A Bride for Keeps (12 page)

He stood motionless several feet before her, and she stopped in the path. Clamping
the bridge of her nose, she dammed the flow of tears. “I’m fine.” She wasn’t. Maybe
he could protect her from stubbing her toes or being whacked by tree limbs, but he
couldn’t fix anything. Nothing could repair her soul.

Falling to her knees twice on the walk home, she remained ten feet behind him until
the lamp in the window flickered ahead. “You go in. I’ll wait until you turn off the
light.”

When the lamp’s flame disappeared, she climbed onto the
porch and dropped her muddy clothes inside the darkened doorway. She felt her way
around the table and knelt in front of the tick. Everett’s hands grabbed her shoulders,
and she shrieked. “You’re supposed to be on the bed!”

His grip remained firm. Her eyes adjusted enough to see his head shaking. “I won’t
allow you to take the floor.”

“But that’s where I intended to sleep now,” she whispered. His nearness did crazy
things to her insides. Fear and something strange crippled her breathing.

“Not unless you’re sleeping with me.”

She struggled against his grip. He released her, and she fell against the small stump
that served as a bedside table.

“Calm down.” His voice was soothing, not sultry or slick. “I meant I will not, for
any reason, let you sleep on the floor.”

She scrambled onto the bed, her heart thumping wildly. The thought of being in his
arms made her want to cry, but not simply from fear. Crazily, she wished he’d hold
her. But she knew where that would lead, and that definitely was not what she wanted.
What she really wanted was someone’s arms she felt comfortable enough to curl up in
and sob buckets of tears.

The low rumble of his voice filled the room. “Thank you for making this pillow for
me. It’s much nicer than my old ones.”

Of course it was nicer. That thing had enough fluffy white down to tar and feather
a gang of thieves. Folding up his thin pillows, she chastised herself. Being upset
over a pillow was ridiculous, especially since he was kind enough not to force himself
upon her. But she couldn’t stop her shuddering breaths. Why had she thought this marriage
would work? The only way to escape crying was to fall asleep, so she turned to do
so. She focused on a dark knot in the wall and worked to breathe at a slow, steady
pace.

When her heavy eyes ceased producing tears, he spoke.
“I’m sorry about yesterday, Julia, when you were going to the mercantile. I shouldn’t
think so poorly of you to assume you would steal from me.”

A hiccup of a giggle escaped. What a minor thing. “It’s forgiven. Next time, I’ll
tell you when I plan to leave.”

———

Everett clasped his hands behind his head against the thick cushioning. He flipped
over and plumped the down, then blinked at the dark, blank wall, his eyelids not the
least bit heavy.

Julia’s slight snore distracted him. Her very presence distracted him.

When I plan to leave . . .

She only meant for town, but each past bride’s jilting played with his head. Without
a physical bond between them, what would hold her here? Was a legal document enough?

A promise wasn’t enough for Patricia Oliver.

Paid traveling expenses weren’t enough for Kathleen Templeton.

His farm wasn’t enough for Helga Scholz.

What would be enough for Julia? All she’d asked for was provision and protection.
And he would give that, but through the long Kansas summers and winters, would she
be happy with nothing more?

He wouldn’t be happy. The vision of her silhouette in front of the moonlit creek popped
up before him. He’d caught a glimpse before he led her home. Her nightgown clung to
every curve of her body. No, he wouldn’t be content. He’d be tortured. Years of living
in close quarters with a woman would inevitably lead to more accidental visions of
things he didn’t want to see if they were to be nothing but companions.

Everett raked a hand through his hair. He sounded like
a spoiled child—he’d gotten exactly what he’d asked for, a willing worker, yet wouldn’t
be happy unless he got more.

When she’d crawled next to him in the dark, her sweet-smelling hair and soft body
had made it difficult for him to let her go. Every bit of him wanted to pull her closer.
Much closer.

