by Vivi Holt
He faced her, his cheeks burning. “Yes, please. I’m afraid I don’t have much …”
“I brought linens and blankets with me, since I wasn’t sure what you’d have.”
He exhaled with relief. “Good. I thought …”
“You should take the bed – it’s your house. I’ll sleep on the floor with the children.” She rested a hand on his arm.
He glanced at her hand, feeling a spark of electricity run through him at her touch even as disappointment rose. “Yes, well … if that’s what you’d like. I’ll build some bunks when I get a chance. I’d already planned on adding a room in the spring. Does that suit you?”
She seemed surprised that he’d ask her opinion, then recovered her composure and murmured approval.
By the time he’d banked the fire, pulled in the latch key and readied himself for bed, Holly had finished making up the beds. The children were dressed in their nightgowns, the girls with nightcaps and their hair twisted into curls fastened with rags. Holly wore a nightgown as well, and her hair hung loose about her shoulders like a golden halo. He nervously hurried to his bed.
“Good night, Kurt,” said Holly. Her words were echoed by a chorus of children’s voices.
He nodded. “Goodnight, Holly. Good night, children.”
He settled into his bed, pulling the covers up under his chin. Holly turned down the lamp in the other room, throwing it into darkness. The only sound was the rustle of the ticks as someone rolled over, a chorus of crickets and the bellow of the herd outside.
“Can we have a story please, Ma?” asked a small voice in the darkness.
“Yes, Eleanor,” replied Holly. Then she began to speak, weaving a tale of an Indian woman and her papoose who were separated from their village and lost on the plains of the great prairie. They encountered an eagle, escaped a pack of hungry wolves and endured hardships of all kinds before finally being reunited with their family.
Kurt lay still in the night, his hands behind his head, his eyes fixed on the darkness, listening to her silken voice. The children seemed mesmerized by her words and soon he heard their breathing deepen as one by one they fell asleep on their freshly-made beds. And soon Kurt’s eyes drifted shut as well.
Holly woke up just after sunrise, the small house bathed in amber light. Kurt was nowhere to be seen. Probably doing chores outside – he’d mentioned the night before that he had work to do morning and night. She had a lot to learn about what it meant to be a rancher. She dressed quickly and hurried to prepare breakfast.
By the time she had bread and bacon frying in a pan, the children were all awake. Tripp wandered over to the kitchen table, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Good morning, Tripp. How did you sleep?”
He grunted, sat on the floor and rested his chin in his hands.
Holly pulled the crisp bacon from the pan with a fork, setting it on a tin plate. “Is something bothering you?”
“I want to go home.”
She frowned. “Well, this is home now.”
His eyes narrowed. “You never asked me if I wanted to move here. Why do you get to make the decisions about our life? Father would never have made us move here.” His voice was tight and full of pain.
“I thought you were excited about living on a ranch?” She flipped the bread over in the pan.
“No, Eddie and the girls are. I never said I was. And you didn’t ask.”
“Well, I’m sorry, Tripp. But I’m the adult and I have to make decisions for our family. If you just give it a chance, I think you’ll love it here. There are horses and cattle and so many things to explore. And if you ask him, I bet Kurt will even teach you to hunt.”
“I’ll never ask him!” shouted Tripp.
Holly took a step back, her eyes wide. What had gotten into him? “Tripp Bristol!”
“He’s not my father. You shouldn’t have married him. I’m the man of the house, you said so yourself. I would have gotten a job to support us!” He sobbed and ran from the cabin, slamming the front door behind him.
Holly watched him leave, her mouth open and throat tightening. She had no idea he felt that way. He was only ten, but he seemed to have taken the weight of the world onto his small shoulders.
Kurt stepped inside a minute later, stamping his boots on the mat by the door. “Is the boy all right?” he asked.
She wasn’t sure what to say. “He’s … just homesick, I think.”
He half-smiled. “That’s to be expected, I suppose.”
Holly nodded and distributed bacon and bread onto the plates on the kitchen table. “Breakfast is ready,” she said.
