Their Frontier Family. Lyn Cote

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      Chapter Four

      The next morning Sunny had a hard time speaking to Noah. Or looking at him for that matter. She stooped over the flickering flames of the cook fire. A stiff breeze played with the hem of her skirt. To keep safe as she was frying salted pork with one hand, she held her skirt with the other. She didn’t know what was causing the awkwardness she felt with Noah.

      In the pan the pork sizzled and snapped like the words she’d spoken to him last night. Was it the fact that she’d spoken up to him for the first time? Or had the awkward feeling come because he’d shown such tenderness to her when he’d escorted her into the wagon? Tenderness from a man was not something she was used to.

      Yet today Noah remained silent as usual. And this morning that grated on her more than it did normally. How was she supposed to act when the neighboring men came today to help?

      She remembered her resolution to get to the bottom of Noah’s reluctance and she decided to speak up again.

      “I expect our neighbors will be coming to help soon,” she murmured.

      Noah nodded. “Probably.” He took another sip of the coffee, steaming in the cool morning air.

      Sunny glanced down. Lying on her back on a blanket, Dawn waved her arms and legs and cooed. As always, her daughter brought a smile to Sunny’s face.

      “She’s having a good time,” Noah commented.

      Sudden joy flashed through Sunny, catching her by surprise. This was not the first time he’d taken notice of Dawn and said something positive, but it still caught her off guard. Taking this as a hopeful sign for the future, Sunny managed to nod. She finished the pork and quickly stirred in what was left of last night’s grits. She deftly swirled the pan till the concoction firmed. “Breakfast is ready.”

      She lifted the frying pan off the trivet and served up their plates. Searching for more topics to discuss, she said, “I hope we can get some chickens. I will need eggs.”

      “We will. It won’t be much longer that we’ll be living like tramps,” Noah said, sounding apologetic. “Before you know it, we’ll be in our cabin.”

      “I know we will,” she said quickly. “You’re working so hard. I wish I could help more.”

      “You do enough,” he said gruffly. “After the cabin’s up, I’ll make us a nice table and some sturdy benches.”

      “You know how to make furniture?” Sunny bit into the crisp pork, trying to ignore the way his dark hair framed his drawn face. She wished she could wipe away the sleepless smudges under his eyes.

      “Yes, I had an uncle who was a cabinetmaker. He taught me one summer.”

      “You know so much. And I can barely cook.”

      “You do fine.”

      Her heart fluttered at the praise. She clung to their discussion to keep her feelings concealed. “Mrs. Gabriel taught me what I know. But I wish I’d had time to learn more.”

      “You do well,” he said, looking at her, his dark eyes lingering on her face.

      Impulsively she touched his arm. “Thanks.”

      His invisible shutters closed against her once more. Her action had pushed him deeper into reserve. She concentrated on eating her own breakfast and not showing that she felt his withdrawal, his rejection.

      She passed the back of her hand over her forehead, sighing. Be patient, she reminded herself. Maybe he just needs more time.

      “Hello, the wagon!” Their neighbor Charles Fitzhugh’s cheerful voice hailed them.

      “Good morning!” Sunny called, checking to see how her husband was taking the arrival of the two men. However, when she glanced toward the men, she froze. A petite, dark-haired woman and two little girls accompanied them. Her breath caught in her throat.

      Noah rose and with his free hand gripped first Charles’s and then Martin’s hand. “Morning. Just about done with breakfast.”

      “Mrs. Whitmore, this is my wife, Caroline, and our daughters, Mary and Laura,” Charles Fitzhugh said.

      Sunny bobbed a polite curtsy, her heart sinking. Her hand went to her hair, which she hadn’t dressed yet. Fear of saying something she shouldn’t tightened her throat. What if she said something a decent woman wouldn’t ever say? Would they know instantly what she was? What she’d been?

      “Don’t mind me,” Caroline Fitzhugh said. “I just came for a short visit and then I’ll be going home. I knew it was early to be calling but I just felt like I needed a woman chat this morning.”

      Sunny nodded. She quickly smoothed back and twisted her hair into a knot at the base of her neck and shoved pins in to keep her bun secure. A woman chat, oh, yes—she’d longed for one, too. But after weeks of loneliness she must guard her overeager tongue, not let anything that might hint at her past slip out.

      I can do this. I just need a touch of help, Lord.

      Soon Sunny was washing dishes in the spring with Mrs. Fitzhugh down creek from her. Nearby, Caroline’s little girls played in the shallows. Mrs. Fitzhugh held Dawn and dipped her toes into the water to Dawn’s squeals of delight. Sunny’s heart warmed toward this woman, obviously a good mother. But that sharpened the danger that she would let her guard down and give herself away.

      Soon the two women were back at the campfire, sitting on a log and watching the children play with some blocks Mrs. Fitzhugh had brought in a cotton sack. Happy to gnaw on one block, Dawn watched the two toddlers pile the rest on the uneven ground. She squealed as she watched the blocks topple.

      “You and Mr. Whitmore been married long?” the neighbor asked, accepting a fresh cup of coffee.

      “Not too long,” Sunny hedged vaguely. The sound of the men’s voices and the chopping as they worked on yet another tree suddenly vanished СКАЧАТЬ