Something Worth Doing Page 3

  “The handsome one?”

  “No, that first-day one who proposed marriage so he could get his 160 acres. I forgot I told him I’d do my homework and we could talk on Saturday. I wanted him to go away.”

  “Well, let’s see. I’ll take the platter out and treat him like he’s here to eat and nothing more.”

  “What’ll you say when he asks to see me? Or worse, Papa?”

  “I’ll say . . . that you’re not here. That you’ve . . . stepped out. Go.” Fanny shooed her out the back. “Stand on the porch steps so I’m not lying.”

  River mist rose off the Willamette as Jenny pulled her shawl around her and shivered on the back porch. Why had she told him to come here? How had she forgotten it? Ben, of course. She’d been distracted by his company. Still, this wasn’t right, her hovering like a scared rabbit, forcing her sister to speak for her. She needed to let Mr. Bunter know she was not interested before he talked to her father and the two of them came up with some scheme to marry her off.

  She took in a deep breath and walked back into the kitchen, then through the door into the dining area, where her heart sank. Her father was already talking to him.

  “Jenny. Mr. Bunter here is asking for your hand in marriage.” Her father said it loud enough for other guests to hear, and she felt her face grow hot and her palms get sticky wet. “Said you told him to come by today and speak to me.”

  “She’s quite the missy.”

  A general murmur of approval came from the diners, with a couple of the men actually applauding.

  She nodded to Mr. Bunter, then said, “Papa, may I speak with you? Alone?”

  “Now, don’t you go all shy,” Bunter said. “We’re going to be family, so you can say whatever you want in front of me.”

  “We’re not family—yet,” Jenny said. “Papa? Please.”

  Why she had to gain the approval of her father to make such intimate decisions was a frustration. Men always seemed to have the upper hand in a woman’s life. But it was the way it was and no changing it at the moment. “Please. If Momma was here, she’d want you to talk with me about this privately. You know she would.”

  Her father nodded. “We’ll be back in a moment, Harold. You enjoy a meal now, on the house.”

  “Oh, well, that’d be good then.” He took a seat and asked for the platter to be passed to him while Jenny turned on her heel and headed to the kitchen, her father behind her.

  “Did you direct him to come by today and talk with me?”

  “I told him to stop here, yes, to get him out the door. He came early to the school that first morning, didn’t want to leave, and I said I’d do some asking around about him and we could discuss it on Saturday. But I totally forgot because, Papa, I have met someone else. A young man.”

  “You’ve been off on your own, have you?”

  “No. No. He brought his niece to school, and we’ve barely had a conversation what with the children there. He’s Ben Duniway. He’s already got a farm and wouldn’t qualify for my 160 acres because he’s been here since 1850. He’s from Illinois.” She took a deep breath. “I’m not even sure about him, but I enjoy his company and he’s coming by to take me and Mary Francis and Catherine to the dance. With your approval. I haven’t had time to ask you. But I know I’m not interested in Mr. Bunter’s proposal. He’s only interested in the land I’d bring to him. He even sent me a letter of proposal. It’s embarrassing, Papa. I did nothing to warrant his attention.”

  “I see.”

  “And I do have a little more information about him. Mr. Duniway said he’d made a number of proposals already and been turned down.”

  “If you don’t want to accept his proposal, you have to let the man know. I won’t do that for you.”

  She clasped his elbow in gratitude. “Oh, Father, thank you so much.”

  “You got everything settled then?” Harold had walked right into the kitchen. Fanny stood behind him, signaling that she’d been unable to stop him. “We can set the date then?”

  Jenny swallowed. “I’m glad you’ve come.” This way he wouldn’t be humiliated by her refusal being witnessed by a room full of guests. “I must decline your proposal.”

  “What? You leading me on and then saying no?”

  “I didn’t intend to lead you on. I simply needed time to consider, and now I have, and I am not interested in your marriage proposal.”

  “What do you want? Pretties? I can buy you some nice things to flatter you. Consider it wedding presents. Not something to expect often though.”

