Chapter Fifteen
Fifteen
Gabe loved having supper in Ornetta’s kitchen; it was warm and fragrant with good things that night—corned beef hash, green beans and biscuits and the promised cherry pie.
She had invited him often, but he’d mostly refused, not wanting to inflict his gloomy disposition on someone who had never forgotten how to laugh, how to hope, how to love.
Tonight he hadn’t been able to resist. Hadn’t wanted to go home to an empty house, where there would be no one there to greet him except the dog, and the fire in the cookstove would have gone out, leaving the whole place chilly.
Hector was fine; he had water and food and a fur coat. Fine, too, were the cow, the chickens and the remaining horse, Abednego; they all had what they needed.
He’d ridden into town around noon, meaning to buy a few supplies, things he could carry in his saddlebags, then return home and work on repairing the dollhouse, and when the boy Ornetta sent to tell him he ought to come to supper found him in the general store, he’d ruffled the lad’s hair, given him a nickel and sent him straight back to say thanks, he’d be there for sure.
Gabe had spent the intervening hours at the black smith’s shop, helping John repair wagon wheels and the like.
In between working the forge and hammering away at pieces of molten iron, they’d talked, and by the time they arrived at Ornetta’s place, they were both tired, covered in soot and strangely hopeful.
At least, Gabe was hopeful, because his friend had given him an idea. John, meanwhile, looked about as smug as a good man could without committing the sin of pride.
And sin was something John avoided at all possible costs.
Once both men had washed up, trying not to leave a mess in the process, most of the boarders, including the children, had been served their evening meal in the dining room and then retreated to the front parlor or their private quarters.
Frankie and Jubal, disappointed that Hector hadn’t come to town with Gabe, went to bed without protest.
John had told him, while explaining the plan he proposed, that both children and Lizbet shared a narrow bed in the room Pearl had kindly vacated to make room for them.
This, along with the things John had spoken of during his visit to the farmhouse that stormy night, concerning Henry’s schemes, troubled him greatly.
A separate table had been set in the kitchen, with places for John, Ornetta, Lizbet and himself, and the result was a rare sensation of being encompassed in comfort and well-being.
Gabe felt at home in a way he seldom did these days, and he knew it wasn’t because of the place, but because of the people gathered there for a friendly supper.
Everyone seemed to be in a jovial mood—except Lizbet.
She’d greeted Gabe cordially enough, but she was weary and defeated. He saw that right away, though she certainly tried to hide her low spirits.
There was a flush in her cheeks that seemed more indicative of fever than anything else.
Given all he’d learned from John, both today at the blacksmith’s shop and on the night the blizzard had peaked, when they’d stayed in the kitchen well into the small hours, swilling strong coffee, playing poker for matchsticks and doing more talking than Gabe had done in the last three years put together, he knew what was troubling Lizbet.
She was in a spot, just as John had said earlier that day, and as things stood, he, Gabe Whitfield, was the only person around who could help her in a real and lasting way. And, as John had also pointed out, he stood to benefit from the plan as well.
And so it was that, after supper, when John and Ornetta made a show of being too worn out to do more than fall into their beds for a good night’s sleep, Gabe and Lizbet were left to clear the table and wash the dishes by themselves.
Lizbet didn’t protest, though Gabe suspected she was barely able to stay on her feet.
She filled the sink with hot water from the copper boiler John had long since installed above it, along with two others in the bathing rooms, while Gabe gathered and scraped plates into an empty lard tin for Hector to enjoy later.
Gabe was not good at starting conversations—even with Bonnie, he had rarely had to do that, since she always had so much to say—but that night he made the effort.
“John told me about the situation you’re in,” Gabe said to Lizbet’s back, as she added soap to the hot dishwater. “And I think I can help.”
She stiffened, turned her head to look at him over her right shoulder. “I don’t understand,” she said, and dear God, she sounded so beaten down that he wanted to take her into his arms and hold her until she’d cried out all the tears she’d probably been holding back for years.
He didn’t, though, because that would have sent entirely the wrong message. Not the one he felt ready to send, at least.
Lizbet turned, drying her hands on the apron she’d put on as soon as supper was over. “What did you mean, Mr. Whitfield?” she asked, straightening her shoulders and lifting her chin. “How can you help?”
Tendrils of her glorious red-gold hair curled around her face, damp from the steam rising from the sink and the heat surging from the stove.
Gabe didn’t bother to correct her, insist that she call him by his first name. It wasn’t the right time for that, either.
She was understandably wary, and knowing that tied Gabe’s tongue in a knot. Took him a full minute to untangle it, and by that time, he was red in the face.
“I’m a widower,” he finally managed to say. “My wife and daughter have been gone for over three years now.”
