Sixty Acres and a Bride (22 page)

Weston turned red underneath a fine sheen of perspiration. Oops. Maybe she should’ve lowered her skirts before speaking, for they were still tucked into her waistband. “Excuse me. I forgot . . .” Pretty sure that was a serious offense, married or not. She bounded to the blanket and dropped to arrange them over her feet while she slid on her stockings and boots. “You are finished with your siesta?”

“Might as well be with the ruckus you’re raising.” He laughed nervously, but he managed to smile. Together they gathered the dinner pail and canteen and strapped the blanket to the back of Pandora’s saddle.

“I’m glad you woke up. I’d be in a lot of trouble otherwise. Now I suppose I owe you even more.”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

She waited for him next to Smokey and was about to retort when he put his hands around her waist. Perhaps Weston had forgotten how to lift her, because he sure took his sweet time getting a good grip. Her playful attitude melted in the earnestness of his expression.

“I’m not fooling around, Rosa. You’re my wife, and you can’t work off your debt. I won’t accept it.”

No, he wasn’t fooling around. With the smell of gun smoke still swirling about him, she knew he’d brook no backtalk. Maybe they could discuss it when they weren’t alone with his hands snugly around her perpetually corsetless waist. She decided to bide her time until he saw reason.

“I can read your thoughts as easily as if they were branded in your hide.” He lifted her onto Smokey’s back and handed her the reins. “Be patient, Rosa. We’re in it for the long haul. No sense in doing something we’ll regret.” With a slap on the rump he sent Smokey toward home.

E
LIZA AND JAKE RETURNED
before another night had passed. Good thing. Weston needed to get out to work. Having both Jake and him absent would put them behind. Besides, staying around the house wore him slick. Especially when he hadn’t decided what to do with his bride.

Hosting company had always fallen on the ladies of the family. Obviously, Rosa wasn’t a guest, but he couldn’t leave her stewing in the parlor while he rode his rounds. On the other hand, he didn’t want to risk more time alone with her in the fields. Somehow things got messy no matter where they were.

He couldn’t woo her. He couldn’t offer himself as a legitimate husband yet. Not with the crazy reactions her presence caused. Half the time he wanted to run and half the time he wanted to hold her, but never did he consider releasing her. Someday he’d be ready, and he wanted Rosa there when he did. Selfish.

You add one woman to the table, and the dining room explodes in noise. Eliza and Rosa chattered over each other like magpies. One of Rosa’s stories rolled out so fast, she was half done before they realized she’d switched to Spanish somewhere along the way. Would it ever be quiet again? Was that what he wanted?

“Wes, you haven’t said two words tonight. You’re mulling something over. What’s stuck in your craw?”

Jake caught him staring at her. Now everyone had. Rosa went scarlet.

Jake’s napkin flew to his mouth to prevent his food from erupting. “Did you see that, Eliza? I bet I know what he’s thinking about.”

Eliza’s eyebrows shot up as she perused both of them. “They certainly are behaving ridiculously, avoiding each other all evening. Not acting like newlyweds should.”

Rosa was the first to break. “I don’t . . . we’re not . . .”

“You don’t need to say anything. It doesn’t concern them,” Weston said.

“I’m concerned.” Jake chortled as his brother-in-law glared. “I am. If y’all are already having spats, we might consider moving out. I don’t want to raise our child in a hostile environment.”

“Jake, stop. You’re making me laugh.” Eliza fanned her face. “I’m going to have heartburn tonight for sure.”

“Well, that’s just dandy. Now none of us will be having any fun this evening.” He threw his napkin down in mock exasperation. “You’re not being a good influence on my wife, and I don’t appreciate it.”

A hearty guffaw escaped from Rosa, obviously startling her. She clamped her mouth shut before more could escape, but her shoulders shook from the effort.

She amazed him. Her black eyes sparked. Her laugh rang as high as her spirits. How had she endured three months of quiet evenings with only Aunt Louise for company? And before that, she’d survived a long dry trip over hundreds of miles? Seeing her now made it easy to imagine her as the toast of her town—Ciauhtlaz, was it? Despite her quiet demeanor, she certainly wasn’t a wallflower.

The evening sun wrapped the room in golden hues as Eliza told about her shopping trip. Jake threw in his own salty descriptions for flavoring when the story ran dull for his taste.

