A Home Of Her Own
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“You may call me James.”
“I understand.” She rose and headed straight to Mutti’s room with her head held high.
He stared at the closed door. Becky’s show of independence surprised him. Having the spirited woman around could be interesting—and distracting.
* * *
Bacon sizzled in the skillet, and the invigorating scent of brewing coffee filled the kitchen. Becky sliced two thick slabs of bread for toasting.
A bedroom door opened promptly at five, and James appeared. “You’re up early.”
“Yes.” She’d always been an early riser, but her internal clock must still be adjusting to California time, because she’d awakened at four. Not that she minded. She’d had time to read her Bible, pray and sneak some leftovers out to the dog. The friendly fellow had been waiting for her behind the cabin where she’d bathed him. “How do you like your eggs?”
“Over medium.”
She set James’s breakfast before him in short order. He dove into the meal, not even stopping to say a blessing, and finished it in silence while she began preparations for dinner.
The moment he set his fork down, she reached for his empty plate. “Would you like more?”
“I’m fine. Thanks.” He stood and grabbed his hat. “Come with me, please. I want to show you how to do the milking before Mutti wakes.”
“I’ll be right there.” She put the dirty dishes in the tub of soapy water to soak and met him at the door.
He waited with his hand on the latch and held out a cloak. “This was Kate’s. You’ll need it. The temperature fell overnight.”
She was tempted to forgo the oversize woolen garment since it hadn’t felt cold when she’d visited the dog earlier, but it wouldn’t do to challenge James about something like this. She’d have to choose her battles wisely, because she was certain there would be some.
A short time later Becky sat on a small three-legged stool in the barn beside a large cow.
James stood behind her. “It’s quite simple, really. Grasp the back teat from the two on the left and the front one from those on the right, clamp them between your thumbs and first fingers and squeeze down, alternating the pressure between the two.”
The teats felt a lot different than she’d expected. Firmer and stiffer. She gave one of them a squeeze, but nothing happened. Adding a little pressure, she tried the other, but once again there was no stream of milk.
“Don’t be so timid. Give them a good squeeze. You won’t hurt her.”
After three more unsuccessful attempts, she sighed. It couldn’t be that hard, could it?
“Let me show you.”
She stood.
“No. Stay there.”
She sat. He reached around her and covered her hands with his own. A chill raced down her spine, and although she did her best not to, she shivered. She’d never been in a man’s arms before, and yet here she was with James’s brushing her sides and his breath warming her ear.
“Do it like this.” He squeezed her hands—hard—sending streams of milk pinging against the sides of the metal pail. He kept at it for what felt like an eternity.
She leaned forward and forced herself to ignore him, which wasn’t easy. When she could take no more of his closeness, she glanced at him. The uninjured side of his face was mere inches from hers.
My, but he was handsome. She swallowed in an attempt to moisten her throat, which had become as dry as stale bread. “You can move. I’ve got the idea.”
He shot to his feet, took several steps backward and leaned against the pen with his arms folded over his broad chest. “Let me see you do it, then.”
His high-handed manner rankled. Taking the teats in her hands, she squeezed one and then the other, shooting milk into the pail. She kept at it and silently rejoiced as the amount of frothy white liquid grew. Just as she turned to smirk at him, the cow’s tail smacked her across the face.
James chuckled. “You have to watch out for that. Buttercup likes to flick her tail when you least expect it. And be sure to keep your knees around the bucket, or she could kick it over.”
She huffed. “You don’t have to laugh at me. I’m doing my best.”
He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Whoa! There’s no need to get a polecat in your petticoats. It was funny. That’s all.”
“I doubt you’d be laughing if you’d just gotten a mouthful of tail.”
“You’re right, but I know to watch out for it.”
She lifted her chin. “I’ll learn.”
“You can finish up and leave the pail outside the pen. I’ll carry it in when I finish with the horses.” He sauntered off toward their stalls with his shoulders shaking.
Fine. She’d show him. She would get the milking done quickly and beat him to the house.
