Texas Bride: A Bitter Creek Novel Page 7

  “Oh. If the table’s too small—”

  “It’s plenty big. It’s just covered with stuff.”

  She brightened. “I can fix that. Give me a few minutes, then come on into the dining room. Maybe you and Slim have some things to talk about.”

  “Sure do,” Slim said. “I wanted to see when you figure to plow me a vegetable garden.”

  Miranda left the two men talking about how many rows they were going to plant in corn and beans and tomatoes and watermelon and hurried down the central hall in the direction the boys had taken. Just hearing about all those fresh vegetables—and watermelon!—made her mouth water.

  She was appalled when she stepped inside the high-ceilinged dining room. Jake hadn’t exaggerated. Apparently the two men had been eating elsewhere, because the dining room table was completely covered with boxes and tins and papers and clothes. There was no way to sort through it and put it away a piece at a time right now, so she grabbed handfuls of stuff and dumped it in a corner of the room.

  Beneath the clutter she found the most beautiful cherrywood dining table she’d ever seen. The gold-brocade-covered chairs looked new. This was a table where they could have wonderful family dinners. There were seats for twelve at the table. She mentally picked spots for Jake and herself, her five siblings, Slim and baby Anna Mae at the table. That was only nine. She began to imagine three more children she would beget with Jake, along with their aunts and uncles, all sitting down together.

  “What are you doing with my stuff?” Jake demanded.

  Instead of dropping the load in her arms, as she had the last four, Miranda carefully set it on top of the pile in the corner. She grabbed a bath towel she’d found and used it to wipe the remaining dust and debris off the table. “I’m moving everything temporarily, so we can eat at the table. We can go through this stuff tomorrow, and you can tell me where to put it away.”

  “I’m going to be busy mending fence tomorrow. The house is your business.”

  She stopped what she was doing and looked up at him. “So you want me to decide where to put your things on my own?”

  Jake looked unhappy with his choices. Either he had to spend time with her in the house sorting through everything, or he was going to have to ask her whenever he wanted something that she’d put away for him.

  “I suppose I could spend some time tomorrow afternoon helping you sort through things.”

  She rewarded his good sense with a smile. “Thank you, Jake. That would be wonderful.” She turned and surveyed the cleared table. “It’s beautiful.” She didn’t point out that it seemed not to fit with everything else she’d seen in the house so far, which was worn out, torn up, and dilapidated.

  “The dining room set was a wedding gift from my mother. I didn’t want to take it, but Priss fell in love with it.”

  “I can see why. It’s lovely. I’m glad you kept it.”

  Nick showed up a moment later in the dining room, Harry trailing after him, and said, “I’ve been looking, but I can’t find any clean plates or forks or knives in the kitchen.” He shot a narrow-eyed glance at Jake and said, “Looks like we’ll have to wash all those dirty dishes in the sink before we can eat.”

  Miranda crossed to the glass-fronted china cabinet along one wall of the dining room and began taking out beautiful china plates imprinted with tiny roses.

  “Those dishes belonged to my aunt and uncle. We only use them for special occasions,” Jake said.

  Miranda clutched the plates to her breast and lifted her chin. “I think our first dinner together as man and wife qualifies as a special occasion, wouldn’t you say?”

  He didn’t say anything.

  Miranda was learning that her new husband didn’t like to lose an argument. She accepted his tacit permission and continued taking china plates from the cabinet and setting them around the table. She pulled open the first drawer of the cabinet and found tarnished silver forks and spoons. “They aren’t as pretty as they will be once they’re polished again,” she said, “but at least they’re clean.”

  She pulled open a drawer farther down and found table linens. She pulled out beautiful napkins embroidered with pink roses to match the dishes and set them at each place.

  “This is looking pretty fancy,” Jake said in a voice that bordered on disapproval.

  “It’s our first dinner together, Jake. Do you really mind?”

  “I guess not.”

  “This reminds me of our home in Chicago, Miranda,” Nick said wistfully.