  She could see that she had created her own problem by not putting a stop to it that day in the school. But she’d done what she did to protect herself from him. Instead she’d given him fuel to make the decision an affront to him rather than honoring her own right to her choices. She’d remember this. Don’t make excuses or put someone off. Face the music. Hook your corset and stand tall.

  “Mr. Bunter, I know you mean well and your offer will be accepted one day, I feel certain. But not by me. I’m sorry I led you to believe a little time to consider would change my mind, but I did tell you I wasn’t interested in marriage. And I’m not. Now. Or ever, with you.”

  “I won’t give up. I’ll come a-courting.”

  “Then you’ll be wasting time better spent seeking another.”

  He looked around. The color drained from Fanny’s face, turning it white as her starched apron, and fourteen-year-old Catherine—the most beautiful of the Scott girls, at least in Jenny’s mind—backed out the door into the dining room, her blue eyes wide as biscuits.

  “Court other than a Scott girl,” her father said. “My daughter has spoken, Bunter. And I back her.”

  Jenny felt a warmth of gratitude toward her father for his defense.

  “She leading you by a nose ring, is she, Tucker?”

  Her father bristled, and Jenny reached to put her hand over his. “It is a woman’s right to make her own choices,” she said. “Men’s laws give that God-given right to other men—their fathers and sons, brothers sometimes—and certainly to husbands once the vows are said. I happen to have a father who believes a woman can make some decisions on her own, and this is one of them.” She thought of another argument. “I’m actually saving you from a life of misery with me. We’d be at constant odds.”

  “I’d break you.”

  “No, you wouldn’t.”

  He arched his back, looked down at everyone in the room, his eyes landing on Jenny. “I wouldn’t want you anyway, though breaking you from a wild filly into a steady mare could be a worthy effort. But not worth it for 160 acres. Woe to the man who does win you. He’ll never get a word in and be henpecked for certain.”

  Don’t defend. Don’t add fuel to his fire. “I hope you enjoyed your meal,” Jenny said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to see if the chickens have given up any more eggs.”

  She spoke a prayer of thanksgiving as the door closed behind her and she heard Mr. Bunter say to her father, “I don’t envy you trying to find a mate for that missy. You got yourself a spinster on your hands.”

  And what would be so bad about that?

  FOUR

  The Timing of Love

  The quartet walked. Sisters Maggie and Kate trailed Jenny and Ben to the dance, meandering a discreet distance behind. At the last minute, her father had told Fanny she needed to remain behind to tend the inn and spend time with her father’s choice of beau for her, Amos Cook. Poor Fanny.

  Jenny’s younger sisters giggled behind them, and Jenny found herself apologizing for their silliness, even as she remembered the intensity of the confrontation with Mr. Bunter. He’d frightened her with his bluster, and while she was grateful her father had stood up for her, it also troubled her. Would she always need a man to buttress her decisions before they’d be taken seriously? And how fortunate she was that her father supported her, though he’d done the opposite for Fanny’s preferred suitor. How unfair to Fanny.

  “Giggling girls is a happy soun
d to me, so long as they aren’t giggling at me,” Ben said, bringing Jenny back to the moment.

  “They’re happy. We’ve had such grief in the past year with Momma’s and little Willie’s deaths. It seems happiness has escaped us.” She put her arm through his, and he patted her gloved hand.

  Maggie said in her still childlike voice, “Be careful up there.” Maggie was her pious sister.

  She turned around and put her finger to her lips to signal silence adding, “I’m eighteen, Maggie.”

  “A body has to come up for air in a world where there are always floods and fires and family feuds,” Jenny told Ben as she turned back, her elbow securely attached to his. “That’s one reason I like teaching so much. If I ever run a school of my own, I’ll call it Hope School, because that’s what I think education does for people—gives them hope to get them through the hard times, to try for higher things. Some things are worth doing regardless of how they turn out. That’s my thinking. What do you say to that, Mr. Duniway?”