Lizbet’s countenance softened visibly. “I know,” she said, almost in a whisper. “I’m so sorry.”
At that, Gabe’s eyes burned and his throat tightened, so he nodded, swallowed hard and prayed for the grace to speak like a sensible man instead of falling apart.
“How can you help me?” she asked, and now tears filled her eyes.
Gabe took a step toward her, bound and determined to kiss her, but he stopped himself in time, God be thanked.
“My house is big and it’s empty, except for Hector and me,” he heard himself say, as if from a small distance.
“I’ve got my hands full, most of the year, raising crops and looking after the livestock, and that means I never get around to cleaning the place properly.
Most it gets is a spit and a lick, and then Hector and I are off to the barn or the fields or into the hills to cut wood. ”
Lizbet waited, though Gabe thought he saw the faintest glow of light gathering in her beautiful green eyes. Under their sheen of tears, they shone like polished emeralds.
“What I’m trying to get said here, Miss Fontaine, is that I need some help around the place—cleaning, cooking, mending and the like.
Doing the wash, too, when the weather allows.
I know that’s a lot of work, and that you’re a teacher, not a housemaid, but I can pay you a reasonable wage, and since there’s plenty of room in the place, you and the children can all have your own rooms.”
Lizbet opened her mouth, closed it again. Her hands twisted the skirt of her apron as though to wring it out after washing.
Gabe was compelled to rush on, though it felt as though he were running and stumbling down a steep slope, barely able to keep from losing his balance and going head over heels to land at the bottom in a quivering heap.
“I want you to know that I don’t expect any more from you than keeping house,” he said, and then blushed so hard that his face actually burned. “Laundry and ironing, too, I guess,” he added, willing himself to shut up.
He should have let John make the initial proposal. He was a preacher, self-appointed or not.
John knew how to say things in a way that made sense.
“You’re offering me honest work and a place for Frankie and Jubal and me to live,” Lizbet said, feeling her way through that sentence the way she might feel her way across a rickety footbridge in the dark of night.
“Yes.” One word. But he got that right, anyway. Inside him, a strange combination of joy and wariness sparked and caught fire.
Dear God, he thought, don’t let her refuse.
“I will not be sharing your bed, Mr. Whitfield,” she said pointedly, lifting her chin and squaring her shoulders.
More’s the pity , Gabe thought, but what he said was, “Absolutely not. You have nothing to fear from me, Miss Fontaine. I still love my wife, and I always will.”
She flinched slightly, as though he’d delivered a blow, albeit a light one, and raised her chin again. “Then we have an agreement,” she said formally, “though I’m not sure I can start right away, since Pearl is laid up and Ornetta needs my help.”
Gabe nodded, thrilled and doing his damnedest not to show it. Plus, he admired her loyalty, though saying so would probably have been too much. He didn’t want to sound obsequious or anything like that.
“That’s fine,” he said instead. “Whenever you’re ready and the roads are clear enough to travel by wagon, I’ll come for you and the children and all your belongings.”
Just then, a change came over her.
Lizbet seemed to lose the starch in her knees, for she took a stumbling step forward and gripped the back of a chair to steady herself.
Gabe was beside her immediately, taking a gentle hold on her arm, lest she slip to the floor. “Sit down,” he said, pulling out the chair and pressing her into it.
She began to weep, even to sob, however softly, into the palms of her hands. Her shoulders trembled, and Gabe felt as helpless as a mouse in a cage full of tigers.
He went to the sink to fill a glass of water, but the boiler was going, so it came out hot.
“What is it?” he asked, alarmed.
She sniffled. Shook her head, as though to shake away her tears.
And finally spoke. “I’m so relieved,” she blurted.
“I told Henry Middlebrook what I thought of him today, and I felt good about it, until I remembered that I was still broke with no sign of finding a job.” Lizbet paused here, and drew in a shaky breath.
“Now I finally have, and there’s not a thing he can do about it. ”
Gabe grinned. “Not a thing,” he confirmed.
By then, she was sitting up straight in her chair, having recovered her dignity.
Gabe returned to the table, sat down next to her and dared to take her hand. “All right, then,” he told her. “We have an agreement.”
In the next instant, he regretted holding Lizbet’s hand. He’d just told her, for pity’s sake, that she needn’t fear forward behavior from him. He flushed, went to let go and felt her fingers tighten briefly around his.
She sniffled again, nodded. “Yes,” she said. “We have an agreement. And I thank you kindly for it. Not only for offering me the work I need so badly, but for not treating me as a commodity, to be bought, sold or traded.”
Gabe didn’t need to ask what she meant by that last part. She was referring to the alleged “deal” between her stepfather and Henry Middlebrook.
And the thought brought his blood to a steady boil.