4. Chapter 4
Claudine woke to sunlight streaming through the small window of her room above the general store. For a moment, sleep clouded her mind until reality rushed back. Yesterday she had become Mrs. Michael Crawford. Today she would see her new home.
She dressed in a practical brown skirt and cream-colored shirtwaist, suitable for travel and ranch life. Her trunk contained few frivolous items; practicality had guided her packing as it had guided her decision to answer Michael's advertisement.
Mrs. Billings provided a hearty breakfast of flapjacks, bacon, and strong coffee. Lucy sat beside Claudine at the table, watching her new stepmother with curious eyes while methodically cutting her flapjacks into precise squares.
"Do you know how to make pie?" the child asked suddenly.
Claudine smiled. "Yes, I do. Apple is my specialty, but I can make cherry and peach as well."
Lucy nodded solemnly. "Papa likes apple best."
"Then I shall have to bake one soon."
"Mama made good pies," Lucy continued, her voice matter-of-fact. "Papa says I look like her."
Claudine's heart constricted at the casual mention of Sarah Crawford. "Your mama must have been very beautiful, then," she said gently.
Lucy considered this, then nodded again before returning to her breakfast.
Mrs. Billings caught Claudine's eye and smiled encouragingly. "Michael should be here shortly. Would you like to gather your things?"
Claudine had just finished repacking her trunk when boots sounded on the stairs. Michael appeared in the doorway, hat in hand, looking fresher compared to yesterday. His dark hair was neatly combed, his face cleanly shaved except for a well-trimmed mustache.
"Mrs. Crawford," he greeted her, the name still unfamiliar to both of them. "Ready to see your new home?"
"Yes, quite ready." Claudine smoothed her skirt nervously. "Is it far?"
"About an hour by wagon. The ranch lies north of town, along Pine Creek itself." He gestured to her trunk. "I'll take that down. Lucy is eager to leave."
Downstairs, a wagon waited outside the store. Michael secured Claudine's trunk while Mr. Billings helped her climb onto the wooden seat. Lucy scrambled up between them, clutching a rag doll Claudine hadn't seen before.
"This is Millie," the girl explained. "She's coming home with us too."
"I'm pleased to meet Millie," Claudine replied with appropriate seriousness.
Mrs. Billings pressed a basket into Claudine's hands. "Some bread and preserves for your pantry, and a dried apple pie. Every new home needs something sweet to start with."
"That's very kind, thank you."
"You come back to town soon, you hear? Church on Sunday if the weather holds."
Michael flicked the reins, and the horses pulled away from the general store. Pine Creek's modest buildings soon gave way to open country. Claudine balanced the basket on her lap, acutely aware of Michael's presence beside her. Husband. The word still didn't feel real.
The road followed the creek that had given the town its name, a clear stream winding through meadows dotted with ponderosa pines. Cattle grazed on the grasslands, their backs gleaming red-brown in the morning sun.
"Is this all Crawford land?" Claudine asked.
Michael nodded, pride evident in his voice. "Eight hundred acres, stretching from the creek to those foothills. Good grazing, good water. My father claimed this land twenty years ago when Montana was still wild territory. Built it up from nothing but a tent and determination."
"Your father must have been a remarkable man."
"He was." Michael glanced at her. "Tough but fair. Taught me everything I know about ranching and horses."
"Is he still living?"
"No. Passed five years back. Pneumonia took him quick. My mother died when I was young, so it was just the two of us for many years."
"Until you married," Claudine supplied.
"Yes." His hands tightened on the reins. "Until Sarah."
Lucy leaned against Michael's arm, suddenly subdued at the mention of her mother. Claudine searched for a way to ease the sudden tension.
"The land is beautiful," she offered. "So vast and open."
Michael's face eased slightly. "That it is. Different from Chicago, I imagine."
"Very different. But I find I prefer this vastness to city streets. There's something honest about it."
He gave her an appraising look. "Most city folk find it lonely."
"Perhaps what some call loneliness, others might call peace."
The corner of his mouth twitched upward briefly, not quite a smile but close. "We'll see if you still think so come winter, when snow blankets everything and the wind howls for days."
"Will I need to learn to ride?" Claudine asked, changing the subject.
"Eventually. For now, the wagon will serve for trips to town." He pointed ahead. "There. You can see the house now."
Claudine followed his gesture and caught her breath.
Nestled against the backdrop of pine-covered hills stood a substantial two-story house built of square logs, with a wide porch wrapping around the front and one side.
Smoke curled from a stone chimney, and nearby stood a large barn, bunkhouse, and various outbuildings.
