Sixteen Brides (23 page)

As far as Ella was concerned, whether Mr. Jeb Cooper liked books or not was no one’s business. As he said, a man should be allowed to do what a man wanted to do. As she drove the team along, she smiled, remembering the way he kept calling her Boss. She had to admit she liked the way his eyes crinkled up at the corners when he said it. Like they shared a joke. A special friendship. Which was all Ella was interested in. Just friendship. Nothing more.

Hettie staggered into the ranch house kitchen and sank into a chair at the table. What was wrong with her? She’d slept soundly for the last two nights, and still she felt exhausted.

Wah Lo wished her a good morning as he set a cup of tea before her. “Eggs come soon,” he said. “How you like?”

“Anything is fine,” Hettie said. She didn’t feel like having breakfast, but she knew better than to refuse Wah Lo’s offering. He might not be a large man physically, but he had the will of a giant. If he offered tea, it was best to drink some. As for breakfast, he’d minded the ways of a busy rancher far too long to believe that anyone anywhere could live without breakfast.

The aroma of the tea Wah Lo offered this morning was different. More pungent . . . almost sweet. “This is delicious,” Hettie said, and sipped it gratefully.

“Glad you like,” Wah Lo said from where he stood cracking eggs into the iron skillet on the stove. “Mrs. Dow, she like, too. I make last night. After you sleep.”

Hettie took another sip of tea and then stood up. “I’m going to check in on Ruth and the patient,” she said. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

“Eggs be ready,” Wah Lo said without turning around.

Hettie yawned as she slogged down the hallway. At least her stomach had settled. Ruth was sitting in the wing-back chair beside Mr. Gray’s bed, her eyes closed, her hand resting atop the mattress. Gray stirred in his sleep. When he coughed, Ruth woke with a start and was on her feet bending over him before she even realized Hettie was in the room.

“Shh, Lucas,” Ruth murmured, and put her hand to his forehead. “I’m all right,” he said. “Could use a drink of water, though.”

“How about some hot tea?” Hettie asked from the doorway.

Gray opened his eyes. “Tea sounds good. Just tell Wah Lo not to send in any of that sweet-tasting garbage. He’ll know which stuff I mean.”

“I believe I just drank a cup of it.”

Gray turned his head to look at her, and a ghost of a smile flitted across his face before he grimaced. “Figures. He always makes that for the ladies.” He grunted.

Hettie went to the bedside. “How’s the pain?”

“Dancing up and down my leg.” A fine sheen of sweat shone on his forehead.

“Let me have a look,” Hettie said, and carefully rolled the blankets away as she spoke. “Tell me if you can feel this.”

Gray’s brow furrowed. “Feel what?”

“Good.” He wasn’t trying to fool her into thinking he was doing better than he was. He hadn’t felt anything because she hadn’t touched him. Now she did, pressing into the ball of his foot with her index finger.

“Pressure,” he said. “Near my toes.”

“That’s right.” Hettie nodded as she laid her fingers over the pulse point at his ankle. “Your pulse is strong, and both the color and temperature of the skin below the break are normal. That likely means that even though that bone penetrated muscle and soft tissue, it didn’t do damage to the veins or the nerves that feed your lower leg and foot.”

“Sounds like good news,” Gray said.

“It’s very good news.” Hettie took a deep breath, trying not to be too obvious about it, relieved when the only thing she smelled was the expected stale air typical of a sickroom.
No gangrene.
At least not yet. “Mr. Gray,” she began— “You’ve seen my naked feet, ma’am. I believe you can call me Lucas.”

Hettie smiled. “All right, then, Lucas. I’d like to give you something to help with the pain. So you can rest better. Rest will help you heal.”

Ruth spoke up. “Hettie’s brought some of Zita Romano’s magic remedy with her. To be quite honest, we have no idea what’s in it. But whatever it is, it’s been tested and found to be effective.” She smiled. “And I give you my word. If anyone tries to take off your leg while you are resting, I will personally shoot them.”

Lucas burst out laughing. “All right. But first—tell Wah Lo I’d appreciate his help with some kind of bath.” He made a face. “It smells like I’ve been keeping a goat in this room.”

After Lucas washed up he finally agreed to take a dose of Zita’s remedy and fell into a deep sleep. Hettie and Ruth took some of Wah Lo’s tea outside and sat down beneath the ranch house overhang.

