A Love Defying The Odds (Historical Western Romance)

by Cassidy Hanton

  Mrs. Mayhew shook her head, and Lucy couldn’t help but be relieved. The broth was meant to make the cornmeal mush in the morning, and the thought of giving it away—even to someone who’d brought such a generous gift as this—left a stinging pang in Lucy’s heart. Still, she’d had to offer…

  “I wouldn’t dream of taking that watery mix from those babies!” the woman argued, a stern look on her face. “But don’t you worry none! I’ve seen plenty of hog tracks around here lately. We’re gonna have us some wild hogs soon, and then you mark my words, there’ll be a feast that goes on for weeks!”

  Lucy’s stomach rumbled at the very thought of fresh pork, salted bacon, grease to make biscuits, and more. It was too much to even hope for. Instead, she smiled gratefully and nodded.

  “You just let me know when you shoot one of those hogs, Mrs. Mayhew, and I’ll be the first one there to help you with the butchering! You’re too generous as it is, and we’ve taken far more of your kindness than we can ever repay. It’s the least I can do!”

  “Nonsense,” the woman snapped before laughing out loud. “Those babies didn’t ask to be tossed out like an old fishbone, left with only a girl to look after them in this barren place! It’s my Christian duty to make sure they don’t go to bed hungry at night!”

  Lucy smiled again. Only a girl? At nearly twenty-four years old, she felt much older than that. But then again, having never been anywhere other than the boarding school in Shortcrag, she sometimes felt like a child who’d never seen anything beyond her own homestead.

  It was true, though, that she’d lived in this far-flung mining town for so long that those who’d stayed still thought of her as the skin-and-bones orphan girl with the big eyes and the sunken cheekbones. As she’d grown and matured, they still tended to think of her as Little Lucy Jones. Most days, that was even how she thought of herself.

  “I’d best be getting’ on, my old dog is howling for some of these bones,” Mrs. Mayhew said, pointing to the other rabbits that she’d strung from her belt. “Let me know if you can’t stretch those hides and I’ll come ‘round to help you. They’ll make mighty fine winter garments for the children if you can get them tanned in the next few weeks. Goodnight, now!”

  “Goodnight, Mrs. Mayhew,” Lucy called after her in the darkness. “And thank you again!”

  The woman only waved her hand behind her in reply, leaving Lucy to stand on the empty porch and look out into the darkness. The sky overhead was a black swath of openness, lit up all the way to the horizon line with more stars than any man could count. A shooting star streaked across the sky so low that Mrs. Mayhew whooped in response, causing Lucy to giggle.

  How did those words go? She thought back to the nights when the girls’ room had been filled almost to overflowing, back to a time when the nighttime chatter of a dozen girls often brought the housekeeper upstairs to hush them. What was that rhyme we used to whisper, hoping our wish would come true?

  Lucy was surprised, saddened even, to find that she couldn’t remember the words. She only recalled that they would mutter the verse as the stars streaked above them, hoping to be the one whose wish came true.

  It had been a long time since Lucy had had anything to wish for, and now, with the news that their lives were all about to change, her heart couldn’t find even the childhood power she needed to save them.

  Chapter Two

  “Are you sure that’s going to be enough?” Genevieve Miller called out in the kitchen where she was helping her cook peel potatoes.

  The older woman was chagrined at the intrusion of her employer in the process; after all, the older Mrs. Miller should be sitting at her needlepoint or planning a Sunday lunch for the local pastor, not standing in the heat of the kitchen, elbow-deep in preparing the midday meal for the ranch hands.

  “Miz Miller, how many times do I have to say it? Ya don’t need to be wearing your fingers to the bone doin’ all this work! That’s what ya gots me for!” Gertie said, gently trying to shoo the woman away. “Besides, this kitchen ain’t big enough to have too many cooks workin’ away in here!”

  “Oh, Gertie, you know I just have to be useful! Most days I feel like there’s no reason for me to be here at all,” Mrs. Miller replied, smiling sheepishly as she looked around at the enormous kitchen, its two fireplaces and woodstove already blazing in preparation for the noonday meal. “Please let me do something to help!”

  “I can’t go doin’ that! What would folks say if they found out you’re payin’ me my wages and doin’ half the work? Word will get out that I’m just a lazy bag of bones!”

  “Well, we can keep a secret, can’t we? Here, I’ll just stir the cornbread a little and you can—”

  “Mrs. Miller! You have to let that set! You’re gonna stir it so hard it won’t form in the pan!” Gertie cried, trying not to sound harsh.

  “Oh. I had no idea, I’m sorry,” Mrs. Miller said in a soft voice. “I know, I’ll just go outside and see if the washing is dry yet…”

  Gertie watched the other woman slip out the back door and felt a pang of regret. She muttered to herself, “Here that poor woman is just tryin’ to be useful, and you go runnin’ her off.”

  An unexpected voice behind her made Gertie jump. “Was that my mama running out the door?”

