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He heard the sound of Buddy’s voice outside the barn, and the big door slid open, revealing him to Cade’s sight. The boy headed for the first stall where the cow awaited his attention, and speaking softly, he soothed the animal, “Don’t be scared, Daisy. It’s just me, comin’ to milk you and give you some hay.”
“And I’ll probably feed the chickens,” Cade muttered beneath his breath as he walked from the back door of the barn to where the boy had begun his task.
“Morning, sir,” Buddy said looking up with a quick grin, his dark hair still tousled from his pillow.
Cade’s index finger rose to touch his hat brim. “Your stepmother fixing breakfast?” he asked.
“Yeah, Glory cooks real good, mister. My pa always said that her staying with us and taking care of us was the best thing that ever happened in our family. ’Course, the baddest thing was when my mama died.”
“Was that a long time ago, Buddy?”
“Yeah, I was pretty little then, and Essie was just walking good. She was a bitty little thing, with her long yellow hair and big blue eyes. And then it seemed like a long time before Glory came to the door and she needed a place to live and my pa said she could stay with us if she married him.”
Cade felt the hair on his nape quiver. “Your pa wanted to marry Glory?” he asked mildly, even as he felt like balling his fists at the thought.
“He told Glory when she came to stay that she couldn’t live in the house with us without them being married. He said it wouldn’t look right.”
“So they got married?” Cade kept his tone mild, silently urging the boy to continue.
Buddy obliged as if he enjoyed Cade’s company. “Yeah, but it didn’t make a lot of difference to my pa. Just meant that Glory took care of us and did the cooking and stuff and taught me my letters on account of school is so far away in town. But she told me I could go to ‘real’ school after the harvest this year if we could afford a horse for me to ride back and forth. But that was before all the trouble with Pa, and now I don’t know if I’ll still be able to go. There’s gonna be lots of work to do and Glory can’t do all of it by herself.”
“Can you read pretty good, Buddy? Do you have books?” Cade wondered privately just how accomplished a teacher Glory was, though two years in college would have given her a pretty good education. But Buddy left him in no doubt as to her prowess.
“Of course I can read,” he said stoutly. “Glory got books from the real teacher in town and I can read all the way through the hardest one she’s got. I know my numbers and I can multiply and everything. That guzinta stuff is hard, but I’m working at it.”
“Guzinta stuff?” Cade searched his mind for what the boy spoke of but Buddy enlightened him promptly.
“Yeah, you know. Like four guzinta eight two times.”
“Oh.” A smile fought to appear on Cade’s face, but he resisted it manfully. There was no way on God’s green earth he would make the boy think he made sport of him. Still, the description of division struck his funny bone and he had to turn away lest he insult the lad.
Buddy propped the pail between his knees and reached for the cow’s udders. “Reckon I’d better get busy with the milking. Glory was mixing biscuits when I left the house and she said she’d make rice pudding today ‘cause we got lots of extra milk. And then I gotta put the horses out to graze.” He muttered the last words, listing his chores and Glory’s activities in a muddled rush. One Cade surprisingly found no difficulty in following.
The cow’s tail swished, causing Buddy to duck, and he cautioned the animal with a stern word, causing Cade to laugh aloud as he made an offer of help to the boy.
“Tell you what, Buddy. I’ll go stake the horses in the field out back and then gather the eggs and feed the chickens while you milk. That way, we’ll be done about the same time and we can go eat that breakfast your stepmother is putting together.”
“Would you really, sir?” Buddy’s grin was wide as he heard the offer of help, and he hastened to settle down to his chore.
Cade led the four horses out to the knee-high grass behind the corral and pounded stakes he’d found by the back door into the ground. They settled down to graze and he returned to the barn, brushing a quick hand over Buddy’s hair as he passed by on his way toward the door and the path to the chicken coop.
The hens were hungry, and when he rattled the feed pan they deserted their nests and made their way with haste to the fenced-in yard. Cade spread the grain with a generous hand and gathered the eggs without event. He made his way to the house, egg pan in hand, and called out from the porch.
“Glory? I’ve got the eggs and I spread chicken feed for the hens. Buddy is about done with the milking and he said he’s ready for breakfast.” He opened the screen door and entered the kitchen. “He told me you’re a good cook and I’m willing to sample whatever you’ve made for us this morning.”
Glory grinned, her blue eyes flashing as she shot him a quick look. “Well, come on in, Cade McAllister. Put the eggs in the pantry and wash up at the sink.”
“You know, a good crop of hay, two perhaps, would ready this place for the winter, with plenty of feed for the animals. The corn is coming up well, and with some diligent hoeing and hilling, we could have a good crop for the corn crib,” Cade said as he found his seat at the table.
