Black Hills Song: Regional Romance, #1

By Kari Trumbo

★★★★★ "A fabulous read a few hours of pure delight!" ~ Pam Foster, Reviewer
★★★★★ "What a wonderful book! It is well written and will keep you turning the pages." ~ Ann Ferri, Reviewer

Three brothers race against time to save their home in this gripping three-part historical romance.

After losing their Ma and Pa to a tragic illness, Ezekiel Wagner and his brothers are plagued by a mysterious addendum in their will. A threat against the only family they have left forces them to risk everything to save their aunt's life before the curtain closes on the construction of her opera house.

Tender Melody

As an orphan, Martha never had a family. When she is falsely accused and loses her position, she's left penniless and desperate. Desperate enough to consider Ezekiel's marriage of convenience offer. The business arrangement will benefit them both, but will she end up falling in love with the honorable man who saved her from poverty?

Beloved Duet

Debra has suffered abuse, been deceived and held captive. Sam Wagner, though he is the forgotten son, wants to help Debra out of her pain and to heal. Because she's been tricked before, she'd rather have nothing to do with him or the hand he offers. As time runs short, will she see he's not like the man who took advantage of her. Will she see his love for her and accept the family she's never had?

Grand Finale

Caleb Wagner flees to escape the pressure of finding a wife. While on the run, he meets an opera star in hiding. Star is everything, beauty, poise, and voice like an angel. She is also being chased by a man who wants her money. Could she be the final piece the family needs, allowing him to reunite with his brothers? Or will Star's delay doom them all?

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Inked in Faith Publications LLC
• Release date: Mar 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215413425

Kari Trumbo

Kari Trumbo is an international bestselling author of historical and contemporary romance and romantic suspense. She makes her home in Minnesota - where lakes and frigid temps are plentiful - with her family and husband of over twenty years. Reading, listening to contemporary Christian music, singing when no one's listening, and curling up near the wood stove when winter hits are her favorite things. She loves chatting on social media, so be sure to look her up. 

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Rapid City, SD 1903

Ezekiel stared up at the towering entertainment hall owned by his ailing aunt, Rosemary Wagner, and prayed he didn’t show the anxiety roiling inside him. He didn’t belong on a city street, and certainly not in the opulent building.

They had imported the red brick facing of The Grand Opera House from Minnesota, or so his uncle told the tale. Before he’d passed away suddenly from an illness, he’d filled them with many stories about this building. The elaborate brickwork had replaced the burned wood façade that had only lasted for a decade. The brick would last a lifetime. Not that it would matter if Zeke didn’t convince his aunt to give up her meddling.

A woman rushed from the theater right by him, her heels clacking on the walk as an unknown man shoved him out of the way in pursuit.

You there! Ezekiel called, catching his balance against the cab of the carriage. There was no reason to be chasing a woman like that. She could trip or fall. A woman dressed as she was wouldn’t have any reason to be chased. Especially from the very establishment he hoped to be running soon.

The man turned just long enough for the woman to disappear around the corner of the huge theater and into the crowd. He stopped then scowled at Ezekiel as he scanned the area, then heaved a great sigh. I hope you’re prepared to face the sheriff, sir. You just aided that thief.

A thief? He glanced in the direction the well-appointed woman had run. Her dress had been of fine fabric, not calico. She’d had leather boots on her narrow feet as she’d run past him, holding her hems just high enough to allow her to move easily.

The woman in question poked her head back around the corner and locked gazes with him. How he knew she was innocent couldn’t be known, but he would swear it. Her dark hair was neat and done in a soft bun on the back of her head. Her gentle face may not have been as memorable as some that would walk out of the Opera House doors, but it was attractive. She watched him from behind the corner of the theater, and he forced himself to avert his glance before her assailant wondered what he could be gawking at.

Yes, that woman dared apply for a job as a seamstress using a trunk full to the brim with stolen clothing. This will certainly not prove her prowess with a needle to the new owner of The Grand Opera House. She had to know we are in desperate need to think we wouldn’t realize her scheme.

