Sixty Acres and a Bride (11 page)

Jake joined him and followed his gaze. “Yep, the boys were pretty impressed with her when we delivered the sheep. They were squirming all over each other like puppies.”

“I was afraid of that.”

“Looks like you’ll need to ride shotgun until you get her safely married off.”

Married off? What was he talking about? “I don’t think she’s in any hurry. Mack hasn’t been dead a year yet.”

“That ain’t gonna matter to those good-for-nothing hands of yours. They’re taking to her like calves to sweet feed.”

Wes tossed the contents of a mug to the ground. “I’ll talk to them. Help them see the light.”

“I hope you can think of something to do. Walking around all stiff-necked and on edge like you are has got to be tiring.”

“Stiff-necked?”

“Every time you throw a glance in Nicholas’s direction, you look like you’re judging his hide for boot leather,” Jake said.

“Now that you mention it, his hide wouldn’t tan well. Too greasy.”

“Did you come to help with the dishes?” Eliza splashed her husband as they approached.

“Just came to say hi to my new cousin and make sure you weren’t filling her noggin with nonsense.”

Rosa ducked her head over her work, causing her silver earrings to swing forward daintily, but she wasn’t quick enough to hide her smile.

At least someone was having a good time. They were all having a good time—except for him. Weston slid the pile of dirty dishes onto the workbench. At least he was there, and that was a step in the right direction. He’d known it wouldn’t be easy at first.

Eliza took the plates, dumped the scraps past the split-rail fence, and dropped the plates into the sudsy water.

“Rosa and I were just discussing how soon she could put off mourning and get into something besides black.”

Weston felt as if he’d been socked right in the jaw. Maybe Rosa was as impatient as the fellows were. Before he could voice his disapproval, she spoke for herself.

“Eliza wants me to get new clothes, but it’s unnecessary. This dress is still practically new, and we can’t afford anything else. Besides, I wear my old clothes on the farm.”

Weston hadn’t realized he was holding his breath. His fists unclenched. “I couldn’t agree more, Mrs. Garner. You look very respectable in the black.” He knew Eliza was staring hard at him, but he wouldn’t look her direction.

“We got the sheep.” Rosa’s eyelashes fluttered downward. “And the burro. Thank you. I love Conejo.” There were blank looks all around. “The burro’s name—it means ‘rabbit.’”

“Because he’s so soft and cuddly?” Even Jake acted smitten. Was the whole county going mad?

“No, because of his long ears and big teeth.” Rosa demonstrated by sucking in her bottom lip and making her teeth protrude.

Their laughter carried across the grounds. Good. Let Nicholas hear her enjoying herself. Maybe he wouldn’t have the nerve to monopolize her time again.

Deacon Bradford strolled across the green with more dirty plates in an outstretched hand. “I appreciate y’all taking over the clean-up duties. Gives us old fogies some time to reminisce.”

Eliza turned and grinned at Louise still seated at his table. “Making some new memories, as well, Mr. Bradford?”

“Yes, well, I . . .” He loosened the puff tie around his neck. “We have a lot of catching up to do. You there, Rosa, how’s the sewing going?”

“I finished Mrs. Schwartz’s linens and made the samples you wanted. They’re in my bag.”

“That’s dandy. I thought you’d have them finished. You don’t let the grass grow under your feet, do you? I brought more linens if you’re ready for them.” Deacon seemed far more comfortable combing the familiar shores of commerce.

“I’m not sure what grass has to do with it, but I’ll fetch my carpetbag.”

Weston rubbed his chin. Maybe Eliza would like a new tablecloth. Rosa could come out and measure . . . His eyes followed her as she walked past.

Eliza elbowed him. “Looking for something?”

He threw his sister a withering look. “Just wondered if her bag was heavy, but I reckon she can manage without me.”

The crowd gradually dispersed as small groups headed out, continuing conversations until the geography of their homes forced them to part.

“You’re welcome to come out to the house,” Louise called to Weston from Jake’s skirt-filled buggy. “Jake and Eliza are going to stop for a bit, and we’d be glad to have you.”

Jake pulled up his team, waiting for his answer.

“Thanks, but I’ll get on home. Y’all enjoy yourselves.” Weston tipped his hat as they traveled on toward the creek, then spurred his horse to the east.

No way would he stroll into that ambush. Just what Eliza needed, another opportunity to make a mountain out of a molehill. Wasn’t he having enough trouble finding his way without her complicating the matter?

What was all her talk about Rosa ending her mourning anyway? Was she trying to annoy him?