  “Oh, Mr. Matthew! You gave me a fright!” Gertie answered, turning around and pressing a hand to her rapidly beating heart. “Yes, she’s just gone outside to… to… well, I don’t know what she’s doing! Somethin’ about seeing if the clothes dried properly on the line?”

  “Did she really?” Matthew asked, looking out the back windows to where his mother was feeling each garment and cloth, trying to determine if they were ready to be taken down from the line.

  “Mr. Matthew, I just don’t know what we’re gonna do with her. That poor woman is so lost!” Gertie said sadly, shaking her head. “Can we think of anything for her to do? Anything at all? She just wants so badly to be useful again, but that broken heart of hers has made her so weak and lonely now. And with two maids and a cook in the house and all the hands on this ranch of yours, she’s just… well, it’s like I said. She’s lost!”

  “I know, Gertie,” Matthew said with a sigh. “Ever since Pa died, she’s had her hands full. But now that I’ve taken charge of the ranch, it’s like she can’t keep busy enough to satisfy her mind. I think she’s afraid that if she sits herself down for even a minute, she’ll find herself thinking about him again and missing him all over.”

  “Oh, sir. That just breaks my heart in two,” Gertie said. She looked to the windows and her shoulders slumped. “I’m sure I can find something I need help with every day, something to give her a purpose that is. But it’s just not fittin’ that a woman of her station be in here working like a hired hand!”

  “I know, Gertie. But yes, if you could let her do a little something around here, that might take her mind off of missing Pa. Show her that she can be a part of things again if she only gets stronger!”

  Matthew frowned as he watched his mother wander the length of the clothesline and then double back, checking and rechecking the washing uselessly. It had been almost ten years since his father had passed away, and the pain was every bit as fresh for his poor mother as it had been the day they’d buried him.

  At the time, though, she’d had a reason to get out of bed each day: her only child. She’d sworn to his father on his deathbed that she’d keep the ranch running until Matthew could take over, but now that her son had stepped in to fulfill his duty, she had nothing left.

  “I know it!” Gertie said, brightening even as she dropped her words to an urgent whisper. “What if you gave her something to do with the ranch, something with the buying or the selling or the money? You know yerself how she kept this land from fallin’ into ruin til you was old enough to take it on yourself, and managed to almost double its size at the same time!”

  “Hmmm, that is a thought,” Matthew said absently, still watching his mother and feeling guilti
er by the minute. “Of course, she only increased the ranch when others failed and sold her their claims.”

  “Well, see? How come all those menfolks had to tuck their tails and pack up, but she was able to hold onto this place and make somethin’ bigger of it?” Gertie looked determined, and her enthusiasm was piquing Matthew’s interest.

  “You do have a point. This ranch wouldn’t be nearly so big or so profitable if it wasn’t for her watching every cent. Why, my mother could turn one penny into five, and five into a fortune! Let me think on it a little while. The last thing I want to do is to make her think I can’t manage without her, but… well, I can’t stand to see her walking this place like a ghost without a body.”

  “You’re a good son, if you don’t mind my sayin’ so, Mr. Matthew,” Gertie said, smiling broadly and showing the gaps where some teeth were long-missing. “Not all menfolks take care of their mamas the way you do. Now… while I’m stickin’ my nose in… if you just had a wife to look after the same way, that might also give yer mama something to do.”

  “Gertie! I’m surprised at you! You can’t go telling men to settle down and chain themselves to a wife!” Matthew answered, feigning insult as he struggled to keep from laughing. “Besides, how would having a wife give my mother a purpose?”

  “Oh, I think you know,” the cook said pointedly, giving Matthew a knowing look. “Cause once you get yerself a wife, it won’t be long ‘til babies come up next. Yer mama will be so busy with little ones that she won’t have time to reach for a potato and a knife!”

  Matthew nearly turned crimson at the blatant insinuation, but thankfully, Gertie turned back to the enormous cookpot in the fireplace and didn’t take notice of him. He turned away before his embarrassment could become obvious, but a new thought crossed his mind: where would he even find a bride in the middle of Tuckerrise, Utah?

  One thing the ranch had going for it was miles and miles of open land, dotted here and there with rolling hills and rocky outcroppings. Otherwise, there was nothing but cattle as far as his eye could see. Apart from the field hands who worked the ranch and the few staff who worked in the house, Matthew went weeks at a time without crossing paths with an outsider.

  The only other person he came across was his uncle, John Miller, who’d lived out here for as long as Matthew could remember. As his father’s brother, Uncle John had helped with the land in a lot of ways, especially during those years when Matthew had been too young to take on the responsibility of running a ranch.

  There were vague memories in Matthew’s recollection, raised voices and angry words, urgent conversations in which Uncle John had tried to buy the land from Genevieve. True, he’d only been thinking of her and Matthew, but it had always ended in anguish whenever they spoke about it. Each time she’d refused, Matthew had felt a wave of relief; but each time Uncle John had mentioned it again, Matthew had endured the agony of waiting to hear his mother’s reply, wondering if this would be the time she acquiesced.