  “Good thought. I headed to the gold fields in Southern Oregon a few months after I arrived in Oregon. I hoped I’d become rich. Instead I mined enough to buy a donation land claim but not enough to operate it like a manor boss. It’s hard work but worthy work. It’d be more fun to have a wife and family to share it with. Not the work so much, but the outcome of it.”

  She didn’t feed his fire, either. She wasn’t certain about a married life, and a week of courting ought not take her there. Risky decisions should be made with caution.

  They reached the dance hall, and Ben helped her step up the stairs to the music flowing out the open door. It was a balmy evening. Ben motioned her sisters to come ahead, the chaperoning now reversed with Ben and Jenny looking after them in this jubilant crowd. He directed them toward the punch bowl beyond the coatroom.

  “Got my little flock to look after,” he said.

  “We Scott girls can look after ourselves,” Kate said. “Can’t we, Jenny?”

  “I think it’s proper to have a man watch out for our welfare.” Maggie spoke up.

  “Let me get you all a cup of punch while you nestle yourselves by the wall there.”

  “He’s nice,” Kate said, as Ben drifted to the refreshments, stopping on the way to talk with friends.

  “And handsome.” Maggie settled herself on a higher chair and swung her legs back and forth.

  “It is nice to be waited on, isn’t it?” Jenny said. “We do our share of serving at the inn. I wish Fanny had joined us.”

  “It’s a woman’s place to serve,” Maggie said. “Scripture admonishes us.”

  “Scripture also shows us we should learn at another’s feet and not always be working.” Jenny recalled the verses about Mary and Martha. She tended to behave like Martha but wished to be able to rest and learn like Mary.

  Ben brought the drinks back and sat beside her. “So you want to open your own school one day?”

  “Possibly. I want to be able to support myself or contribute to a family if I have one. But I like having coins I get to spend the way I want. I can do that now, after giving some over to Papa, of course.”

  “That seems reasonable.” Ben took a sip of his drink, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He waved at someone across the floor, returned his attention to Jenny. “I think a wife ought to have a say in how monies are spent, though when in doubt, it’s the man’s duty to make the final decision.”

  “Hmm. What if it turns out he made the wrong decision?”

  “Might teach him to listen more closely to his wife. But then, we all make mistakes. Can’t let the count of them hammer too long and hard at your chest, or it’ll break your heart. Won’t go far with a broken heart. You’ll have to find a way to mend it or be miserable for life.” He took another sip. “I’m good at fixing things. You might give me a chance.”

  “This is getting too profound,” Jenny said. “Are you fixin’ to dance with me?”

  “If you’ll have me.”

  Jenny took another sip of her drink. It had a fizz to it. From the sassafras, she imagined. She let Ben lift the cup from her fingers, set both of their cups on their chairs as though to hold their place, and they took to the cornmeal-polished wooden floor. Jenny thought she might not be able to breathe, his gentle touch, the way he held her eyes as they moved around the room. Of course, the man can dance. He could sing, and the rhythms moved casual as a lazy stream through his lanky body. Jenny lost touch with what was happening around them, could only see those blue eyes holding hers. She felt herself lifted—not physically, but like she’d been carried to a mountaintop where the air was thin and she had trouble catching her breath.

  Then she did have trouble catching her breath.

  It might have been the activity or perhaps the heat of the room, but she lost her balance and found herself sagging into Ben, who put his wide hand around her waist and glided her from the floor to their chairs. The girls quickly picked up the cups to let them sit.

  “What happened?” Maggie asked. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, really. Holy cow chips, it’s nothing.” She didn’t want to bring attention to herself.

  “First time I ever literally swept a woman off her feet. Let me get you a little water.”

  “I’m glad of that,” Jenny told Ben. “I just need a moment’s rest.”