If he caught the story correctly, and he’d listened intently, Eli and Mack had died less than a year ago. True, things had changed after the war—mourning periods weren’t strictly observed now—but why rush her? Didn’t Rosa deserve the dignity afforded a widow?

And if Eliza thought that Rosa should be ready to move on, what must she think of him? Five years and he was no more ready to consider matrimony than the day of the funeral. Maybe even less likely now that he’d let his loneliness leech onto him and drain away the cherished memories of being a husband.

No situation he could imagine would tempt him to remarry. He’d learned too well how to remain aloof. He was an expert at it. But even as he rehearsed his resolve, he sensed a change.

Letting the reins go slack, he coaxed the gentle thought out of hiding. His mind had traveled this bitter trail so many times, the ruts had worn deep. He wasn’t interested, he argued, but he sensed a calling to jump trail and explore the option again.

How had he concluded he’d never marry again? Had he prayed about it? Had God demanded it from him? No. Not much he’d thought or done in the last five years had been Spirit-birthed.

On the other hand, wasn’t this for him to decide? He could make things right with God, but he wouldn’t cheerfully tangle with the same grizzly twice. Couldn’t they negotiate? He still wasn’t ready to enter society. Take today for example. Keeping people at arms’ length felt comfortable. He could still be generous and take care of people without really . . . caring. Or so he’d thought.

But God wasn’t letting him get by like that any longer.

He couldn’t get away from Uncle George’s question. Had God called him to keep his distance, or was he listening to his fear?

Okay, God. I’ll agree I’m afraid, and you have the right to call me on it, but let’s not start worrying about marriage yet. There’s plenty of time for that. Besides, if you just want to see if I’m willing to follow you, then the answer is yes—I’m trying, but I pray it was just a test, like Abraham and Isaac. You really don’t expect me to carry it out, right? “Not my will, but thine be done . . . but if possible take this cup from me.” Can I pray that like Jesus did?

But then Weston remembered how that prayer was answered and soberly rode the rest of the way home.

July 1878

T
HE STIFLING HEAT
had staked a claim and wasn’t relinquishing an inch. The long parched summer destroyed more crops than a round of tornadoes, spreading its damage far and wide instead of only upturning a narrow path. Only by constant vigilance were the garden kept damp and the sheep led to water. And the longhorns—they didn’t need much help. They thrived under the harsh conditions.

Catching a glimpse of the sheep through an open window, Rosa smiled. They’d turned out the last ewe from the barn that morning. All had survived and would no longer need the smelly paste smeared over their wounds every day. If they stayed healthy until August fifteenth, the stain on her fingers would be worth it.

She wiped the sweat from her brow with an already moist rag. She mustn’t drip on the rose taffeta as she bent over the table. The large steel scissors weighed heavy in her hand. She’d already measured twice. If she made a mistake, there’d be no surplus to draw from. Dress or no dress, she couldn’t bear to mar the scrumptious fabric.

Glad to wear her loose-fitting
camisa
, she wondered again at the clothes the ladies chose to wear in this heat. True, on the farm Louise and Aunt Mary wore shirtwaists that were thinner and looser than those they wore to town, but they still had fitted sleeves. She was so careful not to sweat while working on her dress, but what would she do when she wore it in the heat? She sighed. Then again, maybe she wouldn’t wear it until winter. What occasion would be grand enough to warrant such a beautiful gown?

The scissors sliced through the material effortlessly, like water bugs across the river, the excess fabric sliding silently off the table and making a puddle of pink on the floor. The window was open, but the cool morning air had vanished. She should take a moment to shut up the house, preserving the temperature as long as possible, but she didn’t want to leave her work. She’d dreamt about her dress while she fed the chickens, weeded the garden, and stitched the pillowcases.

But those tasks had priority. Her vanity couldn’t derail the slow progress they were making toward their goal.

Louise did what she could. That very morning, she’d left early to help Aunt Mary can tomatoes, expecting a few jars to bring home and a few coins if they sold well in town. It wouldn’t be much, but every order for linens, every blossom on the stalks, every chance to help Aunt Mary was a blessing from God. Rosa had learned that lesson at Eli’s table: You can sit around and wait for gifts to fall off the tree into your lap, or you can climb the tree and get your gifts yourself. Over time you’ll find God leaves most of His gifts in the tree. The chickens, the sheep, and the garden all meant a few more bills to stuff in the crockery pot that sat in the sparse pantry.

According to Aunt Mary, they could replant in the fall and have a winter crop too, but that wouldn’t help when the taxes were due. As she spun the material around to start cutting from the other side, Rosa tried to calculate their progress. The sheep were an unexpected boon, but she couldn’t guess their market value. Maybe she shouldn’t worry. Louise seemed content.

