off the stove
and poured the blackest coffee she'd ever seen. Returning to the table she sat
beside Brant when he patted the spot next to him on the bench. The brush of his
shoulder sent tingles down her spine. "What time does the baby wake
up?" she asked.

"Usually around breakfast time. Do you like
sugar in your coffee?"

"I do."

He scooted a half full mason jar and a spoon
encrusted with sugar toward her. Not seeing another, clean spoon, she hesitated
and then stirred a little sugar in her drink and sipped the steaming brew. It
was so bitter she almost gagged. Everyone was watching her so she murmured,
"Wonderful coffee."

This time the quirk of Brant's lips was
unmistakable. "Did you sleep well?"

"Um, yes. Thank you."

Jenny saved the awkwardness everyone was
obviously feeling by chattering about the fairytale Abigail had begun the night
before. "I can't wait to hear how it ends. Too bad Ty fell asleep and
missed it, but I'll fill him in on what happened."

Brant smiled at Abigail over Jenny's head and
the simple gesture made her breathless. He was so handsome and rugged, not like
soft city men. He stood and stretched. "Time to get goin' Luke. Leave your
book behind."

Luke gave him a defiant glance, but walked to
the mantle and dropped his book on it.

Brant paused at the door and reached for his hat
hanging on a peg. "We'll be back in a couple of hours." He settled
his hat on his head and tipped the brim with his index finger. The innocent
motion started Abigail's heart hammering again. Luke grabbed his own hat and
scurried after his father. To cover her flusters, she said, "Jenny, what
can I do to help you?"

Jenny reached for the coffee tins and started
clearing them off the table. "After I get these washed it'll be light
enough for us to go to the hen house. I usually make biscuits and fried eggs
with bacon for Pa and Luke."

Abigail assisted Jenny by drying the cups and
putting them away. An appreciation of the difficult position Brant was in, and
his need for a wife in a marriage of convenience, wedged itself into her heart.
She remembered him expressing in his first letter his desire that his children
return to school. Was money so tight he couldn't afford to hire help and that's
why Luke was home? As for Jenny, caring for her baby brother was a full time
job. Besides being a mother to his children, perhaps Abigail could help financially.
Maybe Brant would allow her to repay him for the passage to Two Rivers that
he'd insisted on purchasing. Although not wealthy, she had a small savings.
Look
at you, already making plans.

Jenny reached and grabbed a basket off the
shelf. "Let's go see how many eggs we got today."

"What about Ty? Should we wake him?"

"No, ma'am. I blocked the door so he can't
get out of the bedroom. He probably won't wake up 'til we get back
anyway."

Abigail glanced at Jenny's bedroom door and
noticed a leather strap wrapped around the handle and stretched to a hook on
the frame. She smiled at the child's ingenuity.

At the front door, Jenny reached for her bonnet
on a peg. "Ma always made me wear a bonnet when I went outside. I think I
can find one of hers for you."

Abigail coughed. "Ah, you know, I have a
straw hat I was going to wear. I'll go get it." She rushed to her room and
opened her trunk, searching for the little hat box holding her work hat.
Settling it in place, she tied the ribbons under her chin and hurried back to
Jenny.

Jenny grinned, "I like your fancy
hat."

Abigail stifled a smile. The hat was definitely
not fancy. "Thank you, Jenny. Between your bonnet and my straw hat, we
shall collect eggs in style."

Jenny giggled. "You're funny, Miz
Abby." She turned toward the door but stopped and looked back at Abigail.
"And you tell great stories. I can't wait to hear more about the Land of
Mysterious Places."

"And I can't wait to tell you more about
it."

Stepping onto the porch, Abigail once again
enjoyed the lovely morning that hinted of rain. In the distance she could see
dark clouds.

Jenny saw them, too. "Looks like it might
rain later. I like the rain. Sometimes we get lightening. Mama loved storms.
She said it was 'cause we all got to stay indoors and talk 'til they were over.
She'd pass around cookies and read a book to everyone. Sometimes she and Pa
would go in their bedroom for what she called 'special talks', while me and
Luke read or did schoolwork and Ty slept."

