and cinnamon. She topped each slice of peach pie with a dollop of the whipping cream Mutti had made. He wasn’t going to have any complaints about his food with Miss Martin in the kitchen.
A short time later he shoveled in the last bite of the fruity dessert and tossed his napkin on the table. “Mutti’s right, Miss Martin. The pie was delicious.”
She focused on her plate, but a hint of a smile lifted her lips. “I’m glad you like it, Mr. O’Brien.”
Mutti’s brow creased. “I am glad you two are talking, but I do not like the stiffness. You both call me Mutti, so I think you should call each other James and Becky.”
Miss Martin’s fork froze in midair.
Leave it to Mutti to interfere. She meant well, but he couldn’t let her take charge. “She has a good point. Quon and Chung are my employees, and I use their first names. If you don’t object, I’ll use yours, and you may use mine.”
Calling a young woman by her first name seemed odd. He’d escorted the highly regarded Miss Sophronia Wannamaker to parties in Sacramento City for over a year before she’d given him permission to call her by her Christian name. That was often the case with a cultured lady of society such as Sophie, but Becky was different. This battered young woman with the warm brown eyes would become part of their family for a time, whether he liked it or not.
Becky set her fork down. “You may call me that if you’d like.”
Mutti patted Becky’s hand. “This is better. Ja? Now, I must go to bed. For some reason I cannot get enough sleep today.”
James jumped up. “I’ll get Kate’s bed moved.”
It took him no time to accomplish the task. He scooted the bed into the corner of Mutti’s room opposite hers and spied Becky’s books on the bureau between them. She’d placed a piece of ribbon in her dictionary. Curiosity compelled him to flip to the page she’d marked. A quick scan showed she must have been looking up impetuous. As he’d suspected by her furrowed forehead when he’d used the word earlier, she didn’t know the meaning. Quon, ever the teacher, would appreciate her eagerness to learn.
“Mutti wondered if—” Becky balanced a pile of bedding in her arms. She stared at the book in his hands, opened her mouth as though she intended to say something but clamped it shut.
His chest tightened, and he set the dictionary down.
Her words came out clipped. “If you’re done in here, I’d like to get the bed made up so I can help Mutti get settled for the night.”
“Of course.” He paused in the doorway and assumed an authoritative tone. “Come out when you’re finished, and we’ll talk.”
James gave Mutti a good-night kiss on the cheek, and she disappeared into her room. He knelt on the hearth and added a log to the fire. Settling into his wing-back armchair, he watched as the blaze crackled and popped, sending sparks flying. He’d seen another kind of spark in Becky’s eyes when she’d caught him snooping. You would think he’d been pocketing priceless jewels instead of looking in a dictionary that was falling to pieces. Perhaps since she had so little, she held tightly to what she did have.
He’d often wondered what possessed a woman to leave everything and everyone she knew and head West. Becky had escaped her abusive brother, which took courage. Her quiet strength would serve her well as she cared for Mutti. She could be somewhat obstinate at times. He’d doubted Becky’s abilities when he’d first met her, but it seemed she would make a good nurse, after all.
He tried to imagine Sophie in the role. The picture of her nursing Mutti was so inconceivable he nearly laughed out loud. How vastly different the two women were. Unlike unassuming Becky, Sophie oozed sophistication. No one could carry on a conversation or make people laugh the way she could. She was stunning, too, with her black hair and artistic features. He’d never felt more like a man than when she’d graced his arm at social functions. But he’d severed ties with her after the accident, sparing her the unpleasantness of further acquaintance. A woman of her social standing deserved a man others admired, not the disfigured son of struggling small-town immigrants.
Becky returned and leaned against his father’s large leather armchair, looking bone-weary. “You wanted to talk?”
“Please take a seat. I’ll be brief.”
She glanced longingly at Mutti’s rocker beside James but perched on Kate’s fancy purple chair on the far side of it, instead.
His conscience held him in its clutches. “I want to apologize for invading your privacy. It won’t happen again.”
Incredulity danced in her clear blue eyes, followed by appreciation. “I know the dictionary’s seen better days, but it’s important to me. Now please, tell me about my duties.”
Strong and forthright, too. A promising combination. “In addition to caring for Mutti, I’d hoped you could take over her chores—cooking, cleaning, laundry and so forth. She’s helped with the milking, chickens and gardening, too. I know that’s a lot, but...”
Becky nodded. “I can do everything inside, but I don’t know how to do the things outdoors. We didn’t have a garden or animals, other than the horses, of course.”
“Quon’s offered to teach you how to tend the garden, and I’ll show you how to do the rest. The milking is done early, so I’ll knock on your door in the morning if you’re not up. Any questions?”
“Will I have any free time?”
He hadn’t given that any thought. “I suppose so, when your work’s done, but you’ll need to be available to Mutti.”
“Of course. But would you mind if I read when she’s sleeping?” She glanced longingly at the books on his side table.
He loved to read, so he could understand her desire. “Not at all. Feel free to borrow any book in the house.”
“Thank you.” A smile lit her face, drawing attention to her round cheeks. He’d been so focused on the bruises marring them earlier that he hadn’t noticed the matching set of dimples. “Did you have anything else for me? If not, I have a full day ahead of me tomorrow and would like to get some rest.”
“That’s all.”
“Then good night, sir.”
“You may call me James.”
“I understand.” She rose and headed straight to Mutti’s room with her head held high.
He stared at the closed door. Becky’s show of independence surprised him. Having the spirited woman around could be interesting—and distracting.
* * *
Bacon sizzled in the skillet, and the invigorating scent of brewing coffee filled the kitchen. Becky sliced two thick slabs of bread for toasting.
A bedroom door opened promptly at five, and James appeared. “You’re up early.”
“Yes.” She’d always been an early riser, but her internal clock must still be adjusting to California time, because she’d awakened at four. Not that she minded. She’d had time to read her Bible, pray and sneak some leftovers out to the dog. The friendly fellow had been waiting for her behind the cabin where she’d bathed him. “How do you like your eggs?”
“Over medium.”
She set James’s breakfast before him in short order. He dove into the meal, not even stopping to say a blessing, and finished it in silence while she began preparations for dinner.
The moment he set his fork down, she reached for his empty plate. “Would you like more?”
“I’m fine. Thanks.” He stood and grabbed his hat. “Come with me, please. I want to show you how to do the milking before Mutti wakes.”
“I’ll be right there.” She put the dirty dishes in the tub of soapy water to soak and met