Short-Straw Bride (21 page)

Finally, she turned to face him, her smile sending that porcupine tumbling around inside him again. Bowing slightly, he offered his arm, and once her fingers settled near his elbow, he led her to the door.

A
s they left the yard to stroll along the path his parents used to take when they wanted to escape prying eyes, Travis felt more like a married man than he had since the day he took his vows. Moonlight lit their way, its soft glow adding a touch of enchantment to the pines and walnut trees that surrounded them. He took care to modulate his stride to accommodate her shorter one. The hitch in her gait didn't slow her down, but he found himself taking extra care to guide her around pebbles and uneven ground that he usually didn't give a second thought.

Travis tried to think of something romantic to say, something charming or witty to entertain his lady, but his tongue remained glued to the back of his teeth. The scenery would have to be poetry enough.

“Do you hear the music, Travis?” Meredith glanced his way, her eyes luminous. “The rippling water, the humming crickets, the leaves rustling in the breeze. It's like a lullaby I vaguely remember from childhood coming back to soothe me after a long day.”

Travis grinned. It seemed his wife had enough poetry in her soul for both of them.

“My father and I used to sit on the porch when I was young and listen to the night sing to us. He said it was the best cure for a weary spirit. And he was right. I would curl up in his lap and listen to the sounds of the night while the steady beat of his heart matched the rhythm of the rocking chair. No matter what had happened that day, my worries fell away while we rocked.”

Her voice had turned so wistful, Travis could easily picture her as the young girl she'd been when first they met, snuggled up in her father's arms, her head lolling against the man's chest as sleep claimed her.

“The last three years must've been hard on you without him.”

Meredith stumbled to a halt and turned startled eyes on him. “How could you know that? That he passed three years ago?”

“That's when Christmas stopped.” Travis smiled softly at his wife's scrunched expression. “Well, I guess Christmas didn't exactly stop, but that was the first year there was no gift at the gate.”

“I don't understand.” Something more than confusion sparked in her eyes, though. Something deeper. A longing to regain a piece of what had been lost.

He prayed what little he knew would ease that ache.

“The first gift arrived the Christmas after I carried you home. A couple old primers, an arithmetic book, and
The
Old Farmer's Almanac.
Christmas Eve night he fired off two shots by the gate and left the books for me to find. The only reason I knew it was him was because he had inscribed the front of the almanac with a note thanking me for taking care of his daughter.”

Meredith's eyes grew dewy, but her lips turned up at the corners. “Do you still have it?”

Travis nodded, his smile matching hers. “I do. I can show it to you tomorrow.”

“I'd like that.”

Wrapping his fingers around hers where they still rested in the crook of his arm, Travis gently urged her back into their stroll.

“He surprised me with more books the next year. He always included some kind of schoolbook and the newest almanac, but then he started passing along back issues of the
Palestine Advocate
. On Christmas morning, Crockett and I would take turns reading the stories aloud to the others.” A chuckle rose up in Travis's throat as he recalled how young Neill and Jim had been back then. It seemed like ages ago. “It became a tradition. We would all sit outside on the porch on Christmas Eve and listen for the gunshots. I would retrieve the parcel and the boys would swarm me before I could get off my horse.

“Sometimes there would be a novel, once there was a book on animal husbandry, and Crockett's favorite was the year we got a collection of Charles Spurgeon's sermons. There were twenty-seven sermons in that little book if I recall, just enough for Crockett to preach each of them twice to us over the course of a year. I think he did that for three or four years before he finally started writing his own.”

“I never knew he did that,” Meredith murmured. “I knew he put parcels together for the families of his students. I even helped wrap them in brown paper and tie the strings. But I never knew that one of those parcels ended up on your doorstep.”

“Three years ago, even though most of us were grown men, we still sat on the porch waiting for those shots just like we did when we were kids. Only that year, the shots never came.” Travis tried to tamp down a rising lump in his throat.

