Would-Be Wilderness Wife. Regina Scott
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At the far edge of the clearing in his own cabin, Drew yanked a pair of suspenders off the ladder to the loft. As he tidied the place so Catherine could sleep there that night, all he could think about was Simon’s ridiculous demand that one of them must marry the pretty nurse.
He ought to be immune to such antics by now. But after years of proximity, his brothers knew just how to get under his skin like a tick digging for blood.
Oh, he’d heard ministers preach on the subject. A man had a duty to marry, to raise children that would help him subdue the wilderness, make a home in this far land. Children were one way a man left a legacy. To him, the fact that his brothers had reached their manhood alive and ready to take on the world was enough of a legacy.
He knew the general course of things was for a man to find his own land, build a house, start a profession and marry. He had this house and was top in his profession, but he couldn’t simply leave his mother, Beth or his brothers to fend for themselves. They were his responsibility, his to protect. That was what any man did who was worthy of the name. That was what his father had done.
How could he call himself a man and leave his family to tend to a wife? In his mind, a wife took time, attention. She’d have requirements, needs and expectations. He already felt stretched to the breaking point. How could he add more?
Oh, he had no doubt Simon and James were looking to marry one day, and John and Levi would eventually follow. But to stake a claim on a lady after a few hours of acquaintance? That was the stuff of madness.
Or legend.
He snorted as he gathered up the dishes he hadn’t bothered to return to the main house. Their father had claimed he’d fallen in love with their mother at first sight when he’d met her at a barn raising. Her hair was like a fire on a winter’s night, calling me home, he’d told his sons more than once.
Before his father had died, Drew had dreamed it would happen that way for him. Though there were few unmarried ladies in Seattle, he’d thought someday he might turn a corner, walk into church and there she’d be. But at twenty-nine, he knew better. Love was a choice built from prolonged presence. And with six lives already depending on him, he had chosen not to participate in adding more.
“Hello, brother Drew!” Beth sang out as she opened the door of his cabin, basket under one arm. She stepped inside, glanced around and wrinkled her nose. “Oh, you haven’t gotten far, have you?”
Drew looked around as well, trying to see the place through Beth’s eyes. He’d built the cabin himself, his brothers lending a hand with planing and notching the logs and chinking them with dried moss and rock. He’d crafted the fireplace in the center of one wall from rounded stones gathered along the lake. As his father had taught him from what he’d learned in his homeland of Sweden, Drew had built a cabinet for his bed tick, setting it next to the hearth for warmth. A table and chairs of lumber cut from trees he’d felled rested on the rag rug his mother had woven for him. A plain wood chest sat against the far wall, waiting for him to start carving. All in all, his cabin was a solid, practical place to sleep between long hours of working. Very likely, Beth considered it far too plain.
But it didn’t matter what his sister thought. It mattered what Catherine Stanway thought, and he had no doubt she’d find it lacking.
He pointed his sister to the corn-tassel broom leaning against one wall. “If you think the cabin needs more work, feel free to lend a hand.”
He busied himself with shaking out the quilt his mother had made for him.
Beth hummed to herself as she set down the basket and began sweeping dried mud off the floor. “I like her,” she announced, and Drew knew she had to be talking about Catherine. “She knows a lot. And did you see that dress? There was one just like it in Godey’s.”
His sister devoured the ladies’ magazine, which generally arrived in Seattle months after its publication back East. The editor of Godey’s, Drew was convinced, had never laid eyes on a frontier settlement, or she’d never have suggested some of the outlandish fashions. What woman needed skirts so wide they couldn’t fit through the door of a cabin or allow her to climb to the loft of her bed?
“I’m sure Miss Stanway was all the rage back home,” Drew said, hauling the table back into place in the center of the room from where James and John had shoved it during a friendly wrestling match a few days ago.
“Here, too.” Beth giggled as she paused. “I think Simon is smitten.”
“Simon can go soak his head in the lake.” The vehemence of his words surprised him, and so did the emotions riding on them. The first thought that had popped into his head at his sister’s teasing was the word mine.
Beth must have noticed the change in his tone as well, for she turned to regard him wide-eyed. “You like her!”
Drew shoved the chairs into place with enough force to set the table to rocking on its wooden legs. “I like the fact that she can help Ma. That’s what’s important—not the rest of this tomfoolery.”
“I suppose you’re right.” She resumed her sweeping, angling the pile of dust toward the doorway. “Still, I hope she’ll let me talk to her about how they’re wearing their hair back East. Every time I try the curling iron, I get it so hot I can hardly touch it. I bet she’ll know how to do it right.”
Hand on the wooden bucket to fill it with fresh water from the pump outside, Drew paused. “You think she curls her hair?”
“And irons her dresses.” Beth nodded with great confidence. “She might even use rouge to get that glow in her cheeks.”
What was he doing? This wasn’t the sort of thing a man discussed, even with his little sister. He hefted the bucket and headed for the door. “You’re too young to rouge your cheeks or curl your hair, Beth. And Miss Stanway is here to help Ma, not teach you things you don’t need to know.”
Beth made a face at him as he opened the door. “You don’t get to decide what I need to know. You couldn’t possibly understand. You’re a man.” When he turned to argue, she swept the dirt up into the air in a cloud of dust that nearly choked him.
Drew waved his hand, backing away. “I’m your brother, and the last time I checked, I’m responsible for your upbringing. If you can’t leave Miss Stanway be on such matters, I’ll make sure you have other things to do elsewhere.”
“You would, too,” Beth declared, lowering the broom. “But you’re right. We should be thinking about Ma.” Her face crumpled. “Oh, I sure hope Miss Stanway knows what’s she’s doing. I just can’t lose Ma!”
Cold pierced him. Drew went to enfold his sister in his arms, getting a broom handle on the chin for his trouble. “We won’t lose her, Beth. We won’t let her go.”
Beth nodded against his chest, and he heard her sniff. When she pushed back, she wiped her face with her fingers, leaving two tracks of mud across her cheeks. This from the girl who admired rouge, of all things.
As Drew smiled, she turned to glance back into the cabin. “The place is looking better already. You go check on Ma, and I’ll add a few finishing touches.”
Drew cocked his head. “Like what? I’ll have none of those doilies you’re so fond of.”
Beth turned to him, eyes wide. “Who could hate an innocent doily? They’re so dainty and cultured.”
Everything he was not, he realized, and trying to pretend otherwise served no one. “Just remember, this is a man’s house,” he told his sister as he stepped out onto the porch. “Miss Stanway may be staying awhile, but I’m the one who lives here.”
With a feeling he was talking to the air, he left Beth humming to herself.
Rouge. He shook his head again. His mother had complained about the stuff from time to time.
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