Ezekiel held in a chuckle. If he could coerce his aunt into agreement with him, he and his brothers would be the new owners within a few hours. I’m sure my aunt didn’t agree with chasing someone into the street. He tugged on his collar and adjusted his hat, forcing himself to look the man in the eyes instead of trying to find the woman again.

Your aunt? So, judging by your look, you must be Ezekiel. Would you believe she trusted the woman? Preposterous. No woman of her age could have so many gowns of that quality that weren’t already sold. She had to have taken them from her former employer.

His mother had been part of an early acting troupe and had often told stories that those who wanted jobs would do the impossible to get them. He doubted the woman had stolen anything, except perhaps many hours of her own time to create the dresses. Yes, well, there is the matter of proof. Do you know the clothing to be stolen goods? Were they reported as missing?

The man in the tight stovepipe suit hunched slightly. Well, no. She said they were reproductions of garments used by Grand Theater Companies, out East. But the tailoring and fabrics were far too fine to be reproductions. I threatened her with police action, and she ran off, proving she must be guilty. He stuck his thin nose higher in the air.

The woman vigorously shook her head, catching his eye once again. Only then did he notice the measuring tape still draped around her delicate shoulders. Or perhaps she ran because she was certain the police wouldn’t believe her? Neither of you have proof of guilt or innocence, and the sheriff is more likely to believe you, especially if you are known to him as the one reporting the issue.

The woman bobbed her head up and down as if in agreement, and Ezekiel bit his cheeks to keep from smiling at her. The longer he watched her, the more fetching she became with hair the color of Grandma Lourdes’ coffee cake and skin as pale as fine wool. The burgundy of her dress accentuated everything about her, and he wished he knew the color of her eyes.

"I wouldn’t run if it had been me. The man turned, but the woman dashed around the corner before he could catch sight of her. What are you staring at?"

A page boy. What did you say your name was? Ezekiel didn’t feel the least bit bad about misdirecting him. He’d chased after a woman based on how well she could sew—a talent she’d probably had since she was young. I think I saw the woman cut down that side street. He pointed in the opposite direction of where she’d ducked to hide.

Mr. Adrien Piedmont. I’ll find her, and when I do… He stomped off.

Ezekiel headed inside the elaborate front doors covered in colored glass with scrolled metalwork for handles. Ezekiel grasped the handle—another import his uncle probably couldn’t afford at the time. If only they’d been able to have a show or two to recoup some of the expense, but he’d died before they could finish the building renovation, and now Ezekiel’s aunt was dying of a broken heart.

Would the mysterious woman meet him inside? Or, now that he’d assisted her, would she disappear? He strode past the ticket booths onto the lush carpets around the edges of the room. There stood the side doors into the main theater hall. He’d never actually been inside a theater, but his entire life his family had spoken often of performing on stage together.

He paused as stories of the things Ma had described became real. The carpets, the echo, the elaborate fixtures… Ma had loved the theater. When he’d been a small boy, Ma had told him about many theaters, not just this one, and had even drawn him a picture so he knew what one would look like. He still kept the drawing inside a book back in his room on the ranch.

He’d wanted to follow in both Pa and Ma’s footsteps. Pa had taught him to play the guitar, while his younger two brothers learned to play the banjo and fiddle.

Grandfather had played music and both Pa and Uncle Adam grew up around it. Pa’s family had remained poor farmers, however Uncle Adam had made money in investing and creating a touring company. That business eventually stopped traveling, giving he and Aunt Rosemary the chance to do what they’d always wanted to: own an opera house of their own.

As he strode down the aisle along the right side of the auditorium, the woman who’d been running stepped out from behind the dark black velvet curtains on stage and curtsied slightly. Her measuring tape was now gone, as was the spunk she’d shown in the street.

He strode toward the stage, too curious to stay put. She clasped her hands in front of her and her cheeks, though narrow, spoke of a soft smile, though it was mostly hidden in shadow.

