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A Home Of Her Own
Keli Gwyn
A Blossoming LoveBecky Martin knows that she can't stay at James O'Brien's apple farm forever, but she wishes she could. After her brother framed her for arson, she flees Chicago, travelling cross country to California and finding work caring for James's ailing mother. Beneath the apple blossoms, it's almost like she has a real family…but her secret won't stay buried forever.James, scarred from an explosion, didn't expect to connect to the pretty young traveler. Could she really love someone damaged like him? He knows she's hiding something. If only she'd trust him. Can she let go of her past and believe in the possibility of a future amidst the apple trees?
A Blossoming Love
Becky Martin knows that she can’t stay at James O’Brien’s apple farm forever, but she wishes she could. After her brother framed her for arson, she flees Chicago, traveling cross-country to California and finding work caring for James’s ailing mother. Beneath the apple blossoms, it’s almost as if she has a real family...but her secret won’t stay buried forever.
James, scarred from an explosion, didn’t expect to connect to the pretty young traveler. Could she really love someone damaged like him? He knows she’s hiding something. If only she’d trust him. Can she let go of her past and believe in the possibility of a future amid the apple trees?
“Are you going to show me how you prepare the new trees, or are you going to stand there staring at me?”
“I wasn’t st—” Yes, he probably had been. He couldn’t take his eyes off her lately. “Fine. I was. You’ve got some flour on your face.” He brushed her cheek to remove the powdery white streak, and she shuddered.
An aching hollowness filled his chest. After all this time, Becky was still repulsed by his touch. No matter what he did, he couldn’t seem to break through her defenses. Well, she’d just have to endure being close to him, because it was nearly impossible to teach someone how to graft without making contact. She’d need help making the cuts and fitting the two pieces of wood together correctly.
She picked up a grafted whip and studied it, her back to him. “So is this what a baby tree looks like when you finish?”
Her reluctance to look at him was understandable, but the catch in her voice was puzzling.
Award-winning author KELI GWYN, a native Californian, transports readers to the early days of the Golden State. She and her husband live in the heart of California’s Gold Country. Her favorite places to visit are her fictional worlds, historical museums and other Gold Rush–era towns. Keli loves hearing from readers and invites you to visit her Victorian-style cyberhome at keligwyn.com (http://keligwyn.com), where you’ll find her contact information.
A Home of Her Own
Keli Gwyn
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Therefore if any man be in Christ,
he is a new creature:
old things are passed away;
behold, all things are become new.
—2 Corinthians 5:17
In memory of my beloved mother-in-law,
Mary Lu Gwyn, a victim of breast cancer.
Her faith inspired me.
Her strength amazed me.
Her love blessed me beyond measure.
Contents
Cover (#u1b55d8a1-3730-5fd1-818f-fea68d63b95a)
Back Cover Text (#u86f24a5c-068d-5985-b296-0b62c75a90e5)
Introduction (#u288de366-438a-5c21-9bf2-7cf555c0abcf)
About the Author (#u7fdc87d0-1662-5fa5-9993-e93d098b20ab)
Title Page (#u39f8bb4e-4f43-587c-875f-768947b6c450)
Bible Verse (#u55ae3ef8-579b-5829-aa9e-23f6422f8d50)
Dedication (#u39efbcf9-2278-5e5b-bfbc-b11e9ad507af)
Chapter One (#u9a5d52f5-4785-537e-8fd1-701ef374062e)
Chapter Two (#u2ddcdf7d-b0a6-52a7-a299-97c170776d58)
Chapter Three (#u6f03ee8f-1891-5470-82ac-2b822630c911)
Chapter Four (#u3583ba73-df10-5ae5-bc30-07435edd47eb)
Chapter Five (#ud86d4340-818c-58e3-ab7c-a7aba1c61288)
Chapter Six (#uba1369db-16f5-5520-a268-a4469097b609)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ulink_75be5b5f-e5eb-5f52-b3f1-bd849e3e6f85)
April 1871
Becky Martin had escaped one bad situation only to find herself in the middle of another.
With her heart as heavy as a blacksmith’s anvil, she trudged along the planked walkway after her newfound friends in search of a café where they could eat their midday meal. The rough makeshift handle of her faded carpetbag cut into her palm, the stinging sensation reminding her of the many tongue lashings her brother had given her when she hadn’t done his bidding fast enough. Then he’d gone too far. She’d stood her ground, and the drunken lout had raised his hand to strike her.
No. She wouldn’t dwell on the ugly scene that had sent her fleeing to California. She must keep her mind on the task ahead. Despite her present state, she had no choice but to convince James O’Brien she was capable of caring for his mother.
You helped me get away from Dillon, Lord, so I trust You to help me muster my courage once again.
“Don’t be dragging your feet, Becky. There’s not much time left before you’re to meet Mr. O’Brien, and you can’t do so on an empty stomach.”
Leave it to matter-of-fact Jessie to state the obvious. “I’m coming.”
“Of course you are.” Cheerful Callie looked over her shoulder and offered an encouraging smile. “Even so, I can’t help but notice that you’ve grown pensive.”
Becky struggled to remember what the word pensive meant, but the definition eluded her, no doubt due to the bone-deep weariness following their week’s travel. Perhaps if she said nothing, Callie would continue, giving a clue to the meaning.
Both Callie Hunt and Jessie Sinclair had no trouble talking. That must be nice. As far back as Becky could remember, she’d been more reserved than her new friends. Being quiet gave her time to form the most articulate response possible before speaking.
This time she had no choice. She would have to say something to Mr. O’Brien, even if her words weren’t polished. If not, her silence could cost her the job.
She needed work desperately. After paying for her meals during their travels, her reticule held a grand total of fifty cents, just enough for a simple dinner. Her dreams of standing on her own two feet would have to wait until she got them back under her—and figured out what an uneducated woman like her could do. Surely the Lord would guide her, as He always had.
Callie drew alongside Becky. “Judging by that faraway look on your face, you’re thinking mighty hard about something. Why don’t you tell us what’s on your mind?”
Jessie stopped, forcing Callie and Becky to do the same. “Yes. Tell us. We’re friends now, and friends help one another.”
There’d been little time for socializing in Chicago, but Becky had formed a fast bond with these two confident young women. Like her, they’d come to California eager to leave their pasts behind and start anew. They’d confided in her, so they deserved to know the rest of her sad tale. Well, most of it anyhow. She couldn’t tell anyone the real reason she’d had to leave.
She glanced up and down Placerville’s bustling main street, assuring herself no one was close enough to overhear, and blurted her confession. “I told you I was coming here to nurse Mr. O’Brien’s mother, but what I didn’t tell you is that he provided the money for my train ticket. No matter what kind of man he is, I have no choice but to work for him until I’ve paid him back. What if he turns out to be as cruel as my brother...or worse?”
Jessie nodded. “I understand your concern. You know next to nothing about him.”
That was true. The only things Becky had learned in the telegram from Dr. Wright to his former minister in Chicago was that James O’Brien, a railroad engineer-turned-orchardist, had given the doctor permission to send for a woman who would serve as his mother’s nurse. If the doctor hadn’t vouched for Mr. O’Brien’s character and said he was a God-fearing gentleman willing to pay her way to the West, she wouldn’t be here now.
Callie patted Becky’s shoulder. “I’m sure everything will work out. You had good reasons for leaving, didn’t you?”
She did, but she’d acted in haste, taking the first offer that had come along. “After our father’s heart gave out last month, my brother changed. Things kept getting worse. And then came that horrid evening.” She shuddered at the memory of Dillon standing before her, reeking of alcohol. She’d challenged his ludicrous accusations, and he’d let loose with a string of curse words that stung her ears. The blows had followed.
“My choices were to stay in Chicago and live in fear of Dillon finding me or embrace the opportunity that came my way and disappear. With less than ten dollars in my reticule, I couldn’t go far. I stuffed my things in my carpetbag and ran all the way to the church. The request the doctor sent on behalf of Mr. O’Brien came at just the right time. Reverend and Mrs. Hastings said it was a godsend.”
The offer had seemed providential. Dr. Wright’s telegram had arrived minutes before she’d sought refuge. It had taken her all of thirty seconds to decide to head to California. Reverend Hastings had sent a reply soon after she’d shown up at the parsonage—out of breath and out of options. He’d told the doctor that if he would wire the funds from Mr. O’Brien, she would be on the next westbound train. His wife had introduced Becky to Jessie and Callie, who were also headed to Placerville, and had agreed to be her traveling companions. Jessie was eager to embark on a career as a draftswoman out West, and Callie had set out to find her brother, who had come to California earlier.
Although Becky had been in a hurry to get away from Chicago, the knots in her shoulders had grown tighter with each mile of track the chugging locomotive devoured. That stiffness was the least of her concerns, though. After Dillon had shown her what he thought of her refusal to take the blame for his heinous act by slapping her and shoving her into the sideboard, simply drawing a deep breath had made her want to double over. Her midsection didn’t hurt as much now, as long as she didn’t cough. If all went well, her sore ribs would heal quickly.
At least her face didn’t look as bad as it had when she’d embarked on her journey. She’d forced herself to peek in the looking glass when she’d visited the women’s lounge at the Shingle Springs rail station before they’d boarded the stagecoach bound for Placerville that morning.
A shop door opened, and someone stepped into Becky’s path. She came within a hairbreadth of crashing into the broad chest of a tall man wearing a brown tweed frock coat. She winced, moved back and rested a hand on her aching middle.
Looking up, her gaze passed over his puff tie and landed on a jagged scar. It began below the clean-shaven man’s right ear, curved around the side of his face and stopped just shy of his mouth. His lips were pursed, and his hazel eyes glinted green. She’d seen that heated look before—in Dillon’s dark eyes when he’d yelled at her, as he so often did.
Despite the warm spring day, a chill swept over her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were coming out.”
“That’s evident.” He dismissed her with a sneer that puckered his crescent-shaped scar and turned to offer his arm to a small woman with a gray braid peeking from beneath the edge of her bonnet. A rather sloppy braid. He leaned over and spoke to her in a surprisingly gentle tone. “I know you don’t want to go, but we have no choice. No matter what he says, I’ll be there for you.”
The frail older woman wrapped one hand around his elbow and patted his arm with the other. “Ja. I know. You are a good boy.” She must be German, as Becky’s mother had been. A wave of sadness washed over her. How she missed her Mutter.
A wagon sped up the street, the harness jangling. A scraggly dog darted into the street—and into the horses’ path.
Fear surged through Becky, and she took off running. “Look out!”
She’d made it halfway across the wide rutted road when two strong arms grasped her from behind, bringing her to an abrupt stop.
Her carpetbag flew from her fingers, landing in front of the briskly moving wagon. She watched in horror as a wheel lifted the bag and spun it around, showering the dusty street with her few possessions. The dog loped off.
She swatted at the hands clasped in front of her. “Let me go. I need to get my things.”
“I’ll do it.” The scarred man she’d nearly run into moments before released her, grabbed her carpetbag and scooped up her belongings. He stuffed her unmentionables and nightgown inside so quickly that the gawkers gathered around couldn’t possibly have gotten a good look at them. His thoughtfulness in choosing to go after the intimate items first surprised her. She’d half expected him to hold up her undergarments and let loose with a derisive laugh the way her scoundrel of a brother would have, but the stranger had behaved like a true gentleman.
