Chapter Twelve
The kitchen was empty when Adam arrived to what should have been breakfast.
For Mason and Ruth, being late to breakfast on a Sunday made sense—he was accustomed to that from the two of them.
Mason would be sleeping in, since he had nowhere he needed to be on the weekend.
Ruth would have gotten up before the sun to let the horses out.
Rachel, though—she was different. This wasn’t her normal behavior.
Ordinarily, she was out of bed before he was on Sunday mornings.
He would meet her coming back to the house from somewhere outside, and though she had never said so, he had guessed she went out there to pray.
Ordinarily, he might have grappled with some guilt about that—church wasn’t a part of his life, but maybe he should have offered to help her get there on Sundays?
But this was the second time she hadn’t been where she ought to be, and this time he knew she hadn’t gone to the school.
He opened the door and went out onto the porch, looking around.
The ranch was quiet. There was no sign of any life.
The horses were cantering in their pasture—Ruth would be out there somewhere too, no doubt, tending to them.
The sun was low in the sky, the air damp and cool.
There was dew on the grass. He looked down at the blades, wondering if any would be bent as a sign of recent passage, but it didn’t look as though anyone had walked here any time this morning.
Maybe Rachel wasn’t outside.
Was it possible she was also sleeping late? It didn’t seem like her, but one could never be sure. He pulled the door closed and set off at a jog, the dew almost immediately wetting the ankles of his socks above the line of his boots. It darkened his mood further.
He reached the bunkhouse the two women shared and hesitated for a moment, then knocked on the door.
For a moment, there was nothing but silence.
Then he heard the sound of movement from within—footsteps, quick and light against the hardwood floor. A moment later, the door flew open.
Rachel’s hair spilled loose around her shoulders in chestnut waves. Her skin was pale, her eyes bright. She was dressed in a cotton nightgown, and looking over her shoulder, Adam could see that the blankets on her bed were askew. She had just gotten up. He’d woken her.
He took a quick step backward, swallowing hard. “I—didn’t mean to disturb you,” he said gruffly.
“I overslept.” Her hands were in her hair, braiding quickly, frantically. The look of the braid as it came together was messy—there were several strands of hair sticking out of it.
The sight of her like this robbed him of his ability to speak. For a moment, he couldn’t even look at her—he was afraid he might stare if he did. That would be shameful. He looked at his feet instead, but he was intensely aware of the fact that she was standing before him in her nightgown.
I should leave. I should just go right now.
But would that even help matters? It would be obvious why he had left. Maybe it was better just to stay here and to try to talk to her, in spite of how awkward it was going to be.
And really, she shouldn’t have been lying around in the morning. What if Mason had come looking for his breakfast? That was her job—to tend to his needs.
It was the resolve he needed to face the situation.
He lifted his head, determined to remain in his anger so that he wouldn’t be shaken by her nightgown again.
It didn’t matter what she was wearing. “You were missing this morning,” he said sharply.
“No one knew where to find you.” An overstatement—he hadn’t asked anyone else.
But he hadn’t known where she was. “What if Mason had been hungry? What would he have done?”
“I’m so sorry. You must have been wondering where I was—oh, you’re wanting your breakfast, and I wasn’t there to prepare it—is Mason up? Is he hungry too? This was such a mistake, please forgive me.”
She was speaking very fast. He held up a hand to stop her. “Tell me what’s going on,” he said sternly.
“I…what?” Her hands left her hair and settled at her sides. She looked up at him, blinking in confusion.
“There’s something going on,” he insisted.
He braced his hand on the doorframe and looked anywhere but at her.
His heart was beating far too fast. “This is the second time you haven’t been where you were supposed to be.
I know you were at the school the first time, but that’s not where you were this time. ”
“I told you,” she protested. “I…I was asleep.” She seemed to realize that she was in nothing but her nightgown. Her arms wrapped protectively around her body and she looked away from him. Color rose in her cheeks.
Adam took a breath. “Get dressed,” he said gruffly. “Then come and meet me out here.”
She nodded, stepped back and pulled the door closed.
Adam turned his back to the bunkhouse. His heart was still racing.
He ought to have expected to find her underdressed like that, but somehow, he hadn’t even thought of it.
He clenched his hands into fists. He was going to have to get himself under control.
There was a reason the women had a separate bunkhouse—he wasn’t supposed to see them in that state, and this was why.
She had just been so…undone. So lovely. He was used to the ill-fitting dresses, the brown aprons, the sensible hairstyles.
Her face was expressive and her tongue was sharp—he liked those things about her—but he wasn’t accustomed to seeing her soft and vulnerable like this.
The flush in her cheeks when he had first greeted her…
he would be thinking about that for a very long time.
The door opened again, and Adam turned back to it. She had gotten dressed very quickly, in another too-big dress. She had fixed her braid—it was tidy now. Her face was brighter than it had been a moment ago as well, so perhaps she had washed up. The color had returned to her cheeks.
She glanced at him for only a moment, then hurried past him. “I’ll get the breakfast started,” she called over her shoulder as she hurried toward the house.
Frustrated, he set off after her. She was avoiding discussion with him, that much was clear, but she wouldn’t be able to dodge it for very long. Once they made it up to the house, she would have to stop running, and then he was going to get his questions answered one way or another.
He caught up with her in the kitchen. She had already begun to set things up. “Are eggs all right?” she asked without looking at him.