“We grieved that Christmas, Meri. Not because we missed the joy of the gifts, but because we knew something had happened to the giver. I think all along it was the idea that someone remembered us and cared enough about our education and upbringing to give the books rather than the books themselves that made such an impact on us. Your father was a kind man, and I am proud to be married to his daughter.”

Meredith brushed the pad of her thumb beneath her eyes, but the smile she turned on him was glorious.

“Thank you,” she said, her eyes glistening—the longing replaced by gratitude and something else that made his heart turn a flip.

The path widened as they approached the pool at the base of a small waterfall. The creek only tumbled a few feet over the rocky ground, but it was enough to create a decent fishing hole. And near the edge sat a large boulder where his father used to sit with his mother.

Travis had never forgotten the time he'd cut through the trees with his pole and jar of worms only to find his father lifting his mother onto the boulder before nestling in beside her. Travis had hid among the pines and watched his mother lean her head on Father's shoulder. Joseph Archer had taken her hand and held it to his lips, then turned to his wife and whispered words that had made her smile and lift her face to accept his kiss.

Not accustomed to seeing more than a quick peck or two between his parents, Travis grew uncomfortable when that kiss stretched longer and longer. He'd quietly retreated and returned to the house, ignoring Crockett's teasing about his inability to catch a fish. He never told Crockett about what he'd seen. It felt too private. But from that moment on, the rock at the fishing hole had been dubbed the Kissing Rock in his mind. He'd never climbed on it since, promising himself that the next time he sat there, he'd have a girl of his own to kiss.

“What a beautiful place,” Meredith exclaimed as he drew them to a stop by the rock.

“I'd hoped you'd like it.” Travis watched her face as she took in the surroundings with wonder and delight. “I thought we could sit and talk for a bit, if you wanted.”

“I'd like that.” The mistiness had disappeared from her eyes, yet they continued to sparkle in the moonlight.

“This rock makes a good seat.” Hearing the huskiness in his voice, he quickly cleared his throat. “I'll . . . uh . . . just help you up.”

He fit his hands around her waist, his gaze mingling with hers. Then, not trusting himself to linger too long, he lifted her onto the rock and scampered up the side where smaller stones offered footholds. He settled close to her side, brushing his legs against hers and bracing his right arm behind her back. He stole glances at her while pretending to be as lost as she in the beauty of their environment. Her mouth drew his attention again and again, and he found himself desperately wishing he knew what his father had whispered to his mother to make her offer him her lips.

So consumed was he with thoughts of kissing, that when Meri opened her mouth to speak instead, it took a moment for her words to register.

“I studied to be a teacher.” She turned her head and looked at him. “Did I ever mention that?”

As he tried to refocus his brain on conversation, she stretched her arms behind her to support her back and inadvertently rubbed her forearm against his bicep. His muscle twitched at her touch, and Travis had to work to keep his mind on their conversation. “No. I . . . uh . . . don't think you did.”

A faraway look came over her, and her gaze shifted to hover somewhere above the creek. “After the Freedmen's Bureau shut down in '70, Father continued teaching at the freedmen's school. The students and their parents were so hungry for the education that had been denied them, they made great sacrifices to continue paying him a salary.

“When I got older, he occasionally took me with him, let me read to the little ones and help them with their alphabet. Before long I was as enamored with teaching as he was, and for the first time in my life, I felt . . . useful and appreciated.”

She crossed her legs at the ankle and swung them out and back, her heels thumping quietly against the rock in an easy rhythm. “I attended the Palestine Female Institute and planned to sit for the teacher's exam, but then my parents came down with that fever.” Her feet stilled for a moment. Then she sat straighter and swung them back into motion. “I had hoped to continue Papa's work at the freedmen's school, but Aunt Noreen wouldn't hear of it. She declared it unseemly to involve myself with such people and insisted it was too dangerous for a young woman to travel such a distance alone.”

Travis hated to agree with anything the old bat had to say, but just the thought of Meredith traipsing about unprotected made his stomach churn.