The puzzling man set her carpetbag at his feet and folded her spare cotton work dress, treating the worn black bombazine with the care one would give a fine silk.
Becky realized she was staring, shook herself and immediately regretted it. Due to the man’s firm hold moments before, her injured ribs were screaming in protest. Even so, she had to get her books before another wagon passed by.
With halting steps, she covered the few feet to where one of them lay. She wrapped an arm around her belly and, as carefully as possible, squatted and picked up her well-worn Bible. She rose and found herself facing her self-appointed helper. Seen from his uninjured left side, he wasn’t frightening at all. Quite the contrary. He wasn’t merely handsome. He was downright striking. With his wavy caramel-colored hair, perfectly formed nose and strong jaw, he could be a model for the drawings in one of those fashion magazines Callie favored.
What captivated Becky were his expressive eyes, which held a mixture of concern and something else. Pity, no doubt. She was plain on her best days. With the sickly looking bruises, she was downright pathetic.
He set her bag at her feet, dusted off her dictionary and handed it to her. “Here you go, miss.”
She took her treasured book—the first thing she’d grabbed before making her escape—and hugged the dilapidated volume to her. If anything had happened to it, Becky would have wept then and there. She could get a new Bible, but she could never replace her mother’s dictionary. “Thank you, sir.”
“You shouldn’t go chasing after a mongrel like that. You put yourself in danger.”
Although he’d chided her, the warmth now lighting his captivating eyes eased the sting.
“Good day.” He tipped his hat and returned to the older woman waiting for him on the walkway.
The dog. Becky had forgotten about him.
Callie rushed up to her. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, I think.” She stared at the back of the man who’d come to her aid. “Did you see what happened?”
“Oh, yes. It was quite romantic, the way he raced across the street to save you. And then he collected your things in an impressive show of chivalry.”
Romantic wasn’t the word she’d choose. Embarrassing, perhaps. Even a little scary, albeit deliciously so. Her roguish-looking rescuer evidently had a softer side. “Not that. What happened to the dog?”
Callie shook her head and smiled. “You’re such a caring person, Becky. You would risk your life for a mutt.”
Mongrel. Mutt. The words rankled. Every creature was special, even the lowliest of them. “I don’t like seeing an animal get hurt.”
“Well, you can relax. The dog dodged the wagon wheels and ran off unharmed.”
Callie took Becky’s arm and led her to the wooden walkway where Jessie waited, her forehead creased with concern. “Are you all right? I saw you wince, and you’re moving slowly.”
“I’ll be fine.” She would be, once she figured out how to overcome any objections Mr. O’Brien might have—and what to do if he proved to be impossible to work for.
* * *
Dr. Wright perched on the corner of the large desk in his private office, his left leg swinging like a pendulum. The steady swipe of his heel brushing the oak panel as he stared into space made James O’Brien want to cry out in protest. In his experience, when a doctor took his time searching for the right words, the news wasn’t good. “Just tell me. How bad is it?”
The compassion in the young doctor’s eyes when he focused on James gave him his answer. “My examination today confirmed the suspicions I had when you were in last week.”
“So it’s spread. Is there nothing that can be done to stop it?”
Dr. Wright ceased his motion. “I’m sorry, James. Cancer’s an ugly disease, but we’ll do everything we can to make your mother as comfortable as possible. Thankfully, we have morphine these days.”
“How long—” James’s voice cracked. “How long does she have?”
“I can’t say for sure. My best estimate is six months, more or less.”
“I see.” If Mutti put up a good fight, she might be around for another harvest. He couldn’t imagine one without her. She enjoyed preparing the meals for the extra workers they hired every September. Not that she’d be up to cooking this year, even if she hung on that long. He’d have to find someone else to feed the hired hands.
The thought of another woman in Mutti’s kitchen jerked James back to the present. “I’ve done some thinking since that visit, and I’ve changed my mind.”
Dr. Wright quirked an eyebrow. “About?”
“About your idea of finding a young woman from the East to care for Mutti. I know I gave you the funds for the ticket, but I’ve decided to find a nurse myself and reduce my cash outlay. Since you couldn’t think of anyone available around here, I’m going to expand my search. I’ll go to San Francisco, if necessary.”
Kate wouldn’t leave her comfortable life in the famed city. Not that he could blame her, since she had a young daughter. But his sister, with her many society connections, might know about a matronly woman with nursing experience. An elderly widow would do nicely. He wanted nothing to do with having a young unmarried woman living in his house.
The doctor’s forehead furrowed. “I understand your hesitation, but when you left my office last week I was certain you’d given me consent to seek someone for you.”
“I did, but that’s only because I was taken by surprise when you told me how rapidly the disease is progressing. When Mutti brightened at your offer to locate a young lady to help her, I couldn’t say no. But I’ve realized how hasty I was and have come up with a more prudent plan.”
James gave a single nod, firm and forceful. He’d put a stop to things, and now he could proceed with his plan to locate a nurse himself.
Dr. Wright stood, leaned against a tall bookcase filled with medical books and raked a hand through his hair. “It seems we have a problem.”
His serious tone didn’t bode well. “What do you mean?”
“As a physician, I’m used to taking immediate action. Before you’d even reached Diamond Springs that day, I’d stopped in at the Wells Fargo office. I sent a telegram to the minister of my church back in Chicago, asking if he knew of a young woman willing to come West and received a reply within the hour. A positive one. I’ve been looking forward to surprising you with the good news. I knew you could use some.”
Apprehension swirled in James’s gut. He would do anything for Mutti, but he couldn’t allow a young lady to live in his home. No good could come of such an arrangement. Not that she’d even agree to stay if she did come. She’d probably take one look at him and change her mind. He wouldn’t blame her if she did.
After the accident, he’d come to his senses. He’d planned to ask for Sophie Wannamaker’s hand, but he’d realized that a lowly man like him didn’t deserve a woman of society like her.
He could still hear the shouts of those asking who’d tumbled down the snow-covered bank following the explosion—along with the clipped response. That Irishman, O’Brien.
No one had mentioned the fact that he was an engineer. He was just seen as another immigrant, even though he’d been born in the States and spoke with no hint of the musical lilt his dearly departed father had.
While James might have been able to overcome the handicap of his heritage, he could do nothing to conceal the ugly scar that frightened small children and caused adults to avert their gazes. It would come as no surprise if this woman were similarly affected. Not that he would have to worry about that, since she wouldn’t be coming anyhow.
He stood. “You’re not saying he has someone in mind already, are you? Because if that’s the case, you’ll have to tell him the need no longer exists.”
“I would relay your message if I could, but Reverend Hastings and his wife put the young woman on the train the next day.” Dr. Wright flipped open his pocket watch and nodded. “Barring any delays en route, she should be in my waiting area with your mother.”
Shock surged through James. “She’s here?”
Chapter Two (#ulink_f5bc0d26-18c4-5e23-83f8-91f0f60300a0)
Ten minutes in Dr. Wright’s waiting room with Mariela O’Brien was all it had taken to strengthen Becky’s resolve. She wasn’t sure what to make of Mr. O’Brien, but she was eager to care for this courageous woman. Although Mrs. O’Brien’s days were numbered, she possessed the same inspiring faith Becky’s mother had.
Before she could secure the nursing position, Becky had to figure out how to dodge the obstacle in her path. Mr. O’Brien had seen how gingerly she moved when she’d stooped to pick up her Bible and was sure to have concerns about her ability to do the job. Although Mrs. O’Brien insisted he was a kind, loving man, Becky had her doubts.
Mr. O’Brien might have come to her aid and treated her with respect, but she couldn’t forget the fierce look in his eyes when she’d first encountered him or the way he’d sneered at her. A man like that couldn’t be trusted. Her brother could appear charming in public, but she’d seen how quickly Dillon could change into someone entirely different when no one else was around.
Eager to learn more about her present situation, Becky shoved the past aside and focused on the friendly woman seated beside her on the elegant settee. It hadn’t taken long to figure out that she was James O’Brien’s mother and that she was German, as Becky had suspected.
Mrs. O’Brien continued, speaking in German as they’d done since she learned it was Becky’s second language. “I had a weak moment earlier this morning and wanted to put off seeing Dr. Wright, but my dear boy calmed my fears.”
The stouthearted woman couldn’t be blamed for being hesitant to hear how bad things were. Such news could be difficult to accept, even for a brave soul like her.
“The good doctor examined me a few minutes ago. He tried not to show any emotion, but I knew from the look on his face he’d found another tumor. I forced him to tell me when to expect the end. He did his best to sound optimistic, but the truth is I’ll be meeting my Maker sometime in the next six months.” A smile spread across her softly wrinkled face. “I can only imagine what it will be like to look into His eyes and thank Him for all He’s done for me.”
As had been the case with Becky’s mother, Mrs. O’Brien didn’t sound scared to be facing the end of her life. “I sense you’re at peace.”
“When it comes to myself, yes. I’m eager to see my beloved William again, but I long to see my son end his feud with his heavenly Father before I go.” She heaved a wistful sigh. “James isn’t one to be forced into something. I pray for him regularly.”
Perhaps the doctor had overstated Mr. O’Brien’s relationship with the Lord in his telegram or didn’t realize that his mother saw things differently. “I like to think God takes a special interest in the prayers of a parent, since He’s one Himself. My mother was convinced He heard hers. She certainly lifted plenty of them for my brother and me in her last days.”
“Did your mother have cancer, too?”
“Consumption. Both are such terrible diseases.” She ached to think of what Mrs. O’Brien would have to endure in the months to come.
“When the doctor told James it was time to hire a nurse, I was excited at first. I’d had a tiring day, you see, and welcomed the idea of a helper. But then that night in the quiet of my own room, I balked a bit. The Lord and I did some talking, though, and that helped. I trusted Him to provide someone special, and He has.”
Becky rested her hand on the older woman’s arm. “I’ll do all I can to help, Frau O’Brien. I was at my mother’s bedside day and night until the Lord took her home. I know it was only a mother’s love talking, but she said I was the best nurse she could have asked for.”
Mrs. O’Brien patted Becky’s hand with work-roughened fingers. “My dear girl, since you’re going to help me with my most intimate needs, we can dispense with the formality. You may call me Mutti as James does.”
“I couldn’t possibly!”
“I insist. And no more Sie, either. We’ll be spending a lot of time together the next few months, and I want us to be good friends, so please use du.”
Becky was at a loss for words. Once she’d turned twelve, her own mother had no longer allowed her to use the informal word for you in their conversations, and yet Mrs. O’Brien had invited her to do so after a brief conversation. The honor sent Becky’s spirits soaring.
She would stand up to Mr. O’Brien, come what may, because she was going to care for his mother. And she wasn’t going to let any concerns he might have about her qualifications or abilities get in the way.
As though she considered the matter settled, Mrs. O’Brien—Mutti—changed the subject. “The warm days of spring are lovely, aren’t they? When I was a girl in the Old Country, our window boxes were full of flowers like those in the half barrels out front. Seeing them brings back such good memories. Do you know what they’re called in English?”
Becky glanced at the big red blooms with their bright green leaves. “It’s spelled the same, but it sounds a bit different.” She said the word using the English pronunciation. “Geranium.”
The door leading from the waiting area to the rooms beyond opened. Becky caught a whiff of a strong, fruity scent that wrinkled her nose. She’d never been to a doctor’s office before, and the odor surprised her.