Good day, he offered. I am Mr. Ezekiel Wagner. He bowed slightly. And I’m going to hazard a guess that you’re no thief. He took off his hat and left it on a nearby seat.

She didn’t step down from the stage, instead she took in a deep breath, then cleared her throat. "I owe you a debt of gratitude. Thank you for stopping Mr. Piedmont from chasing me. I did not steal those costumes. They took years to make."

He felt a smile cross his face, and it felt so strange. He wasn’t prone to frivolity. He had no proof. Ezekiel stepped closer. I missed your name?

She glanced away from him, then at the floor. He’d noted her narrow shoulders, but her tiny waist gave the impression that there was almost nothing to her, like she could simply disappear if she had a mind to.

I am Martha Gustafson and, as you said, I ran because the police would not believe me. I have no family here in South Dakota. No one to vouch for my name. I traveled all the way from New York on the word of Mr. Wagner that he would hire me. But he… Her voice cracked slightly, and she held the back of her wrist to her lips as her face crumpled.

Died, he finished for her. Yes, I know. Surely my aunt knew of his business arrangements. They always spoke as if they were a team. The man who chased you said Aunt Rosemary agreed with you.

Though, his aunt was completely out of sorts after losing her husband. Even in her letter to bring Ezekiel to town, she’d waxed strange with an offer to take over the theater, but only if he and his brothers were wed. If she was in a mood to be contrary, she may still send the poor woman away, even if she didn’t believe Martha was a thief.

Your aunt? I had no idea. I tried to speak to her earlier. Martha’s voice hitched slightly and softened to almost a whisper. But she would not speak to me once I mentioned her husband’s request that I come. She became agitated, and that’s when that man came in and accused me of the worst villainy.

Though theft was horrible, there were worse things. It’s her grief. I apologize, Miss Gustafson. Please, come with me and I’ll see if we can right this matter. Perhaps just seeing him would fix whatever ill had happened to his aunt’s mind. She’d always been so keen before. He had to hope. Without progress on the Opera House, all the money they’d invested would go to waste.

I…would rather not go back to her chamber again, in the event Mr. Piedmont returns. Thank you. I’ll be here, hiding in the study. If you could speak to her on my behalf, I’ll pack my trunk in the meantime.

I can do that for you. What will you do if she doesn’t relent? He prayed she knew of someone she could turn to. He felt no small measure of guilt at her predicament, though he was not the one who caused it.

I don’t know how I’ll get home. I used what little coin I had to get here. Mr. Wagner assured me the job was mine if I could simply manage to make the trip. We’d met a few years ago when I was still a very young understudy. He wrote to me when he bought this theater… She sniffled and drew a hanky from the folds of her skirt.

He nodded, wishing he could climb the stairs to the stage and take her hand. He’d never been one to speak to women of any sort, but Miss Gustafson’s frailty spoke to his heart. Ma had always told him he would make a fine husband if only such a fine wife were ever created. He’d taken that to mean she’d wanted him to find the best wife under God.

Unfortunately, his sweet Ma would never meet his wife or that of his brothers. Pa and Ma had taken sick with what the doctor assumed to be typhoid fever, and both died the same week Uncle Wagner had. Grief always seemed to strike hard and fast.

He wasn’t sure exactly where Aunt Rosemary’s chamber was, nor the study where Miss Gustafson would be. Other than Martha, the entire building seemed abandoned. He’d thought the workers would be there finishing the renovation for the grand reopening, but no sounds of saws or hammering filled any of the rooms. Instead, echoes seemed to be the only inhabitants.

Hello? he called down a strange hallway he’d found along the other side of the building.

A woman in white peered down at him from the end of the hall. Master Wagner? Is that you? Oh, good heavens!

He’d never been called master in all his life. But if he was to be the owner of a grand opera house, maybe he’d have to get used to such things. Pa had always called him nothing more than a rancher. A sheep rancher, at that, which held them much lower than cattle ranchers in most people’s esteem.

