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“Do you have butter?”
“Butter’s no good. I have something better.” He grasped her uninjured hand and drew her back into the house. He left her in the kitchen and returned with a tiny silver tin and strips of clean cloth. She wrinkled her nose as he slathered the foul-smelling paste on the burn, but he smiled at the sulfuric, acrid scent. It always reminded him of Mother.
“This smells awful.” She drew up her mouth and pinched her nose.
He mimicked her grimace and laughed.
“What’s so funny?” She tried to jerk her injured hand away but he held on tighter.
“Just trust old Doctor McCann.” He slowly wound the strips of cloth around her slim fingers as he scrutinized the calluses dotting her palm. He still couldn’t imagine a beauty like her assigned to more than the lightest of household tasks. Maybe she was simply thin-skinned?
She picked up the tin of salve with her free hand and eyed the contents. “What’s in this?” she asked warily.
“Beeswax, honey and a few local herbs, among other things.”
“What kind of herbs?”
“Guess.”
Before he could stop her, she placed the tin under her nose and took a deep breath. Her eyes watered and her rosy cheeks turned beet red. She coughed daintily into the sleeve of her free arm but the cough turned into a choke. Soon tears streamed down her cheeks as she barked in ladylike fits. James laughed.
“What is so funny?” she demanded as she wiped at her streaming cheeks.
“I’m sorry, Ann. I didn’t mean to laugh. You just looked so adorable.”
His stomach turned to ice and his heart raced. He dropped her hand.
“I looked so what?” Her deep blue eyes narrowed.
Had she really not heard? “I have a lot of work to do outside,” he mumbled. He had to get away from her. “I’ll take my breakfast with me.”
James snatched up his plate and stepped onto the back porch. The cool morning air washed over him like a sobering bucket of cold water.
The emotional ups and downs that came just from being around Ann were making him dizzy—and angry. He’d had such a simple plan: marry for practicality to a plain, decent woman who’d never leave him so twisted up inside. And then Ann walked into his life and ruined everything, from his peace of mind to his sleep to his breakfast. He stomped back into the kitchen.
“This.” He pointed to the slop bucket with the ruined eggs. “This is why I didn’t want a pretty bride.”
Ann’s cheeks flushed crimson and she clenched her hands into fists. “You think an ugly girl will make you a better breakfast?”
“I need to eat, Ann. Uncle Mac needs to eat. The animals need to eat. The crops need to be planted and harvested. And you can’t even cook an egg.”
“I’m sorry I’m a disappointment to you, Mr. McCann, but why are you berating me? If I’m another man’s intended, you won’t be bothered with me much longer.”
James’s cheeks burned. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way. Forgive me.”
He escaped out the back door before he could say something else he regretted. Ann was right. It didn’t matter that, despite the disastrous breakfast, in a single morning she’d impressed him with much more than her beauty. She’d risen early to clean the entire kitchen by dawn, made an attempt at breakfast and stood stoically through the dressing of a burn that would likely make a grown man cry. None of that mattered. The agency intended her for another, and he had to keep reminding himself of that. Forget for an instant and he risked falling in love.
Chapter Four (#u72be62c0-eb70-597d-af5b-faca7d46c59d)
James had been gone half an hour, and Uncle Mac still hadn’t appeared. Did James still expect her to bring the older man his breakfast? She fried a second batch of eggs that, despite James’s lesson, looked only slightly better than her first. She fished out a large piece of eggshell with the tines of a fork and broke both yolks in the transfer to the plate. Ann exhaled loudly as the yellow liquid ran over the burned edges of white.
She scrounged a dented metal tray from the pantry, and arranged the tray with the plate of eggs, the coffeepot and a cup and saucer. After surveying the meager meal, she added the last of the bread heel she’d found under an oilcloth. On impulse, Ann poured a cup of coffee for herself and sipped. Wretched! She spit the bitter mess back into the cup and replaced the coffee with a mug of milk. Her ill-suited suitor was right. She was hopeless in the kitchen.
Upstairs, she hesitated at the bedroom door next to hers. Ann had years of experience serving, but her employers expected her to remain unseen. She cleaned rooms after the family vacated them, and if called to a room where her employers were present, she entered and exited as quickly as her legs and duties allowed. But that kind of detachment wouldn’t do here.
“Mr. McCann? This is Ann Cromwell. I have your breakfast.” Her knuckles softly rapped the paneled door. Was he even a McCann? Oh dear, she may have offended the man. Feet shuffled on the other side, but they didn’t move toward the door. Had his nephew even shared with him news of Ann’s arrival?
“Mr... Sir? Your nephew sent for me through the Transatlantic Agency. I’m to...to stay with both of you for a time.” How had the burden of explanation fallen on her shoulders?
Ann waited several long minutes, knocking louder and louder at regular intervals, but still no one approached the door. The sounds from the other side assured her Uncle Mac remained both alive and mobile. She set the tray on the floor.
“I’ve left you a tray of breakfast, sir. I hope you enjoy it.” Unlikely.
