Daughter of Joy (6 page)

Thanks to her talk earlier with Ella, Abby saw now how foolish and self-defeating had been her own intent to distance herself. Indeed, how much different would she be than any of the others? After all, she, too, meant to leave the MacKays sooner or later. How would
her
eventual departure affect Beth?

Maybe it was best if Beth never came to like her. Maybe it was kinder not to try and make friends. Yet even the fleeting consideration of hardening her heart was more than Abby could bear.

She sighed. Why couldn’t life ever be simple, or easy?

“I’d get mighty tired myself if some woman was always moving in, taking over and telling me what to do, not to mention changing everything I was used to.” Abby smiled in gentle sympathy. “And then, to top it off, ” she added with a teasing grin, “if that woman couldn’t even cook very well …”

“Your flapjacks were passable, ” Beth admitted grudgingly. “But you almost burned Cousin Ella’s leftover stew for lunch. And if you’re not careful, you might burn that bread you’re baking.”

“Yes, I just might.” Abby leaned back and shot a wary glance in the direction of Old Bess. She inhaled deeply of the mouth-watering aroma of baking bread, suddenly, surprisingly content.

This morning’s fiasco aside, the big cookstove now appeared to be cooperating nicely. In the meantime, she thought with some relief, she and Beth were managing to have an actual conversation, as guarded and edgy as it might be. That, Abby decided, was a victory for the both of them.

“Hopefully, though, ” she forged on, seeking some common ground, “you might be willing to help me with Old Bess. I imagine your papa will be very hungry after working all afternoon. I’d hate for him to go hungry just because of my inexperience.”

For a long moment Beth eyed her, her gaze inscrutable. Then she looked down and began drawing imaginary pictures on the blueand white-checkered, cotton tablecloth. “If Papa went hungry, he wouldn’t be very pleased with you, would he?”

Abby’s fledgling hope that they were beginning to make some headway vanished. “No, he wouldn’t be pleased with me, ” she answered, well aware she could be playing right into any plans the little girl might have to sabotage her. “But I don’t want that to happen. It wouldn’t be fair to your papa. He has enough on his mind, without coming home to a poorly cooked meal, messy house, and two squabbling females. I know I don’t intend to make his day any harder.”

Beth nodded, never lifting her gaze from the table. “You would lose your job then, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, Beth, that’s certainly a possibility.” Abby paused, waiting until the girl’s curiosity finally got the better of her. “Can’t you at least give me a chance?” she then asked. “Your papa seems willing to do so.”

Angry tears sprang to Beth’s eyes. “My papa’s desperate. I’m not. Besides, your being here isn’t going to turn out any better than the others. Nobody wants to be around me for very long!”

It took all Abby could do not to rise, hurry around the table, and take the girl into her arms. Ah, Lord, she thought, the poor child. How could anyone have been so cruel, or treated her so unfeelingly?

Instead, though, sensing that Beth’s innate wariness and animosity would prevent any such overtures of comfort from being well received, Abby forced herself to remain where she was. “You can’t know that about me, Beth, ” she cried, not able to contain her frustration. “Why can’t you just give me a chance?”

“Because I don’t want to, that’s why!” Beth’s little body began to tremble, and tears rolled down her cheeks. “You can’t make me, either!”

Abby inhaled a steadying breath. This wasn’t the way, she told herself. No one as wounded as Beth appeared to be was ever won over solely by fine words and good intentions. Not Beth,
or
her father.

Lord, she thought, what have you led me to, in leading me here?

Abby sighed. “Well, I suppose there’s no sense belaboring this just now. Only time will prove the truth of my words.”

“Hah!” Furiously, Beth swiped away her tears. “You don’t know me. You’ve no reason to care.”

“No, I don’t yet know you, ” was Abby’s simple reply, “save as the beloved child of God that you are.”

With a violence that startled Abby, the girl threw down her doll, flung back her chair, and jumped to her feet. “There you go again, trying to force your know-it-all ways on us.” She stomped her foot, her small body now quivering in anger. “Well, I
still
don’t like you, and I sure in tarnation don’t like your silly God.
Just leave me alone.
Do you hear me? Leave me alone!”