  Miranda stopped what she was doing and surveyed the table. If not for the peeling wallpaper and the dull finish on the forest green wainscoting and the burned-down candles in the modest chandelier above the table and the tarnish on the silver, why, Nick was right. “Yes, Nick,” she said softly. “It reminds me of home, too. Where’s the baby’s high chair?” she asked Jake.

  “In the kitchen.”

  “Would you bring it to the table.”

  “It’s Anna Mae’s bedtime,” Jake said. “She’s likely eaten already.”

  “Could she stay up and sit at the table with us? Please, Jake? We’re a family now.”

  He looked torn, but she kept her eyes focused on his until he relented. “I guess that would be okay.” He left to go retrieve the high chair from the kitchen. Nick and Harry went with him, to carry back cups of water for everyone.

  As she surveyed her work, she heard the creak of the wheeled chair on the oak floor behind her. She turned to find the old man sitting in the doorway.

  “You’re wastin’ your time,” he said.

  “It’s never a waste of time to set a beautiful table and eat dinner as a family.”

  “Jake ain’t never gonna love you like he loved my Priss,” the old man said. “He ain’t never gonna get no babies on you, neither. He ain’t gonna take the chance of killin’ you, like he killed my girl. Set all the tables you like. Do all the fancy arrangin’ you want. It ain’t gonna make no difference. You ain’t never gonna be nothin’ to him.”

  “Slim! Shut up!”

  Miranda saw Jake in the doorway to the kitchen looking white-faced, his eyes stark. Which was how she knew the old man wasn’t lying. For once, somebody around here was telling the truth.

  There was no way she could sit down at that table with Jake right now and force food down her constricted throat, let alone have a civil conversation. She wanted to run. She wanted to hide. But she was well and truly trapped. This was her life, like it or not.

  She would just have to prove the old man wrong.

  “Please get Nick and Harry,” she said to Jake at last. “It’s time for supper.”

  “Please, I want to sleep with you, Miranda,” Harry begged.

  Miranda’s heart was breaking. “You can’t sleep with me, Harry.” She’d snuck Harry into bed with her at the orphanage whenever a storm thundered outside or whenever her little brother felt afraid of the bogeyman. She could hardly blame Harry for being anxious under the circumstances. She was distressed herself.

  “I’ll be good,” Harry promised. “I won’t wet the bed.”

  “Oh, baby, it isn’t that.”

  She turned to Jake, who simply shook his head. She hugged her little brother tight and said, “You need to sleep in your own bed tonight.”

  “I’ll sleep with you, Harry,” Nick offered.

  “Not in Anna Mae’s room, you won’t,” Jake said.

  “Don’t worry. We’re not going to infect your precious little girl,” Nick said with an ugly sneer. “We’ll sleep on the floor in the parlor.”

  “Nick, if we want Harry to get well, he needs to sleep in a bed with warm covers.”

  “It’s warm enough in this blasted place without covers,” Nick said. “I’ll make up a pallet for the two of us by the fireplace in the parlor, from stuff on the iron-rail bed in Anna Mae’s room, where I was supposed to sleep. We’ll be fine, I promise.”

  Miranda turned to Jake and asked, “Is that all right with you?”

&n
bsp; “I’ll get the mattress,” Jake said to Nick. “You can get the bedding. Be careful not to wake up Anna Mae. It took me a long time to get her to sleep.”

  Nick glared at Jake and muttered, “I wasn’t planning on singing a song up there.”

  Jake shot Nick a dour glance but he didn’t chastise him.

  Miranda couldn’t understand why Nick had taken such an instant dislike to Jake. She wondered how long Jake would tolerate Nick’s insolent behavior, and what he would do when he’d had enough of it. She hated feeling so helpless. She could only hope that Nick would realize that Jake was more Savior than Satan and start behaving himself.

  “Are you still going to read to the children?” Miranda called after Jake as the two of them headed upstairs where most of the bedrooms were located. Slim slept in a downstairs room decorated with flowery wallpaper and ragged pink curtains, which made Miranda think it might once have been a ladies’ tearoom.

  “No story tonight,” Jake replied. “It’s late. I’ve got to be up at daybreak.”

