glanced toward the ostrich pens as she left her buggy for the stable hand, Roel, to unhitch.
“Mother?” Vonnie called out, dumping her packages on the mahogany deacon’s bench in the foyer.
The Taylor house was a large, two-story cedar, built by Vonnie’s grandfather, Reginald Edimious Taylor, and his sons. The Italianate Victorian house, with its slightly pitched roof, square towers and round-arched windows, represented more than a home: it was a tribute to the Taylor men’s ingenuity and quality craftsmanship, which had earned them a living in those days.
“In the kitchen!”
The click of nails on hardwood floors signaled that Suki, the family mutt, was approaching to extend her usual greeting. Leaping high in the air, she demanded Vonnie’s attention.
“Down, Suki…yes, I’m happy to see you, too.” She rubbed the dog’s ears, then gave her an affectionate pat. “Come on. Let’s go find Mother.”
The aroma of frying meat filled the air, and Vonnie followed it to the kitchen at the back of the house. The spacious cooking and eating area was her favorite room in the house. Fourteen windows kept the room light and cheery all year round, and she never tired of the panoramic view. Cammy Taylor was at the stove, dishing up thick slices of ham.
Cammy, a small, frail-looking woman with the figure of a young girl, looked up. Her laugh was a tinkle, her eyes bright as a bird’s, and she was never certain of anything, she’d tell anyone—except that she’d loved Teague Taylor since she was a girl of fourteen.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t make it home before dark.”
“You know Brigette. She can smell the barn a mile away. She was high-stepping by the time we reached the lane. Daddy not in yet?”
“No, I’ve called him twice, but he’s still out at the pens.”
Vonnie hung her bonnet on a peg and went to the hutch to get the everyday china. “Mmm, smells good in here.”
“Daddy wanted ham tonight—and rhubarb pie.”
“I saw Franz earlier.” Vonnie gathered silverware to set the table.
“You did? Did he say how Audrey is today?”
“Not good, I’m afraid.”
“Well, after supper I’ll have your daddy carry a big piece of pie over to her. She loves rhubarb. Always did, even as a child.”
Folding napkins, Vonnie placed one beside each plate.
“I invited them for supper Wednesday night.”
“Wonderful. The fresh air will do Audrey good. She stays closed up in that house too much.” Dumping collard greens into a bowl, Cammy carried them to the table. “That daddy of yours—Vonnie, go tell him his supper’s getting cold.”
The words had no sooner left her mouth when the back door opened, and Teague Taylor came in, stomping his feet. Her daddy had always reminded Vonnie of P.K. Baldwin. They were from the same hardy stock: whipcord thin, skin leatherlike from the sun, hair a steel-gray, eyes that squinted permanently into the future.
“Well, well,” he said, glancing at Cammy, then at Vonnie. “If it isn’t the two prettiest little gals in Potter County.”
“Oh, go on with you,” Cammy said, waving a long fork in his direction.
Vonnie was amazed that after thirty-five years, Teague Taylor could still make her mother blush. She smiled, enjoying her parents’ spirited antics. Her mother and dad had an enviable relationship, an affectionate and teasing kind of love that made her long for a marriage like theirs. They’d adopted her young, an infant, but she’d never thought of her birth mother. Cammy was her only mother.
Cammy carried a bowl of potatoes to the table, brushing past Teague on the way and bumping him pointedly with her hip.
With a sweep of his arms, Teague scooped his wife off her feet and held her to his chest in a bone-crushing hug. Protesting laughingly, she swatted at him, demanding to be put down.
Teague and Cammy had that rare relationship, able to weather any crisis that came their way. Theirs was a marriage of respect and mutual trust. A marriage based on love for each other and love of God. Teague and Cammy lived their belief, except for Teague’s unrelenting hatred for P.K. Baldwin. If Vonnie could find a man who would make her half as happy as Teague made Cammy, she’d marry him on the spot.
But then, that’s exactly what she had done, wasn’t it?
Kissing her soundly, Teague set Cammy back on her feet, then hugged Vonnie.
“How you doing, Puddin’?”
“Good, Dad. How about you?”
“If I felt any better, you’d have to tie me down!” He pumped a wash pan full of water, splashed his face and reached for a towel. “Order that lace you wanted?”
“I did. And the buttons. Mr. Beasley’s ordering more Duchesse for me. Should be here in plenty of time to finish the Wilson dress.”
“Duchesse, huh? I suppose that’s something all womanified and frilly?”
“Something like that.” She grinned. Womanified. “How are the birds?”
“Looking good, ladies. Real good.”
Cammy slid a pan of biscuits from the oven. “Harold Jenson stopped by this afternoon. Said there was a man in Phoenix interested in buying a pair.”
“He wants adults?”
“Harold thought he did—and Lewis Tanner stopped by again. He wants that fifty acres, Teague. He’s offering to pay top price for it.”
Teague grunted. “I’ll bet he does.”
“Honestly, you ought to consider his offer. We don’t need the land.”
“We sure don’t need Lewis’s dirty money. The Good Book says we’re to avoid the appearance of evil, that includes taking money earned in ways God wouldn’t approve. Besides, you know he hates the birds. He’d like nothing better than to see us sell out to someone who’ll run cattle.”
“You’ll do what you want, but I think the offer’s worth considering.”
Teague switched the subject. “That’s the third person this month wanting birds. If I keep selling at this rate I won’t have enough roosters for my own flock.” He rubbed a bar of soap to a high lather and scrubbed his elbows.
“Daddy, I saw Franz when I was in town.”
Teague kept scrubbing. “Did you?”
“He sends his best. He and Audrey are coming for supper Wednesday night.”
Teague rinsed his arms. “Well, your momma will enjoy the company. Hand me a towel there, will you, Puddin’?”
Vonnie stepped to the hutch to get a hand cloth. “Franz said to tell you to put enough sugar in the cobbler this time, Mom.”
“You tell Franz Schuyler that I’m baking the cobbler, not him.”
Handing the towel to her father, Vonnie grinned. “You tell him yourself.”
“Don’t think that I won’t.”
Drying off, Teague met her gaze. “Heard you danced with Adam the other night.”
Vonnie winced. “Mother.”
“Oh, don’t get all flustered. I remarked to your daddy that it was a shame there was such bad blood between him and P.K. Adam’s a fine man. Not only handsome, but responsible and levelheaded. A woman could do worse.”
Teague tweaked Vonnie under the chin as he moved to the table. “You stay away from the Baldwins. If I catch you anywhere near one of P.K.’s boys, I’ll tan your hide.”