Mutti leaned over and whispered, “It’s ether. Dr. Wright said he’d used some earlier when he had to anesthetize a patient. Potent, isn’t it?”
“Indeed.” Her mother’s doctor used to show up at their house smelling of onions and cigar smoke and looking as if he’d slept in his clothes. The dignified blond man in the doorway was the picture of professionalism.
He saw her and smiled. “Good afternoon. I’m Dr. Wright, and you must be Miss Becky Martin. Welcome. I trust your journey went well.”
“Thank you, sir. It did.” She still hadn’t gotten used to people calling her by her new name. She’d gone by Rebecca Donnelly all her life, but when she was forced to flee she’d chosen to use the nickname Becky along with her middle name, Martin, which had been her mother’s maiden name.
Mr. O’Brien stepped from behind the doctor and frowned. “It’s you.”
Dr. Wright’s eyebrows rose. “You two have met?”
Lord, please give me courage.
She stood, lifted her chin and looked into Mr. O’Brien’s eyes without flinching. “We haven’t been properly introduced, but he did assist me earlier.”
“Assisted you? I saved you. If it weren’t for me, you could have been crushed by that wagon wheel.” He shook his head and addressed the doctor. “This impetuous young woman took off running after a flea-bitten stray. If I hadn’t been there, she could be in on your examination table with a broken leg—or worse.”
She wasn’t familiar with the word impetuous, but his disapproving tone indicated he wasn’t paying her a compliment. If he didn’t have her at a disadvantage, she would choose a fitting word to sling back at him and show him what she thought of his high-handed manner.
His mother rose and linked arms with Becky. “Do not talk to her that way, mein Sohn.” Mutti spoke English now, but she had a marked German accent, with her w’s sounding like v’s and her t-h’s like z’s. “This lovely young woman only wanted to help the dog. There is nothing wrong with that. It proves she has a kind heart.”
Mutti’s approval renewed Becky’s determination to be strong. This was her opportunity to show Mr. O’Brien she expected to be treated with respect. The Lord was with her, and she could trust Him to look out for her, as He had when Dillon had come after her. “Thank you, Mutti. Now, I think it’s time for your son and me to have a talk.”
Mr. O’Brien’s mouth fell open. “What did you call her?”
His mother gave Becky’s arm a reassuring squeeze. “She called me Mutti because I asked her to. And she is right. You two have much to talk about. Go.” She fluttered a hand toward the front door.
Dr. Wright extended his arm. “You may use my office, if you’d prefer, since I’m sure you’d like some privacy. It’s the first door on the right.”
Becky didn’t wait for Mr. O’Brien to respond. “That’s kind of you. We will.” She ignored the pain in her midriff, marched through the doorway and didn’t stop until she reached the paneled room. Two burgundy chairs faced a desk with beautiful scrollwork. She perched on the armless chair, leaving the wingback armchair for Mr. O’Brien.
He sat and angled his right side away from her. Interesting. His scar must bother him. She could understand, having spent the past week with her face to the floor so people wouldn’t see her unsightly bruises.
She smoothed the skirt of her best dress. The faded fabric had seen many washings. The black crepe mourning gown was sorely in need of another after her week on the train. And she was in need of this job.
A good thirty seconds went by with the ticking of the desk clock the only sound. Although it was a man’s place to initiate a conversation, she could take no more. She drew in a deep breath and launched into her carefully crafted speech.
“Your mother and I had a good conversation. She’s accepted the fact that she needs help, and I’m just the woman for the job. I spent years nursing my own dear mother before she lost her battle with consumption back in ’69, and kept house for my father and brother after she was gone. I’ve become a fair cook, and I can clean and sew, too. I know it cost a lot for you to bring me out here, so I’m willing to work for nothing more than room and board until I’ve earned enough to repay the money you had Dr. Wright wire for my train ticket. When would you like me to start?”
There. She’d stood firm and taken charge of the situation. Jessie would be proud of her. Now to find out if Mr. O’Brien would accept her offer.
He stared at the patterned rug for the longest time, his eyes clouded with sadness.
The impending loss was going to be hard on him. In her experience, men were at a disadvantage when dealing with such devastating news, especially strong men like him, who were used to being in control. They felt the need to shoulder their burdens in silence. At least he had the Lord to lean on, provided he would turn to Him.
“Dr. Wright said you’re qualified, but I believe in being honest. I was seeking an older woman, not a young one like you.”
“I’m not that young. I’m twenty-one. I was only sixteen when my mother took to her bed and I began caring for her. I was up for the task then, so I don’t think my age will be a problem. It’s clear your mother likes me.”
“I can’t argue with that.” He smiled, crinkling his scar the same way he had when she’d come close to colliding with him. Perhaps he hadn’t been sneering before, after all. He really should smile more often because he looked quite dashing when he did, reminding her of a rogue from one of the stories she’d read.
“It seems to me you’d be eager to give me the position. How else could you be sure I’d have the money to pay you back?”
He braced his right elbow in his left hand and covered the scarred side of his face with his palm. “You’ve made your point. The position is yours.”
She couldn’t believe how easy it had been to get him to agree.
“I do have one condition.”
Oh, no. “Yes?”
“I want Dr. Wright to examine you.”
Mr. O’Brien was full of surprises. “That’s not necessary.”
“It’s obvious you’re in pain. The job will entail a fair amount of lifting. I want to make sure you’re able to handle it.”
“I’m fine. I don’t need to see the doctor. I c-can’t.” She’d intended to sound forceful, not fearful. If only her voice hadn’t betrayed her.
“You can, and you will—if you want to work for me.”
His clipped words and sharp tone riled her. Dashing rogues were one thing. Rude, unyielding men were another. “As I told you, I can’t see him. I don’t have the money for an examination. Besides, I’m sure I’ll be better in a few days.”
“Who did this to you?”
His rapid change of subject took her aback. “What?”
He leaned forward and peered at her beneath the wide brim of her simple muslin bonnet. “Who struck you, Miss Martin?”
Shame surged through her, so bitter she could almost taste it. It had been hard enough telling her new friends that her own brother had slapped her. She couldn’t tell this stern-faced stranger. “That’s not important. I’ll never see him again.” At least she hoped not.
Mr. O’Brien narrowed his eyes. “It’s important to me. I don’t want an angry suitor showing up at my door seeking to get you back. I won’t put Mutti in danger.”
She blinked several times. “I can assure you it wasn’t a suitor. I’ve never had one.”
Now, why had she said that? Her romantic life—or lack thereof—was none of his business.
“How do I know you’re telling the truth? A woman in your situation could go to great lengths to get away from her attacker. She might even...lie.”
“I’m not like that. I’m a follower of Christ and would never deceive you.”
The words had scarcely left her lips when guilt soured her stomach. She hadn’t lied, but she hadn’t exactly told him the truth, either. She’d misled him, just like she’d misled everyone else since she’d embarked on her journey.
Although she felt like a fraud every time someone called her Becky or Miss Martin, her pastor and his wife had agreed that altering her name was necessary in order to keep Dillon from locating her. If her brother found her, there was no telling what he would do to her. A man who would set fire to a factory and accuse his own sister of having committed the crime was capable of almost anything.
He nodded. “I’m glad to hear that. I put great stock in honesty.”
She couldn’t be entirely truthful, but if her admission could help ease his misgivings about hiring her, perhaps she should be forthcoming about this particular issue. “If you must know, my brother did it.”
“I see.” Mr. O’Brien studied her. She resisted the urge to look away. Since she was going to be working for him, there would be no hiding beneath her bonnet. She might as well let him satisfy his curiosity. Lifting her head, she focused on his thick hair, admiring the lovely wave over his right eye.
“He must have used a good deal of force to leave bruises that haven’t faded yet. Did he make a habit of this?”
She couldn’t let him think she’d tolerated such behavior. “That was the first time. The only time. We’d just lost our father, and Dillon didn’t take it well.” Her understatement had taken on epic proportions. If she told Mr. O’Brien what she really thought about her brother and how many times she’d had to ask the Lord’s forgiveness for her dark mutterings the past few days, he might question her faith.
“That’s no excuse.” His voice was low but firm. “Nothing gives a man a reason to lash out at a woman. The scoundrel had better never show his face around here, or he’ll have me to deal with. You’ll be safe at my place.”
“I appreciate that, but I don’t expect to see him again.” She wasn’t in danger since Dillon had no idea where she’d gone, but Mr. O’Brien’s protectiveness warmed her all the same. He wasn’t a rogue. How she knew, she couldn’t say, but something told her he was an honorable man, the kind a woman could trust.
“That’s good. Now, let me get Dr. Wright to examine you.”
The warmth that had enveloped her fled, replaced by a quickly spreading case of gooseflesh. If the doctor told Mr. O’Brien how much pain she was in, he’d find out she hadn’t been truthful. She’d seen his temper, and the possibility of it flaring up again gave her pause.
“Before you call him, there’s something you should know.”
* * *
James stood at the window in Dr. Wright’s waiting area. An inebriated miner staggered out of the Arch Saloon across the street and weaved his way up the walkway, clutching each of the posts supporting the balcony at the Cary House hotel as he passed.
Turning from the disturbing sight, James crossed the room and sat beside Mutti.
Miss Martin had suffered at the hands of her own brother, and yet she’d made excuses for him. It made no sense. Judging by the sickly yellowish-gray on her cheeks and her cautious movements, he’d obviously hit her repeatedly and hard. Well, she wouldn’t have to worry now. If the brute was to show up, he’d be sorry. James would make sure of that.
Mutti placed a hand on his bouncing leg. “Everything will be fine, Sohn.”
“I know you’re taken with her, but I’m not sure she’s up to the task of caring for you.”
“She will heal soon. You will see.” A radiant smile lit Mutti’s face. “The Lord sent this dear girl to us, I am sure. She is the answer to my prayers.”
He didn’t put much stock in prayer these days. God didn’t seem to care what happened to him. He just kept taking things away. His father. His future. Now Mutti’s days were numbered.
Before he could think of a tactful way to reroute the conversation, Miss Martin returned to the waiting area, followed by Dr. Wright. James shot to his feet. “How is she, Doctor?”
Miss Martin answered. “Nothing’s broken, so I’ll be better soon.” Her reassurance rang truer than before.
James grasped the back of the settee. “You need time to heal. Housework is out of the question. I’ll find someone else to take over for Mutti.”
“I don’t think that’s necessary.” Dr. Wright addressed Miss Martin. “If you’ll get plenty of rest and avoid doing any heavy lifting during the next three weeks while your bruised ribs heal, you should be able to complete the household chores.”
Relief squeezed a sigh from James. He wouldn’t need to go in search of a nurse, after all. Since Miss Martin had generously offered to forgo payment in order to repay him for her train ticket, he wouldn’t have to increase his monthly expenses, either. Things were working out after all.
Mutti stood. “Then we can all go home now. I am eager for you to see the place, Becky. I am sure you will like it.” She paused and turned to James, her eyes wide. “Where will she stay? We cannot have a young woman living in the house with you there.”
Miss Martin’s audible intake of breath drew his attention. She pressed a hand to the frayed collar of her dingy black dress and smiled. But that wasn’t just any smile. It began with a wobble and grew until her lips parted and her eyes shone with unmistakable gratitude. Despite her discolored cheeks, she looked almost pretty with her face alight like that. “Your concern for my reputation means a great deal to me, but I won’t be a guest. I’ll be a hired worker. Besides, you’ll be there, so everything will be proper.”