She’d barely resumed the milking when James returned. He stood at the back end of the cow, but Buttercup didn’t seem to care. She kept munching her breakfast. He patted her hindquarters. “There. She won’t get you again.”
He’d tied a piece of twine to the cow’s tail and secured it to the top rung of the pen. His thoughtfulness touched her. “Thank you, sir.”
“My name is James. You’re free to use it.”
“So you’ve said.” Becky dipped her head to hide her smile. She shouldn’t take pleasure in irritating him, but he could be so heavy-handed at times that she hadn’t been able to resist.
Before long her back ached and her hands screamed for relief, but she kept on.
She’d been at the milking a good fifteen minutes when James’s voice made her jump.
“Lean into her side. It helps.”
She did as he suggested and felt the cow’s bristly coat against her cheek.
To her dismay, he watched her work for a couple of minutes, and then he peered over her shoulder. “It looks like you’re done, so I’ll get that.” She rose and eased her weary body out of the way. It was a good thing she didn’t have to carry the milk, since her bruised ribs were aching.
“Let’s go.” He freed the cow’s tail and hefted the pail.
She followed him out of the barn, took one look at the orchard and came to a standstill. The sun had crested the horizon, stretching its far-reaching fingers to caress each blossom. “I thought it was beautiful yesterday, but this...” She flung her arms wide. “It’s breathtaking. Just look at all those trees with their loose petals floating in the air. It might seem silly, but I could see myself dancing in them.” He was clearly not amused, so she shoved her fanciful musings aside. “How many trees are there?”
He stood at her side. “About thirteen hundred currently bearing fruit, and five hundred more that I’ve started in the past three years.” Pride dripped from his every word. “I plan to add some more each year until I have all fifty acres planted.”
“I love the soft colors of the flowers, but I noticed yesterday when I took a short walk that some of the trees don’t have any blooms. Why is that?”
She tore her gaze from the apple trees and was rewarded with a sight sweeter than any fruit. The first rays of sunlight had illuminated James’s face, revealing a smile so filled with warmth she could bask in it.
“Those with the white flowers are Rome Beauty and Esopus Spitzenburg, my late-season apples. The pink blooms are my Winesaps. The Jonathans and Baldwins already bloomed and will be ready for harvest earlier.”
“When you’re not so busy, I’d love for you to show me which is which. I want to learn all about the apples, the trees and how you take care of them.”
His expression changed to one of wonder. Or was it disbelief? “You would?”
Disbelief, definitely. “I love apples and know very little about them. Other than how tasty they are and how to bake with them, that is.”
“You’re the first woman I’ve met besides Mutti who’s shown an interest. Neither my sister nor my—my friend...” He glanced from Becky to the house and back. “You’ll be busy with Mutti, but perhaps we could fit in a lesson now and then.”
“Thank you. I’d like that.”
He stared at her for several seconds, his face a study in conflicting emotions. Surprise. Curiosity. And was that admiration?
Color crept up his neck, and he shook himself. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stare at you like that. I should, um, get this inside.” He took off in such a rush that he sloshed milk over the edge of the bucket.
She watched his retreating figure. James might be a bit brusque on occasion, but he had a softer side, too. Perhaps in time she’d figure out how to get him to reveal it more often.
Not that she’d be here any longer than necessary. Thanks to Dillon, she’d have to change locations frequently to avoid having him find her.
Even so, she welcomed this opportunity to learn all she could about the apple trees. If she happened to enjoy the company of the intriguing man who cared for them, so be it.
Chapter Five
“Shh! If anyone catches us, I could get in trouble.”
The copper-colored dog nuzzled Becky’s side. She knelt and petted him. “I’ve spent way too much time out here, Spitz, but I’ll be back this afternoon. I’m fixing steaks for dinner, so I’ll have some nice bones for you.” Since Mutti had only picked at her food the past week, there were sure to be some mashed potatoes and a biscuit or two, as well.