But his stupid mouth spoke without consulting his brain. Her nearness turned his brain
into mush. He hadn’t meant to insinuate sleeping together, but his words gave him
a window into her thoughts. The fear, revulsion, and shock on her face as panic overtook
her made him wonder if his resolve to win her heart might very well be a delusion.

Everett crossed to the well, buttoning his shirt. Too hot to be wearing it, but he
knew leaving his shirt off would bother Julia. She was always uncomfortable around
him; no sense in making her more so.

“Would you mind bringing a bucket of water over here?” She stood behind the garden
fence, brushing dirt from her hands.

After taking several long swigs from the dipper lest he die of thirst, he filled a
bucket for her, then plopped it over the fence. “Here you are.”

“Could you make sure I need this? At least, I think this area needs more water.” She
pointed to a section that caught most of the sun throughout the day. He hadn’t helped
her with the garden much these last three weeks, though he should have. He sighed.
They were worse than two strangers: they were friendly combatants, neither wanting
to get close to the other, yet having to.

Grabbing a clod of baked dirt, she crushed it, the dust falling from her hand onto
a few carrot and turnip seedlings wilting on the ground. Did she pull them up on purpose?

He grunted. “I would say so.”

“Do you think one bucket will be enough?” She peeped up at him, streaks of dirt crisscrossed
on her forehead. How could dirt make a woman more attractive?

“Depends on the soil. Check it after an hour.” He walked off before she could ask
anything more lest he hop the fence and tell her to forget about the garden, the woodpile,
the fields, the animals, the whole blessed farm.

But he couldn’t do that. He didn’t have time for anything but his own work.

That was an excuse, and he fooled neither God nor himself.

Everett licked his dry lips and rubbed his sore shoulders. He could use a break, a
moment to sit with a glass of cold water on his porch and watch the chickens scratch
and pick at each other. But that would have to wait until he finished the woodpile.
Yesterday, he’d returned from the fields to find her hacking at logs. She did enough
already; he didn’t want her to take on firewood too.

Moving his flapping union suit to the side, he passed under the clothesline. The thought
of Julia cleaning his underclothes made him grimace.

Cooking his food, mending his clothes . . . she did too much for him and took as few
breaks as he did. He should slow them both down, but he couldn’t spend that much time
with her right now. He set another log, his mind focused on nothing but hitting the
striking point, and chopped with vehemence. Concentrating on hitting his mark proved
difficult with images of Julia cleaning, sewing, and gardening floating in his mind.

He set the next log and whacked it good. Throwing the pieces on the pile, he looked
over at her talking to herself in the garden. He thwacked the next log, splitting
it in one frustrated motion.

Last Saturday in town, he’d talked to Jonesey, who was ready to quit and head farther
west. Just a year ago, Jonesey’s joy had been infectious, but now . . .

If Julia followed in Jonesey’s woman’s footsteps, how would he keep himself from descending
into the depression Jonesey found himself in? Especially if he gave in to his feelings?
Julia was more than a pretty woman—she was a hard-working, uncomplaining one. She
deserved to be more than ignored and forgotten. She wasn’t forgotten, though . . .
not when thoughts of her made him forget what row he’d just sown and where he’d left
his hoe.

What could he offer her that she deserved? Nothing.

When she realized he was not worthy of her, she’d disappear, just like the rest.

His blow glanced off the wedge, sending wood one way and the blunt edge of the maul
into his shin. Words that normally did not pass his lips spilled forth, and he threw
his maul on the ground. He sat down hard and squeezed his shin, as if adding more
pain to the area would make the stabbing leave more quickly.

He looked over at the garden, but she was no longer there. The little green lines
of new seedlings marched in crooked paths on the other side of the white fencing.

Weeks. He’d only offered her weeks of loneliness, yet she’d never mentioned anything
about leaving. But then, Jonesey’s wife didn’t leave until half a year passed.

