She slid from the seat of the surrey, recognizing her duty as Tate's wife, and walked toward the reunion taking place in front of a good dozen of the townsfolk. Selena, obviously curious about the new arrival, cast Johanna a look of wary sympathy.
"Johanna! Come here and meet Bessie." Beckoning her forward, Tate held out his hand to her, a welcome sight if she'd ever seen one. Having his broad palm enclose her fingers would be a comfort as she endeavored to be polite and cheerful.
"I'm so pleased to meet you Bessie," Johanna said, looking up several inches in order to meet the other woman's gaze. This was the woman she'd thought to comfort, perhaps, in the death of her husband. Had Tate been the one buried so recently, Johanna suspected, she would still be swathed in black linen and wailing to beat the band.
But the marvelous Bessie was not. Smiling, the visitor leaned forward, deposited the two boys on their feet and extended a hand to Johanna. "I wondered what sort of woman would take Tate Montgomery's eye. And now I know."
Sultry was the word that jumped into Johanna's mind as Bessie greeted her. Soft, drawling words, accompanied by an all-encompassing glance, made her feel that she had surely left a button undone or split a seam on her bodice. Never in her life had Johanna felt so inadequate.
How could Tate have chosen to marry her, when this beautiful creature was living at the other end of the train tracks, in southern Ohio? But Bessie hadn't been available then. When Tate set out to find a place to settle, Bessie had been the wife of Herb Swenson.
Now Herb Swenson was dead and buried.
Tate was shepherding his group into the surrey, having picked up Bessie's tapestry satchel from the platform. He gave Johanna his hand and helped her into the front seat. Bessie was prevailed upon to sit between the boys on the back seat, and her satchel was deposited in the rear.
Thankfully, Johanna wasn't required to add much to the conversation as the surrey rolled toward the farm. Tate kept his team at a fast clip, and as if they, too, must make an impression, the sturdy mares swished their tails, tossing their manes in great style.
Bessie oohed and aahed over the cows pastured next to the road they traveled, and was properly impressed when she caught sight of the new shorthorn bull at a distance. Tate had set him loose in the near pasture, where the bull had immediately taken stock of his new harem and staked his territory.
"I'm planning on at least three dozen calves from him next spring," Tate said over his shoulder to Bessie, who appeared awed by the huge creature.
"Pa? What's that big black cow doing out there?" Pete asked, pointing into the area where the red-and-whitespotted shorthorn had set up court.
Tate squinted, following the direction Pete indicated, finally raising his hand to shade his eyes from the sun. "Looks like the old bull to me. What do you think, Johanna?"
"I haven't seen him in years. Pa always kept him out closer to the swamp." Sensing Tate's apprehension, she looked up at him. "Shouldn't he be there, Tate?"
Tate shook his head. "I didn't want the two of them having a tussle for the herd. Bulls don't do well in the same pasture." He lifted the reins and snapped them over the backs of his team. "I think I'd better hustle on home and get things sorted out."
Johanna was left to escort Bessie into her home and up the stairs, Tate making hasty excuses as he headed for the barn. In minutes, he'd saddled the chestnut mare and set off for the pasture at a gallop, his rifle in one hand as he rode.
"We'll have dinner in an hour or so, Bessie," Johanna said, opening the door to the sewing room and showing her guest in. Small and compact at best, the room seemed cramped today, Johanna thought, settling Bessie's bag next to the small chest.
Bessie looked around quickly. "What a charming room. I'm so glad you were able to find a place for me to stay. I hope I haven't put you out too much, Johanna."
Lack of mourning clothes notwithstanding, she couldn't fault the woman's manners, Johanna thought, nodding and smiling her best. But it was for sure that Bessie was as far from what she'd expected as any creature could be. Comfortable and stout, indeed!
Dinner was ready and being held on the back of the stove when Tate came back, stomping his boots noisily on the porch. "Johanna! Can you come out here?" Tate's voice was harsh, and Johanna hurried to open the door, drying her hands on her apron.
"What's wrong, Tate?" she asked, stepping onto the porch. From the barn, the boys ran toward the house, Timmy clutching a half-grown kitten in his arms.
"Damn bull! Those animals never do what you expect them to. The old one got into the near pasture and challenged my shorthorn and got himself gored for his trouble. I had to put him down."
"Is your new bull all right?" Johanna's heart trembled within her chest as she thought of the money invested in the red-and-white creature who had caused such an uproar already.
"He's dug up a little. Nothing I can't take care of with some salve. I need your long butcher knife now, Johanna. I'll have to gut that miserable animal right away, so the meat will be good. Not that it'll be anything but tough, anyway." He gestured to his rifle, on the porch. "Put that gun away, will you?"
She picked up the gun and held it uneasily, her mind still on the slaughtered bull. "What will we do with him?" The thought of having the meat to tend to, with all the other distractions she faced right now, held little appeal.
"I'll think of something." Tate was glowering darkly, in no mood to answer questions from the looks and sounds of him, and Johanna stepped back in the kitchen to find her knife, leaving the rifle in the pantry until later.
"Make me a sandwich out of that meat loaf, will you? I won't have time for dinner," Tate said from the other side of the screen door. "I'll take it with me."
"I'll do it, Tate." From behind her, Bessie's melodious voice offered help, and Johanna swallowed her thoughts.
"Thanks, Bessie." Tate grinned at his sister-in-law and then peered through the screen. "Johanna, where are you with that knife?"
"I'm sharpening it!" Using the edge of her egg crock, Johanna honed the blade, careful to mind the edge as she swept it over the stone. Bessie got the smile and she got the sharp side of Tate's tongue, Johanna thought acidly, swiping the blade once more to ensure the edge.
Tate stuck his head in the door. "I'm goin' out to the barn to get a rope to haul the carcass back to the house. I'll be right back. That sandwich about ready, Bessie?"
Bessie slapped the two slices of bread around a generous helping of meatloaf and, reaching for a clean dishtowel from the cupboard, wrapped it securely. "It's ready when you are, Tate."
"Can I go, Pa?" Pete watched, wide-eyed, as his father strode toward the barn, keeping pace, skipping to match Tate's longer steps.
"You go on back to the house and have dinner with your Aunt Bessie, son." Tate's mind was filled with the job ahead, and his answer was short, and Pete turned away, starting back to the porch, kicking at a clod of dirt.
Timmy was on the porch, the young cat beside him, telling Bessie about the litter, now down to the last two, since a family in town had taken one. Going down the steps, Johanna eyed them darkly, butcher knife in hand.
"Wash up for dinner, Timmy. You too, Pete," she added as the older boy scuffled his way toward her.
"My hands aren't dirty," he argued, scowling at his father's reproof.
"Don't argue, Pete!" Johanna was in no mood for a sulky child, and she sailed past him as she spoke.
Tate came from the barn, rolling up a length of rope and slinging it over his shoulder. He paused for only a moment, taking the knife from Johanna, and then went onto the porch, leaving her to follow.
Bessie waited near the steps, handing him the wrapped sandwich and speaking in a low voice, just beyond Johanna's hearing. Slowing her steps, unwilling to seem nosy, Johanna watched as Tate nodded, then turned to where his horse waited at the hitching post. Without a backward glance, he mounted and pulled the chestnut mare around, heading at a quick trot toward the pasture beyond the barn.
It had been a miserable day all around, Johanna decided. Tate had gone to the Cooney place to offer Jonas the dead bull and, accompanied by Jonas, had hoisted the creature onto the Cooneys' buckboard. By the time she'd heard gruesome details from both boys about the bull's bloody remains, she felt she'd never want to cook another meal of beef in her life.