“I already told you, Lillian. If Morgan came back and wanted you, I’d step aside. After all, you were practically engaged at one time.”
“You’d do no such thing, Mead Whittaker,” she cried, getting to her feet so fast her chair tipped. “If I mean so little to you that you could just walk away, then maybe we shouldn’t be getting married at all,” she continued, planting her hands of her hips as she glared at him.
“You know that’s not what I meant. Of course, it wouldn’t be easy to walk away, but if…”
“Take me home, right this minute,” Lilly demanded.
“Oh, I’m going to take you somewhere, but it won’t be home, not just yet,” Mead replied, standing and taking a firm grip on Lilly’s upper arm. His lips compressed into a disapproving line as he towered over her small frame.
“Now, Mead,” Emma began.
“I’ll handle this, Ma. My future bride and I need to have a discussion about respectful behavior in my mama’s house, in front of my family. She’s twisting what I said around to justify her little fit and I won’t have it. Come along, Lilly,” he said sternly.
As soon as Matthew heard the screen door snap closed, he made to rise from the table.
“I think I’ll take a little walk,” he said causally.
“Oh, no you won’t,” Emma replied. “This is between Mead and his intended and you’ve got no business listening to what doesn’t concern you.”
Matthew sat.
“I just don’t understand it, Ma,” Missy remarked as she got up to clear the pie plates away. “Lilly never raised her voice to Morgan in all the time they were courting. Truthfully, I didn’t think she had an ounce of spunk in her.”
“All marriages are different,” Emma replied. “Just think of how sweet and shy you were before you married up with Cole here,” she said nearly choking on the words.
“Sweet and shy?” Cole roared, slapping his knee. “She was a firecracker from the day I met her, always gettin’ into trouble and stirrin’ up a hornet’s nest. Still is for that matter.” He grinned and then a puzzled look came across his face. “There is somethin’ though that Morgan said this mornin’ after I found him. He asked me if I ‘hit’ his sister. I thought that was mighty strange comin’ from a man who’s taken a switch to her shirts more than once.”
“How did that come up in conversation?” Missy demanded, turning on her husband.
“I don’t rightly know. I was tellin’ him we was married and I guess I may have mentioned that I’d only taken a hand to you a few times. For some reason he thought I was talking about somethin’ different than paddlin’ your bustle now and again.”
“Well, I like that. It’s hardly gentlemanly of you to discuss such a personal subject with my own brother,” Missy huffed, pumping water into the sink with a vengeance. “Come on, Matthew, Cole can dry while you put the dishes away. Ma, why don’t you go sit for a spell in your rocker? There’s a nice breeze out on the porch.”
“I think I will,” she replied. Getting up from the table, Emma went out and settled in her chair. Closing her eyes, she set the chair in motion. Lilly was likely getting her fanny warmed out in the barn. Cole would get quite an earful on the way home and Matthew would head to town and try to find a little excitement at soon as the dishes were done, but none of that mattered. Her oldest son was home. Morgan would tell her about his travels and the hardship of war, or he wouldn’t. It didn’t make no never mind to her, and she said a prayer of thanks before she dozed off.
CHAPTER 4
It was nearly a week before Morgan ventured into town. Content to enjoy Emma’s wonderful meals, he stuck close to home, giving Matthew a hand with the chores and learning everything he could about the day-to-day operations of the farm. There was stock to feed, stalls to muck out, and a multitude of other tasks to set his hand to. Matthew tried several times to lure him into town after supper, but Morgan was content to spend his evenings with Emma, either listening to stories of days gone by or reading one of his counterpart’s books on a variety of subjects.
He was tired by the time evening rolled around, having worked harder in the last few days than he had in the last year. The wholesome, hearty meals and the quiet, restful company was a balm to his soul and he slept like a baby each night. He could feel his body getting stronger, his mind sharper, and the lethargy that had plagued him for so long falling away. Each morning he went for a run, something that amused and mystified his family. Frequently, Matthew caught him in the barn doing pull-ups from a beam he’d secured between two walls.
“Good Lord, Morgan. I can think of better ways to work up a sweat,” Matt sighed, shaking his head and walking away, a bale of hay on each shoulder.
Morgan dropped to his feet and wiped the sweat from his body with his shirt. Sitting, he pulled on his boots, wishing with all his heart there was a near-by mall where he could buy some sweatpants and sneakers. There were enough gold coins hidden in the heels of his boots to purchase anything he wanted, but no place to spend it. Even a set of fatigues would be cooler and more comfortable that the heavy denim jeans and thick knitted socks. Walking to the pump in the yard, he bent and let the cold water douse his head and neck. After cupping his hands and drinking deeply, he headed off to give his brother a hand.
On Saturday morning, after a breakfast of ham, eggs, fried potatoes, and biscuits, Morgan kissed his mother’s cheek and climbed into the buckboard. With a list for the mercantile tucked in his pocket, he waved her money away, noting her shocked expression.
“It’s the least I can do after eating you out of house and home,” he said with a smile.
“Morgan, how can you say such a thing? This is your home and I am your mother, young man. Cooking for my family is my responsibility and my pleasure and don’t you forget it,” she scolded.
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, flicking the reins and heading down the drive. Apparently, Emma Whittaker was quite a scrapper when she got riled up and he made a mental note to stay on her good side. There was no way he was giving up her cooking!
Thoughts of his ‘deadline’ flittered through his mind and he pushed them away as he pulled onto what passed for a road and encouraged the team to pick up speed. While he didn’t know precisely where he was going, the ruts were a map of sorts and the horses seemed to know the way. On the forty-five-minute journey, he passed several homesteads, ranging from the soddies he’d seen on the internet to stick-built houses with well-kept yards. As he neared town, the houses got closer together, some having picket fences and resembling a Norman Rockwell print.
Main Street opened up, and Morgan slowed the team, taking in the small community. He passed the stockyards and continued, glad he was up wind. On the left side of the street was the livery. Next to that was Harper’s Feed and Grain, followed by a small building that housed the post office and the telegraph. The right side was taken up by what appeared to be a blacksmith and the undertaker. No problem there, he realized. The noise from the hammering of hot steel wouldn’t bother any of the folks in that building. The Marshal’s office was next, followed by Murphy’s Mercantile, where two old men sat arguing as they played checkers on top of a barrel.
He slowed for a side street and continued on. The First Bank of Kansas, where Mead worked, took up the entire corner on the left and it was directly across the street from the much maligned saloon, The Duchess. Lilly’s millenary shop was sandwiched between the bank and the Blue Bonnet Café. After that was Barker’s Boarding House, a large home with a wide porch, and several rocking chairs.
