Ruth (29 page)

Ruth took in her spacious bedroom with a huge triple window facing south. Snow fell outside in a heavy blanket, but warmth from the woodstove had begun to seep into her chilled bones. Favoring her left side, she pulled back the lace curtains to look outside. The world was beginning to look like a fairyland.

Mr. Clark was warming kettles of water for their baths, and Rose was sleeping on the bed that was covered with a colorful Double Wedding Ring quilt. The friendly room contained a comfortable, overstuffed gingham chair and massive, dark cherry furniture: a dresser, chest of drawers, a cheval mirror and a washstand with a pretty porcelain bowl and pitcher.

Ruth stared at her image. It was the first time in weeks that she’d seen her whole self in a mirror, and she winced. Long days on the trail had dulled her hair; it felt like straw. Wind and rain had left her skin tough as cowhide, and she hadn’t been careful enough about wearing a hat in the blinding sun. Traces of tan rimmed her eyes and reddened her cheeks. She wanted to be beautiful for Dylan, especially today, their wedding day. But instead, she looked like a tired, bruised scarecrow.

Later Ruth joined Dylan in the parlor to wait for their baths. Dylan wrapped his arms around Ruth’s waist. His gaze met hers. “You’ve never looked prettier,” he whispered.

“I look awful—my skin—”

He caught her hand and brought it to his lips, lightly kissing her fingertips. “You’re a beautiful woman, Ruth.”

She closed her eyes, relishing the warmth of his breath on her hand. How was it possible to know such happiness? such contentment? Six weeks ago she would have said it wasn’t possible, not for Ruth Priggish, but she’d been mistaken.

As he held her hand tightly, Dylan’s kisses explored her neckline. She leaned back, allowing him further access to the graceful curve. The baby slept soundly upstairs; snow fell gently outside the large windows.

“Dylan?”

“Hmmm?”

“How long will we stay in Shadow Brook?”

She wasn’t sure of his plans; the marriage proposal had come so suddenly. Did he regret the impulsive moment, or had he clearly thought the proposition through? She prayed for the latter.

“We’re in no hurry to leave.”

She snuggled closer against his warmth. “I’m going to be generous and allow you to retract the proposal. I know everything was so hectic, and you thought I was dead.”

His grip tightened. “A jury couldn’t make me take it back.” Turning her gently to face him, he smiled, his eyes openly adoring her. “I love you, Ruth. I’ve waited all my life for you to come along. I didn’t know that day I joined the wagon train that you were the one, but somewhere along the way I got a pretty good hunch.” He kissed her again and, to Ruth, the world was suddenly as perfect as God intended.

His gaze darkened with desire. “You can have the first bath.”

“All right.” She touched his features lovingly, wanting to memorize the character lines she saw. He had a strong face, gentle yet resolute; eyes as blue as an October sky. The dark growth of beard would soon vanish, and the clean-shaven marshall would be handsome enough to break any woman’s heart. Ruth surmised that Dylan McCall had broken more than his share of hearts. She felt a prick of jealousy when she thought of other women and her man. Funny how possessive of the marshall she’d become practically overnight.

“And—” he kissed her earlobe—“then we get married. I paid Mr. Clark to send for the preacher.”

Ruth threw her arms around his neck. Her slight weight impacted his, and they staggered back into an overstuffed chair. Ruth held her left side, wincing in pain as she giggled. She showered his prickly face with kisses.

Chuckling, he caught her face between his hands and stilled her long enough to catch his breath. “I have never proposed to you properly.”

“That’s all right. You did ask—” He usually ordered her to do things, which would have been all right in this instance.

“But not properly.” Sitting her upright, he sank to his knee beside the chair and caught her hand. Gazing into her eyes, he asked softly, “Will you spend the rest of your life with me, Ruth Priggish? Will you be the mother of my children—?”

Her pulse quickened and she stopped him. “Dylan—”

“Let me fin—”

She brought her left hand to cover his mouth. The air had suddenly gone out of the room. In her blissful state she had forgotten to remind him of her condition. Her heart ached. Once he remembered, he would surely take back the proposal, and she couldn’t blame him. “I can’t . . .”

“You can’t?” Disbelief flickered across his features. “You can’t marry me?”

She shook her head, tears spurting to her eyes. “I can’t be the mother of your children. Remember? I told you—that night we were talking about our childhoods? I thought you understood.”

