The Brides of Chance Collection by Cathy Marie Hake, Kelly Eileen Hake, Tracey V. Bateman Page B

folks did one of two things: They either took to their beds or lost themselves in their usual tasks. Resorting to habits and tasks helped them numb some of the impact of the sorrow. For her to have put her hand to such labor hinted that she was in the habit of keeping a tidy home. Orderliness seemed to be something that came deep from within—not the result of a rule she followed for the sake of being virtuous.
    Watching her wash up felt wrong, so he turned away. When the soft splashing stopped, Gideon saw the frown on Paul’s face and turned to see the cause. Miriam had folded her handkerchief, dampened it, and pressed the compress to her forehead as she braced herself against the washstand with the other hand. Her chin rested on her chest as if her head had grown too heavy to hold up.
    Gideon closed the distance between them in a heartbeat. “Miss Miriam?”
    She turned toward him, and he slipped his arms around her. Poor little gal had run out of steam. Even then, she didn’t slump against him. Her hanky got his shirt damp as she whispered, “I know it’s early yet, but would you mind too awfully much if I lie down?”
    “It would bother me if you didn’t.” He stooped a bit, hooked an arm behind her knees, and lifted. Once he carried her behind the blanket-curtain in the back room, he set Miriam down and nudged her to sit on his bed. Taking pains to keep his voice low, he ordered, “You go on and get ready for bed. I’ll see if I can rustle up some willow bark for your headache.”
    “That’s very kind of you to offer,” she half-whispered. “Truly, I believe sleep is all I need.”
    Later he went to peek in on her. She’d huddled into a ball and fallen asleep—but that knowledge brought him no relief, because the pillow and her cheeks were wet with more tears.
    Being a man of the cloth, her father would have known the right things to say. Miriam needed flowery words of eternal peace and assurance. Gideon knew none of them. At the ripe old age of twenty-six, he reckoned he was far too old to learn them now.
    In the morning, he’d check on how she felt and make plans to send her back home. To be sure, she’d need two, maybe even three days before he put her aboard a ship. It would let her come to grips with the fact that Hannah had passed on to the hereafter and also give Miriam a chance to play a bit with Polly and Ginny Mae. That way, she’d go back home with a few sweet memories to soften the blow.
    He’d ask to see her ticket and make inquiries as to when that company had the next ship slated for departure. The ranch needed supplies. He’d take her back to the docks, and as soon as her ship set sail, he’d fill up the buckboard and bring back essentials. That way, he’d only miss one day’s work instead of two.
    Gideon came back out and took out a sheet of paper. He whittled the nib of his pen and set the inkwell on the clean tabletop. It was nice, sitting down to a clear writing surface. Fact was, the usual chaotic mess around the place didn’t much register, let alone bother him, when it was there; but now that it was all cleared away, the uncluttered room felt…well, it felt different. Better. Homey. He shook his head. That doesn’t matter . Just make the list and go bed down in the barn .

    The next morning, Miriam had already gotten up and set coffee to perk on the stove before he even reached the house. The aroma wafting from the oven promised something delicious for breakfast, and she cracked eggs into a bowl with the efficient moves of a woman accustomed to cooking. She wore a plain slate blue day gown, and a white apron covered most of the front of it. Not a ruffle, speck of embroidery, or ribbon adorned either garment.
    “Good morning,” she greeted him in a subdued tone.
    Gideon looked at her keenly. Was she whispering because her head hurt, or was she trying to stay quiet so his brothers could snatch a few last minutes of shut-eye? Either way, she wasn’t supposed to have shown