Roses for Mama Read online

  He offered Angela an arm, and for one unguarded minute she was about to accept it.

  “Oh, I was only teasing,” she admitted. “I—I must hurry home. I’ve got a thousand things to do.”

  “What a pity!” His voice sounded as if he meant the words, but Angela still couldn’t read his eyes. She felt confused, knowing that he was testing her, yet realizing she didn’t understand his meaning.

  “Another time then?” he asked. Angela wondered if she sensed an arrogance in the young man.

  She tipped her head to one side and looked at him candidly. She was not flirting now. She had recovered from her moment of youthful foolishness. “I’ll give it some thought,” she replied simply. “I may call on Charlie again.”

  She turned to go, but he caught her arm, his grasp gentle but definite.

  “And what about me?” he asked in a low voice. “What if I should wish to call?”

  Angela felt her pulse racing. She hardly knew how to respond. No young man had ever asked her if he could come calling. She cocked her head as though considering—when in fact she was trying to once again gain control of her emotions.

  “It hardly seems the proper time to be calling—when—when your father is so—so ill,” she responded at last.

  “Of course. Of course, I meant later. After he is—well again.”

  Angela wondered if he was very deeply concerned about his father. He didn’t seem to be embarrassed that he had suggested calling when the man lay desperately ill. Nor did she believe for one minute that he expected his father ever to be well again. A shiver passed through her. She didn’t think she cared much for the man, after all—even if he did think he was such a fine gentleman.

  Angela eased her arm from his hold and gave him one last look. She was about to take her leave when she remembered her mama. Mama would never have allowed her children to respond to poor taste with poor taste. The young man had paid her a fine compliment and she was about to walk away in a huff. Perhaps his city ways are different than the ways out here, she reminded herself. And remember, he has never really known his father. That man—sick in bed—unable to think or speak—that really has been a poor way to meet the man who should have earned his respect and love.

  Angela turned back to the young man, a friendly smile on her lips. “I do think that it is proper to attend the house of the Lord on any occasion,” she said quietly. “And it would likely be quite in order for the neighbors to invite one home for dinner following.”

  He paused a moment as if to sort out her meaning and then nodded. “And where do I find your church?”

  “It’s the only one in town,” she replied.

  “Next Sunday?” he asked.

  “Next Sunday,” she nodded. “The family will be expecting you.”

  She turned and without a backward glance headed determinedly home.

  Her cheeks burned as she walked. What had come over her? She had acted like—just like she had seen Trudie act with Thomas. She had not appreciated it in Trudie and she did not appreciate it in herself.

  I refuse to act like a silly schoolgirl, she scolded herself. If he does show up for church, then we shall all treat him as a dinner guest. But I will not—absolutely will not—flirt with him again.

  Angela’s face burned even more deeply as she thought of her coy looks and teasing smiles. “Whatever came over me anyway?” she said aloud with impatience. “I have never—never acted so foolish before. I can’t for the life of me imagine what I was trying to do.”

  Though it was still just a feeling she couldn’t quite put into words, Angela was beginning to realize that buried deep within her was a young woman longing for special attention—special love.

  Chapter Twelve

  Sunday

  Angela felt agitated as she prepared for church on Sunday morning. She should have been elated—relieved—as Thomas was, for the harvest was all in the bins and the crops had done well. Thomas was set to relax and be thankful. The family would have their needs met for another year.

  Angela was thankful too. It was a relief to know that she could now shop for the needed material from which to sew winter garments. It was wonderful that they would be able to get new footwear for each family member. With thanksgiving she would buy the wool for mittens and heavy socks. But even though Angela knew she should be humming a tune of praise, she fidgeted and fiddled and felt her nerves strung tight.

  She had told no one of her invitation to the young Stratton for Sunday dinner—not even Thomas. Mr. Stratton probably won’t be at church anyway, she told herself, and I did rather make that the stipulation.