The unmistakable squeal of the barn door rollers brought the visit to an abrupt close. She’d have to send the dog away and get back to the garden plot quickly.
Footfalls coming around the corner of the empty cabin startled her. She froze. Her gaze came to rest on the toes of two dusty leather boots. Small boots. She looked up and heaved a sigh of relief. “Oh, Quon. It’s you. I was afraid it was James.”
She shot a glance at Spitz and back at Quon. “I know this handsome fellow’s not supposed to be here, but I’ll be going into town tomorrow. While I’m there, I’ll ask around to see if I can find him a home. He’s a nice dog and would make a fine pet.”
“Yes. He nice dog. Look good.” Quon dropped to one knee and ran his hand over the dog’s silky fur. “I put food in dish. He like to eat.”
“You knew about him and have been feeding him, too? But what about James? If he finds out I’ve encouraged the dog to stick around...”
Quon scanned the area, looking everywhere but at Spitz. “I not see anything.”
She was so grateful to the older man that she fought the urge to give him a daughterly hug. “Oh, Quon, I can’t thank you enough, but I don’t want you to get in trouble.”
He smiled. “It no trouble, Miss Becky. You wait. Boss will let dog stay.”
“I want to believe that, but when James makes up his mind about something, it’s hard to change it.” If she’d learned one thing the past week, it was that he had his way of doing things and didn’t take kindly to anyone questioning him.
Quon rose. “You go to garden. I send dog off and come soon. Tomato plant here. We finish work.”
Becky stood, too. “The plants are here? That’s wonderful.” She smiled. “You’ve taught me so much. I feel like a real gardener now.”
“You good student.” He tapped his head. “Smart. Learn fast.”
“My brother always said I was slow.”
“Brother not nice.” Quon frowned. “He hurt you?”
Becky’s hands went to her cheeks before she could stop them. The bruises were gone, but the pain in her ribs lingered. “He said hurtful things sometimes, but I’m sure all brothers do that. Doesn’t Chung?”
Quon laughed, and his dark eyes twinkled. “Chung smart. He know big brother is boss. He not—how you say?—pick fight.”
She did her best to shove aside the painful memories of Dillon accusing her of setting fire to the factory where they’d both worked and striking her when she’d protested. “I’m glad you get along. It must be wonderful to have a brother who’s your friend. I never had many friends.”
“You have friend now.” Quon jabbed a thumb at his chest. “I your friend.”
When she’d left Chicago, she never would have imagined that she’d make friends with someone from a culture so different from hers, but Quon was right. He was her friend. The kindhearted man had even been keeping her secret. “Well, my friend, I’d better get back to the garden. I’ll be waiting for you.”
True to his word, Quon met her a few minutes later with the flat of tomato plants. Their neighbor Mr. Stratton had given them to James as a token of appreciation for his work repairing the broken water pipe. Becky and Quon spent the next hour getting the leafy plants in the ground.
She’d seen no sign of James since breakfast. The past week he’d spoken to her only when necessary. Considering the number of times she’d thought of him since that memorable morning milking the cow and admiring the trees afterward, his absence was probably a good thing.
Even though he’d been keeping his distance from her, he showed Mutti kindness, noting her needs and helping her without being asked, and that was what mattered. The tender kiss on the cheek he gave her each evening before she headed to bed showed how much he loved her.
Watching his mother’s decline was hard on him. Just yesterday Becky had caught him blinking rapidly after he’d given Mutti her nightly buss.
If only he didn’t feel the need to shoulder his burden alone, but he’d rebuffed Becky’s offers of sympathy. She wanted to help ease his pain, but finding ways to do so would be a challenge.
She removed her work gloves and admired the large plot. “It will be a wonderful garden. I can’t wait to see everything come up. Thanks again for all your help, Quon.”
He grinned. “I only talk. You do all the work.”
“It wasn’t work. It was fun.” She couldn’t remember the last time she’d enjoyed herself that much. Quon had spent hours wielding a hoe as he taught her. He loved learning as much as she did and had encouraged her to tell him about her life back East. She did, reminiscing about her parents but saying little about her bully of a brother.