Back in the kitchen, she cleaned up the few dishes from breakfast and surveyed the room. It had been dusk when they arrived the night before, and the house had appeared neat and well-ordered. In the morning light she’d discovered the truth. Everything had been tidied recently, but by someone who knew every trick of creating the illusion of clean. Tabletops were spotless, but the spaces beneath were a tangle of cobwebs. Windows had been washed but their sills were trimmed with dust. Had James even noticed how she’d scrubbed the floors, wiped down the baseboards and chased spiders from every corner? And all before she’d prepared breakfast.
Ruined breakfast, she chided herself.
She never expected to become a proficient cook overnight, but her first attempts in the kitchen were sobering. To earn her keep here, and cook for herself when she left, she’d need to learn. Perhaps James would give her a few more lessons.
Ann tried to shake the thought from her head, but it wouldn’t budge. The whole thing had been a dreadful mess, and yet the memory stirred her heart. The thought of James standing beside her, his strong hand gently guiding her through each step of frying an egg sent goose bumps down her arms. When she’d carelessly burned her fingers, those same strong hands turned impossibly gentle as he tended her wounds. For a brief moment she’d forgotten she wasn’t meant for James and had thanked God for her good fortune at being matched with someone so unlike the man who’d caused her so much pain in the past.
Just as quickly the memory soured. She didn’t blame James for his outburst. He knew as well as she did they weren’t meant for one another. It did neither of them any good to pretend. But did he have to remind her of her shortcomings? She knew them as well as anyone.
Ann’s stomach knotted as it so often did when she grew nervous or upset. She chided herself. James McCann occupied far too many of her thoughts already, despite being no more than a begrudging temporary landlord and she his unwelcome houseguest. She needed a distraction. Polishing and scrubbing were good for that, but she’d already depleted the meager supply of soap and polish she’d found in the cabinet. Her needle lace had always been a comfort to her, so she fetched some from her room and set to work.
The simple piece—a square of linen on which she built up needle-lace scallops and flower petals one stitch at a time—didn’t require enough attention to prevent her mind from drifting back to her situation. Despite James’s beliefs, she knew no one waited for her. She would soon be alone in a strange country. Basic necessities to buy. Room and board to pay. The very thought of each expense made Ann’s stomach go cold.
Embroidery proved a very poor distraction. Her hands trembled over the stitching as she contemplated her future, and after she ruined the third petal with her carelessness, she tucked the lace away in her apron pocket.
The creak of floorboards snapped her attention to the back porch. The wooden screen door swung open and James entered in his stocking feet. He’d walked through the kitchen with his dusty shoes on this morning. Did this mean he’d taken note of the markedly cleaner floor?
“Is lunch ready?”
Ann’s throat constricted. A glance at the clock proved the day approached noon. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you wanted me to prepare something.”
“That’s alright. I don’t think I could stomach another meal like breakfast.”
Heat rose up the back of Ann’s neck, and her fingers itched to snatch a plate from the table and launch it at his head. James smiled and teasingly winked. The angry heat receded a little.
“I’ve cooked my own meals for years. I think I can manage a little longer in exchange for a house this clean,” he added.
He had noticed!
Before she could respond, James stepped abruptly from the kitchen into the hall. His footsteps moved from the dining room to the parlor. He returned, his lips pulled down into a frown. “The other rooms haven’t been cleaned. What have you been doing all this time?”
His accusation warmed her blood again. She rose from her chair and drew a deep breath to calm her temper. “I am not lazy, James McCann.”
He gestured about the room. “No lunch and a dirty house. What do you call that in England?”
“I’ll have you know it would have been my pleasure to clean your filthy house. You would have walked in the door and lost your senses at the great beauty of clean floors and windows not covered in grime. But you’re out of supplies.” Ann bit her lip to keep from saying more, though she feared the damage was done.
James’s eyes widened and the taut muscles of his jaw relaxed. His voice grew soft. “I’m out of supplies?”
Ann stood up straight and clasped her hands submissively behind her back out of habit. She’d assumed this same stance whenever her employers addressed her while in service. She realized this immediately and let her hands fall to her sides.
“I used all of what you had cleaning the kitchen. I should have told you earlier.” If you hadn’t stomped out of the house before I could.
James dipped his sandy head and his cheeks colored. “Figures. I paid a woman from town to clean the house but she obviously cheated me. House is still dirty and she took the extra soap and polish with her.”
He ran a hand through his hair and glanced at Ann. He looked...sheepish? Like a schoolboy caught with candy in his desk. “I’m sorry I accused you of being lazy. What have you been doing this morning?”
“I made Uncle Mac breakfast, though he didn’t come to the door when I knocked. I left the food on the landing.”
“It’s my fault for not making proper introductions. We’ll right that this afternoon. What else did you do?”
Her heart raced as she dipped her hand into her apron pocket. James would likely think her time better spent staring at the wall than working on needle lace. She withdrew the piece from her pocket. “I worked on this.” She held out the handkerchief and cringed when he took it from her with dirty fingers.
