A Change of Scenery, page 8
“Looks like you’ve had a taste of his tongue-lashing yourself.” Kind gray eyes followed Ella’s movements.
“I heard him with the boys, thinking he was Cale.” Uncomfortable with the familiar first-name reference to the ranch owners, she glanced up to measure the woman’s reaction.
Helen tilted her head with a faraway look. “That Cale, now there’s a good one if there ever was. Needs a wife, you know.”
Ella’s ears burned, and she blessed her bob for hiding them.
“’Course, so does Hugh, but he’s more likely to catch a porcupine than a good gal the way he lets his harsh words get out there ahead of him.” She lowered her voice a notch. “Saw you and Cale visitin’ at the corral today. You need a pencil and paper to jot down all your numbers?” Helen uprooted herself and opened a small drawer in the kitchen safe.
“Thank you.” Ella took the stub and wrote the measurements.
“You didn’t seem too bothered by his attentions.”
Warmth bled into her neck and face. Bothered? That wasn’t the half of it. She feigned concentration on the figures.
Helen gave a laugh. “Honey, don’t you mind me a ‘tall. I know a spark in that boy’s eye when I see it. And it sure wasn’t there when that Steinway woman dragged him off. You got all the numbers you need?”
Ella’s mind coughed and clattered like one of Thorson’s motorcars. “I—uh—yes. I believe I do. How much yardage did you say you have?”
They each went to one side of the table and unfolded the length until it spilled like melted butter off one end and onto a chair. It was more than enough to make the dress and then some.
“This will be plenty.” Relieved, Ella jotted a few more notes. “We can cut it today and start on it this evening if you’d like.”
Helen leaned her large hands on the table and regarded Ella with conspiratorial attention. “It’s doing me a world of good to have you here, and I appreciate you agreeing to stay.”
Her voice lifted on the last word, signaling more to come.
Ella fumbled the paper and dropped the pencil, grateful for an excuse to bend away from the scrutiny. A secret—whatever it was—had Helen’s eyes twinkling, and it set Ella’s nerves to racing with dread. Or anticipation. Or anger? She could not identify the emotion that flooded her veins. But it undoubtedly had something to do with a certain Hutton brother. One of the tall ones.
~
Ella laid out the pattern and with sturdy shears cut dress pieces while Helen tended the beans. Judging by the rich aroma that filled the kitchen, they were nearly done, and Ella’s stomach declared its rumbling approval. Clara would be pleased.
Clara. Oh, what a scolding she might brandish when Ella returned day after tomorrow. She’d want to know all the gossip from the ranch—if she didn’t already know it. At the moment, the only thing close to gossip was Helen’s mention that the Hutton men needed wives.
And that may be the only thing they had in common, other than their rugged faces and stunning eyes. As Cale had mentioned, he and his brother were as similar as lard and butter.
Vinegar and honey. Lemons and peaches . . .
A hard throat-clearing interrupted her musing.
“As I was saying, my Singer is in the dining room against the back wall with a scarf over the top. It’s not one of those fancy ’lectric things you’re probably used to, but as you can see, we don’t have wires out here yet. You just help yourself. We have a while before supper, and I’ll keep those three scamps out of your hair.”
Helen wiped her hands on her apron and offered a guilty smile. “I know, I’m pressing you. But I suspect you might be spending some time outside tomorrow if Cale gets his way.”
Gets his way? Ella stiffened. What was he going to do, chase her down a canyon like they had the cattle? Throw her over his saddle like he’d already done once. He’d have a fight on his hands at either attempt.
The shears landed hard on the table. She might be weakened physically, but she wasn’t feeble-minded. Gathering the sunny cloth and cut pieces with unnecessary vigor, she caught a chuckle on her way out of the kitchen. Helen was as bad as Clara.
No. Worse.
Ella spread the fabric on the dining table and drew a chair to the machine. The white scarf covering it read 1904 World’s Fair St. Louis edged with red-and-blue-painted flags. Imagine that. She, too, had traveled to the Louisiana Purchase Exposition with her father and Nana to see the latest inventions and marvels. Taken her first photographs. Been sorely disappointed that G.W. Yeats’s plays were not performed at the Irish Village as advertised.
