Sixty Acres and a Bride (8 page)

As he approached the homestead, he saw a carriage under the lean-to. Lovelaces? What were they doing out here? He stopped, chewed over his options.

“Ain’t you going to come on in and sit a spell?” George called from the barn.

“Thought I’d check on the sheep.”

“Already did. They’re fine.”

Weston maneuvered the horse to where his uncle sat by a lamp. “What are you doing in the barn?”

“You see that carriage?”

“Lovelaces?”

“Yep. That’s what I’m doing in the barn.”

Weston climbed down and got a feed bag for his horse. “Is it too warm in the house?”

“It’s warm, that’s for certain. Mary has a hard time being hospitable to those two. She can overlook a lot of flaws, but laziness ain’t one of them.”

Weston shook out his slicker and hung it on a stall divider. “To be fair, Miss Lovelace is as enterprising as her father. Now, Nicholas is another story.”

“But Molly is helpless in a kitchen or on a farm. That’s all Mary cares about.”

“She’s been employed at the courthouse for a couple of years now. You should have her cipher for you sometime. She’s amazing.” He settled himself on the ground next to George.

“I’m surprised at you. I thought you didn’t care for the girl.”

Weston leaned against the support beam. “There’s nothing wrong with Molly that the right man can’t fix. I’m not that man.”

“And why not? She comes from a good family. She gussies up pretty. You could straighten her out.”

“I’m not the right man for anyone.” They sat in silence. Raindrops splashed into the puddles forming around the barn. Weston wasn’t ready to leave yet.

“How was Eliza’s trip? I heard she made it home,” George said.

“Her visit with Cora’s parents wasn’t easy.” Weston took off his hat and set it on his knee. “I wish there was something I could do for the Smocks. I’m willing to take responsibility, but it doesn’t bring their daughter back.”

George tossed his straw away. “Weston, we were all there. We saw what happened. It wasn’t your fault. She pulled further and further away from everyone. No one could help her.”

“God could’ve.”

George pulled his knees up. “Well now. Are you blaming yourself or blaming God?”

Weston shrugged. Could he admit to blaming God? He knew better. But he also knew that God read his heart. His silence wasn’t hiding anything from his Creator. “That’s where I’ve been stuck. God could’ve stopped her, so why . . . why didn’t He? Did He not care? Did He not care what happened to her . . . or to me? But blaming God doesn’t get me very far, does it?”

“You know the answer to that.”

Weston got to his feet. “Yet there should be a reckoning. Someone should pay for what happened.” He paced across the damp dirt floor. “I was doing all I could for her. I thought she’d get it right in the end. Maybe I wasn’t trying hard enough. Maybe I should have seen the warning signs, but I didn’t until it was too late.”

And so he was exacting vengeance on himself. He didn’t deserve happiness. He didn’t deserve peace. How could he laugh and love when his wife was cold and buried? Justice required more.

“Someone did pay, son. Jesus paid for all our failures. Maybe it was sin, maybe weakness, or maybe Cora was the victim of a corrupt, fallen world. God took all those possibilities and settled the account on them. And you know what He gave you? Life. Refusing to live ain’t doing God any favors. He must expect more from you or you wouldn’t be here.”

Thunder rolled in the distance. “It isn’t easy after so long. I feel like every time I stick my neck out, someone puts their boot on it, but I’m going to see this through. Yet my biggest contribution might be keeping my distance so that no one else gets hurt. That’s a possibility.”

“Maybe. Just make sure it’s God’s call and not your own fear. Although I can think of one contribution I’d appreciate tonight. Since you’re already out in the rain, would you mind swingin’ past Louise and Rosa’s? Make sure they rode out the storm?”

Weston nodded and got on the horse. Somehow he knew when he left Palmetto that he’d end up at the ladies’ house, one way or another.

His horse was unfamiliar with the road past George and Mary’s, since they’d had no reason in years to travel it across the creek. Smokey felt his way cautiously. When they reached the bank, the water was swifter than usual, curling around the horse’s legs and splashing the cuff of Wes’s trousers, but they crossed and made it to the dark house.

