Corra took a deep breath, winded from merely listening to her sister rattle on. It was like this every Sunday after service, but today was worse, and the midday sun bore down unmercifully.
“The picnic is next week, of course, since that’s the Fourth of July, and everyone is bringing a dish and a dessert, and there will be ice cream, for you know it wouldn’t be the Fourth without ice cream, so you must promise me you’ll come.”
Corra laid a hand on Letty’s arm. “Stop. Yes. We’ll come. If Josiah agrees.”
Immediate elation burst into a sour pout, but Corra held her ground. “It is up to Josiah. No arguing.” She glanced to the small cluster of men discussing Josiah’s crop of yearling foals. The way he rubbed the back of his neck meant he was making a deal. She smiled, confident he’d come out on the better end, but also confident in his integrity.
“What’s that look?” Letty narrowed her eyes.
“What look?”
“That look. Like you’ve been smitten.”
Corra laughed aloud and two matrons turned her way with raised eyebrows. Tucking her Bible under her arm, she pushed up her sleeve. “Bitten, you say? Why yes, I was bitten just the other day by a garden beetle. You know everyone insists they don’t bite, but see this. What do you think?” She raised her most innocent look to Letty, who was shaking her head and hiding behind a hankie.
“You are hopeless.”
Corra smoothed her sleeve. “Never, my dear sister. It’s been little more than a month and I’ve made good progress with Jessica.” She turned to search for the girl and found her running around the wagon after two boys. “Well, at least she’s wearing a dress and a ribbon in her hair, so that’s something, don’t you think?”
“What I think is you are making progress of another sort.” Letty cut a quick look to Josiah. Corra followed her glance and found him watching her.
“Goodness, but it’s warm for the end of June. I do believe it’s hotter in town than up in the canyon by the creek.” Corra gave her sister a brief hug then turned for the wagon.
“Next Sunday. Don’t forget.”
Corra raised a hand over her shoulder then hiked her skirt to climb into the wagon. Josiah appeared at her arm to steady her. She’d been quite successful in keeping her distance until this morning, and his attention heightened her awareness of every little detail—his clean-shaven face, meadow-green eyes. Her short breath and nervous hands. She thumbed through her Bible for an old letter she kept there and fanned herself. Next week they must leave the wagon beneath a shade tree.
The children and Josiah climbed in. Corra stiffened, determined to ignore the comfort of his presence. Before they reached the sandbar, Joe was plying his father about the July Fourth picnic. Josiah smiled and slid a look her way that sent the flimsy letter into a frenzy.
“Warm?”
Eyes straight ahead, she heard that half-hitched laugh of his. “Quite.”
“Miss Corra, don’t you want to stay for the goings on next Sunday? You and Jess could bake a couple of pies.” Hunger edged the boy’s voice.
“I know where there’s some strawberries.” Jessica’s enthusiasm contrasted sharply with her usual resistance. “Down by the creek near the aspens. It could be our first fruit pie.”
The girl’s eagerness captured Corra’s heart, and she turned to look at two pleading faces. If Letty only knew what sympathizers she had for the celebration.
Josiah chuckled. “All right. We’ll go. But only if Corra agrees.”
She felt his eyes on her and weighed the probability of breaking her neck if she jumped from the moving wagon. Instead, she flicked a glance his way and nodded once.
Later, after a dinner of sliced roast and bread and butter, Corra gave Jessica the afternoon to herself—a true Sabbath, she explained. She had no intention of cutting the girl off from what she loved, which was riding the hills with her brother. In her absence, Corra found a small basket and set out across the near pasture. Jessica’s wild strawberries would sweeten the pieplant flourishing in Pop’s garden and make a dish fit for the picnic.
Her skirt snagged on the barbed wire as she ducked through, and she stopped to pick it loose. Two meadowlarks sang, one from the tall grass answering the other atop a nearby fence post, its yellow chest swelling with song. Clear air with no kiss of coal dust invigorated her, and she cut across the ankle-deep grass. With beans simmering in the oven for supper, she, too, had time to relax and enjoy herself.
Bright green aspen leaves at the pasture’s edge fluttered an invitation. Mindful of where she stepped, Corra gathered her skirt above her shoe tops and walked into the grove. Immediately the air cooled. Looking for a stump or fallen tree to sit on, she stilled at an unexpected discovery. Heart pinching, she pressed a hand against her breast and stepped closer to read the crude carving:
MAISIE HANACKER
1850–1879
Josiah tightened his hold on Duck’s reins and fought the urge to run Corra Jameson out of the private place where he talked to Maisie. But when she knelt and touched the rose curled around the marker, he feared his chest would explode. If he left, he’d give himself away. Instead, he sat stock-still in the saddle, praying Duck would sense the need for quiet.
Corra stood and looked around. An oak thicket shielded him and the horse, but he held his breath as tight as the reins until she hiked her skirt and headed for the creek. With that basket on her arm, she must be hunting berries.
As she withdrew, he backed Duck away and turned for the fence line he’d been following. For certain, she’d tangled his spurs. He dragged his sleeve across his brow and tapped Duck into a trot. He had cattle to check. A hard ride up the canyon would sweat the woman out of his system. Lord knew, he was grateful she had what Jess needed. And he was confident that his daughter would be ready for Beatrice’s visit by summer’s end.
He just hadn’t figured on Corra Jameson having what he needed, too.