“You’ve obviously learned how to garden well, Glory,” Cade said. “Your patch near the house is certainly thriving. Hardly a weed to be seen,” he said with a grin.
“I put in a good garden, Cade. And we’ll put most everything into Mason jars for the winter. There’s tomatoes and potatoes and carrots and all the rest. I planted corn and beans and onions and between Essie and me, we’ll fill the pantry with enough to do us for the winter.”
“I’ve spoken of marriage, Glory. The choice is up to you, but I’ll admit I’m more than ready to move in and take care of the hay and all the rest before winter.” His eyes were intent on her as he spoke. Even without considering the gold he’d contracted with the Pinkertons to find here, Glory was more than worth an offer of marriage. Things were looking up, Cade decided. It might take some time to woo Glory into a wedding, but he had a whole heap of that to spare.
“We having scrambled eggs to go along with that this morning?” he asked, peering over her shoulder as she stirred a pan of sausage gravy.
“I’ll put them in the other skillet in just a few minutes, soon as the gravy is ready to put on the back burner,” she answered. She glanced at him, a sharp look that gauged his mood and put him in his place. “Don’t sneak up behind me, Mr. McAllister. I don’t like surprises.”
His grin was unrepentant, she noted, but his words made a stab at sincerity. “Yes, ma’am. I’m sure sorry. I’ll make more noise next time I look over your shoulder.”
She turned from the stove, the big spoon held before her, sausage gravy dripping from its bowl, and his long index finger was quick, catching the tasty drop before it could splash on the floor, and instead sliding it between his lips.
Buddy had followed him into the house, bearing a heavy bucket of milk. “This here’s last night’s milk, Glory. I’ll put it in the pantry. I covered it good last night with a clean towel before I put it in the springhouse.” He stowed the pail under a shelf, out of the way from straying feet, and returned to the kitchen, his eyes swerving directly to Cade.
“Like I was tellin’ you out in the barn, Mr. McAllister, if I go to real school after the harvest and the last of the hay is cut, Glory says I should do good. She thinks I’m right smart.”
“I wouldn’t doubt that one little bit,” Cade said agreeably. “While I’m thinking about it, son, I’d think you could call me Cade. My pa was Mr. McAllister and I ain’t got used to the name yet. Been Cade all my life.”
“Yessir, I can sure do that … can’t I, Glory?” he asked when he caught a stray glance from his stepmother, who’d turned back to the skillets on the range. “If he says I can call him Cade, it’s all right, ain’t it? Makes him seem sorta like a friend, don’t it?”
Glory nodded as she turned from the stove where she’d poured the bowl of beaten eggs into an iron skillet and faced the two males at her table. Buddy was grinning, and Cade looked right comfortable where he sat, watching the breakfast she cooked. “I’m thinking we’ll eat better if there’s plates under these eggs and gravy,” she said sharply. “Would you see to it, Mr. McAllister?”
“Yes, ma’am, I surely will,” he said as he stood and approached the dresser where he’d seen Essie finding dishes and silverware. Four plates and a like number of knives and forks appeared on the table in moments, and he stood behind his chair, waiting.
“Anything else I can do to help, ma’am?” And then, more softly, he said, “I’d like to talk to you after breakfast about what we discussed last night.”
“I thought you’d already made up your mind,” Glory told him, pouring the sausage gravy into a bowl, then scooping the eggs into another. She placed them on the table, then reached into the warming oven atop the range to pull out a pan of biscuits she’d stored there. In moments, she’d filled the glasses with milk, poured a cup of coffee and put it in front of Cade, and called out for Essie to come to the table.
The girl appeared from the direction of the hallway, a braid hanging ragtag down her back and a look of chagrin on her face. “I can’t do my braid the way you make it, Glory. I tried three times already and it don’t look right no matter what I do to it.”
“Sit down and eat, Essie. I’ll braid it up for you after breakfast. It just takes a bit more practice. You’ll catch on.”
The food smelled tasty, Cade decided, the eggs and gravy steaming in their bowls, the biscuits crusty on the outside, and when he broke one open the inside was light and looked to be tender.
“Mr. McAllister …”
He glanced at her. “Ma’am?” He looked askance, then noted the folded hands the children held before themselves, and bowed his head, holding his own palms together as he’d been silently directed.
Glory spoke a short prayer of blessing on the food and the family; her words were sincere, obviously used often. It was plain she was not displaying company manners, only performing a ritual common to this table.
After the children had chimed in on the “amen,” Cade spoke up. “After my pa died, my mama used to always pray before we ate, and then when my stepfather moved in, she said he should take his place in the house as man of the family and he always did it from then on.”
The children were silent, and Essie cast Cade a wondering glance, as if she sought out the truth of his position in this house. Glory simply smiled, her comment mild, but much what he would have expected of her.
