Calico Brides Read online

  “I’d appreciate anything you can tell me about those three.” He clapped the Stetson back on his head. “Charlotte saw them all with a mother’s rose-colored glasses. As for Percy, best said that he was too busy to do much with them. I can tell they need a firm hand to guide them.”

  Ruth bit her lip. Although he appreciated a woman who could keep quiet, Ruth’s silence didn’t mean she didn’t communicate her thoughts. Her open face betrayed her displeasure at his plain speech.

  When she did speak, however, she addressed a different issue altogether. “You must have a lot to do to get started again here. And the children have settled in so well at the parsonage, we’d be happy to keep them awhile longer.”

  Another interfering do-gooder, like the ones who took him and Charlotte in when their parents died. He could have taken care of them on his own. He was as old as Allan was now and able to do a man’s work. Watching his oldest nephew stagger under the weight of two squares of sod, Beau had doubts about how tough the boy was. But now that Beau was here to take a hand in his upbringing, he’d toughen up soon enough. He had to. Beau was determined to make his sister’s dream come true: a homestead, proved up, ready to hand on to one of her children.

  “That won’t be necessary. The four of us will get along fine. We have plenty to do getting the soddy ready for winter and gathering as much food as we can. Don’t worry, I’ll get the younger ones to school when it starts next month.”

  A frown chased across Ruth’s features. The liveliness of the emotions playing across her face made her downright pretty, softening the angles that would look harsh in an immobile face. He held out his free hand.

  Her lips perked upward as she shook his hand. “You must know you don’t have to worry about food. Everyone feels so bad about what happened. My mother organized the pound party going on in the wagon my father drove out here this morning. And here comes Sheriff Carter, bringing the rest of it.”

  Beau’s antennae quivered at the words “pound party” and the even more ominous “rest of it.” “Is that so?” He trotted to the place where people alternated squares of sod like fine bricks, placed the three he was holding on the ground, then paced quickly to the wagon. Food for dinner could be expected, but now he wondered if there was more. Flicking back the cover revealed flour, sugar, honey, cornmeal, canned fruits and vegetables, lard, dried apples—enough to last their family of four for the winter and beyond. Clucking alerted him to the presence of a rooster and five chickens in a crate. And more was coming?

  Dust kicked up on the road subsided, showing a figure on horseback leading a cow. Did the people think he couldn’t take care of his own? He walked to the spot where Ruth’s father leaned over the sides of the wagon.

  Pastor Fairfield looked up. “It’s coming along well, Mr. Blanton.” He clapped him on the back. “You’ll be nice and snug in that place come winter. Our folks have become experts at this sort of thing.”

  Beau wouldn’t admit that he only learned how to build a soddy a few weeks ago, when he knew he’d be taking over the homestead. In his work as an itinerant cowboy, he’d always bunked at someone else’s place. “So the children are getting the mud ready?” He looked over to where the children were working, just in time to see Guy fling a handful of gooey brown mess at Dru, who ran away, squealing. Those two needed to be brought under control.

  The pastor smiled at the interplay, his grin echoing the same expression on his daughter’s face. “Reminds me of the time Mrs. Fairfield made me mud pies back when we were children. Nothing like a good mud pie to cement a friendship.” He chuckled, but then he returned his attention to the wagon. “You’ve discovered our little secret.”

  “Your daughter told me.” Beau didn’t like confronting a man of the cloth, but there were times… “I appreciate the thought, but we don’t need your charity.” He had to force that last word past his teeth. “You can return everything to the people who brought it, or put it in your church pantry, or whatever best use you can find for it.”

  The pastor rocked back on his heels. “I know you only accepted help with the soddy because you wanted to get settled as soon as possible. If it helps, I had nothing to do with this. The deacons asked their wives, and they put it all together. Truth is, this year’s been pretty good to the folks of Calico, aside from the fire that killed Mr. and Mrs. Pratt. We can’t think of another family as needful and deserving of help as yours.” He spread his arms. “The Bible says it’s more blessed to give than to receive, but my experience says both sides need God’s grace. Sometimes it’s harder to receive than to give.”