“Do you think he’s out of the woods yet?” Ruth asked. “He slept well. No nightmares or mutterings.”

“That’s a hopeful sign. But it’s just too soon to know for certain.”

Ruth lifted her teacup to her lips. “I don’t understand his objection to this. It’s delicious.”

“I thought so, too, at first,” Hettie said. “But now I’m not sure it agrees with me.” Her hand went to her stomach and she set the cup down.

“I hope you aren’t coming down with something.”

“I’m fine,” Hettie insisted. “I’ve always had a nervous stomach. And this . . . case . . .” She sighed.

“You’ve done a wonderful job of doctoring. You should—”

“I am
not
a doctor!” Hettie protested. “I wish people would
listen
to me and stop insisting . . .” Her voice wavered. She took a deep breath.

“I meant it as a compliment,” Ruth apologized.

“I know.” Hettie softened her tone. “I know you did, but—” She pushed her spectacles up. How could she explain herself without actually . . . explaining? Taking a deep breath, she said, “If you left something behind—something painful—how would you feel if it followed you—if circumstances kept you from being free of it?”

“What could possibly be painful about what you’ve done here? You’ve likely saved a man’s life.”

Hettie closed her eyes. She leaned her head back against the high-backed rocker. “Sometimes you
can’t
help. Sometimes every single thing you know is completely useless. And then—” She broke off. Shook her head.

“I am so sorry, Hettie. For whatever it was.”

“It’s all right. I know you mean well.” Everyone meant well and no one understood. And they never would if she had anything to say about it. She changed the subject, pointing toward the maze of corrals over by the bunkhouse, where a handful of wranglers were saddling horses. “Lucas seems to have a successful operation going.”

“Yes. It’s all very impressive.”

“I certainly didn’t expect to find a house like this anywhere near Plum Grove. It’s lovely. And the furnishings . . . they seem better suited for a married couple than a bachelor rancher. I can’t imagine Lucas chose those pillowcases with the lace trim.”

Ruth agreed. “Everything about the house seems very genteel. And that just doesn’t describe the man we met on the train, does it?” A gust of wind blew in from the direction of the corral. Ruth sniffed and made a face. “However, I will say he might have put the barns and the corrals a bit farther from the house.” The women laughed.

CHAPTER
NINETEEN

A friend loveth at all times,
and a brother is born for adversity.

Proverbs 17:17

M
ore dark clouds rolled in from the west when the caravan of wagons was less than a mile from Plum Grove. Matthew nudged his horse alongside the ladies and asked Ella if Linney could ride in the back of their wagon. As soon as Ella pulled the team up, Ransom reached around and lifted Linney from her perch behind him directly into the wagon bed. They’d only gone a few more rods when great bolts of lightning began to dance between sky and earth in the distance. Thunder rolled in. The team quickened its pace. The wind picked up. Ella wasn’t sure what to do. Matthew galloped up to them and shouted for Ella to “hightail it for town. I think we can beat it.”

Terrified, Ella told Mama to get in the wagon bed with the others. They hunkered together, pelted by huge raindrops and clinging to the edge of the wagon, their faces white with fear. Matthew’s horse whinnied. The team snorted. Lightning and thunder were all around them now. The light was odd—everything had a greenish cast to it. The wind roared.

Ella urged the team to go faster and faster. Matthew kept even with the team, and Ella finally realized he was doing his best to prevent a runaway. She took heart.

Finally, a pathetic little row of wooden buildings strung along a piece of prairie someone had had the audacity to call Main Street came into view. Ella had never seen such a beautiful town in all her life.

Ruth slid her hand along the edge of one of the heavy damask drapes in Lucas’s bedroom and opened a slit so she could peer outside. Every few minutes lightning illuminated the sodden landscape, and every few minutes a clap of thunder made her cringe. Were storms always this savage out here? Just now she’d watched one of the wranglers charge through the rain to force a barn door closed. When he couldn’t manage it one-handed, he’d had to sacrifice his hat to the gusting winds. The barn door finally shut, he slipped between the poles of the corral, and with the next flash of light Ruth caught a glimpse of him scrabbling about between the milling horses, then snatching up the hat. She could only imagine what that hat must look like after being trampled into the mud and manure.

What she could not imagine—and didn’t particularly want to—was what this meant for the sod house at Four Corners. From what Lucas had said about the process, the house probably didn’t have a roof yet. Was the entire week’s work washing away even as she stood here at this window? Were her friends camped out in this storm? Was Jackson? Another clap of thunder made her jump. She let go of the drape.