Rosa hated to be negative in the face of Louise’s optimism. Louise was proud of all they’d accomplished. Getting her house cleaned out, repairing it, and even planting a garden were more than the older lady had thought possible without the help of her husband and son. Daily she seemed surprised at how well they were doing, and perhaps they would be if it weren’t for the taxes crouching at their door waiting to wolf down their hard-earned money.

Less than two months! Rosa sighed and dropped the scissors into her basket. Why did Louise refuse to face the future? She ignored Rosa’s and Mary’s reminders of the amount they’d have by August—an amount that fell well short of what they needed.

“God has plans for us,”
she’d said, squeezing Rosa’s shoulder.
“He takes special care of widows and orphans. He won’t forget us.”

But what were those plans? Rosa never forgot her sheep, either, but she wouldn’t want to share the fate that awaited them.

Perhaps Louise had options she wasn’t disclosing. Rosa dearly hoped so. She couldn’t see any way their feeble efforts could amass such a sum. She folded the taffeta and wrapped it with the protective brown paper. Standing, she put her hands on her hips and stretched her back. Her worries had distracted her—she’d been so caught up in her thoughts that she hadn’t stopped for dinner.

Not wanting Louise to be upset when she got back from Mary’s and found the house sweltering, Rosa went from room to room, closing the windows and pulling the shades. She was in the kitchen when she heard a familiar sound, reminiscent of her childhood. It was Conejo braying like burros do, whether in English, Spanish, or Nahuatl. He sounded like he was just on the other side of the barn. Would something stalk the sheep that close to the house?

Rosa grabbed the rifle from behind the kitchen door. Down the porch steps she rushed and across the yard, hoping she wouldn’t need the gun. She didn’t know how to fire it, but bringing it along seemed wise.

She rounded the barn to find the sheep grazing calmly. Good. She opened the gate before she realized there were two burros in the pasture. No, not two. One was a horse with a man on it. Rosa’s arms dropped to her sides in relief, but as he drew closer she recognized the drooping moustache, the sloped shoulders, and the sardonic grin. Jay Tillerton! She tightened her grip on the rifle, holding it across her chest, and prayed she had the correct hand on the trigger.

“What are you doing here?” she asked cautiously. No use getting him riled if he had no devilry in mind.

“Just checking on my neighbors. What’s the gun for?”

Her memory of the cellar was too clear to dismiss. She didn’t have a gun in hand then, and she wouldn’t lay down arms now. She bluffed. “Protection.”

Tillerton spat derisively, and raised his eyebrows. “I’ve got a gun myself.” He pushed his vest back, exposing the handle of his pistol. “And I use it when I have to.”

“I’ll remember that before I trespass on your property.” She didn’t even blink. If he shot her in her own pasture, there wasn’t a jury in Texas that wouldn’t hang him. Even she knew that. But maybe he wanted to be civil this time. “How’s your wife?”

“She has a hard time staying healthy, that’s for sure, but I’ll send her your regards.” He shifted in the saddle. “I just wanted to make a neighborly visit and see how things are going. Seems like I saw your mother-in-law headed over the creek toward George’s this morning. She’s not home yet, is she?”

No point in lying. She allowed the barrel to droop toward the ground. “I don’t know when she’s coming home.”

“Left you all alone? Don’t you think that’s kind of dangerous?”

Rosa didn’t answer. She didn’t move an inch. Was he worried for her or threatening her? Either way, some instinct told her that she was safer here in the wide open prairie than she would be if he got her into the house.

“I’ll tell you what’s dangerous,” he continued. “It’s two women living alone without any menfolk around. But you’re not going to have to worry for long, are you? In a month you’ll have to find somewhere more suitable to live—some little property two women can handle.”

“We hope it won’t come to that.”

He stroked his moustache. “Of course you do, but in the meantime it pays to be prepared. You see, I’ve been up to the courthouse. Just curious, I guess. I checked into what it took to buy a county lien, and it’s not complicated at all.”

“Lien? What has our farm got to do with you?”

“More than you might think. If someone, me for example, can come up with the delinquent taxes due on August fifteenth, the county deeds the property to that person. Simple as pie. Not that I’d want to do that, though. There should be a more neighborly way to handle this situation, don’t you think, Mrs. Garner?”

Rosa’s stomach revolted. Bile rose in her throat as his words rang true. If they didn’t have the money, they’d not only lose the ranch, but they would lose it to him! He wasn’t just threatening her reputation, he was threatening Louise’s livelihood. At that moment she’d give everything she owned and everything she’d ever own to have the ground open up at his feet and swallow him alive.