“That will be good for the days, but I am thinking of the nights.” Mutti gently patted the young woman’s mottled cheeks. “I want you to care for me, but I do not want to make you the talk of the town’s gossips. An unmarried lady needs a chaperone.” She turned toward James.
Miss Martin faced him, too. A pink tinge added welcome color to her bruised face. He hadn’t noticed before, but the fair-skinned woman had a sprinkling of freckles across her nose. She’d said she was twenty-one, but she looked all of sixteen with the blush on her cheeks and expectancy in her eyes. “What can we do?”
Clearly, she meant what she’d said about wanting to care for Mutti. While he hadn’t wanted a young woman as a nurse, he had his answer. Miss Martin was the right person for the job. He’d have to come up with a solution. “I’ll think of something.”
Dr. Wright cleared his throat. “If I might make a suggestion. Would it be possible for you to move an extra bed into your mother’s room, James?”
He relaxed his tense shoulders and nodded. The ever-practical doctor had come up with the perfect solution. The propriety issue had been dealt with, and Mutti would have help close at hand. “I could put my sister’s old bed in there. I’ll see to that right away.”
They bid the doctor farewell. James helped his mother onto the wagon’s bench seat while Miss Martin waited. Something brushed his leg, and he jumped.
That pesky dog was back. “What are you doing here?” He held up his hands to keep the bedraggled animal at bay. “Shoo.”
Miss Martin patted her side and made a kissing sound. “Here, boy.”
The dog dashed over to her, and she stroked its matted coat. “You poor thing. Someone needs to give you a bath. I’m sure underneath all that mud you’re a fine-looking fellow.”
James had his doubts. The dog was so dirty it was impossible to tell what color fur it had. “Perhaps, but we need to be going.” The dog plopped down at James’s feet and peered at him with enormous brown eyes.
“I think he likes you. It appears he’s a stray. If you don’t have a dog, maybe you could—”
“I’ve got horses, a milk cow and chickens to tend. The last thing I need is a mutt like that.” He snapped his fingers at the filthy animal and pointed down the street. “Go on now.”
The mud-encrusted cur stood with his tail wagging as enthusiastically as ever. The dog needed someplace to call home, but the orchard wasn’t it.
Miss Martin cast a wistful look at the friendly animal. “I’m sorry, boy, but I’m afraid I can’t do anything for you. You’ll have to go.” The dog trotted off.
James fought the urge to give in just to see her smile again, but what he’d said was true. Having a dog would add to his workload. He held out a hand to help Miss Martin into the wagon.
A shout rang out from down the street, followed by the pounding of horses’ hooves on the hard-packed earth. “Mr. O’Brien!”
His neighbor’s ten-year-old son rode up to the wagon, leading his father’s saddled gelding behind him.
James patted the neck of the boy’s winded mare. “What is it, Bobby?”
The breathless boy forced the words out in snatches. “You gotta come. Quick. Me ’n’ Davy need your help.”
Chapter Three (#ulink_22e35f35-107c-5587-8ac5-220bab208613)
Worry dug its claws into Becky. She looked up at Mutti on the wagon seat above her. “What do you think is wrong?”
Mutti’s gaze was riveted on her son, who was talking with the troubled boy, but she didn’t seem overly concerned. “It might not be too serious. Since Bobby’s father is out of town, the young fellow probably panicked.”
Mr. O’Brien straightened, spun around and marched to the wagon with a frown on his angular face. “There’s a problem at the Strattons’ place. I need to get there right away.”
Becky’s fear intensified. “Is someone hurt?”
“No. Bobby’s younger brother broke the valve I installed up at the ditch, and there’s water gushing everywhere. It’ll cost their father and me a fortune if I don’t stop it. I need to get Mutti home. Can you drive a wagon?”
She couldn’t, but she didn’t dare tell him that. He already doubted her ability to handle the job. “I’ll do whatever you need me to.”
He yanked off his derby, swiped an arm across his brow and jammed the hat back on. “You didn’t answer my question. Can you, or can’t you?”
“I’m sure I can.” She’d seen Dillon and their father do it many times.
“Yes, you can.” Mutti reached down and rested a hand on Becky’s shoulder. “Do not worry, Sohn. I will help her.”
“You haven’t driven in years.”
“That is true, but I have not forgotten how. You can go. We will be fine.”
Mr. O’Brien scraped a hand over his scar. “The road to Diamond Springs is full of twists and turns, but it seems I don’t have any choice.”
Becky drew herself to her full height but only came to his chin. She did her best to sound confident. “You needn’t worry. We’ll take it nice and slow.”
He studied her a moment and shrugged. “I expect the repair to take a while, so don’t wait supper for me.” He strode to where Bobby waited and swung into the saddle on the larger horse in one graceful movement.
She climbed onto the driver’s seat, clutched the reins and watched as Mr. O’Brien and the red-haired boy took off with a flurry of dust. “What was he saying about a ditch?”
“It’s what they call a canal here. It delivers water to the gold mines, but farmers and orchardists use the ditches for irrigation. They pay a daily fee whenever they tap into one. If they use more water than the slow, steady stream they’ve contracted for—what’s known as a miner’s inch—the cost goes up.” She’d switched to German, as she had before when it was just the two of them.
Becky did the same. “No wonder he’s in such a hurry. Shall we head out, then?”
Weariness had bowed Mutti’s shoulders. Becky was eager to get the dear woman home.
“Let me show you how to hold the reins.” Mutti demonstrated. “Now switch them from your right hand to your left, release the brake and reposition them.”
She did, moving slowly so as not to hurt her ribs.
“Next you give the team their command. James uses �walk on.’”
As soon as the horses heard the words, they started up. When the wagon reached a road taking off to the south, Mutti placed her hands over Becky’s and showed her how to navigate the turn.
“Well done, my dear. It’s three miles to Diamond Springs. As James said, the road is curvy. We’re in no hurry, so we’ll let the horses walk and give you time to get used to driving.”
Thanks to Mutti’s gentle coaching, it didn’t take Becky long to feel comfortable. She kept a watchful eye on the road ahead.
The California countryside with its abundant trees and wildlife was much different than Chicago. She flinched when a bright blue bird Mutti said was a Steller’s jay let out a scratchy, scolding call and chuckled when a squirrel frolicked in the crowns of nearby oaks.
A flash of something brown caught Becky’s eye. The dog she’d befriended earlier bounded toward the wagon. His gleeful bark startled a flock of wild turkeys. The ungainly birds bolted from the underbrush, zigzagging their way across the clearing and into the road, screeching loudly.
The horses reared and took off running. Becky’s heart galloped along with them. She gripped the reins so tightly her knuckles turned white. “Hold on!”
Mutti clutched the edge of the seat as they went around a hairpin turn and gasped as the wagon rose up on two wheels.
Becky’s mouth went dry. The wagon wheels returned to the earth with a jarring thud. Bracing her boots against the footboard, she held the reins taut and prayed the team would slow before the next turn.
Gradually, the startled animals returned to a walk. Thank you, Lord. She spun to face Mutti. “Are you all right?”
“Yes. Just a bit shaken up, but I’ll be fine.”
“Good. For a minute there I wasn’t sure how things were going to turn out. I’d better see to the team.” She pulled to a stop, handed the reins to Mutti and climbed down. Using slow, soothing strokes, she patted the horses’ broad faces.
Once she was convinced they were over the worst of their fright and that there was no apparent damage to the wagon, she looked for the dog, but he was nowhere in sight. She couldn’t fault him for upsetting the horses. From her place on the wagon seat, it had been clear he was chasing after her and not the flighty flock.
She returned to the wagon, and they set out again.
Mutti patted her arm. “You handled that well. I’ll tell James you make a fine driver.”
The rest of the drive to Diamond Springs went smoothly. At Mutti’s request, Becky stopped at the butcher shop. She’d been wedged between Jessie and Callie when they’d passed through the town on their way to Placerville and hadn’t seen much from the stagecoach.
A handful of shops lined both sides of the wide, rutted road. She recognized Harris’s general store, where the coach had stopped to pick up a passenger on their way through town. Tantalizing scents wafted from the restaurant at the Washington House hotel nearby. “So this is Diamond Springs. There’s not much to it, is there?”
“It might be small, but it has the basic necessities. The people are friendly. My William and I liked it here. That’s why we stayed. James liked it, too, but Katharina couldn’t wait to grow up and move to the city. My girl lives in a fancy house in San Francisco with her lawyer husband, Artie, and their five-year-old daughter, Lottie. We don’t see much of them.”
Mutti gazed into the distance with a faraway expression on her face. “James went away, too, but he came back after the terrible accident that nearly took him from us. He was with me when William died two years ago and has been here ever since. I don’t know what I’d have done without him. I couldn’t manage the orchard on my own.”
As much as Becky wanted to ask what kind of accident and if it had caused Mr. O’Brien’s scar, it wasn’t her place to pry. “Was the town always so small?”
“It’s always been pretty much a one-street town, but when we arrived in ’54 it was busier. A lot more mining was going on then. There are only nine hundred or so in Diamond Springs Township now.”
What would it have been like to grow up in a place like this? To look into the distance and see nothing but rolling hills and the distant Sierras beyond instead of buildings? To breathe fresh air instead of inhaling the smoke belching from the ever-increasing number of factories in Chicago, like the small one where she and Dillon had worked?
A newcomer would stand out here, though. She’d have to be mindful of that. The less people knew about her, the better. If Dillon was to show up, she wouldn’t want to make it easy for him to find her. Not that he would, but she couldn’t shake the fear that made her want to look over her shoulder whenever she heard a man with an Irish accent. She was mighty glad Mr. O’Brien didn’t have one.
“I should pick up your order. I’ll just be a minute.”
Becky returned from the butcher shop a short time later, stowed the meaty-smelling package in a crate behind the seat and climbed aboard.
Mutti directed her to a road heading south. “It’s only half a mile or so, and it’s flat from here. I can’t wait until you see the orchard in bloom. It’s a sight to behold.”
“What kind of trees are they?”
“Apple. There are five different varieties, and James plans to add another next year.” Sadness clouded Mutti’s blue eyes, as though she realized she wouldn’t live to see that day. She brightened quickly. “My boy isn’t content to leave things as they are. He’s always seeking ways to improve the orchard and make tasks easier. He figured out a way to give me running water in the kitchen.”
“Running water? I can’t imagine having such a thing.”
“I know he can seem a bit gruff at times, but he really is a fine man. You’ll see.”
Since Becky didn’t know how to respond, having only her initial impression to go on, she kept quiet.
Before long they approached rows of trees crowned with pink and white blossoms. “How beautiful!”
Mutti patted her arm. “I knew you’d like them.”
“This is your orchard? It’s wonderful. The bees like it, too. I can hear them buzzing from here. And the fragrance...” She inhaled deeply. “It’s delightful.”
Pride shone in Mutti’s eyes. “William started the orchard when we first arrived. James helped until he left for college, but my boy’s the boss now. He hired Quon and Chung Lee to help him. He met the brothers while he worked on the railroad.”
“They’re Chinese?” She’d never met anyone from China before, although she’d walked past two Chinese men working at a laundry in Placerville. They wore unusual clothing—loose-fitting, hip-length tunics, flowing trousers and pointed wicker hats. What she’d found most interesting were their long black braids and lovely singsong way of speaking.
