A Beau For Katie. Emma Miller
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The terrier bounced onto a stool and then leaped the rest of the way onto the bed. He curled under Freeman’s hand and butted it with his head until Freeman scratched behind the dog’s ears.
Katie watched him cuddle the little terrier. Freeman couldn’t be all bad if the dog liked him.
She filled the kettle with water and put it on the gas range. She’d seen that there was ice. She’d make iced tea to go with dinner. And if there was going to be chicken and dumplings, she would need to find the proper size pot and give that a good scrub, as well. She planned the menu in her head. Besides the chicken dumplings, she’d have green beans and pickled beets, both canned and carried from Sara’s pantry, possibly biscuits and something sweet to top it all off. She’d have to check that weed-choked garden to see if there was something ripe that she could use.
“What are you making for dinner?” Freeman asked.
Oatmeal, she wanted to say. But she resisted. It was going to be a long two weeks in Freeman Kemp’s company. “I’m not sure yet,” she answered sweetly. “It will be a surprise to us both.”
“Wonderful,” Freeman said dryly. “I can’t wait.”
Katie swallowed the mirth that rose in her throat. Her employer’s nephew might not be the cheeriest companion but at least she wouldn’t be bored. Sara had warned her that working in Freeman’s house would be a challenge. And there was nothing she liked better.
Freeman watched Jehu reach for another biscuit. It was evening and the air was noticeably cooler in the house than it had been in the heat of the afternoon. Being cooped up in the house was making Freeman stir-crazy as it was; the heat seemed to add to his irritability. Thinking back on the day, he hoped he hadn’t been too ill-tempered with Katie. He didn’t mean to be short with people; it was just his situation that made him crabby. That and the radiating pain in his leg.
Jehu and Ivy were seated at the kitchen table eating leftovers from the midday meal that Katie had cooked. He was lying in his bed, but Katie and Jehu had moved it closer to the table for the noon meal so that he could more easily be included in the conversations, and no one had bothered to push the bed back against the wall. Katie hadn’t stayed to have supper with them, though he’d almost hoped she would. It was nice to have someone else to talk to besides his uncle and grandmother. Before Katie left to return to Sara Yoder’s, where she was staying, she’d heated up the leftovers, carried them to the table and made him a tray.
“Good biscuits.” Jehu felt around for the pint jar of strawberry jam Katie had brought them from her own pantry.
“I thought you must think they were,” Ivy remarked. “Since that’s your third.”
Jehu smiled and nodded. “They are. Aren’t they, Freeman?”
“Mmm,” Freeman agreed. It was hard to talk with his mouth full. Nodding, he used the rest of his biscuit to sop up the chicken gravy remaining on his plate. He couldn’t remember when anything had tasted so good as the meal Katie had served them this afternoon and he was now enjoying it all over again. The green beans were crisp and fresh, and the chicken and dumplings were exactly like those he remembered his mother making. His grossmama Ivy had always been dear to him, but no one had ever called her a great cook.
“She’s done a marvel on this kitchen,” his grandmother pronounced. “She’s managed to find the kitchen table under the crumbs and I can walk on this floor without hearing the sand grit under my feet.” She looked at Freeman. “We should have got her in here the week you got crushed by that cow.”
“It was a bull,” Freeman reminded her.
She lifted one shoulder in a not convinced gesture. “Not a full grown one.”
“Nine hundred pounds, at least.” Freeman reached for his coffee. It tasted better than what he usually made. Katie’s work, again.
“Pleasant girl, don’t you think?” his uncle remarked. For a man who couldn’t see, Uncle Jehu had no trouble feeding himself. Somehow, he could eat and drink without getting crumbs in his beard or spots on his clothing. He’d always been a tidy person, almost dapper, if a Plain man could be called dapper. He liked his shirts clean and he wouldn’t wear his socks more than once without them being washed. “That Katie Byler.”
“Ya,” Freeman agreed. The food was certainly a welcome relief from his grandmother’s chicken soup, and the kitchen did look better clean, but there was such a thing as overdoing the praise. He wiggled, trying to get in a more comfortable position. He’d had an itch somewhere near the top of his knee, but it was under the heavy cast and he couldn’t scratch it. Even when he wasn’t in pain there was a dull ache, but he’d just about gotten used to that. It was the itch that was driving him crazy.
“A hard-working girl who can cook like that will make someone a fine wife,” Jehu remarked.
“I was thinking the same thing.” Ivy wiped her mouth with a cloth napkin; Katie had found a whole pile of them in one of the cupboards. “Girls like that get snapped up fast. And she’s pleasant-looking. Don’t you think so, Freeman?”
“What was that?” He’d heard what she said, but didn’t really feel comfortable commenting on a woman’s looks. Besides, he had a pretty good idea where this conversation was going. They had it all the time, and no matter how often he told Jehu and Ivy he wasn’t looking for a wife, they continued looking for him.
“Pretty. I said Katie was pretty. Or hadn’t you noticed?” She glanced at Uncle Jehu and chuckled. He gave a small sound of amusement as he spooned out the last of the dumplings from the bowl on the table onto his plate, without spilling a drop.
“I thought she might be, just by the sound of her voice,” Uncle Jehu said. “You can tell a lot about a person from their voice. Wonder if she’s walking out with anybody?”
“Sara says not.” His grandmother eyed the blackberry cobbler on the table. There was nearly half of the baking dish left, plenty for the three of them to enjoy.
Freeman’s mouth watered thinking about it. Katie had made it with cinnamon and nutmeg and just the right amount of sugar. Too many women used more sugar than was needed in desserts and hid the taste of the fruit with sweetness.
“This coffee could use a little warming up.” Freeman lifted his mug. “I don’t want to put anyone to any trouble, but...”
“It won’t kill you to drink it like it is,” his grossmama told him. “Too much hot coffee’s not good for broken bones. Raises the heat in the body. Cool’s best. Keeps your temperature steady.”
Freeman swallowed the rest of his coffee. There was no use in asking Uncle Jehu to warm up his coffee. He’d just side with Ivy. He usually did, Freeman thought, feeling his grumpiness coming on again. The itch on his leg remained persistent, and he wondered if he could run something down inside the cast to scratch it without causing any harm.
“Freeman could do a lot worse,” Uncle Jehu went on. “He’s not getting any younger.”
“Than Katie?” Ivy pursed her mouth. “You’re right, Jehu. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that myself. She’d fit in well here. And it’s long past time—”
“Don’t talk about me as though I’m not here,” Freeman interrupted. “And I’m not courting Katie Byler.”
“And what’s wrong with her?” Grossmama demanded, turning to him. “She seems a fine possibility to me.”
“Absolutely not,” Freeman protested, pushing his tray away. “And if this is something you’ve schemed up with Sara Yoder, you can forget it. Katie may make a great wife for someone else, but not for me.”
* * *
Katie tossed a handful of weeds into a bucket. “Freeman wasn’t as bad as I expected,” she