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He helped Mary Alice climb up and then attended the horses. His gaze drifted back to the schoolhouse. Miss Blackburn stood outside on the steps with Doc Potter, chatting and smiling. The doc appeared enraptured. How might if feel to gaze into those dark sapphire eyes? And he wouldn’t have to look up, either.
The thought quickly vanished. The nerve of her, offering to pay his debt. What kind of woman was she, anyway? One who clearly didn’t know her place.
But as he glimpsed Doc Potter rest his hand on her forearm, Garth’s jaw tensed again. He shook his head and let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
Time to go home. Chores weren’t going to do themselves.
Chapter Two
Ruth drew in a deep breath, gathered her courage, and knocked on the door. Driving out to the small Mackenzie farm had taken all the bravery she could muster. In the end, she’d had to come. Mary Alice hadn’t been in school since the fainting spell three days ago, and Ruth was worried.
“Who is it?” Mary Alice’s small voice asked through the door.
“It’s Miss Blackburn, Mary Alice.”
“Oh.” The door opened slowly. “Good afternoon, ma’am.”
“Good afternoon. May I come in?”
The child hedged. “I… Well, certainly, ma’am, I suppose.”
Ruth entered the small cabin and gasped. Disarray would be a kind word.
“Have you been ill, dear? My goodness, this place is a travesty.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. I’ve had lots of chores around the farm, and there’s no one but me to see to the housework. Pa sent me in early today to tidy up a little. I was just getting started. But dinner has to be made.” The child sighed. “I don’t know how my ma used to do it. She died, you know.”
“Yes, I know.” Ruth pushed a strand of hair out of Mary Alice’s eyes. “I’m very sorry about that.”
“It was a while ago.”
“How old were you?”
“Seven.”
Ruth took the child’s hand and led her to a sofa buried in laundry. She edged some of it aside—goodness, Mr. Mackenzie’s unmentionables—sat down, and pulled Mary Alice down beside her. “Mary Alice, your mother was a grown woman. You’re eleven years old. Of course you don’t know how she did it. A child can’t do what an adult does, and she shouldn’t have to.”
“But Pa says—”
“I don’t care what your pa says.” Ruth was overstepping her boundaries and she knew it, but she couldn’t ignore the look of quiet desperation on the child’s face. “I’ll speak to him. Or perhaps my father could.”
“The preacher?”
“Yes. Your pa might listen to him.”
“I don’t know…”
“Well, it’s worth a try.” Ruth stood and steadied Mary Alice on the ground. “For now, chip chop. Let’s get this place in order, and I’ll help you cook supper. How does that sound?”
“I don’t know if Pa would like it.”
“Well, Pa’s not here, is he?” Ruth sighed and looked around. Goodness, where to start? “You finish folding that laundry and put it away.” Mary Alice had to do that herself. Ruth couldn’t bear the thought of handling Garth Mackenzie’s drawers. The idea made her skin heat. “I’ll dust and sweep the floor. Then we’ll tackle the kitchen and start supper. Where do you keep your rags, Mary Alice?”
“Off the kitchen, ma’am. In the lean-to.”
Ruth scurried through the front room into the small kitchen. Land sakes. Soiled dishes and linens covered the small table. A cast iron skillet crusted with what looked like the remains of salt pork and beans lazed in a basin of cold water. Half a loaf of dense bread lay next to the basin.
Dusting and sweeping could wait. Ruth was needed here.