  But just in case, Angela had two young roosters prepared and in the roasting pan and the table was set with Mama’s good china.

  “I see we are celebrating,” said Thomas, and when Angela nodded her head, he smiled. Angela was sure that Thomas felt it quite appropriate to celebrate.

  If he should happen to come—and I’m sure he won’t, Angela reminded herself, I will not act like a smitten young adolescent. I will act like the young woman Mama would expect me to be.

  Angela took a bit more time with her grooming, and when she finally appeared and announced that she was ready, the rest of the family was waiting for her.

  “Thane’s birthday gift looks nice with that dress,” said Thomas approvingly as they walked out to the wagon. Angela nodded in agreement, wondering about his rather knowing smile.

  It was not a long drive to church, and soon they joined the others gathering for the service.

  The Merrifield brothers joined their little procession into the church, and Angela feared they were going to try to crowd in the pew beside her. With a bit of maneuvering she managed to place herself between Sara and Louise, and she smiled a polite greeting to the two young men as they passed on by.

  The Andrews family was across the aisle. Angela waved a hand as discreetly as possible to signal that the lovely cameo was resting against the bodice of her pale blue calico. Mrs. Andrews smiled and Thane looked pleased.

  Angela turned her attention back to the Sunday congregation.

  Trudie came in with a rustle of skirts and a flip of her red hair and seated herself directly in front of the Petersons. She turned to say hello to Angela and to give Thomas a cute smile. Angela again reminded herself that she would not encourage such a manner.

  The service was about to start when Trudie turned and whispered to Angela, “Look. Over there.”

  Angela stole a glance to the side indicated by Trudie’s bobbing head, and there was the young Mr. Stratton, planted firmly in a church pew. At Angela’s glance he nodded his head slightly, and she felt her face flush. She turned her full attention back to the front of the church, relieved that Pastor Merrifield was taking his place behind the pulpit.

  Perhaps Angela could have concentrated better on the morning service had not Trudie been so restless. Angela caught her stealing frequent glances in the direction of the young visitor. She seemed to have forgotten Thomas totally.

  So that’s how fickle you are, Trudie Sommers, Angela said to herself. Then she felt anger stirring within her. Well, if you think you can just throw Thomas aside because you have discovered a fascinating new face, you are wrong. If I have anything to do with it, Mr. Stratton will not so much as give you a “good morning.” Angela decided then and there that she might do just a bit of flirting, after all, if it would stop Trudie from claiming the attention of the young man.

  From then on, Angela had a hard time paying attention to the morning worship service. She chided herself, forcing her thoughts back to what Pastor Merrifield was saying, but at another glance and toss of the red head in front of her, she would lose the train of the message again.

  As soon as the service ended, Trudie was at her side. “Did you see him? Did you see him? I wonder who he is.”

  “You mean you don’t know?” asked Angela, as though she had known the young man for years.

  “Do you? Do you know him?” Trudie was shaking Ange
la’s arm as she asked the question.

  “He’s our neighbor,” answered Angela matter-of-factly.

  “Your what?”

  “Mr. Stratton,” replied Angela, straightening the sleeve that Trudie had been tugging.

  “Mr. Stratton? That’s not him. I know Mr. Stra—You mean the son? That young man is Stratton’s son?” Trudie was shrieking her whisper into Angela’s ear.

  “What’s his name? Oh, what’s his name?” Trudie demanded.

  Angela suddenly realized she didn’t know, but she wouldn’t have admitted it for anything.

  “I choose to address him as Mr. Stratton,” she answered.

  “Oh, you must introduce me, you simply must,” Trudie gushed.

  Angela stood and nodded to her sisters to allow them to exit the church.

  “Very well,” she said to Trudie as they walked down the aisle. “I’ll introduce you if you wish.”