“I asked you a question.” He looked down at her from the heights of his horse’s back.

She refused to answer.

“I want to make a deal with you. Surely we can negotiate a solution that would be more acceptable to us both.” His lips spread in an evil leer. “Just because you lose your land doesn’t mean you have to move. You could stay here so we could see more of each other.” He perused her body from head to toe. “Of course, you’d need to allow calls of a more personal nature. Besides that moment in the cellar, you haven’t done much to recommend yourself.”

The cellar hadn’t been an accident, and he wasn’t apologizing. Some ancient Aztec fury boiled over in her veins. From deep inside her gut she bellowed as she raised her rifle with both hands over her head and ran at him, intending to club him to death. His horse startled and trotted out of her range as she swung the weapon like an ax.

“Get off my land!” She turned to run at him again, murder in her eyes. This time she aimed for the horse’s legs, hoping to unseat him.

He retreated to a safe distance. “Obviously you don’t know how to use that thing. Something for me to keep in mind.”

She didn’t know, but now was a good time to learn. Her temper pushed her beyond reasonable thought. Her heart raced and a white heat flooded over her body, giving her strength she didn’t know she possessed. She was facing evil. It smothered her, taunted her, and threatened to consume her. She raised the rifle to her shoulder and looked down the barrel, not even sure if it was loaded.

“Don’t bother,” he called. “I’m leaving, but think it over. That’ll be the best offer you get. Besides, a woman like you must get lonely out here.”

Chest heaving, she kept the rifle pointed in his direction. The gun was heavy, but she managed to hold it steady until he reached the far gully and hauled his lousy carcass off her land.

The sky had faded before Louise returned, escorted by Nicholas. Their carefree voices preceded them, chatting easily until they were thwarted by the locked door.

“Land sakes!” Louise cried as Rosa unlocked the door and let them enter. “It’s cooler outside than in here. Why don’t you have the windows open?” She removed her bonnet and tossed it on the chair. Going to the window, she tugged it open. “That’s better. Is the upstairs closed up, too?”

Rosa’s brow lowered. She nodded.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you, sitting here pouting. I thought you wanted to stay and work on your dress.” Louise continued grumbling as her heels clicked on the wooden stairs, leaving Nicholas standing in the doorway.

“I’d rather poke a bear with a stick than cross an angry woman.” He edged his way around her. “But do you mind if I help myself to a drink? It’s mighty dry out there.”

She didn’t answer but followed him to the kitchen, where he filled a cup with water.

“Well, since you aren’t talking I guess I better ask. What’s wrong?” He took a seat and peered at her over the edge of his tin cup.

What could she tell Nicholas? Tax liens were public record. Surely her good name couldn’t be stained by that.

“It’s that Mr. Tillerton.” She sank into a chair and studied her calloused palms. “He scares me.”

“Pshaw.” Nicholas waved her concern away. “He’s not very scary. Puny, in fact. A jolly fellow, best I can tell, although not much of a rancher. If it weren’t for his shop burning up in the fire, he wouldn’t have a dime to his name. Nothing to fear.”

“His shop burned?”

“Yeah, in the big fire last year. It started at his shop, actually—right after he bought it. Smack dab among the other stores in Prairie Lea. Fortunately for him he had insurance. A lot, actually. Poor folks like Mr. Bradford didn’t have any and are still trying to recoup their losses.”

“Do you know his wife?”

“His wife? Don’t think much of her. If I remember correctly, Father said she used to be a student of Mr. Tillerton’s. She caused him to lose his job, some way or another.”

“She didn’t say much when we met, almost to the point of rudeness.”

He nodded. “That’s what I’ve heard, too, but you won’t meet a pleasanter man. Too bad he’s shackled to a disagreeable wife. Can’t say I blame him for leaving her on the farm.” He leaned back in his chair, which protested loudly. “What? Why are you glaring at me like that? What’s he done to get you riled?”

Her stomach soured again at the memory. “He was here tonight. He says he’s going to get our farm if the lien isn’t paid on time.”

Nicholas drummed his fingers on the table. “Well, he has an adjoining border, so it’s hardly a surprise that he wants it, but it’s bad form to boast about it.” He shook his head. “I thought he was courteous, but I guess he’s just another uncouth Yankee—no manners at all.”

“Well, he’s not getting our farm, because I won’t—” Her hand covered her mouth. Uh-oh. But Nicholas forged ahead.

“Well, I’m terribly sorry he offended you. He probably had no intention of doing so. Don’t let him get under your skin.”