With that, Beth turned and ran sobbing from the room, leaving Abby to sit alone in the kitchen. Finally she gave another great sigh, and buried her face in her hands. “Ah, Lord, ” she whispered, “what am I to do? You sent me here for a reason. How am I supposed to reach this child? I don’t know how to heal such pain, or even where to begin.”

Charity suffereth long, and is kind.

From somewhere deep in her heart, St. Paul’s beloved words filled Abby’s mind. Tears sprang to her eyes.

“Thank you, Lord, ” she prayed, gratitude flooding her. “Once again you guide me through the dark times, showing me the way.”

Abby shoved back her chair and rose. Moving to the stove, she picked up the reheated iron. Then, as she turned, she spied Beth’s cloth doll lying in a heap on the table. A smile on her lips, Abby resumed her ironing, planning all the ways she might use to win a little girl’s heart.

The stringing of barbed wire in the new, northwest pasture was going well. While he and Devlin worked the southern end, Wendell, Jonah, Henry, and H.C. Chapman were just as busily engaged stretching wire around the rest of the pasture. With any luck, they’d have the job done by tomorrow. Still, Conor wasn’t satisfied with their progress. Something told him he was needed at the house. Something told him things weren’t going well for Beth and their new housekeeper.

With a ferocity that had marked the whole day of fence stringing, Conor gripped the hammer and pounded a galvanized metal staple to anchor yet another strand of barbed wire into the fence post. Squatting, he swiftly repeated the procedure for the second, lower strand, then straightened.

“You sure seem in an all-fired hurry to get done today.” His cousin’s deep voice rose from down the line, where he stood beside the tackle block wire stretcher that held the barbed wire taut. “Do you think you could spare a few minutes for me to take a swig of water? Or are you in too big a hurry to get back to that new housekeeper of yours?”

Conor shot him a narrow glance. Devlin might be his best friend and closest blood relative, but he wasn’t in any mood today to put up with even the most goodnatured of jibes. “I’m sure she’s holding up just fine, ” he retorted stiffly.

He threw aside his hammer and tossed the extra staples back into the leather pouch tied about his waist. Motioning toward the canteen hanging from the saddle of his big bay gelding grazing placidly nearby, Conor walked to a nearby, rotting tree stump and flung himself down. “If you’re bound and determined to take a break, grab my canteen, too, will you?”

Devlin was quick to comply. Soon, both men were propped against the tree stump, hats shoved back on their heads, swilling thirstily from their canteens of lukewarm water. A gentle breeze swirled through the tall, still snow-damp grass. Clouds floated across a piercingly blue, autumn sky. The brassy honking of Canadian geese, their tight ranks flying in a flawless V formation, filled the air.

“Turned into a beautiful day, hasn’t it?” Devlin asked from beside him. “There’s just something special about our Colorado Indian summers, isn’t there?”

“Suits me.” Conor took another swig of his canteen, then tipped his Stetson forward until it shaded most of his face, and leaned his head back against the tree stump. “By this time of year, I’m glad the bulk of heavy outdoor labor is done. I look forward to winter.”

“This has been a difficult year, hasn’t it, what with you going through three housekeepers, losing Evan, and Beth finally having to leave school.”

His cousin’s offhand remark about his son sent a sharp pain lancing through Conor. Though seventeen-year-old Evan had run off over six months ago, even the most casual comment about him still filled Conor with a confusing mix of anger and sorrow. It was bad enough the boy had stolen every red cent Conor possessed, savings most carefully hoarded to pay off taxes and livestock purchases. But the fact his son had turned his back on him, just like Evan’s mother had done, rankled even more deeply. Conor didn’t like to fail, and it was common opinion that he’d failed with Evan.

“I’ve been through better times, and that’s for sure, ” he muttered through clenched teeth, then banished further thoughts of his backstabbing, ungrateful son from his mind.

