“Morgan, you did,” Emma stated in surprise as she looked closely at her oldest son. “We talked about this. You said you’d had enough of war and fighting and Callie Mae was too young and had the makings of a ‘hellcat.’ I believe that was the term you used. You said you wanted someone more malleable like Lilly and that you wanted peace in your life. Don’t you remember?”
“Lilly doesn’t seem so malleable,” he said, skirting the question.
“She’s not, anymore,” Emma laughed. “With you she was quite timid and I think a little frightened of making you angry. With Mead she’s much bossier, and I think our little Lilly is in for quite a surprise when she tries to run roughshod over your brother. Mead is slow to anger, but when he’s riled, I reckon she’ll know it, right quick. You’ve changed, Morgan. Sometimes it seems like you’re a different man since you went away to fight this last war.”
“How so?” he asked, keeping his eyes on the road ahead.
“Well, for one thing, there’s the attraction you have for Callie Mae. You felt she was too much trouble before and now you seem to relish her spirit and feisty nature. You were always tired, and I worried that you might be ill in some way I couldn’t put my finger on. Now you’re strong, much stronger than you were, and that doesn’t make sense. War often takes the stuffing out of a man, yet you come back with more stamina than you’ve ever had. I know you run every day, although I don’t understand the purpose. You use that beam in the barn and pull yourself up, growing stronger all the time. And you talk more.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes,” Emma said smiling. “Your appetite is three times what it was; in fact, I’ve never seen a man enjoy his meals more. Don’t misunderstand, Morgan, you’ve always been a good son, a son to be proud of, but you are acting different.”
“Am I eating too much?” he asked. “I don’t want to make more work for you.”
“Land sakes, Morgan,” Emma cried in exasperation. “That’s just what I’m talking about. There is a kindness about you, a concern for others that is obvious. You seem to enjoy and appreciate the smallest things, even my cooking.”
“Ma, there’s nothing small about your cooking,” he laughed as he tried to lighten the mood. “Why, you’re the best cook there ever was. Just hearing you in the kitchen makes my mouth water and my stomach growl.”
“But it never did before, Morgan,” she insisted. “Yes, you said supper was good now and then, and you were never picky, but you didn’t get the enjoyment out of a good meal like you do now.”
“Maybe months and months of Army rations have given me a new appreciation for good food,” he offered softly.
“Maybe,” she agreed, “but we both know it’s more than that, son.”
There was no answer he could give her without revealing far more than was wise. Instinctively he wanted to be honest with her. She’d become very dear to him in a short time and he knew the longer he stayed, the more cemented their relationship would become. Emma Whittaker was a mother in every sense of the word, just not his, he thought sadly. He wondered if the real Morgan realized what a treasure he had in her. He was quiet the rest of the way home and pulled into the yard and up to the back porch.
“War changes a man, Ma,” he said turning to her and taking her wrinkled, work-worn hand in his. “Death and destruction are part of his everyday existence. Some men become bitter, seeking the bottle or worse. Others withdraw, scarred by the violence and bloodshed, the loss of lives wasted in the name of victory. Still others relish the grisly deeds of butchering and maiming and call it duty.
“I was all of those men at one time or another,” he continued. “Bitter as I watched men I’d come to admire cut down in their prime, leaving wives and children, mothers and fathers to grieve. Vengeful as I took the lives of the enemy, as though that could somehow even the score, and finally withdrawn as horrible visions of what I done, what I’d been ordered to do, haunted me.
“After a time, I began to imagine a different kind of life. One of goodness and charity, love and security, and it was time to come here. I wasn’t sure if I could find what I was looking for, but I had to try. So far, it’s very satisfying. I like waking up to the sound of birds outside my window, the smell of newly turned earth, and bacon frying. Life is orderly. I work hard and sleep soundly, not troubled by nightmares any longer. People seem to understand what’s expected of them and do it. The stench of battle is a distant scent replaced by clothes and bedding that have been dried in the sunshine.
“I love Missy’s spirit, Matthew’s humor, and Mead’s dogged determination to carry on despite his pain. I love your steadfast belief that things will work out for the best, and of course, every single thing that comes from your kitchen,” he grinned.
“Yes, I have changed. I am different. I hope I’m not disappointing to you. I can’t say for sure how long I’ll stay,” he said softly, not even wanting to consider being replaced by the real Morgan. “But I will tell you this. If I stay, I plan on claiming Callie Mae and giving you the grandchildren you’ve been waiting for. Does that answer your questions; set your mind at ease?”
“Oh, son,” Emma said, laying her other hand on his cheek. “You never had to explain yourself to me. I love you and always will, and I’m so grateful that you’ve come home. You take all the time you need to decide, but I’ll be praying you stay right here,” she whispered. “Now help me down from this wagon. We’ve got some chickens to kill and pluck if we’re having guests for supper.
Morgan got down from the wagon and lifted Emma carefully to the ground. Chopping the heads off chickens was not high on his list of priorities, but he didn’t need to make Emma any more suspicious than he already had. Cara’s answer couldn’t come soon enough.
CHAPTER 8
Mead met Morgan outside The Duchess at five o’clock to ride along with them to the farm. The bed of the wagon was soft with new straw and covered with one of Emma’s thick quilts. Both men assisted the four young women into the back amid giggles and flying skirts as they got situated.
Morgan lifted Callie Mae onto the seat and climbed up, turning the team around in the middle of the street. He could see Lilly glowering from the upstairs window of her shop and waved a hand in acknowledgement. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Mead tip his hat in her direction before pulling his mount alongside of the wagon and settling into a comfortable pace.
Matthew was on hand to help the ladies down when they arrived at the homestead and he did so with obvious enjoyment, holding Jane just a touch longer than appropriate as she smiled coyly at him. Elbowing him out of the way, Mead lifted Marilee down gently and she thanked him sweetly. Fancy nearly threw herself into Matthew’s arms when it was her turn, her arms wrapped securely around his neck. Morgan helped Annalise, careful not to touch the shy young woman any longer than necessary and when he returned to Callie Mae she was climbing down on her own, an action that earned a scowl from Morgan.
Supper was a light-hearted affair. Lilly stayed home in protest of the other guests in the Whittaker home and would have been greatly disappointed to learn she wasn’t missed. Cole and Missy came by earlier in the day for Sunday dinner as usual, but declined staying for supper. Missy helped her mother bake three pies after dinner and then headed home with her husband. There were still evening chores to see to.
The fried chicken was crispy on the outside and tender beneath the skin. Mashed potatoes, with gravy, sweet corn, applesauce, and biscuits rounded out the meal, and no one left the table hungry. Pie and coffee were put off until a little later, and in no time at all the kitchen was put in order by the women while the brothers stepped outside for a smoke.
They all converged on the parlor, Mead drawn to sit beside Marilee on the settee and Matthew pulling a chair from the kitchen and sitting between Jane and Fancy. Annalise chose a rocking chair next to a side table and sat quietly, her hands in her lap. Emma took her customary place in a big maple rocker by the hearth and Morgan and Callie Mae sat together on a small bench pulled from beneath the window.
“How are you young ladies settling in?” Emma asked, picking up her crocheting. Her nimble fingers flew as she glanced around the room.
“I think we’ll be fine,” Marilee answered. “Of course, we haven’t seen The Duchess in full swing, but this seems like a nice town.”
