Instant Prairie Family (Love Inspired Historical) Read online

  She spun away from him just as quickly and her stomach heaved again, although she brought nothing up. A sob escaped her throat and ripped his heart in half. He stepped closer. Supporting her elbows with his hands, he felt her body shaking.

  He felt an unaccustomed surge of protectiveness. He wanted to help this girl, shield and protect her from any source of pain. But right now he was the cause of her distress. What could he say or do to make that right?

  * * *

  Abby had thought the day couldn’t get any worse when she fled the restaurant, but apparently she was wrong. Now he was here watching her toss up her accounts. How embarrassing.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Stewart. I wasn’t expecting you to be... I had thought... I’ve made a mess of this.”

  His hands still supported her elbows and he sounded truly contrite, but what could she say? It was all right? That it was understandable after he had brought her all this way into the middle of nowhere that he was going to abandon her and leave her with nothing?

  The nightmare didn’t seem to be ready to end. Silence stretched out and neither one knew how to break the uncomfortable tension. At least her stomach had settled to resemble a simple storm instead of a full-blown sea squall.

  “Listen, I admit this is a mess.” He stated the obvious. If Abby hadn’t been so tense, she might have seen a bit of humor in that. Right now she didn’t have the energy to be amused.

  “Really!” She speared him with a pointed look.

  “I’m... Why don’t we go back and sit down? Maybe if you eat something...”

  “It’ll come right back up,” she mumbled before he even finished his idea. “All I want is to go home...to have a place to go and lie down, a place that’s safe, where I belong.”

  The last word caught in her throat. A place to belong and to be loved—it was what she had been searching for a long time. Her fight drained out of her as quickly as her ire had ignited. What was she doing, telling this man her heart’s desire?

  “Um... I was thinking. I’ve got neighbors a few miles away who might be willing to let you stay with them while you work for us. At least until we can come up with another solution.” He paused and then asked abruptly, “Do you know how to ride a horse?”

  Abby swallowed hard. He was offering her an option. Granted it wasn’t much of an option since it depended on this other family agreeing, but it was a better option than nothing. Clearly he wasn’t planning for her to stay permanently since he’d hardly want her imposing on his neighbors for very long, but at least she would have a place to stay for a few days. She nodded, afraid to say anything.

  “We’ve got an extra horse that you could take each day….” He was already planning, but Abby couldn’t suppress a shudder. Did he expect her to ride the prairie for a few miles on her own each morning and night? Would it be safe? “We’ll work something out, at least until harvest. The winter months we spend closer to the house and I can see to the boys. In the meantime, I’ll write to my mother….”

  He continued to talk, but she was having a hard time concentrating.

  “Well?” he asked, obviously waiting for her to respond.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. She almost sank to the ground in exhaustion. The entire trip was now taking its toll. From the moment she had received his letter and realized she was finally free of her sister and brother-in-law, she had slept very little, first packing and then traveling by coach and finally by train for the last week. A woman alone, she only dared to catch catnaps and felt so vulnerable. She had assumed that once she had arrived, everything would be calm and she would be shown her room and be able to rest—not sit for almost an hour in a strange town with no one looking for her and then discover that her job itself might fall through.

  “I think you need to get in, out of the sun, and rest. Shall we?” Without waiting for her to answer, he slipped an arm around her waist and half walked, half carried her to the front of the building.

  “Mr. Hopkins, I can do this on my own,” Abby declared as firmly as she could in her shaky voice. She couldn’t afford to leave him with the impression that she wouldn’t be able to take care of herself, much less do her work. She swiped at the tears on her face and groaned inwardly. Her face must be a sight, all red and puffy.

  “All right,” he acknowledged, releasing her waist and tucking her arm around his like a perfect gentleman, turning them both toward the front door.

  Abby firmly tapped down the hope that things were going to work out. It would be doubly devastating for her to start feeling as if she fit in and then have to pack up and leave. But the way Mr. Hopkins opened the door for her, led her back to the table and pulled out her chair, she felt certain she would be safe with this gentleman farmer.