A split-rail fence enclosed a kitchen garden beside the house, and flowers bloomed along the front path.
"It's lovely," she said sincerely.
"Mama planted those flowers," Lucy announced. "Papa keeps them growing for her."
Michael said nothing, but Claudine noted the tightening of his jaw. When they pulled up before the house, a middle-aged woman emerged onto the porch, wiping her hands on her apron.
"Mrs. Peterson," Michael explained as he set the brake. "Neighbor's wife. She's been helping with the house for the past four years. Comes three days a week."
Claudine nodded understanding as he helped her down from the wagon. Lucy jumped down unaided and ran to Mrs. Peterson.
"We brought Mama Claudine home!" she announced.
Mrs. Peterson's eyebrows rose, but she smiled warmly. "So I see. Welcome, Mrs. Crawford."
"Thank you, Mrs. Peterson. I appreciate your care of the house and Lucy."
"Happy to help. Though I reckon you'll be taking over now." She glanced at Michael. "I've put fresh linens on the beds and prepared a stew for dinner. Everything's ready for the new mistress."
"Thank you, Mrs. Peterson," Michael said. "I'll drive you home now."
"No need to hurry," the woman protested. "I can show Mrs. Crawford around first."
"I'm sure my wife will manage," Michael replied firmly. "Lucy knows the house well and can help."
Mrs. Peterson looked as though she might argue, but simply nodded. "Very well. I'll just gather my things."
When she disappeared inside, Claudine turned questioning eyes to Michael. "You don't wish her to stay?"
"You need time to acquaint yourself with your new home without an audience," he said quietly. "Mrs. Peterson means well, but she's prone to gossip. Every detail of our household would be known across three ranches by suppertime."
Claudine appreciated his consideration. "Thank you."
He nodded once. "I'll return shortly. Lucy will show you inside."
The little girl tugged at Claudine's hand. "Come see my room first!"
The interior of the house surprised Claudine.
She had expected a bachelor's spartan accommodations, but the rooms were comfortably furnished and scrupulously clean.
The main floor contained a spacious kitchen with a large cast-iron stove, a formal dining room, and a parlor with bookshelves lining one wall.
A study occupied the back corner, clearly Michael's domain with its desk covered in ledgers and maps.
Upstairs, four bedrooms opened off a central hallway. Lucy proudly showed Claudine her room, decorated with a colorful quilt and shelves holding books and toys.
"And this is Papa's room," Lucy said, pushing open another door to reveal a large bedroom with a four-poster bed, dresser, and washstand. "You'll sleep here too, because you're married now."
Claudine's cheeks warmed at the child's matter-of-fact statement. Of course Lucy would assume they would share a room, as her parents had done.
The remaining two bedrooms were simpler—one apparently used for storage, the other prepared for guests with a narrow bed and plain furnishings.
"Papa said you could use this room if you wanted," Lucy explained, indicating the guest room. "For your nurse things."
Claudine considered the space. "It would make a fine sickroom if needed."
Back downstairs, Claudine examined the kitchen more thoroughly. The pantry was well-stocked with staples, and a trapdoor in the floor led to a root cellar. Mrs. Peterson had left the promised stew simmering on the stove.
"Are you hungry?" Claudine asked Lucy. "It's nearly noon."
"Papa said to wait for him."
"Then we shall." Claudine removed her hat and hung it on a peg by the door. "Perhaps you could show me the garden while we wait?"
The kitchen garden contained neat rows of vegetables—potatoes, carrots, beans, and peas. A small herb section grew near the kitchen door, and fruit trees lined the far fence. Claudine recognized apple, cherry, and plum.
"Mrs. Peterson says the apples will be ready soon," Lucy informed her. "For pie."
"Perfect timing, then."
They had just returned to the house when the wagon rattled into the yard. Michael strode to the kitchen door, ducking his head as he entered.
"Getting acquainted with the place?" he asked.
"Yes," Claudine replied. "You have a lovely home."
"Our home now." He removed his hat and coat, hanging them on pegs opposite hers. The sight of their belongings side by side, a visible symbol of their shared life, struck Claudine with unexpected force.
"Are there ranch hands?" she asked, seeking practical details to ground herself.
"Tom Harris is foreman—been with the ranch since my father's day. He, Pete, and young Charlie live in the bunkhouse. Jeb lives nearby with his wife and children. The ranch hands take meals in the bunkhouse except Sundays, when tradition says the main house feeds everyone."
"I'll need to plan larger meals for Sundays, then."