  Especially when you’ve learned gifts usually come with strings attached. “As I said, I can afford to buy the things we need.”

  “You might as well accept it. My wife will make me drive back out here if I bring it home.”

  A rustle of skirts alerted Beau to the presence of a woman, and he withheld his answer.

  “You might as well accept it,” Ruth repeated. “Papa won’t let you refuse a gift.” Ruth hugged her father. “Mama says it’s time for you to return thanks for our meal.”

  “Come along, son. We mustn’t keep the women waiting.”

  Beau frowned at the grocery-laden wagon. Why did he have the feeling he and the lively Ruth Fairfield would cross swords over more than unwanted groceries?

  He almost looked forward to it.

  Chapter 2

  When Ruth was a girl, the last few weeks before the start of school flew by. Now that she was grown, nothing had changed. Whereas in the past she enjoyed the last few days to play and spend time with friends, now she had to prepare for the next year’s lessons.

  With the addition of two new books for younger and older students, as well as several well-worn giveaways contributed by members of the community, the school library was off to a good start. She planned to make a soddy behind the schoolhouse to teach her students practical lessons on math and science. After she incorporated lessons on different building materials for homes, she’d add a timeline of American history. Building the new soddy for Beau Blanton and the Pratt children had given her the idea.

  She couldn’t get the Pratt children off her mind. Over the summer, Dru had a growth spurt, and she needed new dresses to accommodate her changing figure. Ruth was glad she had been there the first time the girl experienced her monthlies; she didn’t know how the uncle would have dealt with such a thing. The very thought of it brought heat to her cheeks.

  Ruth had finished another dress to give to Dru. She’d even brought it with her to church last Sunday. But she couldn’t make herself approach the uncle who had wanted to reject Calico’s gift. If he saw the need for new clothes, he’d probably hire Birdie to sew something.

  She tucked the material she had bought for men’s shirts—sturdy brown cotton, buttons, thread. She smiled at the buttons. These days Birdie had all the buttons she needed for her seamstress business. She hadn’t wanted charity either. Given her friend’s previous occupation, Ruth could understand her reluctance to trust others. Why Beau rejected it made less sense.

  Charlotte had spoken in high terms about her brother, how kind and thoughtful and protective he was, but she hadn’t mentioned his pride. Ruth could only pray that he would accept the clothes she had made for the children.

  If God didn’t intend for Ruth to help the Pratts, He would bring someone else into her life who could use the clothes. Drifters stopping by the parsonage for a warm bite of food and a place to sleep generally accepted whatever was offered. If that was what God intended for her mission project, she’d accept it.

  But all year long, Ruth had waited for God to show her that one special person or family He meant for her to help. After God led Gladys to Haydn Keller, Annie to Lieutenant Arnold, and even Birdie to Ned Finnegan, and thrown in Kate Polson and Norman Keller for good measure—she had hoped that maybe, just maybe, God had someone special for her. No one was ever going to marry her for her good looks, but she hoped to share in some special man’s vision
of helping people in the community.

  No, Ruth had resigned herself to official spinsterhood with a bevy of students for children, until Percy and Charlotte Pratt died in the fire and the Fairfields took in their children. She couldn’t pinpoint the reason, but somehow the three young people had burrowed themselves deep in her heart.

  Since Ruth was an only child, Allan, Guy, and Dru might come as close to nieces and nephews as she would ever have. She bundled up her sewing supplies and headed for Annie’s house. Rejoice, and again rejoice! In everything give thanks, even if everything for her included less than she dreamed of.

  Her route to Annie’s house took her past Aunt Kate’s diner. The door swung open, and Birdie came out, waving at her friend Michal Clanahan inside. God had taken care of that detail, providing employment for every lady who wanted to leave the saloon.

  Birdie still wore the sunbonnet that protected her from unwanted stares as much as from the sun, but she no longer kept her eyes trained on the ground. When she spotted Ruth, a smile brightened her face. “Ruth! I’m glad you’re here. We can walk together.”