Holly raised a hand to shade her eyes from the sun’s glare and studied the small patch of garden Kurt had marked off behind the house. There was plenty of space to expand. She walked around the square of land, calculating how much digging she’d need to do to grow the extra food they’d need.
She wanted to plant corn, beans, squash, more potatoes, tomatoes and carrots. Kurt assured her they could buy seed for everything she needed in town. He planned on going in a day or so to make some purchases, so she was putting together a list of things she wanted him to bring back.
Her gaze fell on the barn, and she saw Tripp seated against the side, his legs stretched out in front of him, a forlorn look on his face. Her heart broke for her eldest child. He’d always been so sure of himself, so headstrong and certain about what he wanted. She hated to see him downcast.
Just as she was about to go to him, Kurt emerged from the barn, stopped when he saw Tripp and put his hands on his hips. He said something, and Tripp stood to his feet and clenched his fists at his sides. She picked up her skirts and hurried toward them.
Kurt said something else to Tripp, pointed at the barn and turned away. As he did, Tripp rushed him, kicked him in the shins, then ran off as Kurt shouted. “Tripp!” Holly cried in dismay, but it was no use. He was gone.
She reached Kurt, gasping for breath. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what he was thinking.”
Kurt, eyes narrowed, shook his head. “Never mind. I just asked him if he wanted to try riding one of the horses. I’m going out to check on the herd, and thought he might like to join me.” He paused before adding, “The boy’s angry about something, that’s for sure.”
Holly grimaced. “He’s upset about us coming here. I didn’t know until today – he kept quiet up until now. Are you hurt?”
He chuckled. “No, I’m not hurt. It’s fine, I understand. I’d probably be sore myself if I were in his shoes.”
“He just needs some time,” said Holly, though she wasn’t sure that was true.
“Uh-huh.” Kurt didn’t look convinced either.
“You’re not going to …” She choked on the words.
“Turn him over my knee? No, I won’t hit the boy. He’s doing his best to figure things out – I guess I’ll leave him to it.” He nodded and turned to head back to the barn. “I’ll ride out to check on the herd alone, I guess,” he chuckled.
Holly sighed in relief and ran her hands over her hair, feeling her throat tighten as he walked away. This was a fine change from Rodney’s iron discipline. “Thank you so much,” she called after him.
6
With a gentle shake, Holly woke Eleanor, Heather and Sarah where they lay on their mattress, still covered in the thick blanket she’d brought with her from New York. She smiled at their sleepy faces and tickled beneath Heather’s chin. “Time to rise and shine!” she sang.
“Good morning, Ma,” croaked Sarah, rubbing her blue eyes with closed fists.
“Good morning, my sweet little cherubs. It’s time to get up – we’re going to church.” Holly had never been so excited about going to church before, but spending an entire week secluded on a small ranch made her crave a crowd. She was looking forward to seeing the town again, this time without a ball of anxiety in her gut. And she hoped she’d meet some other women she could befriend. Perhaps the children would make friends as well.
She pulled the makes
hift drapes back from the window. She’d hung a sheet over the square hole in the wall and planned to sew something more permanent as soon as Kurt made that trip to the mercantile he’d been promising since she arrived.
The girls sat up straight, blinking at the bright morning sunshine. Heather made her way into the bedroom. “What will I wear, Ma?” she asked, pulling a trunk out from where it had been stowed under the bed and peering inside.
“How about your blue poplin?” suggested Holly, standing with a groan and rubbing her knees.
“What’s wrong, Ma?” asked Eleanor, her eyes full of concern.
“Oh, nothing, my dear. I’m just getting old and it hurts to sit on the floor too long.” She grimaced, then laughed out loud.
They dressed quickly. Holly wet each of the girls’ hair and parted it down the middle, braiding it into two long braids on either side of their parts. Then, she helped the boys get dressed and wet and combed their hair. By the time she was done, Kurt had set out bread and milk for breakfast, having dressed and groomed before anyone else woke. Now he sat at the kitchen table, reading from the Bible he kept on the mantel. “Ready?” he asked, looking up.