  She hoped that by the time they reached the church steps, the young man would have disappeared. But he was making the rounds of the young men, being introduced by Thane. Thane had met the young Stratton on more than one occasion when he came to purchase items from the store. It seemed that the young men of the church were giving the visitor a warm welcome.

  As Angela moved down the walk, the young man lifted his hat and stepped forward.

  “Good morning, Miss Peterson,” he said politely with a dip of his head. Angela again noticed the deep, cultured voice.

  “Good morning, Mr. Stratton,” she responded, almost shyly. Feeling Trudie tug her sleeve, an impishness possessed her. “I trust you can find your way to our dinner table with no difficulty. We are looking forward to having you.” And she gave the young man a warm smile—almost as coy as Trudie would have given.

  There was a gasp beside her and then Trudie gave another yank on Angela’s sleeve.

  “And before my friend tears my sleeve from my dress,” she went on, “let me introduce you. This is Miss Trudie Sommers. I believe she would like to meet you.”

  Trudie’s red face did not keep her from stepping forward and taking the young man’s extended hand.

  Mr. Stratton bid her good morning. Then he turned his attention back to Angela.

  “May I drive you home, Miss Peterson?” he asked, and Angela flushed slightly. She had not even told Thomas they would be having a guest, and now he was proposing that she ride with him instead of the family.

  But Trudie was standing by, her mouth open and her eyes wide with wonder.

  “I’d like that,” Angela responded. “Just give me a minute to inform my brother,” and she hastened off to find Thomas.

  Thomas was talking with Thane. Angela burst in upon them and blurted out her mission.

  “Thomas,” she said breathlessly, “I—I’ve gotten myself in rather a—a strange situation. I invited Mr. Stratton to dinner—if he came to church first—and he is here. He has—has asked me to ride with him, so I will see you back at the house.”

  Angela turned quickly without reading the two faces before her. She feared that Trudie, if left too long, might turn the tables on the day’s plans.

  The dinner went well enough. Thomas was courteous to their guest and spoke with him easily. Angela learned more about the young man from listening to their conversation.

  He had been raised in Atlanta, his mother’s hometown. In fact, he was reared in the same house that his mother had been. He had no aunts or uncles, but he did have grandparents. It sounded to Angela as if they doted on the boy.

  “How did they feel about your coming west?” asked Thomas.

  “They weren’t very happy.”

  “And your mother?”

  “I’m not sure my mother still claims me,” he answered candidly.

  “Then why did you come?”

  “I had to. I had heard so many little remarks about my father over the years that I had to come and see for myself if he—if he was as they described him.”

  “And is he?”

  “I don’t know. I have been trying to piece things together. I think that many things might be accurate. But—I may never know. I still don’t really know the man.”

  Angela felt it was a shame that his coming had been delayed until it was too late for both of them.

  “Will your mother join you?”

  “Oh no. She hated it out here. She would never come back.”

  Angela moved out of earshot. She felt like an eavesdropper in her own home. There were better ways to get to know her guest. She would wait until he volunteered the information to her.

  She did discover his name. It happened as she served the coffee.

  “Do you take cream or sugar, Mr. Stratton?” she asked.

  “Please—please call me Carter,” he quickly replied. “All of you, and I will call you Thomas, if I may,” he added, asking permission from Thomas with his eyes.

  Thomas nodded, and from then on they referred to their guest as Carter.

  It was a pleasant afternoon. Without Trudie hovering near, Angela was able to keep her resolve of not being foolishly flirty with the young man. She acted as a proper hostess, caring for her guest and family.

  When he prepared to go, Carter found a few moments with her alone.

  “Will you walk me to my carriage?” he asked, and Angela realized it was the first time she had heard the conveyance referred to as a carriage. But then, perhaps his buggy was a carriage. It was certainly fancier than any other vehicle about.

  She fell into step beside him and accompanied him to the hitching rail.

  “This has been delightful,” he assured her. “You are a much better cook than Gus,” he teased, and when Angela smiled he looked pleased.

