A Change of Scenery, page 9
“In the St. Louis Alps,” Helen offered. The young brothers Hutton each wrinkled their brow at her remark. “So beautiful. Ben had himself an authentic Waldorf Astoria Segar when we dined there.”
“Dined?” Hugh shoved in a jam-covered biscuit. “That the same as eatin’?”
Helen’s barbed look tore through the boys’ father but fazed him not one bit. He wadded his napkin and dropped it in his bowl, then scooted back from the table. Helen’s throat-clearing gave him pause, and he picked up his dishes and stomped to the kitchen. The boys wiggled and squirmed, and the deep frown on Cale’s face spoke of the fabled unspoken communication between twins.
“About tonight, dear.” Helen’s smile brightened the atmosphere considerably. She did have a way about her. “I think I know of three sprouts who would be more than happy to turn over their room to you. If you don’t mind, that is.”
Ella minded not in the least, and suddenly her hostess’s habit of dabbing at her brow seemed quite reasonable.
“We get to sleep in the barn!”
“Yea!”
“In the loft!”
“In a stall,” Cale countered. “There will be no tumbling out of the hay loft tonight.”
Six little hands grabbed plates and bowls as three chairs combed across the carpet.
“Not so fast.” Helen held them with a twinkle-guarding look, unlike what she’d given their father. “I’ll let you off kitchen chores tonight, but you must strip your bed and take the clothes out back to the washtub.”
“Yes, ma’am.” An angelic trio.
“And pick up off the floor anything in your room that doesn’t belong.”
Ella harnessed another smile—a frequent occurrence since her arrival that morning. The boys clambered to the kitchen, then back through to the opposite end of the house, and soon scurried past again with the littlest one carrying an armload of wash bigger than he. The screen door slapped behind them, and Helen shook her head.
“That’ll be more pie for us.” Cale’s brow smoothed to the clear expression Ella recognized from his visit to the studio. “They clean forgot about it in their eagerness to bury themselves in a straw fortress.”
Ella plated her silver and made to stand, but Helen brushed a hand her way. “You pour Cale another cup of coffee and I’ll bring in the pie. We best hurry before those youngsters discover their mistake.”
Surprised that Helen would ask a guest to serve, Ella still welcomed the task, preferring activity to simply sitting at the table in awkward silence. She filled Cale’s cup, impressed that he had managed the delicate china with his large hands.
As she set down the coffee pot, he leaned toward her with a daring light in his eye that made her heart sputter.
“She’ll save a slice for each of them. Hugh too, though he doesn’t deserve it.” At that, his countenance darkened and he looked away.
“It’s all right. I understand the loss of a loved one.”
He glanced back at her rash comment, and she bit the inside of her lip. Too easily she shared information here on the ranch.
Helen returned with a ravaged pie tin and served the two remaining slices. “You visit while I see about your room. No telling what’s under the bed in there.”
Ella stilled and blinked.
Cale chuckled. “Don’t worry. Helen’s across the hall from you and I’m in the next room. We’ll save you if you holler good and loud.”
She must have looked aghast, for he laughed at her outright, which stiffened her resolve. “I’ll have you know I can deal with whatever it is they have hidden in their room.”
“Can you, now?” His eyes continued to spark above the coffee cup as he raised it to his lips. “We’ll soon see.”
CHAPTER TEN
Ella tugged the quilt against her chin, listening as something scurried along the edge of the wall. She’d made it all night without anything running over her legs, and she’d rather die than call for help. Especially after Cale Hutton’s veiled challenge at supper.
The scurrying went still at the corner of the room.
Dim gray light peered in the bare window. Of course. Why would three rambunctious boys have a length of lace for modesty’s sake? She raised her head from the feather pillow and stared into the unlighted corner. Nothing. No sight, no sound. Dare she rise before dawn?
Helen’s borrowed nightdress tangled about her legs, but she managed to disengage herself from its cottony folds and slip her feet to the floor. A braided rug met her toes and she shuddered with relief. No fur, no scales.
