The Forever Man(54)

Bessie's smile was strained. "She's quite a switch from Belinda, isn't she? Rather down-to-earth, and all that"

Tate's mouth twisted, his eyes narrowing as he considered her words.  "Down to earth? I guess that's a good way to describe her, Bessie."

"She doesn't do much with the boys, does she?"

Tate considered that idea. "I don't know. She works with Pete with his  letters and numbers. She's teachin' him to read, you know. And she helps  with the chores and keeps their clothes clean and cooks their meals. I  guess she manages to put a lot of time in on them, all around."

Bessie's voice softened. "They need more than physical care, Tate. They need love!"

His head lifted abruptly, and his eyes darkened. "Love's more than  playin' games, Bessie. Don't you doubt for a minute that Johanna loves  my boys."

She laughed-a trilling sound, guaranteed to travel the distance from the kitchen to the bedrooms overhead.

Johanna pulled the quilt over her ear. The rumble of Tate's voice had  sounded through the register in the floor, followed by Bessie's softer  words, all incomprehensible, each one a barb in her battered feelings.

"They sure have a lot to talk about," Johanna muttered, pulling up her  legs, tucking her nightgown down around her feet. She'd claimed to be  sleepy. The truth was she'd had about all she could take of Bessie and  her games. Not just the hilarity of spoons being grabbed and tussled  over at the kitchen table, but the continual reminders of another life  Tate had led. The game of placing Johanna in the nether regions, while  Bessie endeared herself to the males in this household.

Another burst of tinkling laughter from the kitchen added fuel to the  fire of resentment that burned in Johanna's heart, and she pulled the  quilt all the way over her head as she closed her eyes, grimly  determined to shut out the reminder of the woman's presence in her  kitchen.

"I need to get to bed," Tate told Bessie in the room below.

"You haven't told me how you came to buy those new horses, Tate," Bessie said, her mouth pouting prettily.

His eyes lit as he recalled that particular day, and he leaned back in his chair.





The Monday-evening train would be picking up a passenger at the depot in  Belle Haven. Bessie would be leaving tomorrow, and Johanna's heart  lifted at the thought. The Sunday-dinner dishes done and the kitchen  clean, she looked out the door. The yard was empty, the barn door stood  open, and within she caught a glimpse of Timmy as he played with his  half-grown cats. They'd be having babies of their own before the year  was out, Johanna thought

From beyond the barn, she heard the sound of Tate's voice and the  laughter of Pete and Bessie as they worked with the horses.  Surprisingly, Bessie had turned out to be fond of the creatures, a good  rider herself and the owner of a split riding skirt.                       
       
           



       

They were probably heading out for a ride, Pete on the chestnut He'd  become more than attached to the animal in the past weeks, and Tate was  proud of his progress.

"Maybe I'll take a walk," Johanna said aloud, and then laughed as she  recognized her old habit of speaking to herself, in lieu of constant  silence.

Snatching up her shawl, she slipped out the back door, casting a quick  glance at the sky. It was warm for an April day, but the clouds to the  west promised rain by nightfall, and the air would cool in a hurry in a  couple of hours.

"I'll bet there are trilliums along the ditch," she said to herself,  hastening her steps as she thought of the wildflowers she'd not taken  time to look for during the past weeks. Spring was her favorite season,  but Bessie's visit had kept her busier than usual, as if she must prove  her worth to the woman from Ohio.

Not today! Johanna vowed. I'm taking a walk, and I'm

not coming back until I find a handful of violets and a better mood. She set out across the side yard, taking a shortcut to

the road, bending as she came across a patch of lily of the valley  beneath the maples. She plucked one stem and held it to her nose,  inhaling the sweet scent

Then, tucking it into her top buttonhole, she sauntered on. The road was  dry, and she walked through patches of shade and sunshine, where pine  trees edged the road, stopping to watch as she caught a glimpse of a shy  bluebird on a stump.