Abigail bit her trembling lip at the girl's shared
remembrances. How could she even come close to being half the wife and mother
of the woman who had born these children?

Wally darted around the side of the cabin and
followed them to a wooden structure covered with wire mesh. The child opened
the chicken coop door and chickens scattered and squawked when they stepped
inside. Going from nest box to nest box, Jenny began retrieving eggs, sometimes
reaching under an unhappy hen.

Abigail wanted to help and began pulling eggs
from boxes on the opposite side.

* * *

Brant circled the Barn and stopped when he saw
Jenny and Abby enter the hen house. Now was his chance to watch a city girl in
action. Leaning against the siding, he picked up a long straw to chew on and
wondered how their best layer hen, Prissy, would take to a stranger. He watched
Jenny explain the task of gathering eggs from cranky hens and had to stifle a
laugh; first, at another of Abby's ridiculous straw hats, and then at the way
she'd extend her hand to reach under a hen, only to jerk it back when the hen
moved. When she tried distracting the bird by wiggling her fingers on one side
of it, and then quickly reaching under its body with her other hand, he almost
lost it. She stepped next to Prissy and he heard Jenny say, "You best let
me get Prissy's eggs."

Too late, her attempt to distract the ornery hen
sent the bird flying directly at her. She squealed, stepped backwards, and fell
on her backside, which sent all the hens into a tizzy. Brant ran to the coop
and jerked the door open, leaned down to scoop Abby into his arms, and then
backed out of the enclosure while Jenny grabbed Prissy's eggs. Still holding
Abby in his arms, he busted out laughing. She had chicken poop on her cheek and
her silly hat sat askew with strands of hair pulled awry from her bun.

She gave him a shocked look and said primly,
"Please put me down, Mr. Samson."

He choked back another laugh and righted her.
Jenny ran up beside them. "You okay, Miz Abby?"

Brant watched her blush as she tried to compose
herself. She reached to right her hat and rubbed her cheek. When she felt the
poop, her eyes got big and she stared at him. He grabbed his bandana from his
pocket and began gently dabbing the stuff off her face. Her look of horror had
him thinking she would be saying goodbye soon and he was surprised by his mixed
feelings over her departure.

Unexpectedly, when he'd swiped the last of the
bird dropping away, her mouth quirked and something that sounded like a chuckle
escaped. Then she placed a hand over her mouth and laughed uproariously. Jenny
joined her and all three of them bent over laughing. She waved her hand in the
air. "I have never been in such an undignified position in my life."

Brant's eyes rested on her beautiful smile and
thoughts of undignified positions had his mind going in a different direction.
He clamped a vise on his thoughts. Movement shifted his gaze toward the corral
to where Luke was watching them. Abruptly, his son mounted his horse and rode
toward the pasture.

"Jenny, help Miz Abby while I catch up with
Luke and find out what the bee up his butt is. We'll be in for breakfast
soon."

Brant walked to his corralled horse and mounted.
Flicking the reins, he galloped after Luke. His son's smaller horse was no
match for Brant's big sorrel. When he came alongside him, he shouted for his
son to pull up. After a moment's hesitation, the boy obeyed and jumped off his
horse, stomping in the direction of an outcropping of boulders. Brant
dismounted and followed, holding the reins of their horses.

"Are you gonna tell me what's eatin' your
butt, Luke?"

"I don't want a new ma!"

 Brant did his best to hold his temper. "I
can appreciate that 'cause you're older than Ty and Jenny. But
they
need
a ma. I never wanted any woman but your ma, and I don't want to marry now, but
sometimes, for the sake of others, you gotta do things you don't want to. I
can't work a ranch and raise Ty and Jenny on my own, son."

Luke stopped and hung his head. "I want her
to leave. We've been gettin' along okay," he said with tears in his voice.

"No, son, we haven't. She may not be the
one I marry, but I
will
marry again. I'm giving her a chance. Let's just
see how things go over the next few days. Okay?"

Luke shrugged and Brant reached to cup his
shoulder, but he jerked away and grabbed the reins of his horse, mounting and
riding away.

Brant sighed. How could he make Luke understand?