A lifetime ago, those six years.
So much had changed.
She folded the scarf and laid it aside, then raised the machine from its hidden position to sit upright. Before long, she lost herself in her work at the old treadle, just the type of machine she’d learned to sew on at her Nana Elizabeth’s side.
A subtle shift in sunlight alerted her to the passing day and approaching suppertime.
The screen door popped, and her head came up with a start. Helen’s stern scolding sent a herd of boys stampeding back outside to wash. Ella snipped threads, tied a knot in her stitching, and laid the sack-like beginnings of the yellow dress over the machine, followed by the souvenir scarf.
“I don’t know how many times I’ve told those whippersnappers they have to wash before they eat. At least twice every day going on six years.” Helen followed her words into the dining room, shaking her head, and went straight to a sideboard and pulled out a checkered tablecloth. She snapped it open and spread it over the cherry-wood table, smoothing and setting it straight. “You’d think they were all deaf as a post.”
No lace or linen as her grandmother insisted upon, but simple blue cotton gingham suitable for three rambunctious boys and their ranching father and uncle. For certain, this easily washed cloth served as a buffer for the fine table.
“How may I help?”
Helen didn’t exactly waddle, but she came close. Her feet must hurt. She pointed to a cabinet as they entered the kitchen. “Dishes are in there. Seven of us tonight. Use the china. It’s not often we have a guest to put on airs for.” She winked at Ella. “Silver’s in that sideboard where I got the cloth. Might as well use it as let it tarnish without anyone appreciating its value.”
Beans and biscuits with china and silver—a less than worthy meal for such an elegant setting, but apparently not in Helen’s eyes.
The woman’s words settled in Ella with cold finality. She had tarnished from disuse and would continue to do so if she returned to the Canaday estate. The future stretched before her, as open and empty as the plains that had reached beyond the train’s windows on her way to Colorado.
CHAPTER NINE
No storyline. Darndest thing Cale had ever heard, filming before they knew what story they were telling. And painfully reminiscent of shooting in the dark.
He stopped at the back porch and studied the breaks up behind the house, not surprised to find the scene as still as one of Thorson’s painted backdrops. His enemy didn’t strike by day.
He rolled up his sleeves and splashed the afternoon’s dirt from his face and hands. Someday he’d build on a fancy indoor bath house for Helen and the boys, though she didn’t complain. Just thanked him for putting a new pump at the kitchen sink and running a pipe outside to drain it so she didn’t have to haul water.
Snagging the towel from a nail on the back of the house, he looked for a clean spot. The boys had beat him to it again.
He situated himself for a view through the window, craning his neck to see if Miss Canaday was inside helping Helen. He’d managed to watch the house most of the afternoon and hadn’t seen her leave. Likely, Helen had her on that machine of hers sewing up a new dress. That was just fine. He had plans for tomorrow, and he didn’t need a city gal underfoot.
His mood soured. A common occurrence since he’d been figuring how to get that bob-haired girl on a horse. He’d also like to know what she thought of their ranching ways with a privy out back and oil lamps and no electric.
Probably not much.
He pushed through the screen door and dropped his hat on a wall peg.
Miss Canaday walked in from the dining room, and her expression froze when she saw him.
That place on his chest pricked, but he’d not be scratching himself in a woman’s company. He jerked a nod. “Ma’am.”
“Hope you’re hungry.” Helen shut the oven door with a loud clap, her fresh biscuits reminding his stomach how long it’d been empty. Their guest moved past him with her head down. He couldn’t read her eyes.
“See that basket? Put a cloth in it and . . . Land sakes, of course you know what to do.” Helen laid a hand on the gal’s thin shoulder as she shuffled behind her. “I’ve been riding herd on those boys for so long I forgot what it’s like to have another woman around to help. You waiting for us to feed you on your feet, Cale, or is there something I can do for you?”
Confounded woman changed tracks like a switchman. His nephews stormed in, drawing her query, and lined up like bucket calves, hands held palm up for inspection. He escaped to the dining room.