  Fortunately, it had not come to pass. Now that Matthew was twenty-six and had been running the ranch in his own right going on five years, Uncle John had not offered again. He’d even become something of a confidant, someone Matthew could trust to give him good counsel when he needed it.

  But his mother and his uncle were the only two relatives Matthew had, and the ranch hands and staff made up the rest of his makeshift family. What would he possibly do to find a wife whenever the time came?

  “Oh, Matthew! You’ve come in early!” Mrs. Miller exclaimed as she came back through the door, her face lighting up at the sight of her son before turning worried again. “Is everything all right? Do you need something?”

  “Everything’s fine, Ma,” Matthew assured her, leaning down and kissing her cheek before cocking his head in Gertie’s direction. “I just came because I heard some fussing in here, and I figured I’d best intervene before someone burned a pie!”

  “Oh, silly boy! That’s not true at all,” his mother said, laughing. “Gertie and I were just getting the potatoes on to boil and discussing how many we might need!”

  “Hrrumph!” Gertie said softly, snorting in contempt. “I was counting potatoes, you was peelin’ to beat the devil!”

  “Gertie! You’re telling stories on me!” Mrs. Miller said, pretending to be indignant. “And here I was, trying so hard to be a help!”

  Before Gertie could protest, Matthew spoke up, steering his mother to the long table and holding out a chair for her. He took her thin hand and helped her sit before saying, “Mother! I was wondering if you might be willing to help me with the financials later on. You know how those letters from the bank just confuse me to no end.”

  “Why, of course I will! I’m still on very good terms with Mr. Sampson at the bank. But what could be the matter? The ranch is paid for in the clear, even the new purchases!”

  “Oh, well… that’s just it. I’ve been considering borrowing some funds and buying some property on the other side of the river,” Matthew said, floundering for a plausible story.

  “Now Matthew,” Mrs. Miller said, her voice turning serious, “you know your father didn’t take kindly to being beholden. Borrowing anything—least of all money—is a very serious matter, one that should be considered prayerfully. Why can’t you put down a payment to secure the land and then purchase it outright with cash after you sell some of the herd this year?”

  Matthew looked to Gertie as though his story had been washed clean, but she only shrugged her shoulders where Mrs. Miller couldn’t see.

  “You’re right, Ma. Of course you are. There I go being impatient again! Where would I be without your help?” He jumped up from his own chair and kissed her cheek. “I’d best go tell the foreman it’s time to round up the men to come eat.”

  Matthew shot an apologetic look toward their cook and hurried out the back door, leaving Gertie to sigh in frustration as she finished dropping the last of the potatoes in to boil.

  “My goodness,” Mrs. Miller said, looking after her son fondly. “I’m glad we narrowly avoided that fiasco! Now let me slice the peaches for tonight’s pies!”

  * * *

  Matthew moved on towards the barn, ducking his head slightly to enter the low tack room door. He blew a lock of unruly brown hair out of his eyes and sighed. What was he going to do with his poor mother? She’d been his rock through the very worst part of his life, but now she should be enjoying herself, not working night and day.

  Lord knows, Matthew had tried to find her plenty of things to occupy her time. When they made the trip to the church in Tuckerrise once a month, he was sure to encourage her to sign up to help. He knew she had a lovely voice and had offered to have one of the men drive her into town more often to be a part of the special chorus the church had from time to time. He’d even suggested they start keeping chickens or rabbits, two animals in high demand these days, just so she could have something to oversee.

  None of it had appealed to her. And now, she pined every day for a purpose, leaving Matthew’s heart to break little by little at the thought that she was so unhappy.

  “It’s your pa, too,” Uncle John had told him once. “She never healed from losing him.”

  “I don’t understand!” Matthew had answered. “I miss Pa terribly, too, but I still find Ma crying in the pantry sometimes. How can it still hurt so bad after all this time?”

  “Some people are just that way, I ‘spose,” his uncle had replied before heading off to finish some task.

  Matthew had pondered it as best he could, but never did understand. He knew this much, though: he’d never feel anything like the love his mother had for his pa. It simply wasn’t to be.

  Chapter Three

  “But are you absolutely sure?” Lucy asked softly, tears pooling in her eyes. “Two weeks?”

  “Perhaps three, but I don’t think it should take so long,” the old woman said, sitting stiffly in the straight-backed chair, the stays in her corset obviously paining her.

  �
�That’s hardly enough time to even tell them and let them get used to the idea,” Lucy said sadly. “And how can it be long enough to seek out these families, and to find out if these are good homes?”

  “Whether or not they’re good homes is not the issue,” the woman continued. “They’re available homes, and that’s all that matters.”

  Lucy was shocked by the callous air the woman had. She was supposed to be part of the Ladies Missionary Society, and as such, she was supposed to care what happened to the poor angels who called the boarding school home. Instead, without a teacher or funds from donors to care for them, they were all to be sent off.

  She’d known this day was coming, but Lucy had clung to the hope that perhaps it would never come to pass.