Mud Creek (10 page)

“Don’t be embarrassed.”

“She said…ah…your sister is sick in the soul, in the heart.”

“What does that mean?”

“Mary isn’t like other people you’ve met.” He hesitated, searching for a more precise explanation, but couldn’t find it. He shrugged. “She’s…different.”

He extended his hand, and he was holding a flat rock that had been painted with strange symbols. A hole had been drilled in it, a leather string poked through the hole so it could be worn as a necklace.

“She wanted you to have this.”

“What is it?”

“It’s an amulet, I guess you’d call it. To ward off evil spirits.”

“Evil…
spirits?

”She insists that you wear it—as long as your sister is here with you.” At the suggestion, Helen was aghast, and her astonishment must have shown, because he shook his head with chagrin. “Never mind. I shouldn’t have told you. She can sound silly if you’re not used to her. I’ll keep it.”

He started to stick it into his coat, but she clasped his wrist.

“No, no, it’s all right. Leave it with me. I’m honored that she would give me a gift. Tell her I thank her. Tell her I appreciate her worrying about me.”

“Now you’re the one who is being too kind.”

He laid the amulet in her palm, and she closed her fingers around it.

After that odd discussion, there wasn’t much else to say. He stepped from her, leapt onto his horse, and urged it away.

“Goodbye,” he hollered over his shoulder.

“Goodbye.”

“Remember: Send Robert or Carl if you ever need me.”

“I will.”

He kicked his horse into a canter and hurried off to catch up with Mary.

Helen watched him go, studying him as he made his way down their lane and out to the road. He was an adept equestrian, moving with an easy grace that matched the animal’s stride. He was at one with the land and the sky and the beast he rode.

She continued to watch until he was a tiny speck on the horizon, until he crested the ridge and disappeared down the other side.

Once he’d vanished from view, the world seemed too quiet. She felt as if she was shipwrecked on a deserted island, the last person alive on the entire planet.

She plopped down on the ground, opened the jar of salve he’d given her and rubbed some on her face. Then she wrapped her arms around her knees. The only sound was the ceaseless wind that ripped at her hair and clothes.

She needed to check on Violet. She needed to walk up to the main house, to check on Florence, too. She needed to focus Florence so she could instruct Helen on how to prepare the midday meal for the men who were working so hard, who would be at it until dusk when they would be starving and ready to eat again.

Carl would arrive shortly to fetch their food, to deliver it out to the pasture. She needed to cook it and pack it and tidy up the mess. She needed to organize what they would take to Mud Creek for the celebration on the Fourth, needed to plan for the trip, for the wedding.

She needed to weed the garden, churn some butter, gather the eggs, clean Florence’s house, clean her own, arrange to do laundry the following morning.

She had to shake off her stupor, get a grip, stop complaining, learn her chores, complete them with proficient interest. She had to establish some routines where she could be happy, where she could find contentment with the choices she’d made.

Instead, she sat, paralyzed with dismay, staring at the line of buttes shimmering in the distance, the amulet clutched in her hand.

“Don’t wander off.”

“I’ll be over behind the blacksmith’s barn. Some men are boxing, and I want to watch.”

“Do you think you should?” Helen asked.

“Everyone is welcome,” Violet replied. “Even women. Even children.”

They were in Mud Creek, the Fourth of July celebration in full swing. Hundreds of people were present, many of whom had traveled for days in order to attend. The town consisted of exactly two streets. The main one had a handful of businesses that had managed to thrive in the secluded area.

A mercantile. A saloon. A three-room hotel with a three-table dining room. No church yet. No school.

The crowd was festive. There were food booths and games, and the socializing had lifted her spirits. The gaiety provided the first indication that her personal situation might improve.

She’d been introduced to several young women, had been invited to baptisms and anniversaries and even a harvest party in the fall. Any trip would mean an extended absence from the ranch, so she doubted Albert would be amenable. But Helen had accepted every invitation.

She needed to make friends. She needed to break her isolation. She needed to feel as if she belonged.