“They are. They’re hard workers just like James and are fiercely loyal to him. He thinks the world of them.”
“Will I be cooking for them, too?”
“No. They live in one of the two cabins beyond the barn and get their own meals. Get ready for another turn.” Mutti pointed to a wooden sign bearing the name O’Brien Orchard. “That road ahead is ours.”
Becky led the team down a narrow lane to their left, with the O’Brien’s property on the north and an oak-studded field on the south. Before long there was a break in the apple trees. A house came into view, a darling place with white clapboard siding and a redbrick chimney. Green shutters with hearts cut out of the centers hung at every window.
She parked in front of the house, looped the reins over the porch railing and helped Mutti from the wagon. A whiff of peppermint from an herb garden on either side of the two steps gave Becky a sudden longing for a cup of tea and a nap. She might be able to enjoy the first, but the second was wishful thinking. The next few hours she’d be busy getting settled in and doing her best to convince Mr. O’Brien she could handle the job.
Mutti propped open the door and invited Becky inside. “Welcome to your new home. I would show you around, but the trip tired me out. I think I’ll lie down for a few minutes. If you’ll get your carpetbag, I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping.”
Excitement swirled in Becky’s chest. For the first time in years, she wouldn’t have to worry about waking in the night when her brother stumbled in drunk.
It didn’t take her long to stow her few items in Mutti’s bedroom, the far one of the three that occupied the western half of the house. She took a quick peek out the window. A huge wooden tank supported by a sturdy base towered over one end of the backyard—the source of the running water, no doubt. A clothesline had been strung across the other end. Beyond the yard were trees, trees and more trees. She couldn’t begin to imagine how many apples they would produce. “Would you like me to close the curtains, Mutti?”
“Yes, please. And then feel free to get acquainted with your new home.”
“I’ll see to the horses first.” Although Dillon had never let her drive, he’d left her to see to the team many times.
“One of the Lee brothers should be around and would be happy to take care of that for you. Now, you must promise you won’t let me sleep too long. I want to help with supper.”
“By all means.” Becky closed the bedroom door and smiled at the cheery scene that greeted her. A breeze fluttered the red-and-white gingham curtains at each of the three windows. Sunlight bathed the spacious room, and the sweet scent of apple blossoms filled the air. Four chairs formed a half circle in front of the impressive rock-faced fireplace that took up a large portion of the back wall, giving the room a homey feel.
The most well-appointed kitchen she’d ever seen occupied the other end of the room. A modern stove with a hot-water reservoir sat in the corner, with varnished counters stretching several feet from it in either direction. Shelves and hooks above the counters held a seemingly endless supply of pots, pans and utensils. There was even a pie safe. She put the meat inside, where the cooler air from below would rise up through the mesh shelves and keep it fresh.
She opened the floor-to-ceiling cupboard just inside the front door and stared in disbelief. She’d never seen so much food in one pantry before. No more racking her brain to come up with decent meals from next to nothing. Working in a kitchen as pretty and well stocked as this one would be a real treat. “Thank you, Lord.”
The horses whickered, reminding her they were waiting. She went in search of the workmen. Wooden barrels were stacked under the eaves of a massive barn to the east. Hens clucked and pecked at the ground in a fenced area in front of a sturdy chicken coop. Smoke curled from a soot-black chimney pipe at one of two cottages beyond the huge building.
A short man wearing a plaid shirt, trousers and slouch hat wielded a hoe in a good-sized plot between the barn and the orchard. If it wasn’t for the long black braid hanging down his back, she wouldn’t have known he was Chinese. She made her way to him. “Good afternoon.”
He jumped.
“I’m sorry I startled you. Are you Quon?”
He shook his head. “I Chung. Who you?”
“I’m the new nurse Mr. O’Brien sent for—Becky.” She wouldn’t provide her last name unless necessary. The fewer people who knew it, the better. Not that Dillon would be asking for Becky Martin, but just in case... “His mother said I could ask you to help me with the horses.”
“Yes, miss. I go.” The short man dropped the hoe and sprinted toward the wagon. Mutti had said the Lee brothers were helpful, but Chung’s quick response went beyond that. No wonder Mr. O’Brien thought so highly of his hired hands.
She should go inside and get to work, but the apple trees whispered her name, begging her to pay them a visit. After her days cooped up on the train, she could use a walk. Mutti wouldn’t need her for a while, and Mr. O’Brien wasn’t around, so she could do a little exploring.
Becky strolled beneath trees bursting with pale pink blossoms. A single flower floated from a branch overhead, the soft petals brushing her cheek as it passed. She caught the beautiful bloom in midair, buried her nose in it and inhaled nature’s perfume.
Several rows in, she spotted trees frosted with white flowers. She started toward them, but a movement in the distance caught her eye. Squinting, she tried to make out what it was. An animal. Not too large, but quick. It flew toward her, a streak of grayish-brown with a gleeful bark. She smiled. “Oh, it’s you. Come here, boy.”
She dropped to her knees, opened her arms and welcomed the friendly dog she’d seen earlier. He gave her a sloppy kiss. “Aren’t you a charmer? I wish you could stay, but...”
Mr. O’Brien didn’t want the dog, but the least she could do was give the poor fellow a bath. Maybe if he was clean, someone would take him in.
She found the supplies she needed in the barn, filled a pail with water and set to work behind the empty cabin, where she couldn’t be seen from the house. She scrubbed the dog until all traces of mud were gone. He gave himself a good shake, splattering her with water droplets.
“I knew it. You are a handsome fellow. Look at your shiny red coat. If Mr. O’Brien could see you now, he might change his mind. I need this job, though, so you’ll have to go.”
The dog nuzzled her and looked up with such trust in his eyes that she couldn’t send him away. She petted the friendly animal. “I could get in trouble for this, but I’m going to do what I can for you while I try to find you a home. I’ll slip you some table scraps later. In the meantime, you’d be wise to keep out of sight.” As though the handsome fellow understood her, he bounded off toward the rolling hills at the eastern edge of the property.
She put away the items she’d borrowed and hurried inside to change and start supper. If all went well, no one would find out that she was feeding the stray.
Chapter Four (#ulink_eebcc6f5-9b61-5702-a1db-c3f0fff094a8)
“You come back late, boss.”
James started at Quon’s words, and the wrench he was cleaning clattered on his workbench. He’d been so preoccupied he hadn’t heard the elder of the two Lee brothers enter the barn. “It took a while to make the repairs.”
If only Ralph Stratton had shown his young son how to operate the release valve James had installed. Instead, Davy had gotten frustrated and whacked the spigot with a shovel, breaking it off, when all he’d needed to do was twist the handle. Water had gushed from the pipeline James had installed that led to both his orchard and Stratton’s farm, creating a small lake in no time.
Quon sat on an apple barrel, his heels drumming a steady beat as they struck the empty container. “You very dirty. Need to take bath before you go in house. Must look good for new lady.”
“New lady? Oh, you mean Miss Martin.”
“Is she your special friend?”
“No!” James lowered his voice. “She’s Mutti’s nurse. She’ll be taking over her chores, too.”
Quon stilled his feet. “Good your mother have helper. Not good she need one.”
“I wanted an older woman. Miss Martin is seven years younger than I am.”
“You talk with mad voice. Why? She pretty? Make your head move?” He swiveled his in an exaggerated imitation of a man watching an attractive woman walk past, with his eyebrows doing a ridiculous dance.
James chose not to encourage Quon. “Did everything go all right while I was gone?”
“No trouble here.”
He wiped the mud off the last of the tools he’d sent Bobby to get and suspended the pipe cutter between two nails on the board over his workbench. “I see you and Chung finished plowing the garden plot this afternoon. Good work.”
“Miss Martin will plant soon?”
“I suppose so, but I’ll have to show her how. Since she’s lived in the city her whole life, I doubt she knows one end of a rake from the other.”
Quon thumped his chest. “I will teach her. I good teacher.”
“I know, but...”
“What? She not like Chinese people?”
“I don’t think she’s ever met any before.” James wasn’t sure how she’d react. Many people maligned the Chinese. Some went so far as to threaten them—or worse. He wouldn’t subject Quon and Chung to any mistreatment.
“She seem nice.”
“You’ve met her?”
“She look out kitchen window, see me and... I not know how to say it.” Quon waved.
James supplied the word. “I’ll talk with her about the gardening and let you know.”
Quon jumped to the ground. “I think Miss Martin have supper ready for you soon. It smell good. I go.”
James entered the lean-to at the back of the house minutes later and yanked off his muddy boots. The large washtub they used for bathing sat on the floor with steam rising from the surface of the water.
The door from the great room opened, and Miss Martin stepped inside, lugging a large pail. She sent hot water splashing into the tub. “Did you get everything fixed?”
“I did.”
“That’s good. I figured repairing a water line would be a dirty job and you’d want to bathe. I put clean clothes up there.” She tilted her head toward the shelf over the coat pegs. “I’ll have supper on the table shortly.” She left and closed the door.
She’d anticipated his every need.
“Thanks. I won’t be long.” The mouthwatering scents in the air had set his stomach to growling. He was eager to sample her cooking.
Minutes later he entered the kitchen. Miss Martin bustled about with confidence. A thick brown braid hung down her back, swinging from side to side as she moved, a captivating sight. He forced himself to stop staring.
She must have helped Mutti with her hair because the braid coiled atop his mother’s head was neat and tidy. Such tasks had grown increasingly difficult for her, although she had a hard time admitting it.
His mother sat at the table stirring a creamy concoction. He appreciated the young woman’s consideration. By including her, Mutti would feel as if she were making a valuable contribution.
Miss Martin turned from the stove and smiled. “You look a whole lot better, but...”
“But what?”
She tapped a finger to her head. “You might want to brush your hair.”
“Yes. I’ll do that.” He hadn’t meant his words to have such an edge. It wasn’t as though he cared what she thought of him, but he didn’t like that hint of amusement in her eyes.
“Be quick, Sohn. It is past suppertime.”
“I told you not to wait.”
Miss Martin set a pitcher of milk on the table. “We didn’t want you to have to eat alone.”
He completed the task as quickly as he could and took his place on the end of one of the two benches flanking the rectangular dining table, opposite Mutti. Miss Martin set the dishes before him. Jägerschnitzel and Spätzle with gravy—a good German meal.
She sat beside Mutti, her hands in her lap and her head down. Mutti bowed hers, too. “Would you please give thanks, Sohn?”
James bit back a sigh. Mutti knew he had difficulty praying, but she asked him to say grace every night. She couldn’t seem to accept the fact that he wasn’t on speaking terms with God. But as he had before every other meal, he would do his duty.
“Thank You, Father, for the food we’re about to eat. Please give Mutti a restful night and help Miss Martin’s ribs heal quickly. Amen.”
He heaped generous portions on his plate. The Jägerschnitzel tasted every bit as good as Mutti’s. The veal cutlets were tender, the small dumplings served with them were cooked to perfection and the mushroom gravy he’d ladled over everything was as rich and smooth as buttermilk. Miss Martin smiled when he helped himself to seconds.
“Becky is a good cook, ja?”
“Almost as good as you are.”
Mutti chuckled. “You do not have to humor me, Sohn, but I love you for it. You will soon see that she is the better baker.”