The land was to be his legacy. Not a theater. But debt on the land had forced his hand. He’d be a master of a theater if it meant he could continue to manage the herd of sheep his father left behind. Though the draw to the theater was stronger than he expected, now that he was there.

Yes, ma’am. I am Ezekiel Wagner, he answered.

She motioned him to come down the hall, then ducked out of view. He wouldn’t have even known there was anything else there if the woman hadn’t gone that way. He followed her lead and found himself in another hallway. Once inside, it led to the butler’s pantry of a house behind the theater.

Mr. Wagner purchased this house last summer and had this breezeway built so he could easily move between his home and the theater. The nurse filled in the question on his tongue before he could ask it.

Brilliant. He glanced around.

Both brilliant and an issue. If people wander down that hall, they have access to the house and I’d never know it. I’ve asked Horace, the footman and butler, to put in a door with a bell, but he’s got so many other duties he never has time.

He’d install a door himself if he had time. Is Aunt Rosemary in good enough health for a visit?

She’ll have to be. There’s the matter of who will take over the theater to attend to. She certainly can’t manage. All the workers have walked off the job. If it’s not finished soon it never will be, and that is your uncle’s legacy. Not to mention all that has been spent to purchase the burned building and renovate it. Foolish, if you ask me. The nurse bustled through the kitchen and into another narrow hall that led to the front entrance.

Ezekiel felt the need to defend his uncle’s name. He wasn’t in poor health when they purchased the theater. No one expected him to die.

She responded with little more than a growling sound in her throat and proceeded to the front door.

If you’d rather use the main entrance, this is where you’ll come in. Leave this way to orient yourself with the house in relation to the theater. Mrs. Wagner has said that you and your brothers will own this house along with the theater, especially now that it connects them. At least you will soon enough, I trust. She gave him a quelling look that had him feeling like Ma had returned for a moment.

He nodded, glad that someone else seemed to think this talk would go quickly as he hoped. He glanced around at the dark wood of the paneled walls, eating the light from the windows and making everything seem shadowy and obscure. His own home, the one he’d have to fight to keep, was smaller than the room where he stood. Yet, he wanted the farm more. Thank you. I think it’s time I face my aunt and find out what she meant in her letter.

The nurse nodded and strode efficiently up the stairs. I’m Lottie, by-the-by. Not Nurse Lottie, not anything else, just Lottie, Mrs. Blevins if you prefer. It bothers your aunt to remember all the names. She’s grown confused in the last week or two and she only eats when she’s quite exhausted and forgets she doesn’t want to.

She and my uncle were… Just like his Ma and Pa, closer than most others he knew.

Yes, and her heart is fragile after his passing. Whatever she asks of you, do your best to comply.

As long as it’s within reason. What she’d asked of him and his brothers seemed well beyond reason and into the delirious realm of fantasy.

Lottie opened a door and announced his presence, then held it open for him. He stepped inside a stuffy room with red velveteen furniture and a huge four-poster bed. His tiny aunt laid there in a white nightgown and nightcap, her long black and white braid hung limply down her front.

I trust you’ve done as I asked? She spoke softly, but with conviction, as if she might be in control of her mind.

No, ma’am. I wanted to discuss the theater with you. He pulled a letter from Sam to his mail-order bride from his pocket. But Sam is ready and willing, if you could ask Horace to post this letter for him.

She shook her head and held up her hand. A letter? A mail-order bride? You want me to change my mind for just one of you? She took a deep breath.

Zeke opened his mouth to explain himself further, but she stopped him with a quelling glance.

I know you think I’m being unreasonable, or that I’m trying to rush you. I think you need to understand this request isn’t just about me. If you open yourself up to finding someone and you have the right motivation, you can find the right person.

Is this truly the motivation you want? Hanging her death over their heads as a reason to get married didn’t leave him in any mood for romance.

Ezekiel, you and your brothers are discerning and fine men. As a woman who just lost the one purpose my life had, I will not sign over ownership of the theater until you are wed. Not just Sam, but all of you. I know you need the money to pay off your father’s debts, so this comes at an opportune time for you. But the hour of my death isn’t certain. You’d all best hurry.