“How bad is it out there?”

Ruth turned around just as Lucas struggled to raise himself to a sitting position in his bed. She went to the bedside and tucked one of the lace-edged pillows behind him. “Are you awake because of the storm or because you’re in pain?”

“A little of both,” he said. “Mostly the storm, though—and hoping my stallion isn’t out in this.”

“If you can worry about that horse, I’m thinking it’s a good sign you’re getting better.” She smiled. “And as a matter of fact I saw one of your men lead him inside just a minute ago.”

When lightning flashed again and she jumped, he asked, “Are you afraid of storms, Mrs. General?”

“Of course not,” she said firmly, even as her hand went to the frill of lace at her neckline. “Maybe a little.” She rubbed her arms briskly. “It’s the lightning, mostly. One of my husband’s men was killed by lightning at our first posting. I’ve been shy of it ever since.” She paused.

“We pitched three Sibley tents out at Four Corners. The plan was to camp out all week while they laid up the sod walls. But there won’t be a roof yet—will there?”

“Likely not. And after a week helping someone else, the homesteaders would need to call it quits and head home to tend their own places. Some of the old-timers probably had a sense a storm was coming. They would take one look at a tent—” he grinned—“even a Sibley pitched by a general’s wife—and send your friends and Jackson back to Plum Grove to wait until the storm blows over and things dry out. Your boy’s probably playing checkers over in the dining hall complaining of being bored.”

When Ruth didn’t say anything, he continued, “You can trust me on this. A man learns to keep one eye on the horizon out here. Weather and prairie fires both move in fast, and we’ve all learned not to take either lightly.”

“That’s not very reassuring.”

“Ah . . . you want to be
reassured
.” Gray wrinkled his brow. “Surely you already knew this isn’t a very forgiving land. If Hamilton Drake painted it any other way when he was holding those meetings in St. Louis, then he was just . . . trying to fit you all with rose-tinted glasses, as they say.”

Ruth crossed the room to peer out at the rain again. “Well, the most important thing he said was true. There’s free land and promise for those willing to work hard.”

“You’re being kinder than he deserves. The first time I laid eyes on your group in St. Louis, I knew Drake must have spun quite a tale.” He snorted. “The Ladies Emigration Society. If he’d told you the truth about what he really had planned—”

Ruth turned back around. “It wouldn’t have mattered. At least not to me.” Gray looked doubtful. “Oh, I would still have objected to the dance card and the lineup waiting for us, but coming west was the least objectionable of a very short list of unattractive options for me. I’d be a terrible teacher, and dressmaking as a profession would drive me batty. As inept as I may be at homesteading, it’s still the best option for Jackson and me. If I can hang on for those five years and prove up, I can sell for enough to get Jackson through St. Louis University. Thanks to Ella and the others, it’s looking like it will work out.”

“What about marriage? You might not approve of the way Drake handled things, but you’re a handsome woman, Ruth. Didn’t you even consider marrying again?”

A handsome woman.
Did he honestly think that was flattering? And why did that particular choice of words sting? She was old enough to be Lucas Gray’s . . . older sister, at the very least. Folding her arms across her body, Ruth cut the conversation short.

“You should be resting. And I shouldn’t be boring you with personal drivel. I’m going to make myself some tea. I’ll check back in a few minutes to see if you need anything.” She moved toward the door.

“I’ve offended you. I didn’t mean to.”

“Nonsense. I’m not offended. You wanted to know about marriage and I’ve told you. Not every woman on this earth is waiting with bated breath to be proposed to, Mr. Gray. Some of us have other goals in life. I’m very hopeful that my friends and I will one day be able to surprise even a self-made man like yourself with a certain level of success in something besides landing a husband. Of course, Four Corners won’t be anything like the vast property you own, but that doesn’t mean—”

“Ruth.” Lucas raised his voice. “Please. Whatever I said . . . I’m sorry.” He swiped his hand across his forehead. “Listen. I know I strut and swagger. But in here—” he pointed to his chest—“in here I know the truth. Any man who thinks he’s self-made is a fool. I came to Dawson County early enough to get a good piece of land. My cattle have stayed healthy and I’ve had the good fortune to hire on good men—with one or two exceptions. God’s sent abundant rain and excellent grazing my way. And on top of that, I’ve been able to negotiate a good deal with the railroad to ship my beef to market.
All
those things have to remain in near perfect balance for any of this to work.” He snorted. “I’m no
self-made
man. I’m
lucky.
Or
blessed
, if you prefer the religious view of things.”