“I have more work. Must go. Goodbye.” Quon pressed his palms together and bowed.
Becky returned the gesture and strolled back to the house. She opened the front door as quietly as she could so she wouldn’t wake Mutti, but the kindly woman sat in her rocking chair, working on her embroidery.
“I didn’t expect to see you up already. Did you have a good nap?”
“It was all right, but it’s hard to get comfortable. I feel every lump and bump these days. It never used to be like that. William used to say I could sleep through anything. But enough of my complaints.” She patted the seat of Kate’s puffy purple chair. “Tell me about the garden. What did you plant today?”
Becky sat and filled Mutti in on the morning’s activity, minus any mention of the dog.
“I’m not surprised you like Quon. He’s a good man. He’s definitely more outgoing than his brother. Chung tends to be more reserved, like you, but he’s just as eager to please.” Mutti laid her embroidery in her lap. “What does surprise me is how much my boy intimidates you. When James is around, you say very little.”
“He doesn’t intimidate me. I just don’t know what to make of him. Sometimes he— No, I shouldn’t say any more. He’s your son, and I know how much you love him.”
“He’s my son, yes, but he’s not perfect. Go ahead. Tell me what you were going to say. Keeping the lid on a pot can cause it to boil over.”
Becky twirled a piece of embroidery floss around her finger. “He can be thoughtful one moment but ignore me the next. Sometimes he even appears to be upset with me. I’m doing my best not to annoy him.”
“You don’t like him ignoring you, but it seems to me you’re doing the same thing. If you’ll give him a chance, you’ll see he’s not the ogre you seem to think he is. You’ll try to get along with him, won’t you? It hurts me to see you two at odds.”
She would do almost anything for Mutti, but that was asking a great deal. James was the one making things difficult. If he weren’t so gruff, Becky would welcome his company. In the meantime, she’d have to make an effort to be sociable—at least when Mutti was around.
* * *
James shoveled in the last bite of his cheesecake. If he had room, he would seriously consider having another slice. Becky turned out mighty tasty desserts.
She’d kept her focus on her plate ever since returning from helping Mutti to bed. He might as well be alone for all the conversation he was getting out of her.
Although she’d shuddered in his arms during the milking lesson, understandably repulsed by him, he was curious what filled her thoughts. “You’ve been awfully quiet.”
“I’m not very ludicrous.”
She rested her fork on her plate, smiling as though pleased with herself for pronouncing the last word correctly.
Her disjointed reply took him aback. Although she hadn’t intended it to be, her misuse of the word was amusing. “No, you’re not very talkative. I’m not loquacious myself, but I wondered what you’ve been thinking.”
She groaned in a most unladylike fashion and smacked a palm to her forehead. “Loquacious. Yes. That’s what I meant.” She lifted her head and actually looked at him for a change. With the bruises almost gone, the dusting of freckles on her round cheeks was more visible. “I was thinking about the trip here.”
“You said that was your first train ride. Did you enjoy it?”
“Very much. I had no idea how big our country is. I saw mountains and valleys, plains and deserts.” She laughed, a light, airy sound free of her earlier self-condemnation. “Why am I telling you? Since you drove trains, you know that.”
“Drove trains? Where did you get that idea? I never did that.”
Her forehead furrowed. “But Dr. Wright said in the telegram that you were a railroad engineer before you became a fruit grower.”
James hid a smile behind his napkin. “I see. You thought I was a locomotive engineer. I was actually a civil engineer, helping build the railroad over the Sierras.”
She nodded. “That makes sense. Mutti told me you went to college. It must have been wonderful to receive such a fine education. When I was six, Chicago’s first high school opened. I dreamed of going to it one day. I applied every year—until my mother took ill and I began caring for her—but I wasn’t one of the few students granted admission. Even so, I try to learn everything I can on my own.” A faraway look in her eyes bespoke a yearning for what she’d been denied.