“We’re always thankful for our meals, Mr. McAllister. I know we work hard growing much of the food, but we’re thankful for a place to put in a garden, and the rain that waters it for us, and a good well to take up the slack when the rain holds off too long. Sometimes we take turns saying a blessing. You’re welcome to take a turn if you like.”
The children grinned, and Essie kicked Buddy’s ankle and snickered behind her hand, as if imagining the big man across the table doing such a thing. They’d only done it themselves at first to please Glory, for Pa had said that she ran the kitchen, since she cooked the meals, and they must do as she said.
“I’ll take the job for supper at night, since I’m planning on being here—for a good while, anyway,” Cade said, tossing a look of satisfaction at Glory. He pushed his plate away, the surface of it almost as clean as it had been when it came fresh from the cupboard shelf. “Good breakfast, ma’am.”
“Thank you, sir. Now, if you’ll put the dirty dishes in the sink, I’ll take a few minutes to braid Essie’s hair for her.” The child moved to stand in front of Glory and in moments the braid was formed and Glory dropped a quick kiss on the smooth cheek as Essie whispered her thanks.
The child ran out the back door, calling for her brother as she went. Buddy left the table to run after Essie, and Glory’s eyes touched the man who had cleared the table in barely a minute. His eyebrow twitched and a grin tilted the corner of his lips as he returned her appraising look.
As if he could see within her, his gaze narrowed and his dark eyes glowed. She felt a twinge of uneasiness, wondering at his thoughts. And then he answered her unspoken question before it could be asked.
“We’ll work it out, you and me,” he said softly, his eyes warm on her face.
“I told you, Mr. McAllister, I don’t know if I’m ready for what you want.”
“Well, the first thing you might do to prepare yourself is forget the Mr. McAllister thing and remember that my name is Cade. After all, I’m the lucky man you’re going to be living with, one way or another.”
She looked up at him and her smile was quick, deepening the dimples that dented her cheeks. “You’ve got a slick way of putting things, McAllister, quite a line of blarney. It sounds to me like you’ve got things all arranged in your mind.”
He chuckled at her words. “Blarney, is it? You’re sounding like a colleen from the old country, Glory.”
She cast him a flirting glance. “I suspect I come by it honestly, Cade. My father came over on a boat from Ireland, met my mother in New York, who was fresh from England herself, and married her. I suppose I picked up a bit of his way of talking. I catch myself once in a while thinking in my mind, using his words.”
“I thought as much. There’s just a hint of Irish in your speech, not a lot, but enough to tease me as I listen. And your eyes are like the black Irish. They go with your dark hair.”
“My father was dark haired and blue eyed. I suppose I take after him, for my mother was fair.”
He hesitated for a moment and then pursued the point. “Would I be out of line if I asked about your parents? Are they still alive or have you lost them?”
“I know where they are, for all the good it does me. I helped bury them both along the trail near Wichita when a good many on the wagon train sickened with diptheria. So many died in those few days. When my mother sickened, she sent me to a neighboring wagon and I wasn’t allowed near my parents again. After they died, the wagon was burned and everything in it, and my parents were buried, along with a dozen or so others who didn’t make it.”
She spoke in a low voice, the words almost cold, as if she’d placed them so far back in her memory they were in a box named the past.
“You’re all alone in the world, then,” he asked quietly. “No brothers or sisters?”
“No, there was only ever me. Mama didn’t have any more babies. But I’m not alone in the world. I have Buddy and Essie. They’re my family. Harvey Clark gave them to me the day I moved into his house. They’re mine like a small sister and brother would be, almost my own kin.”
“You’ve done a fine job raising them, Glory. Buddy is a strong boy, seems honest and upright. And Essie is a real sweetheart.”
“She’s a good girl, is what she is. And Buddy will own this place when he’s grown and he’ll farm it like his daddy. And Essie will learn to wash clothes and tend to women’s work. Like scrubbing out a load of clothes before breakfast.”
She left the kitchen then, stepping off the porch, bypassing the farm wagon parked near the house, to where a wash basket sat beneath clotheslines.
She reached into the laundry basket and pulled out a pair of denim pants. Glory snapped them in the air and hung them by the back of the waist, leaving the wind room to blow the legs dry. Three more pair of trousers followed, two of Buddy’s and another worn pair, probably left from the children’s father. Several shirts followed them onto the line and then Glory lifted the empty basket and placed it on the porch.
She bent to pick up the long pole that would prop the line high, catching the rope between the two nails on top, then standing it upright to allow the breeze access to the clothes that began to billow at the wind’s bidding.
She looked up at the line, satisfied with her early morning’s work. Tomorrow she would strip the sheets from the beds. Or perhaps the next day, depending on the weather. If it should rain, she would bake bread and churn butter, sweep the parlor and tidy up the bedrooms a bit.