The seedlings that she tended in the garden taunted him, along with the quilt she’d
pieced together, now draped on the line next to the work dress she’d sewn from the
dark pink material she’d bought her first day there. She appeared past the chicken
coop, wearing a serviceable green dress Rachel had helped her alter last week from
her stash of fancy clothing.
Julia’s persistence indicated she planned to stay, but could he trust her to do so?
Could he believe she wouldn’t discard his heart if he gave it to her?

Does it matter, Everett?

He clasped his hurt leg and looked through the puffy clouds racing by. “I give up,
I get it. In order to protect myself, I’ve been terrible to a woman who’s done me
nothing but good.” Slumped, he stared at the grasses between his knees. How could
he begin to live joyfully with her with the precedence of silence he’d started? Going
in, lounging with a mug of coffee and talking about the weather sounded unappealing,
fake. What would he say? They’d had a handful of conversations since she married him.
And all of those about the farm’s needs.

He pushed himself up with the maul’s handle. He needed to feel normal. Get away and
take a break. And stop thinking. Stop pining.

In the barn he grabbed the tack he needed to return to Dex and saddled Blaze. He cinched
the girth strap. “Let’s ride over to the Stantons, talk farm stuff, and I’ll sneak
you carrot cake if Rachel’s got any. How’s that sound, boy?”

The gelding stomped his front foot.

Everett hoisted himself into the saddle and readied to prod his horse when Julia’s
silhouette appeared in the barn’s doorway.

“Where’re you going?” Her voice sounded lifeless.

Everett pulled on Blaze’s reins, the gelding’s eagerness barely contained. He wished
he had something major that needed attending, but all he really wanted was to chat
with Dex, to be in an environment that relaxed instead of strained. He pushed away
the sudden thought that all the strain was of his own making.

He couldn’t lie. “I’m heading to the Stantons.”

A basket containing wild flowers hung on her arm. “How long do you think you’ll be?”

“All day, most likely.”

“Does Dex need help with something?”

“No. I just . . . just planned on visiting.”

The pain etched on her face was almost as raw as the blow to his shin. Rachel was
as much her friend as Dex was his. He’d not even thought to ask her to come along.
He’d only been worried about getting away from thoughts of her, though he knew that
was impossible.

Unfeeling. Selfish. More reasons for her to hate him. He could hardly stand himself.
“I’m sorry, I should have asked you. No. I should have told you to get ready to go
with me. I . . . I forgot.” He slid off the saddle. “Why don’t you get whatever you
need for a visit with Rachel, and I’ll hook up the wagon.”

She nodded before exiting the barn.

The horse stamped his disapproval.

“Sorry, Blaze, but I’ve got to hook you up. I’d much rather ride, but there’s no way
I can have her in the saddle with me.”

Too close, much too close.

The horse clipped at a good speed, creating a breeze that felt refreshing against
her perspiring skin. But Julia wasn’t comfortable, not with a grouchy man sitting
beside her. If Everett refused to talk the first time they’d had a break from choring
in several weeks, then she’d cram in as much conversation with Rachel as possible
today.

John’s ill-combed head popped through the doorway as soon as they drove past the Stantons’
barn. He smiled, waved, and ran straight for them.

She let a half smile slide onto her face as she stepped down onto the dirt-packed
yard. Though just turned eight, John could make any girl feel welcome and wanted.
Unlike her husband, who had busied himself with grabbing bridles from the back of
the wagon.

“Juuuliiiiaaa!” John sang her name and bounded over to her. “Ma’s got a secret! But
I’m not supposed to tell. No. Can’t tell. Anyone. But she said she’d tell you whenever
you got here.” He grabbed her wrist and tugged. Heaven help his future bride. Whereas
she wished Everett would utter three words together, John’s wife would need three
sets of ears and plenty of spunk to keep up with his jibber-jabber.

“I have to keep it a secret. I’m not supposed to tell no one. Not even you. Or Everett.
Not one single person, and I promised. You’ll have to keep it a secret. Just like
me.”