  The boys had both been eating their food, but when they saw their father lead Abby back inside, their eyes lit up and Tommy started his barrage of questions. “Is she okay? Will she come home with us? Are you gonna ask for your food now? Is she still sick? Do you want to try some of mine?”

  “Tommy, she’s not gonna come to our house ’cuz Pa made her cry,” Willy hissed at his brother.

  “Well, boys. We’ve talked and Miss Stewart is going to come with us for a while. I’ll see if the Scotts can let her stay with them until we can make some other arrangements.”

  Abby nodded her head, but even that slight motion sent everything spinning. She just wanted to lie down somewhere quiet and sleep. The waitress came back with a teapot. Before Abby realized what she was doing, the waitress had poured a cup and then sweetened it with a sugar cube that she had plucked from the sugar bowl in the center of the table. The boys’ eyes grew large when they saw what treat was concealed in the bowl.

  “This might help settle your stomach, miss.” The matronly lady spoke softly, placing the cup and saucer in front of Abby. “Why don’t you try a few sips at a time? It’s chamomile—it always helps me feel better when I’ve had a rough day.” She smiled and patted her shoulder, reminding Abby of Mrs. Gibbons, the reverend’s wife from back home. Abby wished that she could let the older woman coddle her a bit more. She managed to keep the tea down and drank yet another cup before the boys became too restless.

  She hoped it would be enough to give her strength for the trials that lay ahead.

  * * *

  What had he gotten himself into? Will wondered to himself for the hundredth time as he drove the wagon back toward the homestead. They’d stop tonight at the river. He and the boys could camp out under the stars and Miss Stewart could sleep in the wagon. Getting home and dropping her off at the Scotts’ house on the way would be the easy part.

  The Miss Stewart he’d imagined had been a sturdy, solid woman who knew her own mind when she said she was unafraid of the challenges of prairie life. This beautiful, delicate girl was another matter altogether. For now she seemed determined to give the job a try, but how long would that last? How long would he have—weeks, maybe a month or two—before she realized that Nebraska was a place where no young woman could ever want to be?

  There was no convincing her of that now, of course. She’d have to see it for herself. Until then, perhaps Miss Stewart could help Willy to be more sociable. Maybe she could train Tommy not to say just anything that came to mind—or maybe not. He hoped she could feed them something more substantial than what he normally managed to burn or leave half-raw. Maybe she could get some meat on their bones and make his house feel more like a home... Or maybe he’d just invited trouble to make itself comfortable at his dinner table.

  Not that she would be that much trouble. She seemed well educated and her letters bespoke of a nice girl, but to have a beautiful, single, unattached woman out in the middle of the prairie full of single men, all looking to settle down and start families in a place few women would venture... He might just have opened the door to a whole lot more than a housekeeper. Since he employed he
r, he would be responsible for her safety and reputation, and he’d also have to ensure that she didn’t make any decisions she’d later regret. She seemed so set on not returning to Ohio that she might fall into marriage with one of the local men. He’d do everything he could to make sure that didn’t happen. She needed to be free to leave the prairie whenever she chose—the choice that Caroline had never had.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her shift around to look over the landscape. He studied her profile. What must she be thinking? Was she asking herself what she had just gotten herself into, as well? The wind had pulled tendrils of hair out from her pins and he was sure that if she hadn’t been so tired from her travels, she would have been trying to control the mass of corn silk better.

  Stealing a glance at her sitting at his side on the wagon bench, he pondered how to explain their route. “Listen,” he started, trying to broach the subject, then cleared his throat and tried again. “Our homestead is not very close to Twin Oaks. In fact, it’s more than another six hours’ ride from here, so we’ll be stopping at the river to spend the night.”

  He turned his eyes back to the road, feeling her stiffen next to him. Her words still echoed in his head, the way she had said that she wanted to “Go home... To have a place to go and lie down.” He would have let her stay at the hotel tonight and headed out at first light, but that would have meant he wouldn’t get her to the Scotts’ until late in the night and then it would be too late to get home. Jake would be on his own for five days. It was too much to ask the boy.