“That’s commendable.”
She reached for his empty dessert plate and set it on top of hers. “Why did you decide to become an engineer?”
“When I was young, Papa took me to Sacramento City. I got to meet Theodore Judah. He told me about his dream of building a railroad over the Sierras that would connect the country. I decided then and there that I wanted to work with him. When I finished school, my parents sent me to New York to attend the Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute where Judah had gone.”
“Did you work with him?”
“Not for long. I graduated with my civil engineering degree in ’62. I was only nineteen at the time, but I got a job with Charles Crocker’s company, which was overseeing the construction. Work started the following January. Judah headed for Washington that fall to get backing so he could buy out the owners and do things his way, but he died on that trip.”
He stared out the window at the deepening shadows, the heartache he’d felt upon hearing the news assailing him anew. He’d done his best to go on, but his enthusiasm had waned. And then came the accident that had shattered his dreams. “A part of me died, too.”
Becky laid her hand on his. “I’m sorry.”
He jerked his arm away. “I didn’t mean to go on like that. I need to see to the animals.”
“Yes, of course. I understand.”
Her crestfallen look said otherwise, but he couldn’t spend another minute with her probing into his past. Perhaps if he put enough distance between them, he could forget the pity he’d seen in her pretty blue eyes.
James took his time in the barn, grateful for the warmth of his overcoat. The temperature had dropped steadily all day. Not a good sign, since the trees were in bloom.
When he reached the house, Becky had already retired, as he’d hoped. With a long night ahead of him, sitting up and checking the thermometer mounted on the porch, the last thing he needed was to have her dredging up memories best left buried. He hung his overcoat in the lean-to, threw another log on the fire, settled into his armchair and reached for his well-worn copy of Dickens’s Great Expectations.
Sometime later he was jolted awake by an insistent scratching at the door. He stood, the book in his lap falling to the floor, and stepped onto the porch where a dog sat, its breath creating a misty cloud that hung in the chilly air.
Panic seized James, squeezing so hard he couldn’t breathe. He raced to the thermometer. The mercury had fallen even farther, hovering in the midthirties, far too close to freezing. If it went any lower, he could lose his entire crop.
He had to take action. Now.
* * *
A nudge to the shoulder woke Becky, and she opened her eyes to find a shadowy figure looming above her. A scream lodged in her throat.
“It’s all right. It’s me. James.”
How dare he scare her out of her wits like that? She shoved his arm away, tugged the covers to her chin and whispered, making no attempt to keep the irritation out of her voice. “What are you doing in here?” Her fuzzy head cleared, and reality returned with full force. “Is Mutti—”
He leaned close and spoke beside her ear. “She’s fine, but I need your help. Meet me in the kitchen right away.” He slipped out.
Propelled by a mixture of fear and curiosity, she dressed quickly and hastened to meet him. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s a late frost. I’ve got Quon and Chung setting fires under the trees to keep the buds from freezing. I know your ribs haven’t healed yet, but do you think you could carry wood?”
“Yes.”
“Good. You’d better wear this again.” He shoved his sister’s cloak into Becky’s arms. “I must warn you. It’s coldest just before dawn, so it will be a long night.”
“I understand.” She followed James to the orchard. Quon and Chung had already set two rows of fires, which glowed red beneath the apple trees.
All through the early morning hours they worked. Thick smoke swirled around her, stinging her eyes and burning her lungs as she trudged up and down the rows along with the men. Her ribs ached, but she ignored the pain and carried on.
James had said the entire apple crop could be lost if the buds froze. She couldn’t bear to see him face such a loss when he was already dealing with his mother’s impending death. He was a strong man, but if her efforts could help spare him additional pain, she’d be grateful.
Just before dawn, she stumbled as she moved from one fire to the next, her vision blurry and her legs leaden. She returned to the wheelbarrow, ready to move on, when a cry rang out.
“Stop, Becky! Your skirt!”
She blinked her gritty eyes, glanced at her dress and shrieked.
Her skirt was on fire!
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