She sat for a few moments, massaging her leg, surprised that it pained her less this morning than in recent weeks. After quickly dressing, she smoothed the quilt, ran her fingers through her hair, and then went to the window.
The sky lightened by degree, revealing an outline of mountains and trees fronted by a great rocky escarpment. A bird twittered, then another, and the smell of coffee slipped beneath the door and teased her nose. Helen started as early as Clara.
She finger-combed her bob again and opened the door to peek into the hall. Cale’s door was closed, as was another at the opposite end of the hallway. Helen’s was opened and revealed a neatly made bed. Ella slipped out, went into the dining room, and then into the kitchen, where Helen stood at the stove with her back to the doorway.
“Sleep well?” she said without turning. Either she had the hearing of an owl or Ella possessed the grace of an elephant. No doubt the latter.
“Yes, thank you.” Only a partial fib. The hours she did sleep had refreshed her enough to lie awake this morning waiting for daylight to reveal what she’d shared the room with. Dousing a longing for strong Irish tea, she took a mug from the cupboard and filled it with rich, unburnt coffee. The aroma soothed her before the brew reached her lips. “You’re at work as early as Clara.”
Helen glanced up. “You mentioned the Denton yesterday. Fanciest place I know of around here with that hand-carved stair railing and imported carpets and such. Last I knew, Clara Washington was cooking there. Is that who you mean? Fetch me a serving dish for these potatoes, please. In the cupboard where you found that mug. We’ll eat here.” She tipped her head toward the big worktable they’d used outside yesterday.
An odd sensation strummed through Ella’s midsection. “Will there be seven again?”
“No, just you and me and the boys. Cale and Hugh are checking the herd and doing whatever it is they do all day long with those cows.”
Her heart shrank a little at the news, though she was not at the ranch for any other reason than to keep Helen company. And work on the woman’s dress. She could have it completed by this evening, with an hour off this morning to take the boys’ picture. Trial and error had taught her that a shady spot on a clear, bright day would be best, and she decided to try the rough boards of the barn as a contrasting background.
At a customary clatter outside, Helen went to the opened door and stood peering out, hands at her hips. “Soap.”
“Yes, ma’am,” chorused through the screen with shoving and sloshing from three little Huttons competing for first place at the pump. They had more energy than the entire Selig Polyscope company troupe and then some.
Ella scooped fried potatoes from the large iron skillet into a serving bowl, and her nose twitched at what smelled like fresh biscuits. Grabbing a towel to protect her hands, she opened the oven and removed another skillet puffed up with golden rounds of goodness. Her stomach cried out for butter and honey. She’d eaten like a field hand since she’d been at the ranch.
“You can set that right on this pad.” Helen tossed a doubled quilt square on the table and returned to stir gravy in a third large skillet. Ella might die of longing before they sat down to the meal. Wouldn’t Clara be thrilled if she came back to town with a little more “meat on her bones”?
“I don’t know Clara’s last name, but she makes biscuits like you and is determined to fatten me like a prized hog.”
Helen paused in her stirring to give Ella a once-over. “I don’t mean any offense, mind you, but I agree with Clara. You could use a few more home-cooked meals.”
The boys bounded through the door, slowing mere moments before landing in their chairs with hair slicked back, faces damp and shiny. She couldn’t help but laugh. “Are you hungry again?”
“Again?” Jay said.
“Well, you ate last night, didn’t you?”
Ty elbowed the middle brother. “She’s joshin’ you.”
Helen set her gravy skillet on the table and took a seat nearest the window. Ella sat across from the boys.
“Kip, say grace for us.”
Ella bowed her head but peeked beneath her fringe to watch the youngest muster his courage. “Thank you, Lord, for this here food and everything. Amen.”
“Amen.” Helen reached for the gravy spoon. “Get yourself a biscuit, Kip. You’re first for saying such a good prayer.”
His brothers started in on how they pray good too and how it should be their turn next and “he got more gravy than me.” Ella broke a thick biscuit in two, laid each half on her plate, and waited.