It was going to cause trouble if they weren’t, since she was already breaking them into a pan. “Eggs are fine,” Adam said, taking a seat at the table. “You know, I didn’t actually come to the bunkhouse because I needed you to make me breakfast.”
“Then why?” she wanted to know. “I mean—it must have had something to do with that. You must have been frustrated when you couldn’t find me, and I’m sure you were hungry—you are hungry, I mean—and that’s my fault for oversleeping. I’m awfully sorry about it. I was up late last night.”
“Rachel, stop a minute,” he interrupted her. “Come here, please, and talk to me. Stop rushing around.”
She hesitated, but released the handle of the pan and turned to face him.
All right, good enough. “Why were you up last night?” he asked her. “What were you doing? I know you were down at the bunkhouse. Ruth would have told me if you weren’t there when she got back after doing her chores.”
“No, I was there.” Rachel bit her lip. “I was…doing some writing, that’s all.”
“What kind of writing?” He knew this might be personal, and yet something was telling him to dig a bit deeper. “I didn’t know you were a writer.”
“No, I’m not, it’s…” She gripped her skirts as though holding herself steady. “Don’t be angry with me.”
Willing to promise no such thing, Adam simply waited.
“It’s Jennifer,” she said. “She asked me to help her—to write some lesson plans for her. I agreed to do it. I was working on that late into the night.”
“Your stepsister again?” It was the last thing Adam had expected to hear. “Why do you want to help her? She was cruel to you. Speaking to her for Mason’s sake is something I can understand, but this…”
“This is for Mason too,” Rachel insisted, her voice rising in energy. She seemed to be warming to the subject. “It’s for all the children, Adam. They deserve to have the best teacher they can get—don’t you think so?”
“I didn’t realize you were a teacher.” His eyebrows lifted. She never failed to surprise him.
But she shook her head quickly. “No, I—I’m not,” she said. “I never studied for it, the way Jennifer did. But when she was learning the trade, I used to sneak into her room and read her notes sometimes. I wanted to learn all about it—oh!”
She whirled away quickly. The eggs were burning, Adam suddenly realized—she’d smelled it a second before he had. He leapt to his feet, but there was nothing to be done. With a groan of disappointment, Rachel dropped the pan into the sink.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to start all over on that now.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I would rather talk to you than eat eggs right now. You can come back to that in a moment, but…sit down. Please. Tell me more about this. Your stepsister is having you write her lesson plans?”
“She knows I used to read her notes.” Rachel reluctantly eased into a seat.
“I think she’s struggling in her role as teacher, and she knows I can help.
And I do want to help.” She drew a slow, deep breath, her eyes cast down.
“I used to daydream about teaching. I used to think about it every time I read the Bible—sharing the lessons I’d found there, helping other people to know God’s love as I do.
If I could do anything with my life, it would be that.
I don’t think my stepsister is driven by faith in the same way I am, though—and so perhaps it’s for the best that she has someone like me that she can turn to.
Someone who truly knows and loves God, and who wants to share Him with others.
Someone who wants to guide children to walk in the light of His love. That’s what I think, anyway.”
She peered up at him. She was still biting her lip, and she seemed hesitant about how he might respond, but she had spoken calmly and with confidence and Adam could tell that she was sure of what she was saying.
This was a real dream she had, and she was glad to be doing it, even if it did mean helping her stepsister.
“Well, you don’t have to act ashamed of it,” he said at last. “It’s a worthy thing to want to do with your time.”
Her voice lifted slightly. “You aren’t upset?”
“Why would I be upset? Is there coffee?”
She jumped to her feet and bustled over to the cupboard where the ground beans—left over from grinding too many yesterday—were kept.
“I’ll make it,” she said, pulling them down.
She was moving more quickly now, full of energy, and not in the frantic manner she’d had when she had hurried ahead of him to the house.
Her steps were light, as if she was dancing.
She measured out a scoop of the grounds and reached for the kettle.
“I just thought that you might think it was…I don’t know.
A waste of time. That I was taking away from my responsibilities here. ”
“Well, I understand the desire to help people.” It was just like what Ruth had said to him about the way he kept taking people in and making them a part of the family. Wasn’t that the same thing, at its heart? Rachel had seen a need in the world, and she wanted to fill it.
It’s not exactly the same, because she thinks she’s doing what God wants her to do.
Whereas I…well, I don’t care what God wants me to do.
Those words were fierce in his mind, defensive.
As he watched her pour the water over the coffee grounds, it occurred to him that maybe she’d thought he would be angry for exactly that reason.
She was aware of the fact that God was not a part of his life, even though they hadn’t talked about the reasons for that.
Maybe she was worried about how he would react to knowing she was acting out of faith.
He wanted to say something to her, to clear the air about that. He wanted to let her know that he understood she was a woman of faith and that he wasn’t going to let that become a problem.
But he couldn’t. The words stuck in his throat.
It was a problem.
She had every right to believe as she did, every right to practice her faith.
But Adam couldn’t pretend it didn’t make him uncomfortable to invite God back into his house, even in a form that meant Adam himself did not have to participate.
It was like having an unwelcome houseguest, and he didn’t know what to say about it.
So he said nothing at all. He allowed Rachel to pour his coffee for him. He smiled his thanks at her, hoping to communicate that she had his support and that there were no hard feelings between the two of them. And he kept his thoughts to himself.
That was easy enough. He was accustomed to being private about what was on his mind. He could do that here too. He could allow Rachel the freedom to observe her faith, and when it started to bother him…well, he would simply keep his mouth shut about that.