"Mr. Bluebird, I'll warrant you'll be looking for a place to nest," she  said, grinning at her own foolishness. Playing hooky was good for the  soul, she decided, and ambled on.

The sun was warm, even though the breeze was cool, tugging at her hair.  She removed the pins holding her braids securely around her head.  Fingers combing through the tresses, she let them hang loose over her  shoulders.

She felt free, unfettered, and her footsteps quickened as she considered  the adventure she'd set out upon. "I believe I'll let the wonderful  Bessie fix them their supper tonight," she told a rabbit that peered at  her from behind a clump of weeds.

A spot of purple caught her eye, and she ventured from the road to where  a patch of violets bloomed amid dark green leaves, begging her  attention. Bending to them, she quickly gathered a handful, holding them  to her nose. "I'll bet Selena would enjoy these," she whispered,  closing her eyes as she savored the scent. They'd hurried home from  church, and she'd only waved at her friend.

Turning, she looked back, but the farm was too far away to be seen, and  somehow it didn't even matter. For the first time in months, Johanna  found herself thinking only of the pleasure of the moment. A somewhat  selfish, exceedingly satisfying sensation of hedonism made her giggle,  and she heard herself as if listening to another person. Johanna  Patterson never in her life had giggled. She'd never walked into town  just to spend a few minutes with a friend either.

"But I'm not Johanna Patterson any more," she reminded herself aloud. "And I'm going visiting."

Her stride lengthened as she walked back to the road, heading for Belle Haven, violets in hand.





"Pa, Miss Johanna isn't in the house, and the stove's gone pretty near  cold." Pete stood in the barn door, watching as his father rubbed down  the bay mare. Timmy was curled up in the corner, weary from his long  ride, perched in front of his father on one of the old mares.

"Is she upstairs, son?" Tate asked, intent on drying the mare thoroughly  before he put her in her stall. "Maybe she's taking a nap in the  bedroom."

Pete shook his head. "No, I called her, and I even went up and looked in  your room. She's not in the attic either. I climbed the stairs and  looked around."

Tate thought a moment. "Could be she's in the springhouse. She might have decided to churn today, instead of in the morning."

Pete looked disbelievingly at his father. "It's Sunday, Pa. Miss Johanna says it's a day of rest."

Bessie laughed, sitting on a milking stool, near the tack room door.  "Maybe she ran off, Tate. You don't seem to have much luck with your  wives, do you?"                       
       
           



       

"That wasn't funny, Bessie." He shot her a look guaranteed to give her  pause. "Johanna doesn't bear any resemblance to your sister, and you  know it Besides, we have an audience, and I'd just as soon not discuss  the past."

"They'll know one of these days, anyway," she said, shrugging off his remark with a smile.

Somehow Bessie's company had become cloying of late, Tate decided, his  gaze sweeping over her slender form. True, she was wonderful with his  sons, always had been, for that matter. But she didn't wear well.  Belinda had called her shallow, and he hadn't tended to agree back then.  Now he was beginning to see for himself that the woman was all surface.

His strokes across the flank of the bay mare slowed as he thought of the  female who shared his life these days. Where on earth could Johanna  have gone to? It wasn't like her to abandon her kitchen in the middle of  the afternoon.

Pete's voice called from beyond the barn door. "She's not in the  springhouse, either, Pa." Skidding to a stop in the wide doorway, his  small face darkened by concern, the boy faced his father. "You don't  think she left us, do you, Pa?"

"No! You know better than that, Pete." Tate shook his head at the idea.

Timmy sat up abruptly, horror painting his features. "We need to find her, Pa. She's gotta cook my supper."

Tate frowned in his direction. "Miss Johanna doesn't gotta do any such thing, Timmy. She takes care of us because she wants to."

"'Cause she loves us, Timmy," Pete chimed in.

Bessie stood, stretching and easing her shoulders forward. "My, my, what  a testimony to Miss Johanna's virtues. I don't know about you, Tate,  but I'm tired from that ride. I believe I'll go and take a nap myself,  while you round up your wayward wife."