Her heart was breaking. Holding her side, she got up and walked to the window. As she stared out, she sorted her words, wondering why she had let herself get so excited. Why hadn’t she even thought that perhaps he had not understood the seriousness of her condition that night under the stars, when they had shared their deepest secrets? They would have Rose, but Dylan would desire a son and eventually other children. And she wouldn’t be able to provide him heirs. Oh, God, why hadn’t she made sure he understood sooner?

He remained on one knee, viewing her tolerantly. “You’re going to have to be a little more specific, Ruth.”

Ruth bit her lower lip, trying to stem her rising tears. “I wasn’t born like other women, Dylan. I’m physically unable to bear children. . . .” Hot tears rolled from the corners of her eyes. “I’m so sorry—I should have been more specific but . . .” She licked away salty wetness. “It’s my fault . . . I’m so sorry.”

He came to her, turning her and taking her tenderly into his arms. She closed her eyes and relished the moment, probably the last time he’d hold her like this. If he ever held her again, it would be out of pity, and she couldn’t bear that. They clung to each other while her tears dampened his shoulder. It seemed like hours before she found her voice again.

“I know it matters . . .”

His voice was as soft and gentle as she’d come to expect these last few days. “Well, sure it matters, but probably more to you than to me, Ruth.” He held her away from him, his eyes searching hers. “Until I met you, I didn’t think I’d ever have a wife and children. I know how badly you want to be a mother, Ruth, but we have Rose. I’m sorry that you want more—”

“Me?” She reached out to trace the curve of his chin with her forefinger. “It isn’t me I’m concerned about—it’s you.”

The light of everlasting love shone from the depths of his eyes. “I love you, Ruth. That’s all that matters. Mothers aren’t born—I know that from living with Sara Dunnigan. You’re a mother at heart. That’s what counts. You thought you’d never have children, but God put one right in your lap. You just didn’t realize it.”

She smiled up at him, almost unable to believe how God had blessed her with this man. Oh, there were still wounds, wounds Sara Dunnigan had caused. Emotional scars like Dylan’s didn’t heal overnight, but there’d been a good start. With love and God’s grace, Ruth felt she could help the process along. She’d love him so fully, so completely, that he wouldn’t have time to think about the past; he would only look forward to the future—a future with her and Rose.

“So you’re not so mad at God anymore?” She kissed his cheek softly.

“I’m not mad. You have shown me that Sara Dunnigan did not worship a God of love, the God you know . . . the God who must have been watching over us all along the way. I’m hoping you can show me how to know more about your God . . . no, my God too, now. I’m willing to learn. Right now, though, the road looks pretty steep.”

She caught his hand. “Not with both of us walking.”

“Oh, Ruth.” He kissed her. “I have a lot to learn if you’re willing to teach me and be patient—”

“I would be ever so glad to help you get to know our Savior and heavenly Father.” She moved back to nestle in the crook of his arm. “God willing, we’re going to have a good life together, Dylan.”

“No doubt,” he whispered, stroking her hair. “And about those babies you can’t have—well, we can adopt more children if that’s what you want. Then there will be grandchildren and great-grandchildren . . .”

She didn’t let him finish. She turned and kissed him, murmuring her love. “I love you, Dylan McCall. I love you so deeply it hurts.”

Lifting her gently off her feet, he swung her around, holding her tightly. The excruciating pain in her left rib was well worth the price. “I thought after we got married this evening, we’d stay around here a few days, then ride back to Denver City.”

Ruth’s smile faded as he set her back on her feet. “Denver City?”

“Well, seeing as how we’ve traveled no more than thirty miles since we left and winter’s set in, I thought with your cracked rib, Christmas coming on, and my being so late anyway, we’d go back to Denver City for the winter. I’ll have to let Dreck Parson go and trust that another marshall will bring him to justice. Anyway, after all the excitement, I could stand a little recovery time.” He grinned wryly. “You can spend the next couple of months with Patience, Lily, Harper, and Mary and get adjusted to having a husband and baby before we move on.” He kissed her again. “Maybe you should write to your cousin Milford and tell him you won’t be coming.”

“I never told—oh, you!” she said, swatting him lightly when she realized he was teasing. She shrugged, looping her arms around his neck. “Finding Milford would have been a long shot anyway.”

“I’d say—but thank God you chose to bluff it out and follow me.”