Weston never imagined his family dinners would look like this—his pregnant sister, rowdy brother-in-law, and his Mexican wife gathered around the table—but now he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“That trunk is full of clothes for me? I can’t afford them.” Rosa’s face creased.

“Afford them?” Eliza laid her napkin aside. “Wes will get you all the gowns you need. Just don’t expect him to do the shopping.”

“She’s being ornery, Rosa. I’ll take you to town next week to get them fitted,” Weston offered.

“Oh no. I can alter them myself. Save a little money, no?”

“If you like.” Tossing his napkin on the table, he addressed his sister, “Now, you’re probably roaring to go. Finally we have a participant for our poetry readings who might appreciate all your schooling. What highfalutin’ cultural goods are you going to expire us to tonight?”

“It’s
expose
, not
expire
, and I think you’ll like it,” she said as she got up. “I bought a book yesterday by the poet John Donne. His religious poetry is well-known for . . .” Her voice trailed off as she made her way to the parlor. Since returning from the Ladies’ Academy, Eliza had searched in vain for an occasion to make use of her genteel education. Whenever possible she wrangled the men of her hearth into evening readings, for lack of a more suitable audience. Hopefully, Rosa’s presence would take the pressure off of Jake and Weston.

As the ladies strolled out of the room, Jake pulled Wes aside. “Did you miss us?”

“Actually, I did.”

Jake’s face fell. “That ain’t right. I’m disappointed in you.”

“Rosa can’t rope as well as you do. Nice to have you back.”

The parlor settee was June-bug green, its upholstery filleted into diamonds by silken strands of lemon cutting through the cloth.

With her index finger, Rosa traced the golden path, turning at an intersection every time she heard an interesting phrase, until Eliza reached the conclusion. Her head swam with the rich sounds and vivid imagery of the poetry. Always a lover of the dramatic, Rosa could feel the meter pounding each strong word into her heart.

“I love all the words that describe doing things. What are those called?” she asked her sister-in-law.

“Verbs?”

“Yes, the verbs in that poem are so powerful: batter, break, ravish, enthrall . . .”

“What’s that?” Weston entered, took the book from Eliza’s hand, and inspected the cover. “That doesn’t sound like poetry that should be in my house.”

“Nonsense, Weston. It’s religious poetry from over two hundred years ago.” Eliza snatched it from him and smoothed the page. “See, in the first stanza the poet is distraught because there’s something standing between God and him, and he can’t remove it alone. He wants his relationship with God to be more intimate, but he doesn’t know how to move forward.

“Batter my heart, three person’d God; for you

As yet but knock; breathe, shine, and seek to mend;

That I may rise, and stand, o’erthrow me, and bend

Your force, to break, blow, burn and make me new.”

Rosa leaned forward. “There must’ve been something in her life holding her back—a fear she couldn’t overcome. She wants to completely belong to God but needs Him to pursue her.”

“She?” Weston looked at Rosa suspiciously and seated himself in the armchair by the unlit fireplace. “I thought the writer’s name was John.”

Eliza came to her aid. “It’s a personal poem meant to be embraced by the reader. If the reader is female, she puts herself in the place of the author.”

Jake rolled his eyes. “Yeah, Wes. Didn’t they teach you that on the Chisholm Trail?”

“Must have missed that lesson.”

“Read the last again,” Rosa said.

“Take me to you, imprison me, for I,

Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,

Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.”

“That’s enough,” Weston said firmly.

Rosa blinked. Did he really disapprove?

“Sorry,” Eliza said. “I forgot to factor in your provincial scruples.”

“Sit back and enjoy, Rosa,” Jake said with a laugh. “Wes and Eliza are capable of some Texas-sized showdowns. This looks promising.”

But she didn’t want them to fight. They’d had so much fun during supper. The evening mustn’t be ruined now.

Without thinking, she left the settee and found herself on the footstool at Wes’s knees. He sat up a little straighter.

“Don’t you ever feel that way? Sometimes it seems every choice I make is a mistake. If only God would just stop the struggle, surround me, and make me do His will, how easy it would be!”

He moderated his tone for her but continued to glare at his sister. “I don’t disagree; however, the language in that poem is not appropriate—definitely not appropriate for a parlor, most likely inappropriate anywhere.”