Sure enough, Helen’s sewing machine was sitting upright and covered with a fancy scarf. Probably the makings of a dress in there somewhere. Seven china plates and bowls lined the edges of the table. The “good dishes,” as Helen called his mother’s service. Rather than pull out a chair, he went to his room to change into a clean shirt and returned to find Jay sitting on the two-chair side with his jaw set and death in his eye. Cale pulled a frown to keep from laughing at the boy’s stubborn streak.
The other two were shooting daggers at their brother across the checkered cloth. If Helen sat in her usual place, it’d be between them. He took his seat at the end and put his money on Jay.
Miss Canaday brought the beans and placed a pad under the black kettle. Then she delivered the basket of biscuits and a jar of Helen’s berry preserves. Busy about her arrangement, she flicked a glance at the boys. One kicked another and a ruckus erupted that would spook a deaf elephant.
“Enough!” Hugh’s harsh command entered the room ahead of him and stilled the boys. Color bleached from their guest’s face, but her eyes narrowed as Hugh took the head of the table. Cale slid his jaw sideways. From the looks of it, his elder brother best not tangle with Miss Canaday.
Helen followed with a bowl of peaches and set it in front of Hugh’s plate, then tucked her chin back and looked at Jay and his brothers. They all squirmed, as was their habit, but Cale was pulling for the middleman. Little got past Helen, though she was nothing if not fair.
“You will rotate tomorrow,” she said with steel in her words. “For now, Miss Ella, would you please take the place next to Jay?”
A smug smile played across the boy’s face and his brothers stared at their plates.
The arrangement placed her to Cale’s right. He held one hand out and took Kip’s with the other. Without hesitation, she placed her slender fingers in his and commenced stitching up his insides right there at the table. He bowed his head with a strong whoa in mind and cleared his throat.
“Thank you, Lord, for your bounties and for keeping us all safe today. And for our guest. Amen.”
Everyone murmured an amen but Hugh, who huffed under his breath. Helen dished up beans. Cale offered the biscuit basket to Miss Canaday, noting that her presence brought an unusual comfort to the table.
“So what was the best part of today, boys?” She broke her biscuit in two and spooned a serving of preserves onto her plate instead of the bread. The basket made its rounds, and Jay copied her every move. His brothers snickered. Helen gave them each an elbow.
“Pie,” Ty said, his mouth full of biscuit. “The apple one.”
His answer was rewarded. “Thank you. I’m glad you liked it.”
Not to be left out, Kip piped up, “They all comin’ back tomorrow?”
Hugh huffed again.
“Mr. Thorson will write the story to go with what the cameraman filmed today, and they’ll all return the following day.”
“You’re gonna be here two whole days?” Ty said around his biscuit.
Jay swallowed first before asking, “Can we go to the flicker when it’s all done, Pa?”
Hugh grumped an unintelligible remark and Cale considered thrashing him after everyone was in bed—an issue that put a sudden hitch in the idea. Where was Miss Canaday going to sleep?
As usual, Hugh read his mind and glared the length of the table, silently blaming Cale for not thinking things through. Didn’t matter it wasn’t Cale’s doing.
Ella glanced between the two of them. “Who went to the Louisiana Purchase Exposition? I saw the scarf today when I set up the sewing machine.”
“I did.” Hellen dabbed her mouth and took to the topic like bees to nectar.
“My Ben took me, God rest him. What a time we had. Rode the train from Denver to St. Louis and spent a whole ten days seeing the sights. We went in November and didn’t get to see the Olympic Games or Mr. Roosevelt. But the Wild West Show was spectacular, and I had my first Dr. Pepper. Ben saw one of his father’s old friends from the Jefferson Guard out on the Pike. Most excitement we’d had in years. Ben bought me that sc—”
“And Grace hasn’t been the same since one of those Wild West fiascos came to Cañon City two years ago.” Hugh scooped himself a second helping of beans.
Cale did his own glaring. His brother was as rude as a two-bit drunk, and he’d be happy to knock some sense into him. Just not in front of present company.