But Aunt Rosemary—

She held up her hand for silence once more. My mind is set. I care about all of you and I don’t want to see you alone. Not like me. You need each other, but you need companions even more. I will not listen to another word. Don’t come back until you’re married. If you don’t find a wife before I die, I’ll leave the theater to my lawyer. Sam’s letter will be posted later today. I’ll have my lawyer take care of it after his next visit.

What about the costumer who saw you earlier? She was chased into the street. At least his aunt could handle that matter if she wouldn’t take care of his own.

His aunt chuckled slightly. She would probably make a fine wife. Now you have but to find two more women who are willing.

He felt his cheeks redden at the idea. Not to wed. She was promised a position. You can’t simply ignore her after she came all this way.

That was when we thought the grand opening was going to be in a month. Without anyone to take over, there is no guarantee there will ever be a show. Why should I hire someone and pay them if I don’t know if they will ever be needed?

But the poor woman would starve if he didn’t do something…

Aunt Rosemary had known more than he’d thought she did. He hadn’t told anyone of his father’s debt, the one that would allow the county to take his farm from him if he didn’t pay within the next sixty days. But could he marry and find wives for his brothers and get the theater, making enough money in time to keep the homestead?

You’d better get going, Zeke. Time is not on your side.

CHAPTER TWO

Alittle mouse wedged his pink nose outside his tiny hole in the wall and Martha watched him with a shrewd eye. One mouse could cost her everything. They would tear apart her fabrics and make a mess where they didn’t gnaw and rip. If her trunk had to make another cross-country journey, it had to be free of vermin. Her livelihood depended on it.

She wound up her measuring tape and laid it in her sewing kit, then clasped the lid closed with a loud clack that seemed to fill the whole theater and sent the little mouse scurrying. You had best run back and hide, she admonished the creature, unwilling to harm it. There’s no room for you here, and I have no food to share.

The door opened behind her and she jumped to her feet, slamming her elbow into the dress form next to her and toppling it over, sending garments and pins tumbling to the floor. Mr. Wagner stood in the doorway, his worn slouch hat still in his hands.

His brown hair was slightly long for the fashion, but he had an air that fashions weren’t one of his cares. His suit, while fine, was not tailored to fit him perfectly and probably purchased second-hand, making him thrifty. Part of her wished to offer him her services as a seamstress, but the worry that it might prick his pride stilled her words. There was no other kindness she could offer after he’d listened to her story and taken her side with Mr. Piedmont.

He cleared his throat and took a deep breath. I spoke to my aunt.

She nodded. I would assume by your stature that she did not grant me the job. Her knees went weak, and she sat down on her trunk to avoid collapsing. How would she ever get home now? Or even make enough money to live on?

I’m sorry, Miss Gustafson. However, I have an idea if you’re willing? He took a step farther into the room but remained distant. His brown eyes measured her, and she prayed he didn’t find her lacking as most others did. People rarely thought her capable of anything of note. She was perfectly forgettable.

An idea? Her small voice squeaked, and she cleared her throat. Why would you bother? You don’t own the theater yet, so you can’t hire me in her stead. I’m hardly your concern.

He chuckled slightly. I feel like I am after the situation earlier. I may not be in a position to hire you, but I can offer you a room until my aunt comes to her senses. I pray she will soon. You would have a place to sleep, a roof over your head, all of Ma’s fabric if you want it, and a few meals a day. We aren’t rich, not by a long stretch, but it’s better than trying to beg here in Rapid City.

Who would be so kind as to offer a stranger a room in their home? She’d never heard of such a thing. There had to be something he wasn’t telling her, though he seemed as far from sinister as she could consider. How far away are you from the city? She didn’t want to venture too far if she had to come back. When Mrs. Wagner came to her senses, she might change her mind.

I live about an hour outside of town, farther up the hills, not quite to the highest peaks. My brothers and I own a sheep ranch nestled in a valley.

