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He cobbled together an extra-thick bacon sandwich, laid it on a saucer and settled it on Leah’s lap. She didn’t move a muscle.
“She’s not dead, is she, Pa?”
“No, son. She is very much alive.” More alive than he expected, in fact. The rush of respect and pride that flooded his heart was even more unexpected.
“Come on out to the corral with me, Teddy. think you could help me fix the gate?”
“Sure, Pa. I kin do all kinds of stuff. Something I think you forget.”
Leah woke at dusk, gobbled the sandwich she found on the saucer in her lap and gulped down the cup of now-cold coffee Thad had left on the side table. Bless the man. But she must rouse herself to cook their supper. Thad would want more than sandwiches for his evening meal.
She tried to propel herself up from the chair, but her stiff, aching body and trembling legs would not obey. Lord, she was all but crippled! Finally she managed to push herself onto her feet. Every muscle in her back rebelled, especially across her bottom, but she managed to inch her way into the kitchen. Her legs felt like soft cheese. It hurt even to sit down on a dining chair to rest.
Doggedly, she consulted Miss Beecher’s recipe book, then limped from the stove to the pantry, gathering up potatoes and carrots for stew with something called “dumplings.”
When the big iron pot was bubbling away on the stove, she heated a kettle of water, manhandled it into the bedroom and returned for a small enamel basin. Grateful to be alone, she stripped off her dirt-covered jeans and sweaty shirt.
The water was soothing on her face and arms, but what she really wanted was to plop her bottom right down in the basin and soak in the warm water. She decided not to risk it; she might not manage to get to her feet again.
She dried off, eyed her new gray skirt and the red striped shirtwaist, and groaned. The prospect of donning the petticoat and the lacy camisole Ellie had talked her into buying was not the least appealing. Instead, she pulled on her blue Chinese-style trousers and the soft, loose overtunic.
The silk slid comfortingly over her bruised limbs and posterior, and she sighed with relief. Instead of wrestling with starched petticoats, ladies’ scratchy lace shirtwaists and long, cumbersome work skirts, perhaps she would sew more soft silk Chinese garments.
She jolted upright at the thought. No! Not one single Chinese garment! She might be more comfortable when she wore them, but she would look different from other women. If wearing the constricting Western-style clothes would help her to fit in with Smoke River townspeople, then that was exactly what she would do.
Tomorrow, she resolved, she would saddle up the mare—heaven help her, could she really manage that again?—and ride to the mercantile in town. And—she bit her lip—purchase lengths of stiff blue American denim and scratchy wool for American lady clothes.
Thad and Teddy returned to the house after finishing up the evening chores to find Leah in the kitchen, hobbling from the stove to the table. Her motions were so stiff Thad winced each time she took a step.
Teddy sniffed the air. “Pa, what smells so funny?”
Leah turned toward him, an iron pot of something in her hands, and tried to smile. Thad jerked forward to take the heavy container from Her and set it in the center of the table. He noted that she’d already put out plates and bowls. Her hip and leg muscles must be screaming.
Teddy wrinkled his nose. “That’s our supper? What’re those fuzzy white things on top?”
Leah supported herself against the table with one hand. “Those are dumplings. I found the recipe in Miss Beecher’s book.”
“Ewww. They look like moldy mushrooms.”
“Nothing I cook will ever please you, will it, Teddy? I might as well give up.”
Thad sent her a pained look, then laid his hand on his son’s thin shoulder. “You don’t have to eat them if you don’t want to, Teddy.”
“Okay, ’cuz I sure don’t wanna get poisoned. I told you she don’t like me.”
Thad ignored him. “Leah, you need to sit down.” He pulled out a chair for her and she edged carefully onto the wooden seat. One glance at her pinched mouth told him she was in real pain. “I’ve got some liniment that might help later,” he murmured. “For now, what else do you need on the table?”
“Just milk for Teddy,” she answered in a tired voice.
He strode into the pantry, returned with a crockery pitcher and poured his son’s glass full. Then he seated himself and began ladling the rich-looking stew and a fluffy dumpling into each bowl.
Teddy made a show of pushing his single dumpling around and around without taking even a taste.
“Stop playing with your food, son, or you’ll be the one needing the liniment.”