  “May I come again?” he asked.

  When Angela’s brow began to crease he hurried on.

  “I know—it doesn’t look proper to call when my father is near death.” His candor surprised Angela. “But we are neighbors, and I do enjoy your brother and—and the others. And I would honestly like the pleasure of your company again. May I?”

  “Perhaps, as a neighbor—and friend—dropping in,” said Angela, “but not as a gentleman caller—at the present.”

  “I understand,” he said softly, and he tipped his hat and bid her good day.

  Angela did not wait to see him go. She turned back to the house and her kitchen. The days were getting cooler she noticed. It was a good thing Thomas had all of the crop in the bins. Any day now they might be surprised by snow.

  ———

  Trudie showed up on the doorstep the next day. Angela thought at first that it might be to try to make amends to Thomas for so thoroughly ignoring him the day before, but Trudie was still full of questions about Mr. Stratton.

  “Does he plan to live here?” she asked.

  “I believe so,” Angela replied.

  “Oh-h, just think of it,” crowed Trudie. “Every girl in the neighborhood will be after him, and I saw him first.”

  Angela wondered how Trudie came to that conclusion. She was the one who had introduced them.

  “I think I’ll have another party,” bubbled Trudie. “I wonder what he likes to do.”

  “He says he likes the stage and operas,” said Angela, challenging Trudie to match that with her backyard parties.

  “Oh-h,” Trudie sighed ecstatically, undaunted. “He is so—so sophisticated. I just love it.”

  Angela was glad when Trudie rose to leave. Her friend was almost to the door before she called back, “Oh, I came to see what you are wearing to the wedding on Saturday. I think I will wear my lavender satin.”

  Angela knew the dress. It was a lovely, full-skirted gown with generous amounts of ribbons and lace. Angela had always felt that it was not a good color choice for a person with red hair.

  “I don’t know,” answered Angela. She had almost forgotten that Saturday was the day Hazel Conroy had chosen for her wedding. She hadn’t even thought ahead to what she—or any other member of the family—would wear, but she k
new they would all be expected to be there.

  “I heard Hazel invite Mr. Stratton,” explained Trudie, “and he said he would be delighted to attend.”

  Then Trudie was gone, tossing her head and smiling.

  As soon as Angela had finished the morning washing, she cast a furtive look at the lowering sky and headed for the barn to find Thomas.

  “Thomas,” she asked, “do you mind if I drive over to Carson?”

  “Today?” he questioned.

  “Right now. I had forgotten about Hazel’s wedding on Saturday and they have a bigger yard goods store there. I thought I could do my purchasing for the winter things we need, too.”

  “It’s rather late in the day to be heading for Carson.”

  “I’ll hurry. I’ll have lots of time to catch the store. When the kids get home, you can put them to their choring.” Then she quickly amended her words. “No, you won’t need to do that. They know what they are to do.”

  Angela ran back to the house to prepare for the trip while Thomas hitched the horse to the light buggy.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Wedding

  Angela coaxed the mare into a trot and settled into the buggy for her ride to Carson. She was eager to cover the miles, but careful not to push the mare too fast. It was bumpy enough at a moderate pace and she did not want to wind the animal.

  In a small box at her feet were garments from home. She had Thomas’s suit to compare with others in the store. She also had one of Derek’s jackets and a foot pattern for each child. She hoped these would enable her to make some sensible choices for her family and be back home again before it got too dark.

  The trip took Angela longer than she had anticipated. She kept one eye on the darkening sky as she made her decisions. She did find a suit for Thomas. By comparing the old and the new she was sure that with a minor adjustment here or there, it would fit him just fine. Then she began her search for a proper suit for Derek. That took a bit longer, and Angela was really getting nervous by the time she found what she was looking for. The footwear came next—shoes and winter wear. There weren’t many clothes to select from so the choice did not take long. She turned her attention to the fabric, fingering some rich materials with sensitive hands.