a sheet from the small box she’d brought in earlier. There, in the small mirror above the washbasin, her face was staring back at her.
That’s me? She froze, gazing at the strange woman in the mirror. She’d never been pretty, and she knew it. Her husband had always taken pains to point out her plainness. But she could never remember looking this poorly. Her hair—her only vanity—was dry and flyaway instead of glossy and sleek. Her face was ashen and the hollows beneath her eyes were as dark as day-old bruises. Her cheeks were gaunt and her eyes too big. Sadness had dug lines that had not been there before.
That was not her, she thought, ashamed. That was not the face of a twenty-eight-year-old woman. No wonder Aiden McKaslin had barely glanced at her, and, when he did, it was with that shuttered look of annoyance. What must he see? What must he think of her? And why was she remembering how kind and strong he’d seemed, too? And how changed he’d been around the children?
It didn’t matter. After tomorrow she would never see him again.
Tomorrow. That was one thought she wanted to avoid. As hard as she tried not to admit it, she and her children were now covered-wagon people—the homeless people of the West—and she could no longer deny it.
Should they stay in the area? Find another forgotten piece of prairie to park their wagon on? It was too early for harvest work in the fields. And where would she leave her children while she was working?
Should they leave Angel Falls? The horses were in no condition, as old as they were, to pull the wagon a long distance. She did not have the money to stay—particularly come morning, after she squared up what she owed to Aiden McKaslin.
“Ma!” Daisy’s sweet voice broke into her thoughts. “I can’t reach.”
She blinked, realizing her daughter was waiting for her to unbutton her little dress. Joanna banished her worries with a shake of her head—there would be enough time to dwell on them later, when she was unable to fall to sleep—and tackled the tiny buttons marching down the back of Daisy’s pink calico dress. “There, now. Go get your nightgown and I’ll have your bed nice and ready.”
“Yes, Ma.” Daisy scampered off to where their satchel of clothes sat on the floor. She knelt, all sweetness, to peer inside the bag and search for her nightie.
Yes, Joanna had some decisions to make. She shook out the worn muslin over the straw tick with a snap. The fabric fluttered into place, and she bent to smooth and tuck quickly. Her troubled thoughts turned to Aiden McKaslin. Funny, her pa had lived next door to the McKaslins for the last five years, and he’d never said much about Aiden except that he was highly disagreeable. Then again, Pa had been highly disagreeable himself.
Joanna had seen Mr. McKaslin in church since she’d come to stay with her father, but didn’t know anything about him at all. Certainly not what he’d said. His words came back to her. I buried a wife and son years ago, what was most precious to me, and to see you and them neglected like this—with no one to care—
Not only was she sad for this man who had lost so much, but she admired him, too. He was a good man—rare, in her opinion—or at least good enough to care about someone not his concern. There were men who would have thrown her off the land without blinking. Some would have threatened her with the sheriff.
But Aiden McKaslin had brought her here. She looked around the structure, so solidly built, and clean, except for a little dust here and there. There was a stout roof overhead and not a single crack in a wall. Real glass windows stared out at the gathering darkness and showed a round moon hanging low over the valley. Yes, she would remember Aiden McKaslin in her prayers tonight.
By the time she’d added a top sheet to the straw tick and the quilts from the wagon, the children had said their prayers and were ready for bed. She tucked them in, kissed their brows and told them what a good job they’d done today. When she turned out the lantern by the bedside, after reading to them as she’d promised, she left them sound asleep. She finished the dishes in the meager light of a single lantern, listening to the sounds of the night. Thinking of her problems and her limited choices to solve them overwhelmed her.
When the dishes were done and put away into the crate, she sat down with her mending. She worked while the fire burned down and moonlight moved across the floor of the shanty. Midnight came and she was still sitting with a needle in her hand, wondering what the morning would bring.
She hoped she would be strong enough to face it.
Aiden looked up from his newspaper when he heard Finn’s boot steps pounding into the kitchen. Sure enough, there was his little brother—twenty years old—worked up into a fever. No surprise there. Aiden took a sip of his tea, assessing the boy’s mood over the rim of his cup. Finn could surprise you, but it was best to try to at least figure out his state before attempting to deal with him. As much as Aiden loved his youngest brother, he had to be honest about his flaws and weaknesses—there were many of those. Judging by the disgruntled frown, the crease of annoyance in Finn’s forehead and the angry way he tossed the harness strap across the back of one of the chairs, Aiden figured his brother was working himself up into a temper.
Best not to react to it or encourage it. “I see you had trouble fixing that harness. Why don’t you get a cup of tea? We’ll tackle it tomorrow.”
“Trouble? I didn’t have any trouble.” Finn took off his battered work hat and plucked his newer, going-to-town hat from the wall peg. “What I have is a problem sewing that up for her.”
“It’s what I asked you to do. Technically, you would be doing it for me.”
Finn cursed. “Do you think having a woman live out there is a good idea?”
“No, but what else would you have me do with her?”
“I could name a few things, all of which would involve her moving on to take advantage of someone else. She’s trouble, Aiden.”
“Oh? Do you know the Widow Nelson?”
“I know her type. Whatever she’s offering you, beware. She’s just trying to get her hooks into you.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Wryly, Aiden finished the dregs of tea in his cup, trying to imagine quiet, proper Joanna Nelson as Finn was attempting to paint her.
It was impossible. When he thought of her, he recalled how gentle she was, how diligent and kind to her children, and of all the work she must have been forced to do for her father. That old man was the type who wouldn’t give shelter to his daughter and grandchildren without expecting a good amount of profit from it.
No, when Aiden thought of Joanna Nelson, he thought of hard work and that simple beauty of hers. The good kind of beauty that was more than appearances. She was the brand of woman who would face down a man twice her size if she thought her children needed protection.
That was the type of woman he could understand. He folded the newspaper in half, then in half again, watching Finn exchange his work shirt for one of the clean ones folded in the basket near the door, where the laundry lady had left it. It appeared that Finn was heading to town. Would it do any good to forbid him to go?
Finn had that belligerent look to him, the one he got when he was in no mind to be told what to do. “Fine, don’t mind what I’m saying. You’ll see I’m right when she’s got you standing up in church wearing your wedding ring.”
An arrow to the heart, that’s what Finn’s