“Promise you won’t go any farther than the blacksmith’s,” Helen said. “I have to be able to find you once we’re ready for the wedding ceremony.”

“You’ll find me, you’ll find me.” Violet rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Helen. You’re fussing like a mother hen.”

“I can’t help it. I’m worried about you.”

“I’m fine,” Violet insisted. “Come with me. It’ll be fun.”

“I don’t care to see a couple of idiots beating themselves bloody.”

“That’s why it’s interesting. We could bet on the winner.”

“Bet!” Helen was aghast. “With what money?”

“Maybe I’ll get lucky, and I’ll stumble on two bits somebody dropped in the grass.”

Violet waltzed away, making Helen appear as dowdy and fussy as Violet had accused her of being.

Helen studied her sister’s retreating form, and a frown creased her brow. While Helen had thinned considerably since they’d arrived in the country, Violet seemed to have gained weight. She looked more rounded and healthy, which had to be an illusion. She’d been unwell, so it was unlikely she’d have put on any pounds.

After her recent bout of malaise, she’d suffered an impressive recovery. At the thought of leaving the ranch, of having a change of routine, her mood had quickly swung from dark to light. She’d become a merry chatterbox, was cheerful and charming and thrilled with everything.

Yet, Helen was wary. She didn’t believe Violet was in any condition for strenuous jollity. But she’d never been able to tell her sister how to behave, and if Violet was determined to watch the boxing, there’d be no stopping her.

Helen turned away and focused on Florence. They’d sat together for the parade, then everyone had scattered in various directions. Carl and Robert were running wild with other boys, Walt chatting with acquaintances, and Albert searching for the preacher.

Whenever she remembered the pending ceremony, her stomach lurched with dread, and she was despicably disgusted to catch herself wishing the man was never found. If he wasn’t in town, she could delay the wedding. She could have more time to come to grips with her decision.

Though why she’d need more
time
was a mystery. She’d known Albert all her life. He’d been her brother’s friend. He’d proposed three years earlier, and had proposed again when she was at her lowest ebb. There was no reason to delay.

It’s just bridal jitters,”
she told herself.

So far, she and Violet had been sharing the bed in their house, with Albert sleeping on a pallet on the floor by the stove. Once they were home, the arrangement would change.

Violet would have the front room, while Helen and Albert would share the bed. She realized that there were things a wife was supposed to
do
with her husband, but Helen had never been informed of what they were, and she had no mother to ask.

She could have broached the subject with Florence, but the prospect of discussing intimacies with her—intimacies that involved her son—was absurd.

Florence was in a chair next to Helen and talking with a woman near her own age. They were both weary, beaten down by circumstance. Murmuring quietly, they complained about their husbands, their isolation, their exhausting situations.

By remaining behind with them, while Violet trotted off to the boxing, Helen felt old and used up, too. She didn’t want to loiter like a persnickety matron. She wanted to chat and mingle and explore.

“Florence,” she said, “would you mind if I went for a walk?”

“No, Helen. Don’t worry about me.”

“Are you sure?”

Florence waved her away, and Helen stood and hurried off to locate Violet and the boxing ring. She weaved through the crowd, eavesdropping on conversations and looking at quilts and other items for sale on tables that lined the street.

As she rounded the corner, she practically bumped into James Blaylock. He grinned from ear to ear, and she grinned, too.

“Miss Pendleton, I’d been wondering if you were here.”

“I’m off to watch the boxing.”

“They haven’t begun yet.”

“What else might be interesting?”

“There will be horse racing later. Would you like to see some of the horses?”

“Yes, I would.” She took his arm, and they headed off in the opposite direction, to the edge of town and away from the festivities.

“Are you going to race?” she asked.

“I always do.” He smiled down at her. “Will you cheer me on?”

“Most definitely.”

They continued on, stopping every few steps to say hello to passersby. Everyone appeared to know and like him. He inquired about their cattle, their crops, their problems and successes.