She’d lived in the city so long she couldn’t sleep without the constant noise. Trying to imagine a grassy valley without buildings pressed against one another or rail noises was almost impossible. Do sheep make a ruckus?

He laughed, softening his eyes. Not hardly, except in the morning when you let them loose. The little one’s bleat and chase around.

Mr. Wagner’s sudden arrival had been a Godsend. When the lawyer had accused her of theft, she’d been sure his plan was to send her to jail and take her creations. There would’ve been nothing to stop him.

I fear I have little choice. She stood and checked the latch on her trunk. The clothing inside was all that stood between her and utter poverty. Those clothes could outfit an opera for a long time until she was hired and was given the money to make more. Without them, she had no hope of ever finding work.

This is the trunk of stolen wares? he teased, finally approaching her. He smelled of leather and shoe polish, and she slipped to the side to get out of his way. Most men either were her competition and took credit for her work or thought little of her. Either way, it was best to avoid them.

This is my trunk of costumes, yes. I hope I don’t come in contact with Mr. Piedmont again. He had no right… She clutched her hands to keep them from shaking. Mr. Wagner wouldn’t care about her fears. He might even take the lawyer’s side if she protested too much.

No, he didn’t, Mr. Wagner’s voice rumbled, sending an odd chill down her spine. To be on the receiving end of that displeasure would be fearsome. Can I put your trunk in my wagon then? It’s a long ride all the way back home.

Home? Home had been in shared housing with many actors and performers for as long as she could recall. She’d grown up with different people at different times, never getting too close to anyone. They kept strange hours and even stranger habits. Home had been wherever she’d laid her head, not a place to find peace.

I can manage it, she said. Though it was at least half her weight, she’d dragged it wherever she’d needed to go on her own thus far.

She’d never ridden in a wagon before and her fanciful, theatrical mind pictured a great covered Conestoga. If you could just show me where to bring it? She leaned down to take the handles as he leaned in to do the same. His hip bumped hers slightly.

Oof. He stepped back. I’m sorry. Why don’t you right that headless mannequin and I’ll take care of your trunk for you? I’m still a little out of sorts.

The mannequin is not mine and after dealing with Mr. Piedmont, I don’t want to take anything from the theater. What did she say that’s put you off so?

My aunt informed me that to inherit the theater, my brothers and I must find wives. She wants it done immediately, and she even thought I had somehow managed to accomplish the task before arriving to see her.

Wives? Her insides tumbled. Why wouldn’t a handsome man such as Mr. Wagner be married, though choosing to do so quickly saddened her. She felt a pull to him that had been quickly snipped with his words. She had to remain aloof. There was safety in keeping her guard up and her distance from everyone.

Yes, it isn’t something I relish. I never go to town, nor do I know many women. If I’m to save my uncle’s theater, I’ll have to find some new ideas, as will my brothers.

If they were so busy finding proper mates, she would be free to do as she pleased until she could return to work. They might even let her assist, since she could work as soon as all three were married and had taken over ownership.

Having an employer whom I know will be so much more pleasant than working for a stranger. She followed him as he carried her trunk out to the street.

Instead of the huge covered wagon she’d envisioned, there was instead a small carriage. On the seat there was hardly enough room for two, especially with Mr. Wagner being so broad of shoulder. He settled the trunk to the back and tied it in place behind the seat to keep it from bouncing out the back. Then he offered his hand to help her up.

She wasn’t sure what to do with his offer, or where her feet should go. Mr. Wagner, I require some direction. Heat clawed up her cheeks. He’d probably never met anyone in his life who didn’t know a conveyance like this one, inside and out.

He pointed to where she should place her foot and, once she’d safely managed that, she ascended the side of the small conveyance and settled in the wooden seat.

Mr. Wagner came around the back and climbed likewise to his seat, smiling softly at her. This isn’t what I normally drive. Clark, from down the way, said I would make a better impression if I didn’t drive a farm wagon into town. He released the brake, and the horse shook its dark mane.