“Miss Ella, you can have my turn.” Jay paid for his chivalry with Ty’s sharp elbow and Kip’s giggle, but he bore up like a little man.
“Thank you, Jay. You are quite the gentleman.”
“Not more than me, I hope.” The deep voice rolled off Ella’s shoulders and down her back. Cale Hutton hung his hat on a peg and joined them at the head of the table, smelling like hay and leather and horsehair.
She breathed deeply, drawing the heady mix into her soul. The smell of life she’d once loved.
~
Cale helped himself to a biscuit and winked at the boys. “I thought you’d all be outside by now. What are you doing hidin’ in here behind the women’s skirts all morning?”
Jay flushed crimson and Ty scowled—his father’s son. Kip-the-innocent sopped his biscuit. “We ain’t hidin’, Uncle Cale. We’re eatin’.” Full of Helen’s biscuits and gravy, his cheeks bulged beneath his somber eyes.
“Didn’t expect you, Cale,” Helen said. “I’ll get you a plate.”
“No need. I just came in to check on what your plans were for the day.”
Helen stopped and stared, her mouth open but nothing coming out. Ella lowered her gaze, intent on sawing her biscuit into tiny pieces.
He stuffed his biscuit in his mouth.
Helen gave him a hot cup of coffee and what sounded like an ultimatum. “Ella’s helping me with my dress. It’s not every day I have a full-fledged seamstress to consult with.” She glanced at her guest and her expression softened. “And she might want to walk around, stretch her legs a bi— ” Flustered, she groused under her breath and returned to the stove where she beat the gravy into paste.
Unmoved by Helen’s flub, Ella looked across the table and tapped her fingers, drawing the boys’ attention. “I’d like to take that picture of you three this morning. Out by the barn. What do you think?”
“Could you take one of me doin’ my rope tricks?”
Jay snorted at his older brother. “You ain’t got no rope tricks. Least ways not like Aunt Grace.”
“Do so.”
“Do not.”
“You don’t have,” Helen inserted.
“Told ya!”
“Boys.” The command jerked three heads his way, expressions ready for a tirade that wouldn’t happen. He wasn’t their father. “Finish your breakfast, comb your hair, and tuck in your shirts, then wait for Miss Canaday at the barn.”
“I’d prefer they look like they always do. Natural. Like now, just themselves.” Ella held his look, daring him to argue with her. “No preening peacocks.”
Her barb hit dead center. Was that a grudge she held or just her pointed little chin? “You’re the photographer.”
She retreated to her coffee, and her dark eyes peeked over the rim. “True, but only a hobbyist.”
He bolstered himself with a hot mouthful, careful not to meet her gaze. “If you’d like to see the place, I can show you when you’re finished with the boys. That is if Helen lets you out of her sight.”
“Humph.” A cooking spoon whacked the edge of a pot. “You calling me a slave driver, Caleb Higgins Hutton?”
He could have gone all day without that. Jay and Ty nearly choked. Kip was too busy eating to notice. He flicked a glance at their guest, whose eyes snapped like hot corn kernels.
He stood and grabbed his hat. “I’ll be at the barn.”
She hadn’t exactly accepted his invitation, but she was having a good laugh at his expense. Her voice lilted above the boys and out the open door like a spring-fed creek. But he had chores to tend to, tack to ready for Thorson’s crew tomorrow. He had plenty to keep him busy. More than enough, in fact, without giving a tour. What had he been thinking?
Tug lay snoozing under the porch.
Cale slapped his thigh. “Come on, boy.”
It wasn’t long before a six-legged stampede drew him to the barn door, pitchfork in hand. Ty threw a loop at Jay’s feet. Too quick for his brother’s yank on the rope, Jay jumped and tucked his knees.
Cale’d had a few calves pull that same trick. “Don’t be ropin’ your brother.” Feeling like a hypocrite, he added what his pa had always told him and Hugh and Grace. “You yank him down and knock his teeth out, you’ll be payin’ the bill.”
Ty coiled his rope and waited on Miss Canaday, who soon caught up, a satchel strap on her shoulder and a lightness in her step. Only a half-hitch this morning.