From the looks of things, damage was slight. A few shingles littered the yard, a chair on the porch had toppled over, but there was nothing that couldn’t wait till morning. The cellar door was flung open, hanging crooked on the exhausted hinges. Good. At least they weren’t trapped underground.

He turned Smokey to the back side of the plot to make a complete circle before he headed to bed.

Rosa paced the room vigorously, trying to burn off the outrage coursing through her veins. Louise had hung their wet clothes on the backs of the kitchen chairs and provided rough dry towels to ward off the chill, yet still she trembled. Maybe her agitation was heightened from being trapped underground, but Mr. Tillerton bore most of the blame. No question, he had acted on purpose. Hadn’t he warned her at church? At church!

Rosa stomped her foot at the memory. According to etiquette, she’d handled the incident correctly, but she wasn’t satisfied. She wanted to run through the streets of Prairie Lea and howl that she’d been insulted, but she suspected the blame would land on her. Again.

She flopped on the bed, lying back against the headboard, the ore of her anger melting down to silver determination. She would get through this. Death, widowhood, relocation, and financial ruin; what was a nasty churl compared to everything else she faced? Yet her heart was heavy. She lived in a corrupt world, and he was a thorn that proved it. When would there be relief? Was life on Earth always this hard? Would there be any restoration before Christ returned?

The melancholy longing caused her to reach for her
tlapitzalli.
Her fingers traced the bird-shaped carvings on the clay pipe as her eyes filled with tears. Putting the flute to her lips, she poured her angst into it, where it was transformed into a low, haunting song, and her heart prayed the words of David she had memorized:

I will sing of mercy and judgment:

Unto thee, O Lord, will I sing.

I will behave myself wisely in a perfect way.

O when wilt thou come unto me?

I will walk within my house with a perfect heart.

I will set no wicked thing before mine eyes:

I hate the work of them that turn aside;

It shall not cleave to me.

Mine eyes shall be upon the faithful of the land,

That they may dwell with me.

“Lord, please bring the faithful to dwell with us,” she whispered. “Bring those who will help and protect and keep the evil ones far from us. May your Kingdom come and do not let the wicked prevail. Please keep me strong. Louise needs me and I’m already getting discouraged.” She stopped to blow the lamp out and snuggle under her covers.
How can we do this without help, Jesus? We need your help.

Smokey’s ears twitched as they passed along the side of the house alerting Weston that he had missed something. Was that a bird? No, it sounded like a dove, but it was sustained. No bird sang like that. The music led him to an open window above him. He didn’t stare, worried that Rosa might appear and see him—or that he might see more of her than he intended. He steered Smokey under the oak tree, where he couldn’t see or be seen and lingered to listen to the auditory salve, to let his prayers join the chorus of praise currently underway. What he had to say couldn’t compete in meaning or beauty, but maybe his prayers would be accepted as part of the harmony.

The heavy drops of rain caught in the giant leaves fell with every breeze. He’d been granted a private concert. Sorrow welled up with the lifting of the melody, wringing out his every pain and letting it drip away.

But as painful as the message was, there was resolution. Hope floated in the final notes before they faded, and the square of warm light went dark for the night. He sat, relishing the shared solitude, and wondered how she knew the song in his heart.

D
IRT UNDER HER FINGERNAILS,
dress sodden at the knees, Rosa knelt and fingered the battered seedlings. The lanky sprouts bent double, but they weren’t broken. A few more days of brilliant sunshine like this one promised to be and they would bypass their former height without a doubt.

“The chickens seem to have come out ahead.” Louise plodded through the marshy yard, wiping her hands on the faded gingham apron. “They didn’t fancy that storm, but with all the earthworms it uncovered, they’re enjoying the feast. How are the crops?”

Rosa shrugged. “I don’t see any roots exposed or many stems broken, so there was probably no harm done. They’re still green. They’ll pop back up, no?” She scanned the long rows she had hoed, proud of the tangles of emerald spreading in the median of each. Their work was paying off, but would it be enough?

“I wonder how George and Mary fared.” Louise pulled broken limbs to a burn pile.

