The Brides of Chance Collection Part 72

Bryce came back up to the loft and plunked down the pitcher while Logan put their clean clothes in the trunk, along with his Bible.

Then they each sunk onto a makeshift bed, pulled off their boots, and gratefully stretched out under the comforting warmth of a heap of blankets. Logan shut his eyes and immediately started to doze.

"What's going...You've got to be...Are you whistling?" Logan raised up on his elbows to peer at Bryce, who was giving a jaunty rendition of "She'll Be Comin' 'Round the Mountain."

Bryce finished the tune before answering. "Not anymore."

"Good," Logan grumbled. "Now let's get some shut-eye."

"You go on ahead. I'm not a bit sleepy."

"I'll do that. Just don't whistle anymore." Logan settled back into the warm bed and breathed deeply, waiting to drift off again.

Thrum-dum-dum-b.u.m-thrum. The sound made Logan crack an eye open. It was too close for one of the animals to be fidgeting. "What are you doing now?"

"Hmmm...Oh, I guess I was tapping my fingers on the floor. Sorry." Bryce didn't sound at all repentant.

"Something on your mind?" Logan gave up trying to pretend Bryce wasn't there.

"A lot. Pretty country, ain't it?" Bryce, the most silent of all his brothers, sounded downright chatty.

"Yes, and I want to get a good night's sleep so I can explore it tomorrow." Logan yanked his blankets higher and tried to get some sleep. The sooner he fell asleep, the sooner morning would come-and with it, new faces to meet and places to explore.

"Miz Willow's a spry old gal. Did you see the twinkle in her eyes?"

"Yep." Logan thought of the wispy s.n.a.t.c.hes of white hair covering the widow's head, like she was so full of energy her hair couldn't lie flat. But now wasn't the time to think about it. "Go to sleep, Bryce."

"Can't. Don't know why."

"Because you only woke up to stuff your face for the past five days." Logan glared in his brother's general direction. "If you can't sleep now, it's your own fault. As for me, I'm gonna ask you to be quiet so I can rest. There'll be a lot to do and see tomorrow."

"True. Maybe Hattie'll show us around. What did you think of her?"

Logan realized Bryce's yammering had managed to make him too alert to sleep. He sat up and ran his hand through his hair.

"Why? You're usually the one who's more interested in animals than people." Logan was actually interested in Bryce's opinion.

"Yep. But she's kinda hard to read. She's got a servant's heart-I mean, look at how she fixed up this place for two strangers. She was awful nice about helping us in the middle of the night. I don't think they have a pump. She had to draw all that water for the horses out of a well. Reminds me of Rebekah in the Bible, but she's pretty quiet, too. I guess I'm used to hearing Miriam, Alisa, Delilah, Lovejoy, Temperance, Eunice, and Lois all gabbing to each other and directing the kids. Hattie's pretty enough. Why isn't she married?"

Logan thought it over for a while.

"She was, but he died, remember? And if she's on the quiet side, maybe it's because we met her in the middle of the night and we don't know her yet." Logan wondered what she'd be like in daylight. Would her hair still hang in a tidy braid past her waist? Would her voice still sound soft, husky, and musical?

Bryce rolled over. "She's as pretty as Eunice and Lois, and as kind as Lovejoy. I'll bet she's about as good a healer, too."

Logan thought that over. Was she smart like Tempy? He remembered the carefully slanted script and strange spelling of her letter and how she'd mentioned just learning to read and write.

"Well, I-" Logan broke off when he realized Bryce was snoring. He shook his head and lay back down. "Figures."

Chapter 7.

Hattie came awake when the c.o.c.k crowed, and she got out of bed straightaway.

Would the Chance brothers-Logan and Bryce, she reminded herself-sleep late after their journey? She'd best make enough breakfast just in case.

After slipping on her dress and rebraiding her hair, she made bread dough and left it to rise under a blue and white gingham towel. She dashed out to the smokehouse and fetched a side of bacon. Logan and Bryce looked like they could pack away a lot.

She sizzled the bacon and left it in the small oven to keep warm, then shaped the loaf and put it in the niche of the hearth wall to bake. By that time, the early dim had given way to morning's brightness, and Miz Willow had woken up.

"Why don't you go on ahead and fetch some eggs and milk whilst I put on some coffee? My old mind seems to recall one of those brothers mentioning it yester-eve."

Hattie picked up the small basket she used to gather eggs and took her time getting to the barn. She'd be as quiet as she could just in case the Chances were still asleep. Cautiously she opened the door and stepped over to the chicken coop, trying to shush the clucking birds as she searched for their brown eggs.

"Mornin'." Logan's head popped over the edge of the loft, startling her.

"Mornin'. I didn't know if y'all was awake yet." She focused her attention on shutting the coop before picking up the three-legged stool and milking pail.

" 'Course we are. We'll be down in just a minute, and I'll take care of that for you," Logan offered.