  It was also his wedding night. Miranda felt a shiver of expectation—and a smidgeon of fear—run down her spine. Tonight, her husband would do what husbands did to wives to make babies.

  Fortunately, Miranda wasn’t totally ignorant. Her friend at the orphanage, who’d lost her innocence with a boy she liked before coming to the Institute, had told Miranda that sex was painful the first time, but enjoyable—really wonderful—ever after. Miranda had seen the orphanage cats mating, so she had some inkling of the process, although it looked awkward in the extreme.

  She felt nervous and a little anxious about what was going to happen tonight, especially since she barely knew the man who was going to be doing those awkward things to her. But she wasn’t afraid. She held on to the hope of great pleasure her friend had promised was part of a man and women making love.

  Miranda supposed tomorrow night was soon enough to begin traditions like reading to the children before bed. Tomorrow she would be more organized. She would have supper on the table earlier and have the kids washed up and waiting when Jake came home from wherever he went to work. After they’d eaten, she would ready the children for bed, then sit them down in the parlor so Jake could read to them.

  “Are you going to read me a bedtime story?” Harry asked as Miranda began removing his shoes and socks.

  “Tomorrow I will,” Miranda promised.

  Harry slid the braces off his shoulders and his knee-length trousers fell to the floor, leaving him in his smalls and a blousy white shirt that hung almost to his knees.

  Miranda debated whether to take off the smelly, food-and-dirt-stained shirt, but she was afraid Harry would get a chill if the temperature cooled later in the evening. Besides, taking off the shirt wouldn’t really solve the problem. The little boy’s skin smelled rank.

  Tomorrow, she would make sure both boys got a bath and washed their hair. Tonight, everyone was exhausted, including her. Tonight, they all simply needed to sleep in something that resembled a bed.

  Jake returned in a few moments with the pallet from Anna Mae’s room. Nick traipsed after him, dragging the bedding behind him, including a white sheet, a colorful patchwork quilt, and a pillow.

  Miranda marveled at the delicate flowers and butterflies and bees embroidered on the white pillowcase. She envied the talent of the woman who’d done such fine work. Especially when she had no idea how to embroider. Her sewing skills only extended to mending.

  She wondered what else Priscilla Creed might have been much better at than she would turn out to be.

  “The boys will have to share the pillow,” Jake said. “There isn’t another one.”

  “I can sleep without one,” Miranda volunteered.

  “No, you can’t,” Jake said. “You need to take care of yourself first, the kids second. If anything happens to you, they’re going to be in serious trouble. Get that through your head.”

  Miranda was shocked at Jake’s attitude. Every thought in her head for the past three years had been about how she could take better care of her brothers and sisters. She tried to understand how Jake could say something so harsh, when she saw how loving he was with his daughter.

  She didn’t have to think long to realize the truth of what he was saying: Nick and Harry, and even baby Anna Mae, were going to lead better lives if she stayed healthy—and alive—to take care of them. But a pillow was just a pillow.

  “I don’t need a pillow,” she argued.

  “Harry can have the pillow,” Nick said. “I can manage without one.”

  Miranda stared at her brother in surprise. She was the one who’d always done without. This place, these people, seemed to be having a strange effect on all of them.

  As soon as Jake placed the pallet on the floor of the parlor and Nick added the bedding, Harry scooted down and made a cocoon of it. Miranda took the pillow from Nick and handed it to Harry, who set it on the pallet, plumped it up, and laid his head on it. “Is that what he’s going to sleep in?” Jake asked.

  “It’s all he has,” Miranda replied. “I decided to bring my brothers along at the last minute. We left in the middle of the night. We didn’t have time to pack.”

  “Who were you running from?” Jake asked.

  “Miss Birch,” Nick and Harry said together.

  “The infamous Miss Birch. I’d love to meet her sometime,” Jake said.

  “No, you wouldn’t,” Miranda said.

  Nick shuffled his feet and said, “I can undress myself, Miranda.”

  Sometime during the past year, Nick had gotten modest about undressing in front of her. “All right,” she said. He didn’t like being kissed, either, but she took his head in her hands so he couldn’t escape and kissed his hair, brushing at his stubborn cowlick.