When everyone had finished eating, Miss Martin cleared the supper dishes, opened the oven door and flooded the room with the tantalizing aroma of peaches and cinnamon. She topped each slice of peach pie with a dollop of the whipping cream Mutti had made. He wasn’t going to have any complaints about his food with Miss Martin in the kitchen.
A short time later he shoveled in the last bite of the fruity dessert and tossed his napkin on the table. “Mutti’s right, Miss Martin. The pie was delicious.”
She focused on her plate, but a hint of a smile lifted her lips. “I’m glad you like it, Mr. O’Brien.”
Mutti’s brow creased. “I am glad you two are talking, but I do not like the stiffness. You both call me Mutti, so I think you should call each other James and Becky.”
Miss Martin’s fork froze in midair.
Leave it to Mutti to interfere. She meant well, but he couldn’t let her take charge. “She has a good point. Quon and Chung are my employees, and I use their first names. If you don’t object, I’ll use yours, and you may use mine.”
Calling a young woman by her first name seemed odd. He’d escorted the highly regarded Miss Sophronia Wannamaker to parties in Sacramento City for over a year before she’d given him permission to call her by her Christian name. That was often the case with a cultured lady of society such as Sophie, but Becky was different. This battered young woman with the warm brown eyes would become part of their family for a time, whether he liked it or not.
Becky set her fork down. “You may call me that if you’d like.”
Mutti patted Becky’s hand. “This is better. Ja? Now, I must go to bed. For some reason I cannot get enough sleep today.”
James jumped up. “I’ll get Kate’s bed moved.”
It took him no time to accomplish the task. He scooted the bed into the corner of Mutti’s room opposite hers and spied Becky’s books on the bureau between them. She’d placed a piece of ribbon in her dictionary. Curiosity compelled him to flip to the page she’d marked. A quick scan showed she must have been looking up impetuous. As he’d suspected by her furrowed forehead when he’d used the word earlier, she didn’t know the meaning. Quon, ever the teacher, would appreciate her eagerness to learn.
“Mutti wondered if—” Becky balanced a pile of bedding in her arms. She stared at the book in his hands, opened her mouth as though she intended to say something but clamped it shut.
His chest tightened, and he set the dictionary down.
Her words came out clipped. “If you’re done in here, I’d like to get the bed made up so I can help Mutti get settled for the night.”
“Of course.” He paused in the doorway and assumed an authoritative tone. “Come out when you’re finished, and we’ll talk.”
James gave Mutti a good-night kiss on the cheek, and she disappeared into her room. He knelt on the hearth and added a log to the fire. Settling into his wing-back armchair, he watched as the blaze crackled and popped, sending sparks flying. He’d seen another kind of spark in Becky’s eyes when she’d caught him snooping. You would think he’d been pocketing priceless jewels instead of looking in a dictionary that was falling to pieces. Perhaps since she had so little, she held tightly to what she did have.
He’d often wondered what possessed a woman to leave everything and everyone she knew and head West. Becky had escaped her abusive brother, which took courage. Her quiet strength would serve her well as she cared for Mutti. She could be somewhat obstinate at times. He’d doubted Becky’s abilities when he’d first met her, but it seemed she would make a good nurse, after all.
He tried to imagine Sophie in the role. The picture of her nursing Mutti was so inconceivable he nearly laughed out loud. How vastly different the two women were. Unlike unassuming Becky, Sophie oozed sophistication. No one could carry on a conversation or make people laugh the way she could. She was stunning, too, with her black hair and artistic features. He’d never felt more like a man than when she’d graced his arm at social functions. But he’d severed ties with her after the accident, sparing her the unpleasantness of further acquaintance. A woman of her social standing deserved a man others admired, not the disfigured son of struggling small-town immigrants.
Becky returned and leaned against his father’s large leather armchair, looking bone-weary. “You wanted to talk?”
“Please take a seat. I’ll be brief.”
She glanced longingly at Mutti’s rocker beside James but perched on Kate’s fancy purple chair on the far side of it, instead.
His conscience held him in its clutches. “I want to apologize for invading your privacy. It won’t happen again.”
Incredulity danced in her clear blue eyes, followed by appreciation. “I know the dictionary’s seen better days, but it’s important to me. Now please, tell me about my duties.”
Strong and forthright, too. A promising combination. “In addition to caring for Mutti, I’d hoped you could take over her chores—cooking, cleaning, laundry and so forth. She’s helped with the milking, chickens and gardening, too. I know that’s a lot, but...”
Becky nodded. “I can do everything inside, but I don’t know how to do the things outdoors. We didn’t have a garden or animals, other than the horses, of course.”
“Quon’s offered to teach you how to tend the garden, and I’ll show you how to do the rest. The milking is done early, so I’ll knock on your door in the morning if you’re not up. Any questions?”
“Will I have any free time?”
He hadn’t given that any thought. “I suppose so, when your work’s done, but you’ll need to be available to Mutti.”
“Of course. But would you mind if I read when she’s sleeping?” She glanced longingly at the books on his side table.
He loved to read, so he could understand her desire. “Not at all. Feel free to borrow any book in the house.”
“Thank you.” A smile lit her face, drawing attention to her round cheeks. He’d been so focused on the bruises marring them earlier that he hadn’t noticed the matching set of dimples. “Did you have anything else for me? If not, I have a full day ahead of me tomorrow and would like to get some rest.”
“That’s all.”
“Then good night, sir.”
“You may call me James.”
“I understand.” She rose and headed straight to Mutti’s room with her head held high.
He stared at the closed door. Becky’s show of independence surprised him. Having the spirited woman around could be interesting—and distracting.
* * *
Bacon sizzled in the skillet, and the invigorating scent of brewing coffee filled the kitchen. Becky sliced two thick slabs of bread for toasting.
A bedroom door opened promptly at five, and James appeared. “You’re up early.”
“Yes.” She’d always been an early riser, but her internal clock must still be adjusting to California time, because she’d awakened at four. Not that she minded. She’d had time to read her Bible, pray and sneak some leftovers out to the dog. The friendly fellow had been waiting for her behind the cabin where she’d bathed him. “How do you like your eggs?”
“Over medium.”
She set James’s breakfast before him in short order. He dove into the meal, not even stopping to say a blessing, and finished it in silence while she began preparations for dinner.
The moment he set his fork down, she reached for his empty plate. “Would you like more?”
“I’m fine. Thanks.” He stood and grabbed his hat. “Come with me, please. I want to show you how to do the milking before Mutti wakes.”
“I’ll be right there.” She put the dirty dishes in the tub of soapy water to soak and met him at the door.
He waited with his hand on the latch and held out a cloak. “This was Kate’s. You’ll need it. The temperature fell overnight.”
She was tempted to forgo the oversize woolen garment since it hadn’t felt cold when she’d visited the dog earlier, but it wouldn’t do to challenge James about something like this. She’d have to choose her battles wisely, because she was certain there would be some.
A short time later Becky sat on a small three-legged stool in the barn beside a large cow.
James stood behind her. “It’s quite simple, really. Grasp the back teat from the two on the left and the front one from those on the right, clamp them between your thumbs and first fingers and squeeze down, alternating the pressure between the two.”
The teats felt a lot different than she’d expected. Firmer and stiffer. She gave one of them a squeeze, but nothing happened. Adding a little pressure, she tried the other, but once again there was no stream of milk.
“Don’t be so timid. Give them a good squeeze. You won’t hurt her.”
After three more unsuccessful attempts, she sighed. It couldn’t be that hard, could it?
“Let me show you.”
She stood.
“No. Stay there.”
She sat. He reached around her and covered her hands with his own. A chill raced down her spine, and although she did her best not to, she shivered. She’d never been in a man’s arms before, and yet here she was with James’s brushing her sides and his breath warming her ear.
“Do it like this.” He squeezed her hands—hard—sending streams of milk pinging against the sides of the metal pail. He kept at it for what felt like an eternity.
She leaned forward and forced herself to ignore him, which wasn’t easy. When she could take no more of his closeness, she glanced at him. The uninjured side of his face was mere inches from hers.
My, but he was handsome. She swallowed in an attempt to moisten her throat, which had become as dry as stale bread. “You can move. I’ve got the idea.”
He shot to his feet, took several steps backward and leaned against the pen with his arms folded over his broad chest. “Let me see you do it, then.”
His high-handed manner rankled. Taking the teats in her hands, she squeezed one and then the other, shooting milk into the pail. She kept at it and silently rejoiced as the amount of frothy white liquid grew. Just as she turned to smirk at him, the cow’s tail smacked her across the face.
James chuckled. “You have to watch out for that. Buttercup likes to flick her tail when you least expect it. And be sure to keep your knees around the bucket, or she could kick it over.”
She huffed. “You don’t have to laugh at me. I’m doing my best.”
He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Whoa! There’s no need to get a polecat in your petticoats. It was funny. That’s all.”
“I doubt you’d be laughing if you’d just gotten a mouthful of tail.”
“You’re right, but I know to watch out for it.”
She lifted her chin. “I’ll learn.”
“You can finish up and leave the pail outside the pen. I’ll carry it in when I finish with the horses.” He sauntered off toward their stalls with his shoulders shaking.
Fine. She’d show him. She would get the milking done quickly and beat him to the house.
She’d barely resumed the milking when James returned. He stood at the back end of the cow, but Buttercup didn’t seem to care. She kept munching her breakfast. He patted her hindquarters. “There. She won’t get you again.”
He’d tied a piece of twine to the cow’s tail and secured it to the top rung of the pen. His thoughtfulness touched her. “Thank you, sir.”
“My name is James. You’re free to use it.”
“So you’ve said.” Becky dipped her head to hide her smile. She shouldn’t take pleasure in irritating him, but he could be so heavy-handed at times that she hadn’t been able to resist.
Before long her back ached and her hands screamed for relief, but she kept on.
She’d been at the milking a good fifteen minutes when James’s voice made her jump.
“Lean into her side. It helps.”
She did as he suggested and felt the cow’s bristly coat against her cheek.
To her dismay, he watched her work for a couple of minutes, and then he peered over her shoulder. “It looks like you’re done, so I’ll get that.” She rose and eased her weary body out of the way. It was a good thing she didn’t have to carry the milk, since her bruised ribs were aching.
“Let’s go.” He freed the cow’s tail and hefted the pail.
She followed him out of the barn, took one look at the orchard and came to a standstill. The sun had crested the horizon, stretching its far-reaching fingers to caress each blossom. “I thought it was beautiful yesterday, but this...” She flung her arms wide. “It’s breathtaking. Just look at all those trees with their loose petals floating in the air. It might seem silly, but I could see myself dancing in them.” He was clearly not amused, so she shoved her fanciful musings aside. “How many trees are there?”
He stood at her side. “About thirteen hundred currently bearing fruit, and five hundred more that I’ve started in the past three years.” Pride dripped from his every word. “I plan to add some more each year until I have all fifty acres planted.”
“I love the soft colors of the flowers, but I noticed yesterday when I took a short walk that some of the trees don’t have any blooms. Why is that?”
She tore her gaze from the apple trees and was rewarded with a sight sweeter than any fruit. The first rays of sunlight had illuminated James’s face, revealing a smile so filled with warmth she could bask in it.
“Those with the white flowers are Rome Beauty and Esopus Spitzenburg, my late-season apples. The pink blooms are my Winesaps. The Jonathans and Baldwins already bloomed and will be ready for harvest earlier.”