“Seeing Moses again today awakened those old dreams.” Meri aimed her blue eyes on him, hope glimmering in their depths. “I want to teach at the school again, Travis. Just one day a week. Saturday—when the largest number of students are able to attend. I would only need to be away from the ranch for a few hours. I could leave right after the noon meal and be back before supper. I promise I won't fall behind in my chores. You probably won't even know that I'm gone.”

Her sentences flew at him in such rapid succession, they made him dizzy. And the churning in his gut intensified.

“Please say you'll let me go.”

“No.” Travis's throat closed over the word, as if an unseen hand were choking him. Her crestfallen expression pierced his heart, but he wouldn't be swayed. He tightened his jaw and looked up to the moon.

Leave the ranch? Alone? There was no way he'd let her do that. Anything could happen to her. Anything.

Her legs halted their swinging, and she twisted to look him full in the face. “Why?”

A buzzing expanded through his brain like a swarm of bees growing more and more agitated. “Archers don't leave,” he ground out.

Meredith laid her hand over his. “Why?”

A muscle in his thigh jumped. Why was she questioning him? Why couldn't she just let things be? His leg twitched again and his arm began to shake. Her palm stroked the back of his hand as if to calm him. She'd noticed. She thought him weak. Afraid. But she didn't understand.

Travis jerked his hand out from beneath hers. He needed to leave. To escape. To run.

“Why do Archers never leave the ranch, Travis?” she persisted.

“A promise.” The creek disappeared before him, replaced by a vision of his father reaching out to him from his sick bed, clasping his hand and making him swear. “I promised to keep them safe. Together. ‘Don't leave the land, son,' he said. ‘If you do, they'll take it from you. They'll split you up. Stand together. On the ranch, you're strong.' ”

Travis blinked away the image of his father and turned to Meredith, his voice little more than a whisper. “On the ranch we're strong.”

Meri lifted her hand and caressed his face. His eyes slid closed.

“You're strong anywhere, Travis. You all are.”

Her hand felt cool against his cheek, and for just a moment he allowed himself to rest in her confidence. Slowly, he opened his eyes and found hers gazing back at him filled with trust and admiration—sentiments he wasn't sure he deserved.

“Your father was right to urge you to stay together and seclude yourself from others who would try to take advantage of your youth, but you're not boys anymore. Not even Neill. You're men. Strong Archer men. This ranch has been a haven for you for years, but if you're not careful, it will become a prison.”

“It's not a prison.” He pulled away from her touch and jumped down from the rock. “It's a home.” He fisted his hands as if he could fight off her words.

The slide of fabric against stone whispered behind him, punctuated by a tiny grunt as her feet hit the ground. “A home where no one is free to leave? A home where all who come calling are treated like criminals? How long do you think the others will be content to live here in your shadow? Did you not see how hungry Crockett was to talk to the minister on the day of our wedding? He stayed at the man's side, throwing question after question at him about shepherding congregations and seminary and sermons.

“He has a gift for preaching, Travis. I can tell that after only one Sunday service in your home. God placed that desire on his heart and equipped him for the task, yet because of his loyalty to you, he has done nothing to pursue his calling.”

Travis spun to face his wife, his accuser. “Maybe God called him to minister to his family. Or is that not grand enough for you? Perhaps you think a man can only serve God if he impacts hundreds or thousands, that three souls are not significant.”

“Even one is significant.”

Why was she looking at him like that? As if she were no longer talking about Crockett but about him. This wasn't about him. Everything he did was for his family. To protect them. To support them. And now this . . . this outsider who had known them for all of . . . what, less than a week? . . . had the gall to insinuate that he was trapping his brothers in some kind of prison, binding them with family loyalty, and stealing their freedom. She understood nothing!

Travis pounded up to the creek bank, barely containing the fury that burned in his gut. “You want to leave?” He spun around and marched back up to her. “Fine. Take your horse and leave. You're not really an Archer anyway.”