  “I can sleep with the boys out under the sky and you can have the wagon all to yourself. I know it’s not the hotel or anything fancy, but by tomorrow night, you’ll be bedding down at the Scotts’ house. Mrs. Scotts will take real good care of you and make sure you get the rest you need after this long trip.”

  The line of saplings and small trees at the edge of the river came into view. “See those trees?” He pointed to the horizon.

  “Hmm.”

  “That’s the river. We’ll be there in just a few more minutes.”

  * * *

  Once they had arrived at the river, he helped her down from the seat and held her upright until her legs stopped shaking and supported her weight. Acting the consummate gentleman, he didn’t even look angry. Abby couldn’t say if it was the fear of what her future held or the long ride that had her shaking so bad.

  “Why don’t you walk around here by the wagon for a minute and get your land legs back? The boys and I will go and check that there’s nothing around to bother you and then you can freshen up down by the river.” His words were soft and she felt protected. Maybe her first impressions had been correct. He made her feel safe.

  Within a few minutes, Tommy ran back to her. “We made lots of noise so no critters would come out and scare you, Auntie House.” She followed hesitantly, finding Mr. Hopkins and Willy in a small clearing with a sandy bank sloping into the river.

  “We’ll go and set up camp now, Miss Stewart. You should be perfectly safe here. We’ll stay out of sight, but all you have to do is give a yell and we’ll come running,” the man reassured her as soon as she came into the clearing. As they left, she heard Tommy whine about having to wait for a swim, but she was glad they were gone for a minute. The water looked so cool and refreshing.

  When Abby ventured back to camp afterward, she found a small tent erected and a fire started. The boys sat on both sides of Mr. Hopkins and were watching as he cooked some sort of meat.

  “Hi, Auntie House,” Tommy called out, hopping up and running toward her. “Do you feel better now?”

  “Yes, thank you, Tommy. But can I ask you a favor?” she questioned, squatting down to be at eye level with the boy. His chest puffed out a little and he nodded solemnly. “Can you call me Auntie Abby?” Even as she asked, she glanced at Mr. Hopkins and cringed inwardly, wondering if it would be all right with him. “My nieces and nephews call me Auntie Abby and I’d feel better if you called me that instead of Auntie House.”

  “Sure. You’re going to be a much better auntie than our old one. She was mean.”

  “Well, I’ll do the best I can.” She tried to cover her surprise as smoothly as she could.

  “Now, Tommy, we need to talk nicely about Auntie Shelia. Remember what I told you?” Mr. Hopkins’s voice brought her head up quickly.

  Tommy stood and thought for a minute and then his eyes lit up. “Always say please and thank you?”

  “Well, yes, that, too. But I meant about talking about other people,” Mr. Hopkins hinted.

  “He means that ‘if you can’t say nothin’ nice, don’t say nothin’ at all,’” Willy piped up.

  “My mother used to say the same thing. I think that’s good advice,” Abby encouraged. “So, what are you men cooking over there? It sure smells good.”

  Abby went closer to the fire and watched Mr. Hopkins struggle to flip the meat in the fry pan without getting too close to the fire. “What can I help with?” she offered. If they had been in a kitchen she would have set a table or taken over the cooking. She felt completely out of her element out on the prairie with three strangers.

  “Careful of the flames, miss.” Mr. Hopkins’s voice shook her from her musing. “We don’t want your skirt to catch on fire.”

  “I...” She blushed. She should know better. “Thank you.”

  “Pa’s making venison steaks. He got the lady to give him some bread. Now we can eat like kings.”

  Tommy’s little hand found hers and he tugged her to follow him. “Look over here. The deer and the raccoons and even the foxes and coyotes come to drink at the river at the time the sun goes to bed, so we figure we’re gonna bag us a great big one,” he boasted, his chest puffed out and his eyes bright with excitement.