Devlin lifted his canteen in a toast. “Well, here’s to your new housekeeper. May she be the answer to all your problems.”

Conor cast him a sour look. “And exactly what’s that supposed to mean?”

Devlin shrugged. “Ella said she seems right nice, and the eyeful I got of her yesterday … well, let’s just say she’s a mighty pretty lady.”

“I hired her to clean my house, cook the meals, and tutor Beth, ” Conor growled. He recapped his canteen. “I doubt she even realizes how pretty she is. She certainly doesn’t know the first thing about how to attract a man.”

Devlin frowned. “I thought you said she was a widow woman?”

“She is.”

“Then it seems to me that she’s attracted at least one man.”

For some reason Conor didn’t particularly like being reminded of that. He gave a derisive snort. “Tolerated is more like it.” He didn’t fool Devlin, though. Devlin knew him better than anybody.

“Sounds to me like you’ve given a bit of thought,” his cousin observed with a sly grin, “to how attractive she is.”

Conor rolled his eyes in defeat, then grinned. “I’m not blind. And I’m certainly not dead.”

“First impressions and all, she seems a much finer lady than the other women you’ve had work for you.” Devlin’s smile faded. “Take Maudie for instance. That one sure took the prize for low morals and pure meanness. Even heard talk that, before she moseyed out to these parts, she’d worked the cribs of Cripple Creek.”

Conor stared straight ahead. “You never told me that story,” he finally ground out. “It explains a lot.”

“Soiled dove or not, she sure reeled you in like a big, fat fish.”

Conor fought to keep a tight rein on his temper. “She all but threw herself at me.”

Devlin laughed. “Could anyone blame her? She wasn’t the first woman to set her sights on some prosperous rancher. She was just more practiced and persistent, that’s all. She was also smart enough to figure the way to your heart was through your bed.”

“Warming my bed was about all she was good for,” Conor muttered. “Maudie was a slovenly housekeeper, and she never did get the hang of Old Bess.” He shook his head. “I lost count of all the meals she burnt.”

“When the wind was just right,” Devlin laughed, “Ella and I could sure smell those burnt suppers. Whooee … what a stench!”

A wry chuckle escaped Conor, before other, more painful memories intruded. “She hurt Beth, you know? That’s the reason I finally let her go. It wasn’t her loose ways. It was because she used Beth in the hopes of getting to me.”

“Poor little kid. I didn’t know.”

“I’m not in the habit of sniveling about my woes every time I’m disappointed by someone. You know that.”

“Yeah, and I also know that you keep too much to yourself, Conor.”

“I knew how to deal with Maudie. I didn’t need your help.”

“No, I guess you didn’t.” Devlin recapped his canteen and slung it over his shoulder. “Shouldn’t we be finishing up that last run of wire? Looks like there’s only another hour or so until sunset.”

Conor shoved to his feet, his canteen clenched in his hand. “Yeah, let’s get back to work. Something tells me I’m going to have a pair of irate females on my hands when I head back to the house.”

A dark brow arched in inquiry. “Beth not taking to your new housekeeper?”

“Can you blame her, after what she’s been through?”

His cousin met his steely gaze. “Have you ever thought it might be time to find another wife, Conor? A good woman who’d make Culdee Creek a real home for both you and Beth? A woman who’d offer some stability and permanence?”

“And what brought this little sermon on? Ella already putting ideas about me and Abigail Stanton into your head?” He shook his head in disgust. “The woman’s only been here a day!”

“She seems a decent sort. You could do a lot worse.”

Conor shot Devlin a black look. “And how many times have I told you I’ll never get married again?”

“A man needs a woman.”

“There’s only one way I need a woman anymore, and there’s plenty of those just outside Grand View. You know that about as well as I, don’t you, Devlin?”

Devlin’s brown eyes flashed in anger. “You gonna throw that in my face again?”

For an instant, Conor glared back at him, a scathing reply on his lips. Then shame that he’d used something his cousin had shared with him in confidence against him flooded him. Devlin might ride him too hard at times, but he meant well.