Ruth Langan - The Courtship Of Izzy Mccree

Clement nodded, intrigued by the thought of teaching an adult what he took for granted. “Pa says the only ones who can’t survive in the wilderness are fools who never learned to use their heads.”

Izzy gave a shaky laugh. “Then I certainly hope I learn to use mine before I lose it.” She glanced at the wagon. “All those sacks of supplies, and no way to cook them. I wish I could make some biscuits and coffee, but I don’t have anything to make them in.”

Benjamin grinned. “We don’t have any kettles. But we do keep an old pot in the wagon for emergencies. It’s under the flour sack. And I’ll bet if I look around I can find something for you to cook the biscuits on.”

Izzy walked to the wagon, returning with a handful of coffee beans and a battered old pot, which she filled with water from the stream. Soon the wonderful fragrance of coffee filled the evening air.

When Benjamin handed her a flat, round stone, she was puzzled, until he said, “This ought to work as well as any pan. Give it a try.”

Mixing flour and sugar with a little water, she pressed the batter around the flat stone and set it on the fire.

A short time later Matt and Aaron returned from the forest, balancing on their shoulders a young sapling on which was tied a deer. The weight of it would stagger most men, yet they handled it with ease.

“You’re going to cook the whole thing?” Izzy blanched, thinking about the half-cooked side of beef back at the cabin. She was ravenous. But she didn’t think it would be possible to choke down another bloody meal.

To her relief, Matt shook his head. “We’ll take it with us. But we can cut off enough to cook for a quick supper.”

He and Aaron unsheathed their knives and set to work, skinning the animal and slicing a portion for their use. Izzy and Del cut the meat into chunks and threaded them onto sticks, which they set over the flames to cook. Soon they all gathered around the fire.

After his first bite Matt looked up. “Benjamin, these are the best biscuits you’ve ever made.”

“I didn’t make them, Pa. Isabella did.”

He turned to her. “What did you do to them?”

At his probing look, Izzy flushed clear to her toes. “Nothing special. I just used what I had. Sugar and flour and water. They would be better with a little lard. But it was Benjamin who found the stone to bake them on. Without that, we’d have been eating raw dough.”

“That was good thinking, Benjamin.” Matt’s praise added to the boy’s pleasure. Then he muttered, “We’ve made do with much worse than raw dough.”

He broke off another portion of biscuit, before passing it to the others. With a sigh he ate more slowly, savoring each bite. Finally he leaned back and sipped strong, hot coffee.

Turning to his daughter, he said, “You’ll have to pay attention to how Isabella makes her biscuits, Del.”

“Why, Pa?”

“So you’ll know how to make them when she lea—” He gulped coffee, hoping to hide his slip of the tongue. But he saw Izzy glance at him across the fire and knew she’d heard.

So. He expected her to leave. Her nervousness must be even more obvious than she’d thought. But if he believed that, why had he married her? She stared down at her hands. Maybe he had begun to realize that she was the only woman foolish enough, or desperate enough, to take a chance on a ready-made family and a man who barely eked out an existence in this wilderness.

To cover the sudden silence she turned her attention to the children. “Why don’t you tell me a little about yourselves? Aaron? I remember hearing you tell the preacher you’re almost fifteen.”

“Yes’m.” At a look from his brothers he added, “Well, I will be in a couple of months.”

She tried to hide her surprise. “You seem much older.”

He ducked his head. “Pa says there wasn’t much time for being a baby out here in the mountains.”

“I suppose that’s so.” She turned to Benjamin. “And you are…?”

“Twelve,” he said proudly. “And Clement’s ten and Del’s eight.”

Izzy glanced at Del. “I’ve been meaning to ask you. Is Del short for Delphine?”

“No, ma’am.” The little girl glanced at her father before saying, “Delphinium.” She made a face to show her disgust.

“Why, that’s a lovely name. Did you know it’s the name of a flower?”

Del seemed intrigued. “A flower? What kind?”

“It’s like a buttercup. I believe it’s also called a larkspur. It has lovely ruffled flowers as yellow as your hair.”

At her words the little girl was positively glowing. “Maybe my name’s not so bad. But I’d still rather be called Del. Or Little Bit.” She glanced adoringly at her oldest brother.

“Little Bit?” Izzy glanced from one to the other.

Aaron tousled his sister’s hair before glancing at Izzy. “That’s just a name I’ve always called her. What about you, Isabella? How old are you?”

She felt a ripple of unease. She didn’t want to talk about herself. “I’m twenty-three.”

“Why’d you wait so long to get married?” Benjamin asked.

“I guess…” She felt the first stirrings of panic. “I guess I just never met the right man.”

“Until Pa,” Del said innocently.

“Yes. Until now.”

The little girl was still obviously pleased with her new knowledge about her name. “Were you ever called anything besides Isabella?”

Izzy thought about the taunts she’d endured for a lifetime. Names so cruel, even now, just thinking about them caused her pain.

“No.” She reached for the coffee, averting her gaze. “Just plain Isabella.”

Beside her Matt watched, wondering what had caused her abrupt mood change. One moment she’d been relaxed, animated. The next she seemed nervous, wounded. He watched as she poured coffee, then topped off his cup, before placing the blackened pot back on the coals. Her hands, he noted, were rough and work-worn, the nails torn and ragged. Not the hands of a refined, elegant lady. And he’d noticed something else. Though her gown was spotless, the hem and cuffs were frayed and the fabric was nearly threadbare.

She’d arrived with nothing more than the clothes on her back and a small valise. Where was the accumulation of a lifetime? Clothes, linens, dishes, treasured mementos? Years ago, when he and his family had set off from home across the country, Grace had insisted on bringing every single one of her treasures. In fact Grace had…

Annoyed at the direction of his thoughts, he stood. “Time to get moving.”

Aaron got to his feet and helped his father load the buck into the back of the wagon. The others, as if by some unspoken command, set to work dousing the fire and packing up whatever food remained. In no time their campsite was nearly as clean as when they’d arrived.

The children climbed into the back of the wagon and settled themselves comfortably among the sacks of supplies. Matt climbed up to the driver’s seat and offered a hand to Izzy. With a flick of the reins they started off.

As they climbed higher into the mountains the air grew sharper, clearer. Izzy drew her shawl tightly around her shoulders and looked up at the big golden moon, the stars glittering in a velvet sky.

“Cold?”

Matt’s voice beside her had her jumping. “No. I’m fine.”

“There are some blankets in the back of the wagon.”

She shook her head. “Leave them for the children. I expect they’ll be asleep soon.”

He nodded. “It’s been a full day for them. And for you.”

When she remained silent he said, “I’m sorry about the preacher.”

“You couldn’t help that he was drunk.”

“No. But we…caught him at a particularly bad time.”

She turned to glance at him. “Is there a good time?”