She gestured to the cloth. “I’m sure you think such work is worthless, but I had nothing else to fill the time. I would have cleaned had I found more supplies,” she repeated.
James examined the handkerchief as she spoke. Over and over, he turned it in his calloused hands. The more he studied it, the lighter his touch became, as if he handled a fragile porcelain cup. “You did all of this? The lace?”
She nodded.
His eyebrows raised and Ann saw a flicker of what appeared to be admiration. “No one helped you?”
Ann laughed at the absurd question. “Do you see anyone else here?”
James chuckled softly. “I meant—did someone help you with this before you arrived in America?”
“No. I began the work a week ago.”
“After lunch we’ll go into town for cleaning supplies. You’ll take this.” He gently folded the handkerchief into quarters and set it in her hand. His fingertips brushed her palm. The touch sent a warmth through her hand. She set her jaw and shook off the feeling.
James cobbled together a stew for lunch. “For Uncle Mac,” he explained as he ladled the first steaming bowlful. He paired the stew with a mug of milk and they took the meal upstairs together. They hadn’t even reached the top step before Ann spotted the breakfast tray. The spotless plate and empty mug suggested at least someone had enjoyed his meal that morning.
James rapped on the door. “Uncle Mac? Lunch is ready.” Bedsprings creaked, but still the door didn’t open.
“Best leave these here. There’ll be plenty of time for introductions when we get back from town.”
After lunch James retreated upstairs and returned wearing a clean shirt. His freshly scrubbed cheeks shone pink and water droplets clung to his tousled hair. Ann made a mental note to refill the pitcher in his room.
While James hitched the wagon, Ann stood outside and took in the expanse of land. Row after row of young green plants stretched in all directions. A small grove of oaks and maples, no more than five or six acres, anchored the east end of the field.
“May I ask what you did outside this morning?” Ann asked James as he helped her onto the wagon seat.
“Hoed the fields.”
The field nearest Ann seemed enormous as she imagined someone clearing the weeds row by row. “When will you be done?”
James laughed drily. “A job like that is never done. Not until the corn grows tall enough to shade out the weeds. I’ll be out here every morning until then.”
“And when might that be?”
“Well...” James paused and rubbed his chin. “We have a saying. ‘Knee-high by the Fourth of July.’ When the stalks are that tall, we should only have a week or two more of weeding.”
Weeks and weeks of hoeing this sweeping vista of green. Ann made a note to help him beginning tomorrow.
“What crops are you growing?”
James’s eyebrows rose and his shoulders drew back. “Corn in the big south field and some wheat in the north field. Most everyone around here grows either corn or wheat as their main crop.” He pointed to the next farm. “Hal Schneider has corn, too.”
The meandering rows of corn on Ann’s right weren’t planted with nearly the precision of James’s fields, and weeds were in abundance. In a few spots she couldn’t tell the crop from the intruders.
“It looks like Hal Schneider needs to weed,” she observed.
James glanced at the field. “Hal has a lot more than weeding to do.”
“What do you mean?”
James’s brow knotted and his mouth became a hard line. “The man has two young children and a house falling down around them. His wife died last year, and he didn’t take it very well. He needs to tend to his children and himself as well as those fields.” His voice held an edge of concern.
Ann strained to see the Schneider house, expecting to find children playing in the yard. It stood quiet and empty. She turned to James to ask him another question about his neighbor, but the top of an envelope jutting from his pocket caught her eye. So that was why he’d been so quick to suggest the trip to town. He needed to telegraph the agency and mail the letter to Mrs. Turner. Another reminder of her unknown future.
“Do you have much business in New Haven?” Ann tried not to sound too curious.
“A bit.”
She waited for him to continue. He didn’t.
“Am I to accompany you on your errands?”
He shook his head. “Nope.”
It was like their trip from town to the farm all over again. Why must he swing betwixt friendly and withdrawn? Ann smiled through clenched teeth. “And what am I to do?”
“First you’ll buy the supplies you need to clean. And then—” he turned to look Ann straight in the eye “—you’re going to make yourself a new friend.”
“What kind of friend?”
His eyebrows arched. “You’ll see.”
* * *
James sighed inwardly. He abhorred being so short with Ann, but what else could he do? Every time he let down his guard with her, his head spun. It was a familiar feeling. He’d felt it every time he’d been in Emily’s presence. When she’d wanted something, he’d fallen over himself to do exactly as she’d asked, like a dutiful dog who only sees the good in its master. The need to please her had remained even as both his heart and God told him she was not the girl for him. At least now he knew how easily he lost his senses around a pretty girl. Better to focus on getting Ann to her intended husband and bringing his plain bride to the home where she belonged.
They drew into town and James turned onto the square and hitched the wagon in front of the first building. Davis Mercantile was neatly lettered in red and gold on the window.
“You can buy supplies in Davis’s. Charge them to my account,” he said as he helped her down.