Rosa did too. She headed toward the dilapidated picket fence to help Louise dislodge a large tree limb that had fallen in the night. With a grunt and a step backward, they disentangled the branch, the sudden release causing both to stumble a few feet.

“I don’t know. Come to think of it, I’m surprised Mary hasn’t sent George over to check on us, but he’s probably got his hands full tending Wes’s sheep this morning. They’re likely scattered to the four winds.”

Rosa removed the broken twigs protruding from between the slats. “Why are Weston’s sheep on Uncle George’s farm? It is Uncle George’s farm, isn’t it?”

Straightening, Louise craned her back in what looked to be a satisfying stretch before answering. “Yes, it’s their farm, but just barely. According to Mary, they came close to losing it a few years ago when the property taxes jumped clear to the moon. They scrimped enough greenbacks together to pay them, and George set out to Lockhart with the money, but it never made it.”

“Was he robbed?” Rosa had heard that Texas after the war had been a dangerous place.

“Yes, but it was legal.” Louise shook her head. “Seems that George had developed a taste for poker while in the brigade. He hadn’t had much chance to play since then, and all that money was just burning a hole in his pocket.”

Rosa started to express her shock, but Louise quickly amended, “I don’t want you to think poorly of George. He’s a good man. We’ve all got our weaknesses, and evidently gambling is his. But how was Mary to know? He rarely went to town, so it hadn’t come up before. I’ve known him my whole adult life and would have never thought it of him.

“So, to make a long story short, Wes leased their ranch from them. He took the lease money to the courthouse himself and paid the taxes, so there was no danger of them losing the family land. Wes keeps his sheep out here, where George and his boys can take care of them.”

“How sad for Uncle George!”

“Well, that’s what family’s for. I think the setup bothers Mary more than it does George, though. Specially since it’s put Weston in a bind. He’s got a lot of land, but cash is hard to come by. Something for us to bear in mind if we aren’t caught up by August.” She smiled. “We’ll just have to make sure we aren’t in that position, won’t we?”

The horizon held Louise’s attention for a troubled moment. “Mary told me they’re saving to invest in longhorns again. She thinks after this spring they’ll lease back only part of their land to Wes and run cattle on the rest. Could be that Weston would want to lease our land, but I can’t offer it unless George and Mary bow out first, so pray they have a good summer, too. If they get enough money together, we might be saved.”

She paused as she caught a glimpse of a sharp black buggy crossing the creek. “My, my, looks like we have company. Don’t say anything about leasing. It’s too early to give up. We still have time.” She hurried into the house, leaving Rosa alone in the yard with her arms full of twigs.

Rosa deposited the branches in the growing pile next to the laundry line and went through the kitchen door. By the time she’d washed up at the spigot, the guests were in the parlor, where she could eavesdrop easily.

A woman’s voice she didn’t recognize wafted into the room. “It’s hard to believe that they are never coming back. Both Eli and Mack. I’d always imagined that one day they’d return to this house.”

“It’s a bitter world we live in.” Overcome by sorrow, it took Louise a minute to remember her manners. “And I haven’t had a chance to speak with you about your own tragedy. May I offer my condolences?”

The deep voice that answered sent a shock through Rosa’s chest. “Thank you, Aunt Louise. I appreciate your thoughts, although my loss isn’t as recent as yours. How are you managing?”

Wasting no more time in the kitchen, Rosa entered to see a young dark-haired woman in an ill-fitting gown place her hand on Weston’s arm. He didn’t finish the sentence. Upon seeing Rosa, he stood but didn’t meet her eyes. She knew she wasn’t much to look at this morning, but after all they’d encountered together, why was he acting like a total stranger?

“Eliza, this is my daughter-in-law, Rosa. Mack’s wife.” Rosa held out her hand as she’d been instructed and was pleased to find a pair of sparkling eyes appraising her from under fringed bangs and highly arched eyebrows.

What would the other woman think? Rosa had chosen her stained red blouse for work in the garden, but it was still a strong color for her. Would she appreciate the handiwork on the seams or only see the dirt? And Rosa’s hair was twisted up and off her neck in an artless knot, completely unlike the tight curls that framed Eliza’s face. She was so out of fashion, but Eliza didn’t seem to mind.