  She got down on both knees to wipe Harry’s runny nose one last time and kiss his cheek. Jake helped her up as she said, “Good night, boys. I’ll see you both in the morning.”

  His hold on her arm should have been welcome, but it felt more like she was a prisoner in his grasp. She tried to shake off the feeling. This was her husband. It was his right to touch her whenever—and however—he wanted.

  She shuddered as she realized the power she’d placed in Jake Creed’s hands.

  He must have felt her sudden reluctance, because he asked, “You all right?”

  “Fine. Just tired.”

  “Good night, Miranda,” Nick said.

  “Good night, Miranda,” Harry echoed.

  Jake started to blow out the lantern but Nick said, “I’ll take care of that.”

  “Don’t forget, boy. Fire is—”

  “We know about fire,” Nick said bitterly. “In case you’ve forgotten, our house burned down.”

  “Well, I don’t want this one burning down,” Jake said. “So be sure to blow out that lamp.”

  Jake didn’t give Nick a chance to argue further. He’d already turned, his hand still on her arm, bringing her along with him.

  Miranda could feel her brothers watching as she followed Jake from the room. She didn’t turn around because she didn’t want them to see the worry in her eyes. She couldn’t help being a little apprehensive about what came next. She was about to join a man—a virtual stranger—in bed.

  Once they were out of the room, Jake seemed to realize he still had hold of her arm and let her go as though she were a hot potato. Her heart was in her throat as he walked ahead of her up what must once have been a very grand winding staircase. He headed down a short hall to his bedroom on the second floor. When they arrived, he stopped in the doorway and said, “I’ll give you a few minutes to get out of that dress and get into bed. I’m going to check on some stock in the barn.”

  He wasn’t just leaving the room, he was leaving the house to give her the privacy to undress and slip under the covers. She blessed him for his consideration.

  Once he was gone, she turned to survey her new bedroom.

  Jake had already put a lantern on the bedside table, which a
lso held a Bible. The bed looked small for two people, but she thought maybe it was the same size as the one her parents had shared. It was covered with another distinctive patchwork quilt. She studied the tiny stitches and the beautiful star pattern. Jake’s wife must have been very good with a needle.

  The room itself was large, with high ceilings and tall windows draped in moth-eaten blue velvet that must have been elegant once upon a time. An enormous wardrobe stood along one wall. She turned around and found a dressing table near the window with a mirror hanging above it. It held a rose-decorated bowl and pitcher.

  A breakfront nearby held a larger, plain white pitcher and bowl for washing. There was a mirror above the breakfront, too, which made Miranda wonder whether Jake might have shaved each morning there, while his wife washed her face and fixed her hair at the dressing table.

  Braided rag rugs made of bright scraps of fabric lay on either side of the bed. All those cloth scraps made Miranda wonder if Priss might have left several dresses behind that she could cut down for shirts and pants for the boys and make over for herself. She was tempted to open the wardrobe and look, but she didn’t want Jake to catch her snooping.

  When she checked the dressing table, she discovered Jake had already filled the rose pitcher. As she poured some of the water into the bowl, she felt that it was warm. Heavenly! She was so glad to have the time, and the warm water, to finally ease herself out of her awful wool dress.

  Which was when Miranda realized she would be left wearing only a chemise and pantalets. No wonder Jake had left the room. She would have been pink-cheeked with embarrassment to be seen by anyone in the raggedy garments, let alone her new husband. She would be grateful to hide under the sheets.

  She’d made herself pantalets that covered her limbs down to the ankle, to conceal her scarred left leg. She never wanted anyone, and especially not her new husband, to see it. As soon as she was under the covers, she would blow out the lantern. Surely Jake could undress and find his way to bed in the dark.

  Miranda unbuttoned her dress and eased it off her shoulders along with her chemise. She got both garments almost to her waist before the chemise got stuck where scabs had torn and dried blood had attached skin to fabric. The problem she faced was how to wet down the cotton, so she could pull the chemise free, without making a mess on the wooden floor.