  Birdie’s sewing bag overflowed with a dark blue calico.

  “Who is that one for? Has Owen lured another victim into his clutches?” Ruth asked. “Mama thinks it’s just a matter of time before the town council votes Calico dry and runs him out of business completely.”

  “A true miracle.” Birdie hugged the bag closer. “But no. I’ve started a quilt. I’d like to give one to each of my friends for their hope chests.” She brought her free hand to her chest. “I’ve even thought about making one for myself. Who would ever have thought it? Birdie Landry, prime entertainment at the Betwixt ’n’ Between…a merchant’s wife.” She giggled self-consciously, a carefree sound that brought joy to Ruth. “How about you?”

  Ruth spared a brief thought for her own wedding quilt, tucked away in her hope chest for the past five years. “I’m working on clothes for the Pratt children. They lost everything in the fire, of course, and they’ve all grown over the past few months.”

  They walked at a leisurely pace, crossing in front of Finnegan’s Mercantile. Ned waved at them through the window, and Birdie’s face blossomed. As they made their way to Annie’s house, Birdie floated as if she walked on air.

  Rejoice with those who rejoice. “You’re happy.”

  “Your father told me once about the difference between joy and happiness. When I read Paul’s command to rejoice, I wondered what I had to be happy about.”

  Ruth nodded. “I’ve received that lecture before—after my heart was broken when my best friend moved away and I thought I would never have another friend.” The memory brought a smile to her face. “What silly things upset us when we’re children.”

  Birdie turned thoughtful. “After my mother died, I didn’t feel happy again for a long time. Your father explained that I could always rejoice because God’s love would never ever leave me alone again…and then I met Ned. I’m glad God loves me, but I’m thankful that a good man loves me as well.” She patted the bag dangling from Ruth’s arm. “Are you interested in the Pratt children—or in their handsome uncle?”

  “Birdie!” The word burst out of Ruth’s mouth at the same time heat rushed into her cheeks. “My only business with

  Mr. Blanton concerns the children.”

  “Uh-huh.” Birdie sounded doubtful.

  At times like this, Ruth wished she hadn’t committed to this sewing circle. Nine months ago, they were all unmarried, with a common passion for helping others. They bonded together in spite of the difference in their ages. Now that she was the only unattached woman in the group, she felt her spinsterhood more than ever. Especially when they kept insisting God had someone special in mind for her.

  Beau Blanton. She mustn’t let her imagination—her heart—get carried away because he was one of the rare unmarried men to show his face in Calico. She would treat him like any of the fathers—the married fathers—of her students. Any basis other than friendship would crumble beneath her feet. Even friendship might prove difficult as long as he resisted “charity.” As much as she’d like to avoid the confrontation, she should talk with him about the clothes.

  “I can’t go to school today.” Dru remained in her nightdress while Guy was ready to leave for town in plenty of time for the first school bell.

  “You have no cause to stay home. Allan and I will be busy all day. I don’t want you staying here by yourself.” Beau wiped a weary hand across his eyebrow. “I thought you liked school.”

  “I do.” A single tear slipped down her cheek, and she shuffled her feet without looking at him. “Uncle Beau, I only have three dresses, and two of them don’t fit.”

  Beau looked at her nightwear. The hem hit her leg halfway between her ankle and her knee. It fit a little more snugly than most nightclothes. He tried to remember what she wore yesterday. It seemed to fit her fine.

  “What about the dress you wore yesterday?” A pretty soft blue calico with small pink flowers, from what he remembered.

  “I wore it all last week. It’s in the wash. I can’t wear any of my other clothes.” Her voice wobbled. “I’ll wash it today with the rest of our clothes. I can go tomorrow.”

  Peeved, Beau considered demanding that she get dressed so he could see for himself. But he couldn’t blame her. All the children’s belongings had burned along with the house, and Dru had obviously outgrown what people had given her. He stretched his memory back. Come to think of it, Dru had worn the same dress every day since his arrival. He had been too busy to notice. His mouth worked around the impossibilities presented by the situation.