“When you’re not so busy, I’d love for you to show me which is which. I want to learn all about the apples, the trees and how you take care of them.”
His expression changed to one of wonder. Or was it disbelief? “You would?”
Disbelief, definitely. “I love apples and know very little about them. Other than how tasty they are and how to bake with them, that is.”
“You’re the first woman I’ve met besides Mutti who’s shown an interest. Neither my sister nor my—my friend...” He glanced from Becky to the house and back. “You’ll be busy with Mutti, but perhaps we could fit in a lesson now and then.”
“Thank you. I’d like that.”
He stared at her for several seconds, his face a study in conflicting emotions. Surprise. Curiosity. And was that admiration?
Color crept up his neck, and he shook himself. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stare at you like that. I should, um, get this inside.” He took off in such a rush that he sloshed milk over the edge of the bucket.
She watched his retreating figure. James might be a bit brusque on occasion, but he had a softer side, too. Perhaps in time she’d figure out how to get him to reveal it more often.
Not that she’d be here any longer than necessary. Thanks to Dillon, she’d have to change locations frequently to avoid having him find her.
Even so, she welcomed this opportunity to learn all she could about the apple trees. If she happened to enjoy the company of the intriguing man who cared for them, so be it.
Chapter Five (#ulink_eeb3ec5d-dbe3-5021-9429-b3fabaac1127)
“Shh! If anyone catches us, I could get in trouble.”
The copper-colored dog nuzzled Becky’s side. She knelt and petted him. “I’ve spent way too much time out here, Spitz, but I’ll be back this afternoon. I’m fixing steaks for dinner, so I’ll have some nice bones for you.” Since Mutti had only picked at her food the past week, there were sure to be some mashed potatoes and a biscuit or two, as well.
The unmistakable squeal of the barn door rollers brought the visit to an abrupt close. She’d have to send the dog away and get back to the garden plot quickly.
Footfalls coming around the corner of the empty cabin startled her. She froze. Her gaze came to rest on the toes of two dusty leather boots. Small boots. She looked up and heaved a sigh of relief. “Oh, Quon. It’s you. I was afraid it was James.”
She shot a glance at Spitz and back at Quon. “I know this handsome fellow’s not supposed to be here, but I’ll be going into town tomorrow. While I’m there, I’ll ask around to see if I can find him a home. He’s a nice dog and would make a fine pet.”
“Yes. He nice dog. Look good.” Quon dropped to one knee and ran his hand over the dog’s silky fur. “I put food in dish. He like to eat.”
“You knew about him and have been feeding him, too? But what about James? If he finds out I’ve encouraged the dog to stick around...”
Quon scanned the area, looking everywhere but at Spitz. “I not see anything.”
She was so grateful to the older man that she fought the urge to give him a daughterly hug. “Oh, Quon, I can’t thank you enough, but I don’t want you to get in trouble.”
He smiled. “It no trouble, Miss Becky. You wait. Boss will let dog stay.”
“I want to believe that, but when James makes up his mind about something, it’s hard to change it.” If she’d learned one thing the past week, it was that he had his way of doing things and didn’t take kindly to anyone questioning him.
Quon rose. “You go to garden. I send dog off and come soon. Tomato plant here. We finish work.”
Becky stood, too. “The plants are here? That’s wonderful.” She smiled. “You’ve taught me so much. I feel like a real gardener now.”
“You good student.” He tapped his head. “Smart. Learn fast.”
“My brother always said I was slow.”
“Brother not nice.” Quon frowned. “He hurt you?”
Becky’s hands went to her cheeks before she could stop them. The bruises were gone, but the pain in her ribs lingered. “He said hurtful things sometimes, but I’m sure all brothers do that. Doesn’t Chung?”
Quon laughed, and his dark eyes twinkled. “Chung smart. He know big brother is boss. He not—how you say?—pick fight.”
She did her best to shove aside the painful memories of Dillon accusing her of setting fire to the factory where they’d both worked and striking her when she’d protested. “I’m glad you get along. It must be wonderful to have a brother who’s your friend. I never had many friends.”
“You have friend now.” Quon jabbed a thumb at his chest. “I your friend.”
When she’d left Chicago, she never would have imagined that she’d make friends with someone from a culture so different from hers, but Quon was right. He was her friend. The kindhearted man had even been keeping her secret. “Well, my friend, I’d better get back to the garden. I’ll be waiting for you.”
True to his word, Quon met her a few minutes later with the flat of tomato plants. Their neighbor Mr. Stratton had given them to James as a token of appreciation for his work repairing the broken water pipe. Becky and Quon spent the next hour getting the leafy plants in the ground.
She’d seen no sign of James since breakfast. The past week he’d spoken to her only when necessary. Considering the number of times she’d thought of him since that memorable morning milking the cow and admiring the trees afterward, his absence was probably a good thing.
Even though he’d been keeping his distance from her, he showed Mutti kindness, noting her needs and helping her without being asked, and that was what mattered. The tender kiss on the cheek he gave her each evening before she headed to bed showed how much he loved her.
Watching his mother’s decline was hard on him. Just yesterday Becky had caught him blinking rapidly after he’d given Mutti her nightly buss.
If only he didn’t feel the need to shoulder his burden alone, but he’d rebuffed Becky’s offers of sympathy. She wanted to help ease his pain, but finding ways to do so would be a challenge.
She removed her work gloves and admired the large plot. “It will be a wonderful garden. I can’t wait to see everything come up. Thanks again for all your help, Quon.”
He grinned. “I only talk. You do all the work.”
“It wasn’t work. It was fun.” She couldn’t remember the last time she’d enjoyed herself that much. Quon had spent hours wielding a hoe as he taught her. He loved learning as much as she did and had encouraged her to tell him about her life back East. She did, reminiscing about her parents but saying little about her bully of a brother.
“I have more work. Must go. Goodbye.” Quon pressed his palms together and bowed.
Becky returned the gesture and strolled back to the house. She opened the front door as quietly as she could so she wouldn’t wake Mutti, but the kindly woman sat in her rocking chair, working on her embroidery.
“I didn’t expect to see you up already. Did you have a good nap?”
“It was all right, but it’s hard to get comfortable. I feel every lump and bump these days. It never used to be like that. William used to say I could sleep through anything. But enough of my complaints.” She patted the seat of Kate’s puffy purple chair. “Tell me about the garden. What did you plant today?”
Becky sat and filled Mutti in on the morning’s activity, minus any mention of the dog.
“I’m not surprised you like Quon. He’s a good man. He’s definitely more outgoing than his brother. Chung tends to be more reserved, like you, but he’s just as eager to please.” Mutti laid her embroidery in her lap. “What does surprise me is how much my boy intimidates you. When James is around, you say very little.”
“He doesn’t intimidate me. I just don’t know what to make of him. Sometimes he— No, I shouldn’t say any more. He’s your son, and I know how much you love him.”
“He’s my son, yes, but he’s not perfect. Go ahead. Tell me what you were going to say. Keeping the lid on a pot can cause it to boil over.”
Becky twirled a piece of embroidery floss around her finger. “He can be thoughtful one moment but ignore me the next. Sometimes he even appears to be upset with me. I’m doing my best not to annoy him.”
“You don’t like him ignoring you, but it seems to me you’re doing the same thing. If you’ll give him a chance, you’ll see he’s not the ogre you seem to think he is. You’ll try to get along with him, won’t you? It hurts me to see you two at odds.”
She would do almost anything for Mutti, but that was asking a great deal. James was the one making things difficult. If he weren’t so gruff, Becky would welcome his company. In the meantime, she’d have to make an effort to be sociable—at least when Mutti was around.
* * *
James shoveled in the last bite of his cheesecake. If he had room, he would seriously consider having another slice. Becky turned out mighty tasty desserts.
She’d kept her focus on her plate ever since returning from helping Mutti to bed. He might as well be alone for all the conversation he was getting out of her.
Although she’d shuddered in his arms during the milking lesson, understandably repulsed by him, he was curious what filled her thoughts. “You’ve been awfully quiet.”
“I’m not very ludicrous.”
She rested her fork on her plate, smiling as though pleased with herself for pronouncing the last word correctly.
Her disjointed reply took him aback. Although she hadn’t intended it to be, her misuse of the word was amusing. “No, you’re not very talkative. I’m not loquacious myself, but I wondered what you’ve been thinking.”
She groaned in a most unladylike fashion and smacked a palm to her forehead. “Loquacious. Yes. That’s what I meant.” She lifted her head and actually looked at him for a change. With the bruises almost gone, the dusting of freckles on her round cheeks was more visible. “I was thinking about the trip here.”
“You said that was your first train ride. Did you enjoy it?”
“Very much. I had no idea how big our country is. I saw mountains and valleys, plains and deserts.” She laughed, a light, airy sound free of her earlier self-condemnation. “Why am I telling you? Since you drove trains, you know that.”
“Drove trains? Where did you get that idea? I never did that.”
Her forehead furrowed. “But Dr. Wright said in the telegram that you were a railroad engineer before you became a fruit grower.”
James hid a smile behind his napkin. “I see. You thought I was a locomotive engineer. I was actually a civil engineer, helping build the railroad over the Sierras.”
She nodded. “That makes sense. Mutti told me you went to college. It must have been wonderful to receive such a fine education. When I was six, Chicago’s first high school opened. I dreamed of going to it one day. I applied every year—until my mother took ill and I began caring for her—but I wasn’t one of the few students granted admission. Even so, I try to learn everything I can on my own.” A faraway look in her eyes bespoke a yearning for what she’d been denied.
“That’s commendable.”
She reached for his empty dessert plate and set it on top of hers. “Why did you decide to become an engineer?”
“When I was young, Papa took me to Sacramento City. I got to meet Theodore Judah. He told me about his dream of building a railroad over the Sierras that would connect the country. I decided then and there that I wanted to work with him. When I finished school, my parents sent me to New York to attend the Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute where Judah had gone.”
“Did you work with him?”
“Not for long. I graduated with my civil engineering degree in ’62. I was only nineteen at the time, but I got a job with Charles Crocker’s company, which was overseeing the construction. Work started the following January. Judah headed for Washington that fall to get backing so he could buy out the owners and do things his way, but he died on that trip.”
He stared out the window at the deepening shadows, the heartache he’d felt upon hearing the news assailing him anew. He’d done his best to go on, but his enthusiasm had waned. And then came the accident that had shattered his dreams. “A part of me died, too.”
Becky laid her hand on his. “I’m sorry.”
He jerked his arm away. “I didn’t mean to go on like that. I need to see to the animals.”
“Yes, of course. I understand.”
Her crestfallen look said otherwise, but he couldn’t spend another minute with her probing into his past. Perhaps if he put enough distance between them, he could forget the pity he’d seen in her pretty blue eyes.
James took his time in the barn, grateful for the warmth of his overcoat. The temperature had dropped steadily all day. Not a good sign, since the trees were in bloom.
When he reached the house, Becky had already retired, as he’d hoped. With a long night ahead of him, sitting up and checking the thermometer mounted on the porch, the last thing he needed was to have her dredging up memories best left buried. He hung his overcoat in the lean-to, threw another log on the fire, settled into his armchair and reached for his well-worn copy of Dickens’s Great Expectations.
Sometime later he was jolted awake by an insistent scratching at the door. He stood, the book in his lap falling to the floor, and stepped onto the porch where a dog sat, its breath creating a misty cloud that hung in the chilly air.