Eliza’s voice burst through their bubble. “Appropriate? How many times will you use that word in one breath? You forget, dear brother, while I appreciate Victorian sensibilities, especially here on the frontier, God is not Victorian. Prudishness can go too far.”

“That poem can go too far. It guides the imagination where it shouldn’t go. I’m no prude, but to use explicit imagery to describe a spiritual relationship is unbiblical.”

“You need to read your Bible,” said Eliza.

“Yes, you do,” Rosa agreed. Why were they so riled up? She would end this puzzling hostility. “Eli used to read the Bible to us every night. There’s so much I don’t understand. Would you read it to us?”

“He’d be glad to.” Jake dug for a piece of food in his teeth with his pocketknife. “Wes used to lead devotions at church. You just find a good passage and—”

“Maybe something from Song of Solomon,” Eliza suggested. Even Rosa couldn’t miss the look her brother shot her.

“Solomon? Isn’t that King David’s son?” Rosa didn’t want to see the fight Jake predicted.

“Yep,” Jake answered. “Sure was. He has a nice little book right there in the Old Testament—great reading for married couples.”

“Jake, you got any chores to do?” Weston growled.

“Nope. Wild horses couldn’t drag me away from this rodeo.”

Eliza wasn’t done either. “Think about it, Wes. You believe that Scripture is divinely inspired. Why would God include the book if it was something to be ashamed of?”

What were they talking about? Rosa looked to the man who’d never yet failed to help her when she asked. “What is Solomon’s Song?”

He put both hands on his face and wiped down hard, almost pulling the day’s growth of whiskers out of his skin. He studied the ceiling for a moment before answering. “Truthfully, I don’t know that I’ve ever read it all the way through.”

“Why not?” Rosa twisted the unfamiliar gold ring around her finger.

“Well, usually when I study Scripture, I look for a passage that teaches me how to live. I want to read something that tells me what to do.”

“Can’t you do what’s in that book?”

His startled expression surprised her. He seemed unable to find his voice, so Rosa continued, “Surely God wouldn’t put it in the Bible if you weren’t supposed to do it, would He?”

Weston scooted his legs far away from the footstool. “You’re the expert there, Rosa. Ruth and Boaz, was it?”

“Oh! I . . .” She fumbled for words as her grasp on her ring slipped. The gold band slid from her fingers and plunked on the floor. Her faced burned. She dropped off the footstool onto her knees and frantically skimmed over the rug, fingers splayed in the weak lamplight.

“What in the world?” Weston lifted his feet high as she swept under his chair and retrieved the missing ring.

Chastened, Rosa returned to her spot on the footstool.

Jake’s coughing barely disguised his laughter. “Eliza, it’s past sundown. Ain’t it about time for us to hit the hay?”

“You lead, I’ll follow.” Eliza dropped her book on the settee, gave Rosa a peck on the cheek, and lumbered out. Jake slowed to slide the double doors of the parlor closed behind his growing wife.

And they were gone.

They’d departed so abruptly that they were down the hall before their voices finished echoing across the parlor. The room was quiet, the doors were closed, and suddenly her position at Weston’s knees seemed very intimate. Neither of them spoke. Rosa watched the lamplight. Wes watched her.

“I’m . . . um . . . sorry.” He squirmed and once again tried to fit his feet between the stool and his chair. “That was wrong of me. Please don’t take offense.”

She dared a sideways glance.

“You were right. I shouldn’t take sides between you and Eliza. I should know better—”

“I’m trying to apologize.”

“But you didn’t answer my question about Solomon’s Song.”

He looked away. “I don’t think you’re ready for that.”

Condescending? Was that the English word? “What do you mean? I’ve been a Christian for several years—”

“You’ve been my wife for only a day.”

She shrugged her shoulders. “So?”

He scowled, stood, and put some distance between them. “It’s been a long day. If you’d like a Bible to read, there’s one in the great room. You could take it upstairs, or stay here, or . . . well, do whatever you want, but I’m beat.” He backed toward the escape—running from her, and she wasn’t even chasing him. “Think I’d better turn in for the night. Will you be all right?”

She nodded, to his apparent relief.

Rosa didn’t feel like reading after he left, but she didn’t mind exploring some on her own. After he was safely upstairs Rosa located the heavy Bible and flipped through it to see if there were any pictures that would explain the mystery. Naturally, there were not.