“Look at us. So formal.” Eliza laughed as she leaned forward for a cheek-to-cheek hug. “This is how kin behave.”

Weston didn’t follow suit but swung his hands behind his back, making it clear that neither the hug nor the handshake was necessary. “It’s nice to see you again, Mrs. Garner.”

Rosa searched his face for some twinkle of recognition but found only formality.

“Oh yes, Weston told me an amusing story, but I forget. Where did you meet?” Eliza raised her eyebrows.

Rosa followed Louise’s lead and took a seat. “When I went to help Uncle George and Aunt Mary for the sheep shearing.”

“Oh, you were the one at the sheep shearing!” Eliza’s eyes danced with mischief. “I just wish I could have been there. Sounds like you made quite an impression.”

Rosa gasped. He’d told her about the old ewe? But Weston quickly set her straight.

“Your evaluation of my haircut was something I knew my sister would enjoy.”

Rosa breathed an internal sigh of relief. Louise would never recover if she heard about her attempt at corralling the rogue ewe.

Eliza went on. “I just wish I’d been there to see it. I can only imagine. Alas, he didn’t wait. He had it trimmed before we arrived. Do you think it’s a vast improvement?”

Rosa’s mouth twitched. He would keep her secret safe, and although she was grateful, she knew whose team she was on when siblings bantered. Sisters had to stick together.

She dared to study him for a long moment, taking in the clean-shaven jaw and the freshly trimmed sideburns framing his handsome face. Rosa screwed up her mouth in disapproval. “No, I’m sorry to say it isn’t much improved, but I don’t think the barber can be blamed.”

“Rosa!” Louise gasped as the girls dissolved into giggles. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you. And you, Eliza Jane, you haven’t changed a bit, always tormenting your poor brother. Doesn’t he have enough on his plate?”

Weston shook his head. “You’re wasting your time, Aunt Louise. If Eliza hasn’t profited from the correction of Aunt Mary, Mrs. Lovelace, and the whole staff of the St. Louis Ladies’ Academy, a mere reprimand won’t be effective. The die is cast, and now we must endure while she raises a family of hoydens just like her.”

“A family?” Louise’s hand flew to her chest. “Is there a family to go with this Mr. Jake England that we’ve yet to meet?” Her eyes scanned Eliza’s figure speculatively.

Eliza’s happy face turned a shade happier. “Not yet, but there will be this fall.” Then under her breath she added primly, “Although who can say if it’ll be a hoyden or not.”

Louise looked to Weston, but he adjusted the trim on his Stetson, refusing to acknowledge Eliza’s latest comment. Rosa bit her lip to stop the grin that threatened to emerge.

Clearing his throat, Weston restored some decorum to the parlor by addressing his aunt. “So it’s been a decade? It’s hard to fathom you’ve been gone that long.”

“I can’t believe I spent ten years in Mexico either, but when I came back and saw how much had changed, it seemed I’d been gone a lifetime. When I left, you were still green behind the ears and Eliza hadn’t put her hair up yet.” Louise smiled fondly at the girl. “You grew up without my permission. Yes, the largest shock is with the young folks. My generation just plods along, nothing new, unless you’re Mary and get a few December surprises from the stork. Besides that, everyone is just as they were the day we pulled down that drive, heading for Mexico with a wagon brimming with hope, dreams, and my little family.” She reached into her apron for a hankie and dabbed her eyes.

“And you, Weston, tell me about your own sweet wife. Cora? Was that her name?”

“Was that her name?”
How he hated to hear
was
describing his wife. So final. So permanent.

“Yes, ma’am—Cora Smock. Her people are from St. Louis—which is where we met. She was actually at the academy with Eliza.” He floundered. How could he put together the bare bones of the story without disturbing the sensitive, painful truth?