He paused. “And I’ll tell you something else. I’d give every single steer and this fancy house and all I’ve worked for to have another chance at—” He broke off. Cleared his throat. “You may not have a house yet or a herd of cattle, but you’ve got a terrific son and the memory of a happy marriage. It’s no small accomplishment to put up with the nonsense men expect of a woman sometimes.” He gestured around. “This? This is just . . . window dressing.”

Ruth returned to her chair and sat down.

Lucas smiled. “Not so angry now that I’ve let you look into the chink in my armor?”

“You asked why I didn’t marry again. Well, the fact is that my sister had a husband all picked out for me. He seemed willing.” Ruth arched one eyebrow. “He once called me a
handsome
woman, too.” She shook her head. “I’d forgotten how annoying it was when he said that. Until just now.”

“
I
meant it as a compliment.”

“I know. I didn’t hear it that way.” She sighed. “I could have stayed in St. Louis and married Mr. Grissom and my future would have been . . . assured. And very conventional.”

“But you didn’t.”

Ruth shook her head. “No. I may be middle-aged, but—”

Lucas snorted again. “That’s ridiculous. Stop referring to yourself as if you’re in need of a cane. You’re no more middle-aged than me.”

“As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted,” Ruth said. “I may be . . . mature . . . but I have this odd belief that a woman should actually love a man she marries. My sister Margaret, on the other hand, thought that since I had already married for love once, I should be willing to marry for . . . convenience . . . this time. Both hers and mine, as it turned out. What she didn’t realize was that I wasn’t so concerned for myself as I was for Jackson. Mr. Grissom didn’t love
Jackson
. I won’t ever put him under the authority of a man who doesn’t love him. Ever.”

“So you came west in the company of a group of strangers. Even though you don’t know the first thing about homesteading or Nebraska. Even though you hated the idea of maybe having to take in sewing to make ends meet. Even though you didn’t know anyone out here.”

“Yes.”

As Lucas looked her over, Ruth couldn’t help but think of that phrase in the Bible about a person being weighed in the scales and found wanting. He had to think she was insane. The silence in the room grew large. Ruth realized the storm outside had abated. She rose from her chair and went back to the window. “The clouds are clearing out of the sky,” she said. “I can see a cluster of stars right above the barn.”

“Ruth,” Lucas said, his voice low.

She turned around to face him. “Yes?”

“I’m proud of what I’ve done here. Maybe a little too proud, sometimes. I’m not very vocal about giving God his due, and I’m fairly conscious of my own hand in things. But as I said, I’ve been blessed. No one dared to tell me I couldn’t do this or that I was crazy to try. No one was waiting to say, ‘See, I told you so,’ or second-guessing my decisions and waiting for me to fail to prove how smart they were. I didn’t come out here alone. I came with my cousin, who, at the time, was my best friend. And had I failed, no one but me would have paid the price for that failure.”

Ruth frowned. “I’m not sure I understand why you’re telling me all this.”

“Because I want you to know I mean it when I say I think you’re one of the bravest people I’ve ever known. And I’d be honored if you’d consider me a friend. And I’m sorry I called you
handsome.
I’ll never do it again.” He grinned.

Heaven help her but he was a charming rogue. Ruth grinned back. “See to it that you keep that promise.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And now get some sleep. You’re supposed to be healing. I can’t play nursemaid forever. I have a homestead to . . . plant or farm or develop or whatever it is one says out here.”

Ruth woke with a start.

“Pssst. Mrs. Dow. Psst.”

She recognized Wah Lo’s voice, although the bedroom door was only partway cracked and no part of the man was visible. “What is it? Is Lucas—”

“Not Mr. Gray,” Wah Lo said. “He sleep. You come. Mrs. Raines very sick.”

Grabbing her wrapper, Ruth hurried to the door and followed Wah Lo toward the front of the house. Hettie hadn’t been herself for days now. She had no appetite, and at night she fell into bed so exhausted she barely stirred until the next morning when she woke to splash water on her face and smooth her wiry hair before padding down the hall to check on Lucas. He was doing well, but Hettie . . . Ruth was worried about Hettie. And now here she was out on the front porch where she’d fallen to her hands and knees, moaning as dry heaves overtook her.