A Home Of Her Own. Keli Gwyn

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СКАЧАТЬ Chung tends to be more reserved, like you, but he’s just as eager to please.” Mutti laid her embroidery in her lap. “What does surprise me is how much my boy intimidates you. When James is around, you say very little.”

      “He doesn’t intimidate me. I just don’t know what to make of him. Sometimes he— No, I shouldn’t say any more. He’s your son, and I know how much you love him.”

      “He’s my son, yes, but he’s not perfect. Go ahead. Tell me what you were going to say. Keeping the lid on a pot can cause it to boil over.”

      Becky twirled a piece of embroidery floss around her finger. “He can be thoughtful one moment but ignore me the next. Sometimes he even appears to be upset with me. I’m doing my best not to annoy him.”

      “You don’t like him ignoring you, but it seems to me you’re doing the same thing. If you’ll give him a chance, you’ll see he’s not the ogre you seem to think he is. You’ll try to get along with him, won’t you? It hurts me to see you two at odds.”

      She would do almost anything for Mutti, but that was asking a great deal. James was the one making things difficult. If he weren’t so gruff, Becky would welcome his company. In the meantime, she’d have to make an effort to be sociable—at least when Mutti was around.

      * * *

      James shoveled in the last bite of his cheesecake. If he had room, he would seriously consider having another slice. Becky turned out mighty tasty desserts.

      She’d kept her focus on her plate ever since returning from helping Mutti to bed. He might as well be alone for all the conversation he was getting out of her.

      Although she’d shuddered in his arms during the milking lesson, understandably repulsed by him, he was curious what filled her thoughts. “You’ve been awfully quiet.”

      “I’m not very ludicrous.”

      She rested her fork on her plate, smiling as though pleased with herself for pronouncing the last word correctly.

      Her disjointed reply took him aback. Although she hadn’t intended it to be, her misuse of the word was amusing. “No, you’re not very talkative. I’m not loquacious myself, but I wondered what you’ve been thinking.”

      She groaned in a most unladylike fashion and smacked a palm to her forehead. “Loquacious. Yes. That’s what I meant.” She lifted her head and actually looked at him for a change. With the bruises almost gone, the dusting of freckles on her round cheeks was more visible. “I was thinking about the trip here.”

      “You said that was your first train ride. Did you enjoy it?”

      “Very much. I had no idea how big our country is. I saw mountains and valleys, plains and deserts.” She laughed, a light, airy sound free of her earlier self-condemnation. “Why am I telling you? Since you drove trains, you know that.”

      “Drove trains? Where did you get that idea? I never did that.”

      Her forehead furrowed. “But Dr. Wright said in the telegram that you were a railroad engineer before you became a fruit grower.”

      James hid a smile behind his napkin. “I see. You thought I was a locomotive engineer. I was actually a civil engineer, helping build the railroad over the Sierras.”

      She nodded. “That makes sense. Mutti told me you went to college. It must have been wonderful to receive such a fine education. When I was six, Chicago’s first high school opened. I dreamed of going to it one day. I applied every year—until my mother took ill and I began caring for her—but I wasn’t one of the few students granted admission. Even so, I try to learn everything I can on my own.” A faraway look in her eyes bespoke a yearning for what she’d been denied.

      “That’s commendable.”

      She reached for his empty dessert plate and set it on top of hers. “Why did you decide to become an engineer?”

      “When I was young, Papa took me to Sacramento City. I got to meet Theodore Judah. He told me about his dream of building a railroad over the Sierras that would connect the country. I decided then and there that I wanted to work with him. When I finished school, my parents sent me to New York to attend the Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute where Judah had gone.”

      “Did you work with him?”

      “Not for long. I graduated with my civil engineering degree in ’62. I was only nineteen at the time, but I got a job with Charles Crocker’s company, which was overseeing the construction. Work started the following January. Judah headed for Washington that fall to get backing so he could buy out the owners and do things his way, but he died on that trip.”

      He stared out the window at the deepening shadows, the heartache he’d felt upon hearing the news assailing him anew. He’d done his best to go on, but his enthusiasm had waned. And then came the accident that had shattered his dreams. “A part of me died, too.”

      Becky laid her hand on his. “I’m sorry.”

      He jerked his arm away. “I didn’t mean to go on like that. I need to see to the animals.”

      “Yes, of course. I understand.”

      Her crestfallen look said otherwise, but he couldn’t spend another minute with her probing into his past. Perhaps if he put enough distance between them, he could forget the pity he’d seen in her pretty blue eyes.

      James took his time in the barn, grateful for the warmth of his overcoat. The temperature had dropped steadily all day. Not a good sign, since the trees were in bloom.

      When he reached the house, Becky had already retired, as he’d hoped. With a long night ahead of him, sitting up and checking the thermometer mounted on the porch, the last thing he needed was to have her dredging up memories best left buried. He hung his overcoat in the lean-to, threw another log on the fire, settled into his armchair and reached for his well-worn copy of Dickens’s Great Expectations.

      Sometime later he was jolted awake by an insistent scratching at the door. He stood, the book in his lap falling to the floor, and stepped onto the porch where a dog sat, its breath creating a misty cloud that hung in the chilly air.

      Panic seized James, squeezing so hard he couldn’t breathe. He raced to the thermometer. The mercury had fallen even farther, hovering in the midthirties, far too close to freezing. If it went any lower, he could lose his entire crop.

      He had to take action. Now.

      * * *

      A nudge to the shoulder woke Becky, and she opened her eyes to find a shadowy figure looming above her. A scream lodged in her throat.

      “It’s all right. It’s me. James.”

      How dare he scare her out of her wits like that? She shoved his arm away, tugged the covers to her chin and whispered, making no attempt to keep the irritation out of her voice. “What are you doing in here?” Her fuzzy head cleared, and reality returned with full force. “Is Mutti—”

      He leaned close and spoke beside her ear. “She’s fine, but I need your help. Meet me in the kitchen right away.” He slipped out.

      Propelled by a mixture СКАЧАТЬ