She drew back and peered up at him hopefully. “You truly do thank God?”

He smiled, holding her tightly. “You’re a hard woman to please, you know that?”

He did trust God, though; Ruth could feel it, and it erased the last vestiges of doubt that this new path was the one God wanted for her.

That night in Jess Clark’s parlor, while snow fell outside the windows, Marshall Dylan McCall and Ruth Priggish exchanged marriage vows. Jess witnessed the ceremony with a smile and a dutiful shower of rice.

The fee: one bucket of milk from the cow Ruth and Dylan hadn’t lost after all.

Epilogue

Dylan, Ruth, and Rose McCall rode into Denver City three days before Christmas in a stagecoach, in relatively luxurious fashion considering the way they’d left.

The treat was a gift from Jess Clark, who claimed that he made investments in the future—young folks’ futures. In this particular case, Ruth and Dylan McCall’s shining future.

“You kids be happy—that will make my speculation one of the soundest I’ve ever made,” the good man had said as he put the new family in the coach and shut the door.

“I’ll send the money as soon as I collect my pay,” Dylan had promised.

“No need. Send it, don’t send it. I’ll simply pass the money along to some other struggling stranger.”

The world needed more Jess Clarks, Ruth decided.

“Whoa, there!” the driver yelled, sawing back on the reins, drawing the coach to a snow-fogged stop in front of the stage office.

“Den-ver Ci-ty!” he yelled, wrapping the reins around the brake handle. “Everybody out!”

Dylan glanced at his new bride. “Ready?”

“Sure am,” Ruth said, smiling up at the handsome marshall. Her husband. She’d never been more ready or happier in her life. All her dreams had come true. She had a wonderful husband—a man who cherished her, a man who had proven his love and whose smile restored her faith in miracles.

And she had a baby.

A charming, captivating little brown-eyed child whose laughter was the light of her life. Each time Ruth held her sleeping daughter, she experienced God’s love afresh; when the baby reached for her, she felt complete. She’d changed. She’d become pliable. She’d become a usable pot, even with her flaws.

Dylan climbed from the coach and reached for the baby. Settling Rose on his hip, he reached for Ruth. He smiled up at her as sun broke through the clouds.

“Ruth!”

“Harper!” Ruth stepped down from the coach and threw herself into the black girl’s waiting arms.

“I can’t believe it! What are you doing here?” Harper exclaimed. “We thought by now you’d be in Wyoming!”

Ruth laughed, taking the baby from Dylan. “I’m bringing my family to meet my folks.”

Harper’s puzzled gaze traveled from Ruth to Dylan to the baby. “I’m not even going to ask. Not before I get the others. Then we want to hear the whole story.” She shook her head, her black eyes sparkling. “I know it’s got to be a good one.”

“It is.” Ruth laughed. “It
surely
is.”

Dylan retrieved the small bag. “How are you, Harper?”

“Fine, just fine, Marshall.” Harper glanced at Ruth. “How are you?”

“Never better.” Dylan adjusted the brim of his hat and winked at Ruth. “I’ll get a room at the hotel,” he said. “I need to send Kurt a telegram as soon as we’re settled.”

Harper tripped behind as the couple walked toward the hotel, Marshall McCall proudly showing off his baby girl and his new wife. Ruth knew Harper was fairly bubbling over with curiosity about how she and the obstinate marshall had gotten together and where the Indian child fit into the picture.

“I’m getting the others,” Harper announced. “Then we’ll have tea and you can tell us everything.
Everything
,” she emphasized. Her eyes traveled to the good-looking marshall and she repeated, “
Everything
, Ruth.”

“I’m hungry,” Dylan said. “And I’d bet this one would like something to eat.” He tapped Rose’s nose with the tip of his finger and she giggled.

“We’ll be in the café,” Ruth told Harper.

Harper dashed off and Ruth grinned up at Dylan. “Hope nobody gets in her way.”

“She’ll mow them down if they do.”

They settled at a table and studied the one-page menu. They’d barely ordered before Mary, Patience, Harper, and Lily burst through the doorway, their faces animated with excitement.

They all spoke at once, but somehow Ruth managed to tell the story of her trek into Colorado Territory, the baby’s rescue, Dylan’s injuries, Ulele and Nehemiah Ford’s deceit, their escapades trying to find a home for baby Rose, and finally how they had managed, through it all, to fall in love and get married.