He introduced Helen, and she met so many that, eventually, she gave up trying to memorize their names. It was too overwhelming.

Finally, they were away from the merriment and next to a flat expanse of prairie that served as the racetrack.

He escorted her to the corrals where the horses were relaxing prior to the competition. He showed her the favorites, but as he explained their strengths and weaknesses, she was barely listening.

She was relieved to have a private chance to speak with him before Albert tracked her down. It might be their last opportunity to share confidences. If she was honest with herself, she would admit that she’d left Florence’s side, not to locate Violet, but in her hopes that she might run into him.

She shouldn’t have snuck off with him, but with each minute that ticked by, she was more convinced that she should back out of the wedding. And she was anxious to hear his opinion.

She couldn’t ask Albert or his family, and Violet was the only other person available. Yet her sister was hardly a valid advisor. Violet saw her future one moment at a time, and she kept frantically urging Helen to flee. But there was no viable destination at the end of the road Violet envisioned.

There was no destination, at all.

Helen couldn’t have their destiny riding on her sister’s vague notion of what was appropriate. With Violet ill and so disruptive in her behavior, it was imperative that Helen wrangle a secure location for them, that she establish herself so she had a place where she could protect Violet from her worst impulses.

Wasn’t Albert’s ranch the best spot?

No, no, no,
was the answer that pummeled her.

Though she’d struggled to tamp it out, a silly, romantic ember had begun to burn in her heart.

James enjoyed her company, and while she’d previously informed Violet that she would never impose on him, what if she could persuade him to save her?

If she didn’t try, she would spend the rest of her life wondering what his reply might have been.

She peered up at him. “Albert will come looking for me very soon.”

“Oh…for the wedding.”

She turned to face him and bluntly said, “Should I go through with it or not?”

*    *    *    *

James stared at Helen. Her eyes were wide, beseeching him to action.

She’d asked a simple question: Should she marry Albert?

There was much more behind the query than a wish to be reassured. She needed advice, but she also needed assistance, needed rescue from the predicament in which she’d landed herself.

It had been ages since he’d met a woman of her status and temperament. She was pretty and educated and kind, and he liked her much more than was wise. In her presence, he couldn’t hide his fond feelings. They were so blatant that Mary had noticed his partiality a few days earlier during their visit to the Jones’s ranch.

Apparently, Helen had noticed, too, and she was desperate for him to furnish things he absolutely couldn’t supply.

He vehemently thought she should
not
marry Albert, but when he was unprepared to provide an alternative, and she had no other option, how could he dissuade her?

“That’s a tough one,” he murmured, hedging on his response.

“I’m very nervous.”

“I realize that you are.”

“Did I ever tell you that Albert proposed once, years ago, before they left New York?”

“No, you didn’t.”

Albert had mentioned it the afternoon she’d gotten off the train in Prairie City, but James had assumed he was boastfully lying.

“I refused him,” Helen said, “because he was completely wrong for me.”

“Then your circumstances changed.”

“Yes, my parents died, and we lost our house. My father’s business was bankrupt. When Albert offered again, it seemed as if he was throwing me a lifeline.”

“I can see why it would.”

“Now that I’m here, I’m regretting my decision. I’m not cut out for such a rough existence, and I’m afraid I’ll be more of a burden than a helpmate.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re still learning your way.”

“I don’t love him,” she baldly stated, “and we have nothing in common. How can we proceed when we’re so mismatched? It’s such a mistake.”

“I’m sorry to hear it.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to discuss Albert, his waffling character, his lack of necessary skills, his temper and bad choices. But what good would it do?

She’d spent a couple of weeks with the Jones family, and he suspected that she’d figured it out on her own. If he validated her observations, he was setting her up for more heartbreak. If he talked her out of the marriage, and she didn’t wed Albert, what would become of her? And what about her sister?

The answers were daunting, and he had no viable solutions.

They stared and stared, and he could tell she was waiting for him to move the conversation where she’d been hoping it would go.