  “I’m sure you are a fine hunter,” she praised. “I’ll bet your brother and your daddy both taught you well.”

  “More like Pa’s gonna teach us. I haven’t never hunted ’fore. But maybe Pa’ll let Willy shoot.”

  “No, Willy’s not going to shoot tonight.” Mr. Hopkins’s voice was deep and smooth, causing a chill to run up her back. She had almost forgotten the man was there while she had been enjoying her enlightening chat with his son.

  “But, Pa,” Tommy whined, “you said yesterday that tonight we could bag a big one. Maybe the one with the big horns.”

  “Those aren’t horns, silly. Those are antlers,” Willy corrected his little brother. Then he pleaded his case. “But, Pa, you said we could use the venison.”

  “Well, I’ve changed my mind.” Mr. Hopkins’s answer left no room for argument.

  “But, why, Pa? Why’d ya change your mind?” Tommy pressed the issue.

  “Because I did. We’ll go hunting once we’re back at the house.” Somehow, Abby suspected he had changed his mind because of her presence.

  “It’s time to eat,” Mr. Hopkins announced, ending the conversation.

  He slid the last of the meat onto a tin plate. Glancing around, he groaned, handed the plate to Willy with instructions to hold it for a minute and then went around the wagon. He came back a moment later, carrying a barrel for water. He set it far enough back from the fire so that there was ample room and then indicated she could have a seat.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t think to bring a chair or even a stool.”

  Once she was seated, he handed her a tin plate, slipped a piece of meat on it and set two dinner rolls on top. The boys were settled with similar plates where they sat on the dirt with their legs crossed in front of them.

  “Father God,” Mr. Hopkins began to pray, “we thank You for Your provisions and Your traveling mercies on this trip. I ask You to bless the food to our bodies and keep us safe on our journey home. Thank You for keeping Miss Stewart safe and for giving her the willingness to work for this simple farmer and his sons. Plea
se lead us to make wise decisions and trust You every day. Amen.”

  The word home stuck in Abby’s head as she ate. How she wished that she was going home. She had until the harvest to convince Mr. Hopkins that she was a hard worker and should be kept on. Only God held the solutions to her problems in His hand, and He hadn’t let her know what they were yet.

  * * *

  “Hello, Herbert,” Will called to the older of the Scotts brothers as he stepped down from the wagon. Mr. and Mrs. Scotts had attended church alone for so long that Will had forgotten the couple’s two grown sons still lived with their parents. Rumor had it, the Scotts brothers thought that riding into Twin Oaks and drinking on Saturday nights was a much better way of spending their free time than worshiping in the Lord’s house on Sunday mornings.

  “Howdy, Will.” Herbert approached from the shadows of the barn where he had been working. His eyes strayed too long on Miss Stewart before he looked at Will. “And hello, pretty lady. Don’t think I’ve seen the likes of you around here. You—”

  “Are your ma and pa around?” Will asked, interrupting Herbert and standing between the man and the wagon. Will was starting to reconsider the idea of leaving a young lady, any young lady, on a farm with the likes of Herbert or Elvin. Why hadn’t he thought of them before? A desire to mount back up and head off to his own claim without waiting for an answer almost won over his sense of courtesy, but now that he had come, they needed to at least greet the elder Scotts.

  “Naw. Pa’s out in the fields, and Ma went off to see to Jankowski’s woman. Her time was close and her husband didn’t want to see to all their kids and the birthing. Don’t see why the woman needs so much help. What with all the little squallers she’s already borne, a body’d think she could handle it herself by now.”

  Will cringed at the coarse way Herbert spoke about such a delicate subject. A glance at Miss Stewart confirmed her surprise. Now he wished he hadn’t even attempted to bring her here. She needed a safe, comfortable place to stay—like his mother’s home. Miss Stewart had implied that her brother-in-law had been less than respecting to her person, and now Herbert didn’t bother to conceal the way he looked too long at Miss Stewart’s womanly attributes.