John dragged her up the stairs, followed by Everett, and stopped in front of Rachel,
who dropped her mending into her lap and rolled her eyes at him. Dex was whittling
at the head of the table.

John bounced in place. “Go on. Ask.”

Rachel held out her palm and stood. “No need to ask, but I’d better tell you the secret
before John bursts.” She turned to the squirming boy. “But it isn’t polite to forget
to greet your guests. I hope you greeted Julia before you dragged her in here.”

John’s face scrunched.

Julia laughed and chose to save him. “I think his spirited waving would constitute
a greeting. Good morning to you, Rachel.”

“Pleased to have you drop in.” Rachel flattened her skirt over a slightly bulging
stomach. “I’ll give you a chance to guess the secret yourself.” She flashed a grin
at Everett.

“I presume there’s a little one to be born in the Stanton household?” Julia forced
a smile, though all she wanted to do was frown. Rachel would expect her to be happy
at this news, and so she would be—at least on the outside. “Why didn’t you tell me
before?”

Rachel shrugged. “I’ve lost a few.”

That familiar feel of cold ran up her arms. Losing babies was one thing, but losing
mothers was another. Would she lose the one person in the county whom she could talk
to in just a matter of months?

“I’m excited this time though, because I’ll have someone to help attend
me
.”

“Is there another midwife in the area now?” Everett leaned against the wall in the
corner, hat in his hands.

Julia wished he’d leave so she could talk to Rachel alone, but it didn’t look like
either man planned on moving anytime soon.

Rachel grabbed Julia’s hand. “No, but I have her.”

Julia stepped back. “Me? No.” She waved her hands in front of her. She wouldn’t ever
go into a birthing room. Not again. Never again. The last time she had done so with
her mother, she’d forever turned her father against her. But she couldn’t blame him;
it was all her fault. She swallowed hard and worked out a reply that sounded intelligent.
“I’m no midwife, no nurse. I barely know how to bandage a wound.”

Rachel chuckled and whispered, “I’ve given birth four times and attended countless
others. All I need is a helper. I can tell you what needs to be done.”

That wasn’t the problem at all. She knew what needed to be done—and what things should
never be done. She hugged herself to staunch the qualm in her middle. “I can’t.”

Rachel bent to look in her eyes. “It’s not that horrifying.”

She shook her head. The image of her dead baby brother painted itself onto her arms.
She squeezed her eyelids until darkness overcame the image. If Rachel’s baby died,
she’d be stuck in Kansas with a friend who would hate her and a man she wasn’t comfortable
with.

“Really, you’ll be great help. Seeing a birthing will help you get over any fear of
going through it yourself.”

Julia would never voluntarily go through the agony her mother did, losing child after
child. Rachel had said she’d lost a few. How could she be serene about it? Her mother
had never gotten over a single stillbirth. She barely cared that she had a daughter.
But the last baby was a boy, a son, a living son, who died in his sister’s hands only
minutes before his mother followed him into heaven.

The Stanton boys’ shouting in the yard bespoke that Rachel had indeed been more successful
in bringing children into the world than Julia’s mother, but she couldn’t bear the
thought of holding another dead baby—and definitely not her own. Her grandmother had
the same problem as her mother, so why would it be any different for her? It was best
to never try. And Theodore had swiped away any desire she’d ever had to become a mother.

But how could she not help if no one else was around to do so? “I guess I can help.”

“And I’ll send for you when Mrs. Hampden has her baby. She’s due in a few weeks. That
way you’ll have a good idea of what to expect.”

Could she for once expect something good? It wasn’t like children didn’t exist. Children
and mothers did survive the process.

John tugged on her hand. “And she forgot to tell you about the kittens. We have kittens
too, so we know all about babies
around here. I was there with the mama cat, I was. I can help with birthin’.”

“Sure you can.” Rachel poked his side. “You’ll do your chores when the time comes
without complaining. Now, get with you.”