Panic seized James, squeezing so hard he couldn’t breathe. He raced to the thermometer. The mercury had fallen even farther, hovering in the midthirties, far too close to freezing. If it went any lower, he could lose his entire crop.
He had to take action. Now.
* * *
A nudge to the shoulder woke Becky, and she opened her eyes to find a shadowy figure looming above her. A scream lodged in her throat.
“It’s all right. It’s me. James.”
How dare he scare her out of her wits like that? She shoved his arm away, tugged the covers to her chin and whispered, making no attempt to keep the irritation out of her voice. “What are you doing in here?” Her fuzzy head cleared, and reality returned with full force. “Is Mutti—”
He leaned close and spoke beside her ear. “She’s fine, but I need your help. Meet me in the kitchen right away.” He slipped out.
Propelled by a mixture of fear and curiosity, she dressed quickly and hastened to meet him. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s a late frost. I’ve got Quon and Chung setting fires under the trees to keep the buds from freezing. I know your ribs haven’t healed yet, but do you think you could carry wood?”
“Yes.”
“Good. You’d better wear this again.” He shoved his sister’s cloak into Becky’s arms. “I must warn you. It’s coldest just before dawn, so it will be a long night.”
“I understand.” She followed James to the orchard. Quon and Chung had already set two rows of fires, which glowed red beneath the apple trees.
All through the early morning hours they worked. Thick smoke swirled around her, stinging her eyes and burning her lungs as she trudged up and down the rows along with the men. Her ribs ached, but she ignored the pain and carried on.
James had said the entire apple crop could be lost if the buds froze. She couldn’t bear to see him face such a loss when he was already dealing with his mother’s impending death. He was a strong man, but if her efforts could help spare him additional pain, she’d be grateful.
Just before dawn, she stumbled as she moved from one fire to the next, her vision blurry and her legs leaden. She returned to the wheelbarrow, ready to move on, when a cry rang out.
“Stop, Becky! Your skirt!”
She blinked her gritty eyes, glanced at her dress and shrieked.
Her skirt was on fire!
Chapter Six (#ulink_5eada3fa-b0f7-5e4a-b6fa-779b9967c2e0)
Becky took off running. She had to get the fire out. Now.
“No, Becky! Stop!”
She froze. Where was the water bucket? If she could find it—
James grabbed her and gently lowered her to the ground. “Lie still. I’m going to roll you over.”
She followed his instructions without question, too cold and numb to do anything else. He turned her over twice, stopped and stomped out the last of the flames.
“Oh, Becky.” He plopped down beside her, pulled her into his lap and rocked her. She didn’t have the strength to resist. Not that she wanted to. Having his strong arms around her helped calm her fears, although being cradled to his broad chest did nothing to slow her racing heart. “Are you all right? Did you get burned?”
“Yes. I mean, no. See?” She tugged her ruined dress and scorched petticoats to her knees, revealing stockings that were blackened but not burned. “I’ll be fine. Just give me a minute.”
She drew in a series of deep breaths. Smoke filled her lungs, setting her to coughing. Pain shot through her. She covered her mouth with one hand and clutched her aching midsection with the other.
“What have I done?” His voice came out raspy. “Your ribs haven’t even healed yet. I should never have asked you to help.”
She wanted to protest, but she couldn’t speak. Thankfully the spasms subsided quickly.
“Here, boss. This help her.” Quon held out a pail of water.
“Drink, Becky.” James filled a tin cup and pressed it against her lips, sending the soothing liquid down her parched throat. She drank every drop.
“More?”
She nodded.
He dipped the cup into the pail again and brought it toward her, his hand shaking. She placed hers over his, drawing the cup to her mouth. “Thank you, James.”
Sated, she left the comfort of his arms and stood.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“Back to work.” As soon as she could get her wobbly legs to cooperate.
He jumped to his feet, restraining her with a firm grip on her arm. “Oh, no, you don’t.”
“But the trees. If we don’t keep the fires going, you could lose your crop.” She wouldn’t let that happen. Couldn’t let it. Somehow she must fight her fatigue and— She took a step, swayed and reached for him.
With no warning, he scooped her into his arms and set off for the house at a brisk pace. “Quon and Chung can see to things until I get back. I’m taking you inside. No arguments.”
Bone-tired, she surrendered without a fight, resting her head against his shoulder. She closed her stinging eyes and succumbed to sleep’s call.
A familiar voice filled with concern roused Becky. She blinked several times to bring Mutti’s face into focus. “The poor girl is very dirty. I will get a bath ready for her.”
“She’s too tired for that.” James held her so close that his breath caused the loose hairs at her temples to flutter. “Just spread an old blanket on her bed, and I’ll clean her up a bit.”
Her eyelids slid shut. Sounds faded in and out, followed by some jostling. And then softness. The quilt he’d laid her on smelled of cedar. Something brushed her cheek, and she forced her eyes open.
He hovered over her, his face visible in the lantern light. He was a sorry sight, with ash and soot covering every inch of him. She must look just as bad, but he was right. She needed sleep. Lots and lots of it.
“Rest a minute. I’ll be right back.”
He returned shortly and placed a basin on the bureau by the lantern. Her mattress sagged as he sat beside her and removed Kate’s oversize cloak. Mutti entered, carrying an armload of toweling. He inclined his head toward the bureau. “Put it right there, please. And then if you could rustle up a cup of tea, I’m sure she’d like that.”
“Ja. I will.” Mutti shuffled from the room.
James turned toward Becky with a smile on his face, his teeth stark white against his soot-covered skin.
“You look happy. Did we save the crop?”
“I think so, at least most of it.” He plunged a washcloth into the steaming water, wrung it out and took one of her hands in his, holding it tenderly as he dabbed at the layers of grime. “You finally called me James.”
Had she, in the midst of her fright, forgotten herself? “I did?”
“When you thanked me, yes.” He grew serious. “I’m so sorry I put you in danger.”
“I wanted to help. I just wish I could have done more.”
“You did more than you realize. I’d accidentally dozed off and would have kept right on sleeping, but a dog woke me.”
A chill raced over her, and she shivered. “A dog?”
“Not just any dog. A beautiful red Irish setter. In all my years I’ve only seen one other.”
Red? Spitz must have returned. “About that. He’s the dog we saw in Placerville. The poor thing followed Mutti and me here. I couldn’t turn him away, so I cleaned him up. I’ve been feeding him. Just table scraps. Nothing else. I plan to find him a home. You don’t have to worry. I’ll take care of him.”
“Oh, you’ll take care of him, all right. He’ll be your responsibility. You don’t need to feed him behind the empty cabin, though. Just see that he doesn’t bother the chickens.”
She wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly in her fuzzy-headed state. “You knew?”
He rinsed out the cloth and lifted her other hand. His lips twitched, as though he were holding back laughter. If only he would let loose. He was far too serious for his own good. “I know everything that goes on at my place.”
She shouldn’t be surprised. He’d proven to be quite observant. “And you’re not sore at me?”
“Your dog helped save my crop. So tell me. What do you call him?”
“Spitz.”
James did laugh then, a rich sound that rumbled in his chest. “You adopted an Irish dog and gave him a German name? Why?”
“Whenever I send him off, he runs straight for your Esopus Spitzenburg trees. I shortened the name, and it seemed to fit. After all, it means pointedly in German.”
“You’ve got pluck, defying me the way you did.” His voice, low and deep, held admiration, not the anger she’d expected.
He draped the soiled cloth over the side of the basin, wet a fresh one and set to work cleaning her face, each slow stroke of her cheek sending tingles from her head to her toes. No man had ever touched her like that. Not that he was actually touching her, but even so, the act seemed intimate and...romantic.
James O’Brien wasn’t a rogue at all. He was a hero—her hero—having raced to her rescue once again.
He brushed the hair from her forehead with his fingertips and swiped her brow. “You don’t have anything to say for yourself?”
“Hmm? Yes, I did defy you, didn’t I? I had my reasons for doing so, and you must admit they were good ones.”
“Huh! I’ll admit no such thing.” His playful tone belied his scowl. “This is my place, and I expect those who work for me to respect my wishes.”
“Oh, but I do.” She couldn’t resist teasing him. “I respect your need to have a loyal watchdog who will see that no harm comes to you, your mother or your orchard.”
He wiped the other side of her face, looking deep into her eyes as he worked, his own a warm brown with a hint of mischief. “For a tired woman, you have an impressive amount of spunk.”
It had taken impending danger followed by relief to bring out a more lighthearted side of James. Now that she’d seen it, she was no longer afraid of him. Quite the contrary. She would do whatever it took to be there for him in his hour of need, as he’d been there for her.
Maybe they could become friends. Anything more was out of the question since she’d have to leave town as soon as she’d earned enough to pay him back.
For some reason, the idea of never seeing him again didn’t sit well.
* * *
James shifted the brown paper packages in his arms, crossed the porch and stood in the open doorway. His shoulders were sore after the half-mile trek home, balancing his unwieldy load. If he’d known when he’d left how much he was going to buy, he would have driven the wagon, but his plan hadn’t taken shape until he’d spied the shelf full of fabrics in Mr. Harris’s shop.
Mutti saw James first and chuckled. “Ach, Sohn. Did you leave anything for others?”
Becky wiped her flour-coated hands on her apron and rushed over. “Here. Let me help.” She grabbed the parcel teetering on top of the stack, set the bulky package on the dining table and watched wide-eyed as he plopped the ones containing the foodstuffs she’d requested beside it. “I know my list was rather long, but this is more than I expected.”
“I added a few things.”
Her eyebrows and her voice rose. “You did?”
“You don’t have to sound so skeptical. I’ve seen to the shopping for some time now. Why don’t you take a look? Start with this one.” He shoved the large parcel she’d rescued toward her.
She reached for the kitchen shears, snipped the twine and peeled back the brown paper. Tilting her head, she stared at the contents, saying nothing.
His chest tightened. He’d been sure she would like his choices. After all, he’d taken his time selecting the items, going so far as to seek the opinions of the female customers in the shop. Providing Becky with a new wardrobe was the least he could do after putting her in danger during the frost scare the week before.
Mutti shuffled over to the table and took her seat to the right of Becky.
At long last Becky nodded appreciatively and shifted her attention to Mutti. “How nice. James has gotten you some lovely new things.”
Becky pulled out the straw bonnet one of the women had said was quite fashionable, followed by a pair of kid gloves, six pairs of stockings, brightly colored material for dresses and plain muslin for nightwear and undergarments—everything the customers had said a young woman would need.
Mutti patted Becky’s arm. “My dear girl. He did not get them for me. They are for you.”
“No. That can’t be. He wouldn’t...” She held the bonnet in one hand and fingered the dove-gray ribbon ties, a color the women had said would go well with the fabrics he’d chosen.
“Mutti’s right. They’re yours.”
Becky gave her head an emphatic shake, set the bonnet on the table and pushed the pile of items toward him. “No. You must take them back.”
“Come with me, please.” He took her by the elbow and led her onto the porch. “What’s wrong? Don’t you like them?”
“I can’t accept a gift like that. It would be improper.”
He had to make her understand because he wasn’t about to have her wearing that dingy dress of hers any longer. She deserved better. “It’s not a gift. Think of it as...your uniform. You’ve only got one dress since the other’s burned, and it’s unacceptable.”
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