  Ben settled her on the chair, frowned, but succumbed to her suggestion that he dance with her sisters. Watching them ease across the floor, she thought it must have been the passion of the day that weakened her. She’d gone from anticipation to confrontation to Ben’s kind ministration, all leaving her reeling. It was happening too quickly. She wasn’t ready to fall in love. I wonder if this is how it happened for Momma.

  Then it was time to leave. Papa had been strict about when they had to be back. He would have come himself, except that his wife was pregnant and it wouldn’t do to have her there nor to leave her home alone. And he had to chaperone Fanny, after all, left behind with her not-chosen beau.

  On the way back, Ben suggested the girls walk in front of them, and they concurred. The moon lit their way. He held Jenny’s hand, spoke softly. “I’d like to do this every Saturday night with you. Even midweek. Or every single day.”

  That shortness of breath caught her again. Her legs ached, her back hurt. Only her fingers wrapped by his were warm as though she held them before a fire.

  “Take your time, Miss Jenny,” Ben said. “But my mind’s made up. And I don’t think you’ll find anyone who could love you more.”

  “You barely know me. I have a caustic tongue at times. I can be officious, bossy as a herd cow. Aspirations drive me, call me forward, for opportunities my mother never had because she was pregnant nearly all the time and had to endure both hard births and too-soon deaths. It broke her.” Jenny remembered her mother’s tears once when she learned she was pregnant again. “She was so kind, so gifted, and so tired all the time. I don’t want that.”

  “But you’d like a babe or two?”

  “Or three or four. One day. I want to be able to raise them in safety, without worry over debt or illness we couldn’t afford to get a doctor for.”

  He shouted to the girls ahead. “Not so far out there. Your pa will shoot me if you fall in a puddle or worse.” To Jenny he said, “I like the ‘we’ word you used.”

  “I’d want a marriage to be a team.”

  “Good thought. I train horses to work as a team.”

  “Are you comparing us to horses?” She laughed as she said it.

  “Might be a few factors in common, most important is that they’re certain they’re headed in the same direction.” He cleared his throat. “May I speak to your father? We wouldn’t have to marry right away. Take our time.”

  She liked the idea of taking time to see how their walking side by side might work—and she’d have time to savor her independence before giving it up for love. “Let’s wait until after the school term is over. You might change your mind the m
ore time you spend with me and my family.”

  “Not likely. But I can wait. Just don’t let ol’ Harold slip in and steal you away.” He had a deep voice he raised when he teased, although she didn’t think what he said was totally in jest.

  “There’ll be no chance of that. My father has affirmed my interest in another.” She squeezed his fingers. “Once Papa decides, it’s pretty much a baked pie.” She could only hope that a life with Ben Duniway was the sweetness to the soul she wanted.

  Spring brought its high step to the region, buds bursting, the fragrance of wild roses perfuming the air. Jenny still rode to the school early, leaving the family she boarded with before dawn each day. They were a kind couple with one young child, who paid the school fee by providing room and board for the teacher. Ben no longer brought Josie to school. That child rode her own horse. Instead, Ben joined the Scott family each weekend, went to church with her, and they became a pleasant gossip whisper long before Ben spoke to Tucker Scott about his daughter Jenny’s hand. She found not seeing him all week long was a greater distraction than looking forward to a morning and afternoon short visit at the school chaperoned by children. Is this what I want? She posed the question to herself a dozen times a day when thoughts of Ben interrupted a math lesson where the children measured their desks or shared a biscuit to figure out fractions. She was just getting started with her profession and believed her work was important. But so was the work of a wife and mother. At least Ben wasn’t pressuring her. He waited for Jenny to set the timing.

  As sometimes happens, though, timing is often taken from us.

  FIVE

  The Vagaries of Choice

  “It’s this way. I’m sorry, but you girls cannot remain under my roof with . . . my wife’s indiscretion. Fanny, you must marry Amos and you two can take over the inn. Maggie and Harriet can remain with you, as can Kate and Sarah. Jenny, is it Ben, or are you wanting me to find you someone else? There’s always Harold.”