She was different. More relaxed. Not tied up in a knot like she’d been in town. Almost looked like she was enjoying herself. He leaned the pitchfork against a stall, sleeved his forehead, and reset his hat.
“This way, boys.” She squeezed through the corral railing on the north side of the barn and lined the boys up with Jay in the middle.
Cale took a seat on the top pole railing as she reached in her satchel and pulled out a fold-up camera. He’d seen ’em before in a catalogue and marveled that something so small could take a picture.
With a flick of her finger, she opened it and extended a red bellows. Taking a few steps to her right, she peered down into the viewer, adjusting something as she did so.
“All right, boys. I’m going to take several photographs, but I’ll let you know and will count to three each time. On three you must be perfectly still. Can you do that?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Their heads bobbed.
“Stand straight and tall and don’t smile. Good. One, two . . .”
Ty crossed his eyes just as she said three, and Cale laughed. They all looked at him, ruining the picture. Miss Canaday straightened and fired a glare his way.
“You are not helping.”
She was awful pretty.
He dragged his hand down his face, taking a grin with it, and sobered himself for the next picture.
“Let’s try that again.”
The ruffians complied, and she took several poses, finally letting them choose their own, including one of Ty holding his rope like Will Rogers with his famous big loop.
Cale got so caught up in the picture-taking that he timed his breathing with her counting, and on each three stilled himself. When the boys busted up laughing and pointing, he looked at Miss Canaday to find her camera aimed right at him. Her chin tucked but her eyes held a gentle smile.
He gripped the railing.
“We’re finished here.” She collapsed the bellows and snapped the camera shut. “You can tell Miss Helen that I want to take a few pictures of the scenery and then I’ll be in to help with her dress.”
Kip looked out across the pasture and back to the house. “What scenery?”
She laughed again, and Cale decided he could stand to hear it more. He jumped down and ruffled the boy’s hair. “Maybe she doesn’t have mountains and pine trees where she’s from.” He leaned close. “Tell Helen I’ve got a job for Miss Canaday and she’ll be in after a while. Go on now.”
Doc had ambled up to the corral and hung his head over the top pole. Probably huntin’ apples, Cale figured, after watching the gal in action yesterday. She made her way to the gelding and, sure enough, pulled an apple from her satchel. Then she rubbed Doc’s head and neck and murmured something.
“Doc doesn’t take to most folks.” Some less than others, like Mabel Steinway. “You want to help me with something before I show you the scenery?”
“That depends.”
Guarded. He could accept that. “I’ve got a mare that needs her mane untangled. That suit you while I finish up with the tack?”
“So that’s it. You’ve stolen me away from Helen’s dress to groom your horses for you.”
Laughter came easy. “You could look at it like that—” Like she’d rather be outdoors than stuck inside with Helen’s sewing machine.
He brought a halter, lead, and a bucket of oats from the tack room, then unlatched the gate to the pasture and shook the bucket. Doc’s ear perked, and Barlow, always attentive to the gelding’s mood, trotted over, head high and tail swishing. Cale rewarded them each with a handful, then slipped the lead across Barlow’s neck. He eased the halter over her muzzle, led her inside the corral, and looped the lead around the top pole.
Doc stayed where he was while the seamstress rubbed beneath his forelock saying things beyond Cale’s earshot.
“Easy there. Don’t be turning my horse’s head. He’ll start following you around like a pup and forget all about me.”
Her laughter rippled over him, all smooth and easy. “I doubt that.”
He pulled a heavy comb from his back pocket and started in on Barlow’s knotted mane. Ella left Doc and stepped in close. He could see clean over the top of her head.
“Are you trying to show me what to do?” She took the comb from him, her fingers grazing his hand. Starting with short strokes at the tangled bottom, she worked her way up through the knots to the mare’s neck.
He returned to the tack room for a saddle that didn’t need one blamed thing done to it and set it on the top rail. “Seems you’ve got it figured out.”
Her head tipped to the side. “Appearances can be deceiving.”