Being settled in a place she could call home was a fine thing, she’d decided three years ago when she’d first come here to live. No one kept an eye on what she did, so she’d done what she pleased, and Harvey Clark had kept his peace, satisfied with the clean house and well-cooked food on his table.
This Cade McAllister looked to be a different kettle of fish. And yet, she felt a bit warmed by his wanting to look out for her. She prided herself on her ability to tend to things on her own, but maybe it would be nice to have someone around who might seek her comfort once in a while. Harvey had been a good man, but they’d lived in two separate worlds, him in the fields and the outbuildings, her in the house and garden. He’d expected her to hold up her end of the bargain they’d struck that first day, and she had done her best.
Cade spoke then. “I was thinking, if there were a fence around the pasture, it would eliminate a lot of hassle, what with staking the animals,” he suggested.
“Harvey said he wanted to put up a fence, but he was saving up for it,” Glory answered, looking up from the table where she sat, writing sums, a schoolbook in hand.
“Maybe we could do it now, get the fencing from the lumberyard and enough posts to do the job.”
“I haven’t the money for it,” Glory said defensively.
“I have. And I don’t mind doing the work. It’ll be better in the long run if the animals are free to graze the whole pasture.”
“I’d rather you didn’t put a lot of money into the place until we decide …” Her voice trailed off as Glory looked beseechingly at Cade.
He smiled, a look of understanding etching his features. “We’ll talk later, then. And in the meantime, I’ll take a look at what’s out there.” She nodded her agreement.
Cade left the kitchen, stepping down from the porch, ducking to avoid the clothesline as he headed for the barn. In mere moments he’d gone out the back door and come back into view, walking along the fence line of the corral, a hammer hanging from his belt, a sack of what looked to be nails in his hand. He was checking out the wire to see if it was loosened anywhere, she suspected. One look at Cade McAllister and she’d have sworn he wasn’t a farmer, yet there he was out walking the fence line and tending to the stock.
And she was lollygagging around paying mind to him instead of the work that awaited her in the house. She put away the schoolwork she was planning for Essie later on, folding the paper neatly and setting it aside.
She carried her empty basket to the clothesline, her mind busy with thinking of the dinner she was expected to have on the table at noontime. Taking the clothes from the line, she folded them loosely as she went, shaking out wrinkles and smoothing the fabric as she bent over the basket. A bit of care now made the ironing easier, she’d found. And the overalls would do as they were, only the shirts needing the touch of an iron.
The children were waiting for her, their chairs pulled up to the kitchen table, their books and papers neatly sorted. Essie was busy writing on her chalkboard. Buddy’s nose was in a book, for he craved reading.
“I wrote a page of numbers for you to work on, Essie,” she told the girl.
Essie grinned up at her. “I’m about done with them already,” the child answered, finishing up a number nine with a flourish. “I added those you wrote down and did a whole line of take-aways on the bottom, just like you said I should yesterday.”
Glory had a habit of writing out Essie’s numbers to be added and subtracted every day right after breakfast and left them for Essie to work on. Now she bent over the table to check the little girl’s adding and subtracting.
“You did it just right, Essie. I’m proud of you. I’ll have to give you harder ones tomorrow. You’re almost as good as your brother.”
Buddy shot a conspirator’s look at Glory, obviously secure in his advanced knowledge and willing to concede a bit to his little sister. “This here is a good book, Glory. It’s about the country of France and the people rebelling.”
“Is it one the teacher sent?” she asked
“Yes, ma’am. It’s called A Tale of Two Cities. A man named Charles Dickens wrote it.”
“I’m proud of you, Buddy. You’ll be more than caught up with the rest of the children your age when you go to school in town after the harvest. You read as well as I do already. After you finish that book I want you to write a report on it for me.”
His forehead wrinkled. “What sort of report, Glory?”
“We’ll call it a book report. You can decide what you’ve learned from the story and what it meant to you. You’ll have to name the main people in it and tell what happened to them. It’ll help you get ready for writing such things in school. And it’ll be something for us to show the teacher when you start your first day. Kinda let her see what you can do, so she’ll know which grade to put you in.”
He seemed to be agreeable to the idea and turned a page in his book, in moments deeply involved once more in the story he’d been reading. Glory watched for a moment, pride alive in her heart for what this boy had accomplished, satisfaction filling her depths because she had had a part in bringing him to this point. And sadness that she had done all it was possible for her to do for him. He needed schooling, more than she could give him, no matter how hard she tried.
And now, with the presence of Cade McAllister in their lives, perhaps she could find the way to do right by the boy.
Chapter Four
“Why don’t you take your book to the parlor to read, Buddy. And you can put away your slate and chalk, Essie. I’ve got to be getting dinner ready. Cade will be hungry, what with working on the fencing all morning.”