  “Very well. You can wash the dress today and return to school tomorrow. And I’ll see about getting you something else to wear.” Beau had seen some ready-to-wear dresses for sale at Finnegan’s Mercantile. Maybe one of them would fit, or someone—the seamstress? Dru herself?—could adjust it to fit. “Allan will draw the water for laundry before he comes out to help me.” Next Monday Beau would have to figure out a different way to get the clothes washed. Dru couldn’t run the household and go to school. To respect Charlotte’s wishes, Dru had to stay in school.

  What Beau would do instead, he didn’t know. He turned the matter over in his mind throughout the day as he and Allan worked on plowing up the fields. Even if they couldn’t get a crop for the fall, the plants would help enrich the soil for spring.

  “Uncle Beau?” Allan ran up the row to where Beau worked.

  Working with his nephew didn’t leave Beau much time for meditating. Before he came to the homestead, he figured nothing could be harder than the long, hard days of riding herds. Who would have thought that taking care of three nearly grown children would demand so much more of him? Why didn’t Allan know more about the land that was his heritage?

  “I found these by the river. I think they’re wild onions, but I’m not sure.” Allan held the bulbs up to Beau.

  The aroma tickled Beau’s nostrils. He grunted. “Onions. They’ll taste good in our potato soup tonight.”

  Allan grinned as if pleased with bringing in something useful. He glanced down the road to town. “Guy’s home from school.”

  More dust than a single horse should kick up flew through the air along the tracks made by wagon wheels. As they drew near, he could see that Guy was not alone.

  Why couldn’t Miss Ruth Fairfield leave him alone?

  Chapter 3

  You did what?” Beau didn’t touch the garments of folded cotton in the bag. “Miss Fairfield!”

  Dru waved from her spot by the open campfire where she was cooking supper. The mild weather made a number of everyday tasks easier while it lasted. Winter fell early and hard in this part of Kansas.

  Ruth must have caught sight of the scowl on his face, because she answered with a scowl of her own. A scowl that showed itself in stormy gray eyes, creasing the lines at the edge of her eyelids, but didn’t erase the pleasant expression on her face. “Professional smilers”—that’s the
way Beau’s father had characterized pastors one time. Unbidden, a smile came to his face, and the teacher relaxed.

  With a glance at Dru, Ruth lowered her voice. “Dru in particular is in need of new clothes. Since you haven’t been around them for a while, you can’t know how much she’s sprouted up.” She looked as if she had more to say, but she kept her mouth closed. “The boys, as well.”

  Beau chomped on a blade of grass before he said something he might regret later. Why hadn’t Dru mentioned her need for new clothing before Ruth had decided to intervene?

  Ruth leaned a little closer. “I was concerned when she didn’t come to school today. Guy mumbled something about her dress.”

  Beau’s mouth tightened at that. Hadn’t Percy taught his children not to blab about family matters?

  Ruth must have caught his expression. “Don’t worry. He didn’t talk out of turn. I wouldn’t last long as a teacher if I couldn’t worm the truth out of a reluctant witness.” She held the bag by the tips of her fingers, ready to drop it into Beau’s hands. “I started the dress while Dru was still living with us. Please accept it.”

  She lifted one finger from the bag, and Beau almost reached out to catch it. On the top, he spotted brown cotton. It looked very much like a man’s shirt. Instead of accepting the bag, he removed the shirt and shook out its folds. “This isn’t for Dru.”

  “No.” Her expression remained calm, but fire burned in her eyes. “The boys also lost everything in the fire. Most of what they have to wear are hand-me-downs. I thought they would appreciate something that fits right.” Now worry wormed its way into those expressive eyes. “I didn’t have their exact measurements, so I hope these fit all right.”

  Beau brought the shirt up close, studying the workmanship. The shirt was quality, made of good, sturdy material, with fine stitching to match. He grunted in approval. These clothes could withstand the kind of stress two youths could put on them. He had a couple of shirts Allan and Guy could wear, but they were worn out and torn in a few places.