I wouldn’t know a farm wagon from anything else. I’ve seen them in the streets, but I’ve never ridden in one. The train and the trolley are the closest I’ve come to a horse-drawn carriage.

Until today. He flicked the lines and a pleasant jingling met her ears as the horse made its way down the avenue and then onto the street.

It had been a day filled with many firsts. She hid a yawn and Mr. Wagner smiled. I’m sorry there’s nowhere for you to rest until we make it home.

She wouldn’t feel comfortable sleeping next to him, anyway. He was almost a stranger, yet he’d helped her more in the last hour than anyone had in her life. Mr. Wagner…you may call me Martha.

He deftly maneuvered the horse around other bustling carriages, then gave her a slight nod. And you may call me Zeke. No mister at all, if you please.

CHAPTER THREE

The dim light of the setting sun as they approached his farm created more shadows over Martha’s face than Zeke had noticed before. He’d been so concerned with getting her away from the man chasing her, then with getting his aunt to hire her, that he hadn’t really noticed her hollow cheeks.

Her lids fluttered softly as she strained to stay awake. I’ll just pull up in front and help you down. One of my brothers will take care of the rig. We’ll get you something to eat, then a place to lay your head.

Martha stifled a yawn and nodded as he tugged the reins and set the brake. Both of his brothers wandered out onto the low-slung front porch, the boards creaking under their weight. Sam, the middle brother, was tall and broad with sandy hair like his own. Caleb, the youngest, was lean and somewhat sullen, not quite the man he’d like to think he was. Martha immediately straightened her spine and tossed Zeke a questioning glance.

These are my brothers, Sam Wagner, his younger brother touched his temple in greeting, and Caleb, the youngest. Caleb flashed an angry glare his way but turned it off as he regarded Martha with a nod.

This is Miss Martha Gustafson. She is without employment until the theater’s closer to opening.

Caleb snorted as he strode forward to help Martha descend from the buggy. Martha recoiled slightly and without thinking his own touch might bother her as well, Ezekiel laid a hand on her arm to reassure her. My brothers, remember? I told you about them when we left Rapid City.

She nodded and allowed Caleb to help her down. Sam untied her trunk, and they both headed into the house as Zeke closed the door behind them. Sam headed for the back of the house to Ma’s sunroom. It had a narrow bed along the back wall and was the only pretty and frilly place in the house. Ma had often moaned about a house full of boys. The only place she could escape was her sunroom.

Caleb stepped back from Martha as soon as they entered the kitchen. A mouthwatering scent of stew made Zeke’s stomach growl in anticipation. Martha turned and smiled. I think my stomach agrees with you. Might we eat before you introduce me to the rest of your home?

That was music to his ears. He hadn’t planned on forcing the issue, but his own hunger and her meager look had him wanting to push her to eat as much as they could put in front of her. Food was one of the few things they’d never lacked. He took two bowls from the small cupboard and ladled them full, then sliced off some bread. He set the bowls down and nodded for her to sit. While they rarely had guests, Martha might be there a while, so she didn’t need to act as one.

Martha delicately took her seat, and he finished placing a glass of water, spoon, and knife in front of her. When he sat, he folded his hands and barely caught her slight flurry of confusion as she laid her napkin back down to pray. Was it that she never had before, or that she was so tired she’d forgotten? He peered up at her after he ended the prayer, but she kept her eyes averted on her meal.

While they never had expensive fare—stews and meat with potatoes were the most common meals in their home—they never wished for other things. Though, lately he’d realized how hard his mother had worked to feed them, since the chore now fell to each of them equally.

Cooking had to get done but wasn’t something he was good at. Even Pa had been able to cook better, but Zeke seemed to lack the ability even though everyone else in the house had it. Sam had made the stew, if he wasn’t mistaken, because it had flavor. Sam had paid attention to what Ma was doing when she used to cook, whereas the rest of them had just enjoyed the result.

It’s quite good. Martha set down her spoon after the first few bites and took up her bread, spreading a healthy measure of butter over it.

"Thank you. Wish I could take credit, but my hospitality doesn’t quite