“Cora and I were the closest friends,” Eliza interrupted, “and her parents entertained us while Wes was in town to see me.” Thus she began the colorful narration, leaving Weston alone with his memories:

True, Cora was stunning—the consummate mistress of the soirees held in her parlor. But what most impressed Weston was her poise. She was capable, gracious, and welcoming to all. She didn’t simper like Eliza’s other academy friends. For a slender lady, Miss Smock had broad shoulders, and her hands, although soft and white, were ample—definitely large enough to handle reins.

Here was a woman who could stand by his side and meet the challenges of life without flinching.

Difficult to believe his first impression of her was so tragically mistaken. Yet, that wasn’t completely fair to her, either. Had she stayed in St. Louis, she would probably have remained the unflappable hostess and gone on to lead a rich and fulfilling life. Yes, she was poised and she was capable, but only in her own element. Just as a strong rye might grow well in one field and turn spindly in another, she’d been transplanted from the soil that nourished her and dropped into a hostile environment.

And he was the one who’d uprooted her.

Rosa listened to Eliza’s account, her sharp black eyes not missing the change in Weston. He didn’t hear a word his sister was saying. He was somewhere far away. As painful as Eliza’s account might be, from the look of despair on his face, his own reckoning was crueler. Eliza told the story of a tragic accident. Weston looked like he was reliving a crime, one of which he’d been convicted.

“But how did she drown in that old pond?” Louise prodded. “The boys used to swim in it all the time. You have to wade halfway across before it gets deep enough. . . .”

Rosa watched, appalled, as Weston seemed to wither, sinking into the faded velvet cushions. She could almost see the spectral accuser hovering over him, listing his shames and failures in a nasty voice that only he could hear. She wanted to end it but didn’t know how. Fortunately, his sister was a warrior in her own right.

“She was sick, Aunt Louise, sick and out of her mind that night. We might never know how she became so disoriented, but we do know that she was loved by all and loving to all.” She paused, lips pressed firmly together. “Cora would never want the responsibility for her demise to fall on her loved ones.”

Louise nodded in sympathy. “I understand, and you can perhaps imagine how much I’ve tormented myself over the deaths of my men, especially Mack. With Eli, it was unavoidable. How could we predict an earthquake? Every man working the mines took that risk, but with Mack it was different.

“Mack survived the first collapse. We got there in time to see him stumble out, but he wouldn’t stay out. He grabbed a shovel and went back. . . .” She stopped and turned her face to the window, her chin quivering.

Rosa tried to pick up the story, but the words couldn’t be forced from her throat. She swallowed dust and croaked out a few phrases. “Black powder all over him. Everyone screaming. He came out . . .”

“He didn’t come to Rosa or to me. You’d think a newlywed would be more considerate, but no, he didn’t have time to spare a thought for her. Not even a word. If he’d given her that, he wouldn’t have been in the cave when the aftershock came. Of course, he wouldn’t give up on his father. They didn’t always see eye to eye, but Mack knew Eli loved him. If only I could have convinced him not to . . .”

Rosa looked up to find Weston’s dark eyes on her. She met his unwavering gaze and wondered what he saw. Did he see someone who was unloved? Did he see someone who deserved to be abandoned? She understood that she was no one there in Texas. Not even as important as a beggar, being a foreigner and all. Louise’s name and protection were the keys to every good thing that had happened to her since she’d arrived, but was she worth anything on her own?

Mouth slightly opened, she took deep unsteady breaths as she lowered her eyes. Sometimes the fear suffocated her. Daily she looked forward to the new chores they would tackle, but when she thought of the future, bile rose in her throat and her chest tightened. What would happen to them? Louise would be cared for, but how long would these people tolerate her? Who would protect her from the likes of Jay Tillerton?

The parlor fell into silence, interrupted only by the ticking of the eight-day clock, as each of the four family members’ thoughts alternated between their own losses and compassion for their kin.

Eliza finally roused the somber group by clapping her hands together and rising. “Despite everything, we have to keep moving. We’re still here for a reason, and God doesn’t let us save the sunlight for tomorrow.” She walked to the piano and absently picked out a melody with her right hand. “Since I returned from St. Louis, I’ve been anxious to visit, but we came this morning particularly to see how you weathered last night’s storm.”