why ain’t ya aimin’ to do it?” asked the good woman.
Cassie swallowed hard. Her green eyes met the sharp smoky blue eyes of the woman before her. “I will be doing it,” she responded almost coolly.
The woman nodded, clicked her teeth, and stood to her feet. “Guess I gotta git those potatoes peeled fer supper,” she said, and left Cassie alone on the porch. Cassie never mentioned the idea of household help again—not even to Samuel.
Cassie knew she should be interested in the little house Samuel said was taking shape nicely. She supposed that he expected her to walk the short distance daily to see for herself the progress being made. But for some reason, Cassie could not bring herself to do that.
She found a quiet, almost cool spot behind the house where the breeze sometimes teased her hair and the sun did not beat down with the same vigor. There she busied herself with hemming new curtains from some material she had brought along. Her excuse seemed to be sufficient to keep prying eyes and wagging tongues from condemning the new bride.
For several days she saw Samuel only at mealtime and at the end of long, busy days when he was almost too tired from his labors to even bring her up-to-date on his doings. Anxious to be in their new quarters, he had hired some help, and from the pounding that Cassie heard as she hid herself away on the sagging back porch, it seemed indeed that progress must be taking place.
Then one day as Cassie stitched her last curtain hem, a grinning Samuel appeared and announced joyfully that the little house was ready for occupancy. Cassie braced herself for the worst and allowed her things to be loaded in the buggy. Then she stepped up, Samuel’s arm giving her aid, and sat stiffly aboard while the little mare bore them down the dusty street to their first home.
Cassie was unprepared for the change of its appearance. The fence had been mended and the walk cleared. The white painted exterior had been restored, the windows fixed and the tattered curtain gone from view. Proudly Samuel helped her from the buggy, then whisked her up into his arms and carried her across the threshold as he had promised. Cassie could feel the tears forming droplets in her eyes. She didn’t know why she was crying. She only knew that something deep within her was responding in some way to the man whom she loved.
He placed her on her feet and grinned broadly. “Our parlor,” he said with a wave of his hand.
Cassie looked about her at the simple furniture. Two rockers sat before the fireplace and a sofa covered with a bright quilt graced the far wall. In the background a bureau stood, new and unscarred, before a staid white-painted wall. No rugs, no curtains, no pictures yet softened the bareness. Cassie let her glance slide over everything Samuel had provided, and suddenly the woman in her flamed into life. She had a house. Simple—yet clean. She would make it into a home for Samuel. Not elegant—not even pretty—but a home nonetheless. She turned to her husband and wrapped her arms about his neck. “Thank you,” she choked out, unable to say more.
But even then her inner being whispered, “I’m sure I can be fine here—until you decide it’s time to move back to Montreal.”
Chapter Eleven
Adjustments
Cassie quickly busied herself with adding “touches” to their little frame home while Samuel set up his practice and became too busy almost at once. On some days, Cassie felt as if she had been deserted. Samuel was gone from daybreak to past sundown, and after her daily chores had been completed, there was really nothing for her to do.
She refused to sit idly on her back porch, but finding enough to fill the hours of the day was difficult. She knew no one of her own age with similar interests and, worst of all, Samuel still had not breathed one word about returning to the East.
The townsfolk had been friendly enough, but Cassie felt a bit strange with them. Unconsciously she held herself
Cassie swallowed hard. Her green eyes met the sharp smoky blue eyes of the woman before her. “I will be doing it,” she responded almost coolly.
The woman nodded, clicked her teeth, and stood to her feet. “Guess I gotta git those potatoes peeled fer supper,” she said, and left Cassie alone on the porch. Cassie never mentioned the idea of household help again—not even to Samuel.
Cassie knew she should be interested in the little house Samuel said was taking shape nicely. She supposed that he expected her to walk the short distance daily to see for herself the progress being made. But for some reason, Cassie could not bring herself to do that.
She found a quiet, almost cool spot behind the house where the breeze sometimes teased her hair and the sun did not beat down with the same vigor. There she busied herself with hemming new curtains from some material she had brought along. Her excuse seemed to be sufficient to keep prying eyes and wagging tongues from condemning the new bride.
For several days she saw Samuel only at mealtime and at the end of long, busy days when he was almost too tired from his labors to even bring her up-to-date on his doings. Anxious to be in their new quarters, he had hired some help, and from the pounding that Cassie heard as she hid herself away on the sagging back porch, it seemed indeed that progress must be taking place.
Then one day as Cassie stitched her last curtain hem, a grinning Samuel appeared and announced joyfully that the little house was ready for occupancy. Cassie braced herself for the worst and allowed her things to be loaded in the buggy. Then she stepped up, Samuel’s arm giving her aid, and sat stiffly aboard while the little mare bore them down the dusty street to their first home.
Cassie was unprepared for the change of its appearance. The fence had been mended and the walk cleared. The white painted exterior had been restored, the windows fixed and the tattered curtain gone from view. Proudly Samuel helped her from the buggy, then whisked her up into his arms and carried her across the threshold as he had promised. Cassie could feel the tears forming droplets in her eyes. She didn’t know why she was crying. She only knew that something deep within her was responding in some way to the man whom she loved.
He placed her on her feet and grinned broadly. “Our parlor,” he said with a wave of his hand.
Cassie looked about her at the simple furniture. Two rockers sat before the fireplace and a sofa covered with a bright quilt graced the far wall. In the background a bureau stood, new and unscarred, before a staid white-painted wall. No rugs, no curtains, no pictures yet softened the bareness. Cassie let her glance slide over everything Samuel had provided, and suddenly the woman in her flamed into life. She had a house. Simple—yet clean. She would make it into a home for Samuel. Not elegant—not even pretty—but a home nonetheless. She turned to her husband and wrapped her arms about his neck. “Thank you,” she choked out, unable to say more.
But even then her inner being whispered, “I’m sure I can be fine here—until you decide it’s time to move back to Montreal.”
Chapter Eleven
Adjustments
Cassie quickly busied herself with adding “touches” to their little frame home while Samuel set up his practice and became too busy almost at once. On some days, Cassie felt as if she had been deserted. Samuel was gone from daybreak to past sundown, and after her daily chores had been completed, there was really nothing for her to do.
She refused to sit idly on her back porch, but finding enough to fill the hours of the day was difficult. She knew no one of her own age with similar interests and, worst of all, Samuel still had not breathed one word about returning to the East.
The townsfolk had been friendly enough, but Cassie felt a bit strange with them. Unconsciously she held herself
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