"No need." Milking cows was woman's work, but offering to help didn't make him any less of a man. She finished and stood up, leaving the pail of fresh milk on the barn floor. "Y'all cain come into the house soon as yore ready. I've got breakfast started."

"Sounds good!" She recognized Bryce's voice before she left the barn.

She gave the eggs to Miz Willow, who immediately started scrambling them once she heard that the men were on the way. Hattie strolled out to the well, pulled up the bucket, and lifted a pail of chilled milk from where they kept it hanging down by the cool water. She drew a bucket of water for the house.

By the time she poured the milk into a pitcher and put it on the table with the bacon, Logan and Bryce were knocking on the door. Real gentlemen, they were, to knock rather than just saunter in. Even though they knew they were welcome, the gesture showed good manners. Logan set down the pail of fresh milk.

"Come have a seat," Miz Willow invited, putting the eggs and coffee next to the plates and mugs.

Hattie sliced the cinnamon bread and put out some b.u.t.ter before joining them at the table. She sat next to Miz Willow, across from Logan.

"Would one of you gentlemen like to bless the meal?" Miz Willow invited.

"Certainly." Logan surprised Hattie by reaching across the table to take hold of her hand so they all formed a circle.

She noticed his clean hands and face, shaved jaw, and combed hair. He honored their table by coming to it as though ready for a banquet. His brother looked just as neat. These men had more manners and common sense than most folk-and they probably suffered illness a lot less.

"Dear heavenly Father, we come before You this morning and thank You for all You've given us. We praise You for the safe journey and warm welcome we've experienced, and thank You for the hands that prepared this food. We pray for those who aren't with us now and ask You to keep them close. Amen."

Hattie smiled to thank him for his beautiful prayer. He'd blessed them as well as the food and remembered his family, too. If all the Chance brothers had been brought up as well as these-and Hattie figured they must have been-then Lovejoy was well taken care of as she deserved to be.

"Mmmm, this. .h.i.ts the spot." Bryce jabbed a fork into his eggs as though to punctuate the comment.

"Delicious." Logan agreed. "Thank you for getting up early to make all of this for us. Nice of you to go to the trouble." He directed this last comment to Miz Willow.

"Much obliged." Bryce reached for another slice of cinnamon bread, and Logan pa.s.sed him the b.u.t.ter.

"Hattie do have a way 'round a fire," Miz Willow praised. "Her cinnamon bread's a favorite of ourn."

"I can see why." Logan took an appreciative bite and washed it down with some milk.

This man kept on surprising her. Most lads she knew wouldn't bother to think of how she and the widow didn't need to make so much food for just the two of them. Pa and Horace hadn't seen any need to thank her for cooking or anything else. That was her place. Not that she minded doing it, but it was nice to be appreciated for her efforts.

Logan helped himself to some more bacon and pa.s.sed the platter to Bryce, who did likewise. The smoky flavor of the meat was rich and filling, but he had plenty of room left over for the melt-in-your mouth flavor of Hattie's warm, b.u.t.tery cinnamon bread. He was glad to see he and Bryce weren't going to strain their food supply. All the same, he'd find ways to repay them for their hospitality.

According to Lovejoy, the widow and her apprentice made a steady living. Their home featured wooden floors, two windows covered with clarified hide, a real bed, and a separate storeroom. Everywhere he looked, he saw the tiny touches of love that made this place a home.

A rag rug covered the center of the floor. Fresh flowers filled a jar on the bedside table, where a Bible held the place of prominence next to a tallow candle. Cheery curtains lined the tops of the windows, keeping out drafts and letting in some light. The bed was neatly made, and a sampler hung above it proclaiming, "A MERRY HEART DOETH GOOD LIKE A MEDICINE." He only noticed it because the same type of thing had snuck its way onto Chance Ranch with each new bride.

He wasn't able to think of anything to help Hattie and Miz Willow that Lovejoy hadn't already included in her packages. They had an outhouse and a smokehouse. The milk this morning was nice and cool, so they might have a springhouse, he figured. Then again, they might keep it dangling in a well bucket.

"I don't think they have a pump. She had to draw all that water for the horses out of a well." Bryce's observation from the night before tickled Logan's brain. Maybe he could get and install a pump. Living with Lovejoy had taught him just how much fresh water a healer could need, and the childhood memory of hauling buckets on Chance Ranch reminded him how much easier a water pump made the daily ch.o.r.e. The idea had merit.

"Now that yore bellies are full, I've a mind to ask you how that Lovejoy of ourn is farin' back in Californy." Miz Willow's lively voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Just fine, ma'am." To Bryce, those three words summed it all up.

"We're awful glad to have her," Logan jumped in. "She's worked wonders with Daniel."

"No foolin'," Bryce offered. "He'd been downright surly for about three years through. Sore as a buckshot bear."

Logan shoved the coffee in front of his brother to make him stop talking. What was Bryce thinking? Didn't the alarmed look on Hattie's face clue him in? They needed to hear how well Lovejoy and the MacPherson brides were getting along.

