Flame in the Dark (Soulwood #3)(32)

I thought about telling him I was no one’s “womenfolk,” but Daddy needed to see his surgeon and maybe that was more important than me standing up for myself. At least right now.

“Coffee, Cora, if you please,” he said. He pushed away the cup of herbal tea and accepted the cup of coffee, taking his gaze back to me, his interest particularly heavy. He sipped, still staring as he set the cup down on the table with a soft tap. “Carmel, if you would be so kind, make an appointment with that doctor.”

I didn’t dare look away from him, at the faces of the mamas, but I could practically feel the elation in the air. If churchwomen danced, they’d be do-si-do-ing right about now.

“You, Nellie girl,” Daddy said, “will never speak to me in that tone again.”

I raised my chin, knowing it was challenging, but I was a churchwoman no more. Not a woman to be cowed by a man, even my father. I had gotten what I wanted. Now to nail it all down. “You’un act you got sense in your’n head and I won’t have to.”

One of the mamas choked and started coughing. Daddy glared at me, his lower face hidden by his mug, his sickly eyes glaring. “I reckon we won’t be talking about your’n future after all this.”

“What about my future?” I demanded. “I got me a good farm, good land, a good job, and good friends. I got family here and a life out in the world and that’s the way I like it.”

“But you’rn alone, Nellie girl. And the mamas got a young man they want you to meet.”

I blinked slowly and turned my gaze to my mama. I had been set up all right. I had been set up in two different ways at the same time: to harangue Daddy into seeing a doctor and try to get me back into the church.

“You’ll like him, Nell,” Mama said, taking a step back at whatever she saw on my face. She put a hand to her reddish brown bun in a gesture that looked nervous and firmed her lips. Mama was a stubborn woman and she pushed through. “His name is Benjamin Aden and he’s Sam’s age. You been gone a long time, but you’un might remember him as a little’un. He’s one a Brother Aden’s boys, college educated now, with a degree in renewable farming practices or some such. He’s a modern kinda boy and he only wants one wife. And he’s coming for coffee.”

At that moment, a knock sounded on the door. And Daddy grinned as he lifted a big forkful of waffles to his mouth. He looked a lot better than he had only moments past. Amusement at my discomfort seemed to agree with him. Getting back at me for my insolence probably made him even happier.

Mud threw open the door and cold air raced past, stealing the heat of the house. “Mama! It’s Benjamin and Sam!”

I stepped away from the table as the two entered, Sam sturdy and self-contained, peeling out of his jacket. And Benjamin, who pulled off a toboggan to reveal dark hair over deep blue eyes, a full mouth, and a strong jaw. He was pretty. Taller than me. Wearing traditional church-style clothes, but store-bought: plaid shirt over T-shirt; newish jeans that had been ironed to a sharp crease. He had smooth skin and a look about him that said he’d be capable and quiet and kind.

They came across the room and I realized I was still standing, shoulders hunched, wearing smoke-stinky work clothes. Pants. Jacket. My service weapon under my jacket. My hair in a short bob, not bunned up like a proper woman. Tired. No makeup or lipstick left on my mouth, and not sure if that was a good thing or a bad one.

I was horrified at the thoughts I was having. As if any of that mattered. It didn’t. I was the woman I wanted to be. Yet my eyes darted around as if looking for a way out that wouldn’t require me to address Benjamin.

Daddy called the men to come on over, and then called for coffee, sounding hale and hearty, as if he wasn’t actively dying from the damage inside him. Asking . . . asking the womenfolk to serve the menfolk. Just the way it always used to be. Just the way it always would be in the church. That realization somehow settled me, and my shoulders went back to their proper position instead of up around my ears.

“Set a spell, Nell,” Mama said, replacing my cup with a fresh one and pouring a pale tea. This one smelled of chamomile, ginger, and vanilla.

I brought my gaze back from the men, who were settling around the table, being served. Served by the women.

“Don’t you dare be rude,” Mama hissed at me. “He’s a nice boy. You be nice too.”

I started to tell Mama off. I wanted to storm away. But Mama looked at me with pleading in her eyes and I could do neither one. I blew out a breath. T. Laine would call this effed-up family dynamics, the effed word in place of the regular one because they knew I didn’t care for it much. And she would be right. Worse, it wasn’t Benjamin’s fault that Mama had set this up.

Benjamin was the eldest son of Brother Aden. I liked Brother Aden and I adored his second wife, Sister Erasmus. I could be polite.

But that didn’t mean I had to just sit and take this. “It’s mighty warm in here,” I said as I pulled off my work jacket and draped it across a nearby chair back. I turned back around, my gun and its weapon harness in plain view, along with my badge clipped to my belt. The house went dead silent. I leaned across the table and held out my right hand. “Hi, Benjamin. I’m Nell. Good to meet you.” Only a beat or two too late, Benjamin took my hand and shook it. I released his hand, which was warm and strong and tough-skinned. I lifted my long legs back across the bench, one at a time, the way men did, instead of the way a woman did—sliding in or sitting and lifting knees demurely over, skirts decorously tucked. Into the silence, I took a sip and said, “Thank you, Mama. The tea is wonderful. Just what I need after a long night at a fire investigation.”