Gingham Bride - By Jillian Hart Page 0,41

from the stove. She had to notice the blood and the swollen cheekbone, but she simply pointed her spatula at the mess on the floor. “I have enough to do. You clean that up and then you get to work.”

“Yes, Ma.” She grabbed the broom and dustpan and knelt to swipe snow chunks into the pan. Her pulse thundered in her ears, drowning out Ian’s remembered words. I’ve reconsidered the offer. He had gotten as far as Newberry and what did he do, start thinking about what awaited him in Kentucky? His family lands—gone. His family fortune—spent. What did he care about her future when he was more concerned with his?

“You had best be on your good behavior when your da gets in this house. We are not happy with you, Fiona.” Ma turned the ham slices in the fry pan one by one. “We’ve a house full of your father’s friends and Mr. Newton storms into the house saying you’ve attacked him. We’re to lose our home because of you. You’re a thoughtless, selfish girl, Fiona, and I can’t stand the sight of you.”

She leaned the broom in the corner by the door and emptied the snow into the waste bucket. She had done the right thing all her life. She had been quiet when her parents told her to be. She did the work her parents told her to do. She prayed day and night. She studied her Bible, she lived faithfully and she did well in school. And for what?

She washed her hands in the corner basin, breathing in the sharp scent of the plain lye soap. All she could see was her life in this kitchen, working in the half-light of a turned-down wick to save on the cost of kerosene day after endless day. That was her future unless she decided on another course. With twenty-three dollars to her name, how far could she get? She dried her hands on the small towel and hung it neatly on the stand’s hook. Ian was the problem. Would he let her go?

“Stop lollygagging.” Ma checked on the simmering soup with a slam of a pot lid. “Supper’s almost ready.”

She grabbed a towel and knelt to rescue the biscuits from the oven. They were golden-topped and fluffy, so she carried the sheet to the table and filled a waiting basket.

As she placed the basket on the table, an uneven gait tapped outside the kitchen door. Ian. Her mind looped to him like a lasso arcing through the air. Seeing him towering over her protectively, hauling the man away, feeling his caring touch to her cheek, hearing the kind rumble of his voice made her feel confused—angry and used and needing his tenderness again. What had he promised her? I’m going to make sure you are never frightened like that again. That’s what he’d said, probably thinking that by marrying her he would be keeping her safe. That was probably his justification for his broken promises.

The door squeaked open, and there he stood looking like goodness itself. Her hatred peaked. A pressure built inside her throbbing head. If only part of her still didn’t care—the stupid, needy part of her that had believed in him. And it hurt worse than any blow.

“Smells good in here, ladies.” He stepped into the room as if he belonged there.

“The men are in the front room.” Ma glanced at him with what passed for surprise, but after a huff went back to her cooking. That would change once Da told her what Ian had done.

Fiona ignored the silent apology that radiated off him and hefted the ironware from the shelf. The rattle of the stacked dishes betrayed her. She was not calm. She was not unaffected. She wanted to hurl the plates at him; she wanted to turn time back like resetting a clock and stay in that place where she had trusted him, where he was her friend.

Hurt and outrage blazed through her, staining her vision red, making the top of her head feel a strange pressure. She turned her shoulder and passed the plates around the table, holding back two for her and Ma. They would eat in the front room, out of the way of the men. Their loud raucous language and laughter roared through the thin board walls. Da’s voice joined then, jovial. Then, why wouldn’t he be?

The last plate hit the table with a clink. She kept her gaze down and her back turned. Sure, she could feel