"There's some truth in that." Logan smiled to soften the admission. "But Lovejoy came into our lives and pushed away his grief. She's a mother to Polly and Ginny Mae, and the only woman I know who could've worked her way into Daniel's heart. She's a blessing to Chance Ranch."

"Heh," the old woman said, slapping her gnarled hand upon her knee, "that's Lovejoy for sh.o.r.e. Has a way of cuttin' through the muck and taking care of the wounded." She gave a decisive nod. "Sounds like she's found the place G.o.d intended for her to be."

Hattie shot the old widow a questioning glance, and Miz Willow asked her next question with such cautious nonchalance that Logan could tell something was in the works.

"Don't suppose she sent a letter or word with you boys 'bout a small matter we writ to her..." Her voice trailed off, but her eyes flickered with surprising intensity.

"Not that I know of, but she and the others packed so much stuff for us to bring, it could be in some bundle or another." Bryce shrugged and leaned back. "We've gotta unpack it all and figure out what goes to who anyway, so we'd be glad to keep a lookout."

Miz Willow looked at them expectantly. Logan knew whatever she was expecting must be awfully important, because she stood up and rested her weight on the table.

"Well, Hattie and I've got to clear the dishes. Why don't you boys git to it. When yore done, Hattie an' I'll help you track down the folks it's intended for."

Logan reckoned that was about as close as she could politely come to a blunt, "What're you waitin' fer?" He stood up and nudged Bryce on the shoulder.

"Sounds like a good idea to me. Good way to start meeting people. C'mon, Bryce." He led the way back to the barn, where they both stared at a veritable mountain of bundles and sacks.

Each package was bound with string and adorned with a note detailing what family it was intended for. Occasionally a list of what was for whom also hung from the string. Lovejoy's neatly cramped script, Miriam's elegant letters, Alisa's grand flourishes, and Delilah's calligraphy brought back a sense of home. It seemed as though they'd packed something for every family in these parts.

Logan realized Bryce was staring at the pile with the same hopeless expression he probably wore. He could just imagine Hattie and Miz Willow coming back after they'd done all the dishes to find both of them just standing there, scratching their heads. Miz Willow just might poke them with her cane. Though twisted with age, she still held a presence that was both fun and formidable.

"Let's start laying them out so they're not just in a big heap." Logan couldn't really think of anything else to do without knowing where each family lived.

They worked for a while, finding that while some families had one package, others had more. Logan combined these smaller individual bundles into neat piles.

I can't believe how long this is taking! We should be out of this barn by now, riding the countryside or fishing with other men of the holler. Instead, my adventure today is going to be sorting packages like a fussy old maid.

He and Bryce had just about finished laying all the things out when the women walked in.

"Howdy, Miz Willow, Miz Hattie." Logan tipped his hat. "We put yours aside over by the door.

"Thankee much, both of you. We'll git to 'em later. For now I figgur we'd best git all this organized." Miz Willow gestured expansively.

"We sure could use your help." Logan smiled. "We've already divvied it up by surname, if that's any use."

"Sh.o.r.e will be." Hattie nodded and stepped forward, glancing at Miz Willow. What she saw slid the small smile right off her face and made Logan realize just how tightly the older woman was clutching her cane.

"Oh, Miz Willow, I jist had a worry. What iff 'n someone comes for the healer and cain't find a one of us? I'll bet Otis Nye's near run out of the devil's claw tea we give him for his rheumatiz. Why don't you go inside and brew up a batch so he cain have some straightaway iff 'n he comes to call?" She gently turned the older woman to the door.

"I s'ppose you've the right of it." Miz Willow started back to the house. "Jist you let me know when yore ready. I might have some salves or poultices to send out with you." She left.

"Nice of you to find a way she could rest." Logan tried to encourage her.

"It's my fault she needs to." Hattie blinked a few times. "I forgot to make the tea to soothe her joints this mornin'. It holps with her pain and makes it so she don't swoll up so bad."

"Seems to me she's doin' just fine," Logan said, consoling her. "She can make the tea for herself now and not feel as though she's not pulling her weight. You saved her the pain of her joints and the humiliation of having to admit she needed to sit."

"I reckon." Hattie shook her head as though to clear it, making the deep red of her braid bounce along the pale yellow of her cotton dress.

Logan couldn't help but like her better for her tender heart and the way she watched over the saucy old woman. Of all the people he'd meet in the holler, he had a funny feeling he'd be glad to have met these two remarkable women first.

Chapter 8.

Wait a minute." Hattie lifted up a small parcel. "Did you two miss this?" She recognized Lovejoy's writing and smiled. "It's got yore names on't."

Bryce held out his hands, so she tossed it to him. He made short work of unwrapping two shiny harmonicas. He picked one up and handed a slip of foolscap to Logan.

"It says here you'll know who's best to teach us how to play these." Logan waved the paper. "Any ideas?"