Ella looked at Cale, her fine brows raised to a peak.
“Grace is our younger sister.” He wiped his mouth, afraid bean juice would get the better of him. “You haven’t met her yet—”
“—because she’s gallivantin’ off somewhere trying to be Annie Oakley. Dadblamed fair posters got her all worked up.”
Cale counted on his brother not spittin’ right there on the carpet, because if he did, Cale wouldn’t get to work him over. Helen’d do it.
“And Will Rogers, oh my. That’s right, we saw Will Rogers too,” Helen said as if she hadn’t been interrupted. “Oh, but can he throw a fancy rope!”
“I know.”
Everyone’s spoon stopped in mid-air and all eyes locked on Miss Canaday in a moment of heavy silence.
She continued eating her beans, spooning them from the bowl’s front edge to the back. Jay had a devil of a time copying her.
“My family and I attended too. Like you, Helen, I was quite impressed with Mr. Rogers’s performance. I even took some photographs of him. Wasn’t he billed as William Rogers?” She rested her spoon on the edge of the plate and waited for Helen’s reply.
“You got a camera?” Kip’s eyes rounded like his bowl.
“Yes, I do.” Her smile beamed across the table to the youngster, and something in it warmed Cale’s insides.
“Could you take our picture?”
She paused and looked at Ty, then Kip, then Jay to her right. “I think that’s a splendid idea. How about tomorrow after you finish your chores?”
“How d’you know we got chores?”
“Have chores,” Helen corrected. “You must have been a child six years ago, dear, but you’re right about Mr. Rogers. Though it was that riding-and-roping gal that stole everyone’s attention.” Helen stared off over Jay’s head, scouring her memory. “Now what was her name . . .”
“Do you mean Lucille Mulhall?”
Again everyone stared at the new woman at the table.
“You run in a highfalutin bunch, don’t you?”
Cale jerked to his feet at his brother’s snarl, knocking his chair against the wall.
Helen picked up the empty peach bowl and held it out. “Since you’re up, Cale, bring some more peaches. I have another jar on the board just next to the stove.”
It wasn’t a request. Helen’s look sawed right through him and he took the bowl with his left hand, his right balled in a fist.
“Tell me, Ella,” Helen said, her eyes still on Cale. “What was your favorite spectacle?”
He strode to the kitchen, praying his brother would follow him, but the Lord declined his request and held Hugh in his seat. By the time Cale twisted the lid off a well-sealed jar of yellow peaches, Helen and Miss Canaday were laughing with the boys.
~
“I’m Buster Brown and I live in a shoe.”
Ella’s poor rendition of the comedic actor did little to prevent hilarity, and the boys nearly burst their skin giggling.
Hugh glowered at the head of the table, and she feared an imminent explosion, but not enough to keep her own delight harnessed. She had laughed more that day than in ages, even in spite of her recent sobering outlook on the future. The children had a way of pulling a medicinal-like humor from her very core.
Helen dabbed her eyes with her napkin. “Yes, yes, Ben and I saw him—that little man with his ugly dog and girl’s hat. What a dandy he was.”
Jay stuck his chest out. “I ain’t never wearin’ no sissy shoes.” A spoon-full of beans filled his mouth as soon as the words were out.
“You aren’t,” Helen corrected.
“That’s what he just said.” Kip eyed their cook as if she’d lost her grip which sent Ty into stitches again.
“That’s enough.” Like a fist to rising bread dough, Hugh’s bark deflated his sons. Ella stiffened. She was a guest in the man’s home, but she’d had about enough of his surly behavior. And from the look in Helen’s eye, between the two of them, they might stand him down.
Cale returned, and electricity sparked between the brothers when he banged the bowl on the table, sloshing peach juice over the edge. Perhaps sibling rivalry was not outgrown.
Helen mopped her temples.
Ella cringed inwardly. Nana would faint at such a display at the table. She pleated her napkin across her lap and calmed herself before continuing.
“The palaces at the Fair were grand, and I adored the Irish Village. But I most enjoyed listening to Mr. Rogers during supper at the Luchow-Faust World’s Fair Restaurant.”