“Yes, thank you.” Everyone ate quietly, and after the children finished Sarah wiped their dishes clean and stacked them back in place under the kitchen table.
Holly ate more slowly. “I’ll take a piece of bread with me in the wagon,” she said when she noticed everyone else was done.
“No need,” Kurt responded. “Take your time eating your meal. I’ll bring the wagon around front and load everyone in. There’s coffee in the pot as well.”
Her eyebrows arched in surprise. “Thank you, Kurt.” She buttered a piece of bread and poured a cup of coffee, then sat at the kitchen table again. By the time she’d finished and wiped her plate clean, Kurt had finished packing all the children into the wagon. She rinsed out her cup, then picked up the picnic basket she’d packed the previous night and left beneath the table. They’d eat a picnic lunch on the way home from church.
The morning was fine, without a cloud in the sky. A sparrow called, followed by the wistful song of a meadowlark. The children, seated on bales of fresh hay, listened in delight, challenging each other to find the birds in the trees that lined the trail along the creek bank on Kurt’s ranch.
Holly let her gaze wander over the landscape, marveling at the beauty of the place. Cottonwoods, poplars and sycamores dotted the pastures. Beyond the creek there were birch and elm then an expanse of waving prairie grasses that swept to the horizon. Leaves of various hues carpeted the earth beneath the trees, and the golden sunrise lit them up so it looked as if the ground was on fire.
When they’d journeyed from town to the ranch a week earlier, she’d missed so much, so busy had she been inside her own head. Now she could discover each piece of scenery, every aspect, and digest its beauty as carefully as she pleased. It had seemed such a long way, a mile on a hard wagon seat. But today, with the sun rising at her back and the beautiful vista ahead, she found it didn’t last as long as she’d like.
Beside her Kurt whistled a happy tune, and the sound brought a smile to her face. She caught his eye, and he paused the melody to grin and tip his hat, his blue eyes gleaming. “Will your brother be there today?” she asked, adjusting her bonnet as they bumped over a particularly deep pothole.
He nodded. “He should be. He’s generally there every week.”
“Good. I’m looking forward to meeting him.” She wanted to ask him what he’d been thinking about when he wrote the advertisement for his brother in the New York Gazette, but she knew propriety wouldn’t allow her to.
“I believe he feels the same way.”
She watched him out of the corner of her eye. He did everything so easily, fluidly, as if nothing was too difficult. The way he hitched the horses to the wagon, or mounted up and rode away across the prairie, or held the reins loosely in his hands. The way he fetched her fresh water from the creek or carried luggage in from the wagon. He was strong, confident and at ease with himself in a way she’d never seen in a man so young.
When Charles died, he’d been forty-three. Kurt was twenty-five, and the difference seemed more obvious to her with each passing day. He was so vibrant and full of life. She felt almost old next to him and had to remind herself that the difference in their ages was a mere five years – nothing, really. Though it didn’t feel that way.
He caught her staring and raised an eyebrow at her, which made her blush. She quickly looked away and focused on the trail ahead of them. She could see the town in the distance, each step the horses took drawing them closer. The children, growing tired of the journey, were quarreling over who could sit where, how much space should be between them and who was poking, touching, or humming beside whom. She turned, admonished them, then returned her focus to the road ahead.
“There’s the church,” said Kurt as they made their way into town. She could see wagons and buggies parking around the clearing in front of the building. And before long, they were winding their way up the rise to join them. The church itself was pretty, a brick cruciform building with a tall steeple and a bell. According to Kurt, it had been finished earlier that year, and the congregation was justifiably proud of it.
As their wagon pulled in front of the building, she saw a young couple with a baby open the door and hurry through it, letting it swing shut behind them. “Are we late?” she asked, smoothing her skirts and feeling her pulse accelerate.
Kurt pulled out his pocket watch as he set the brake. “No – just in time.” He got down, helped her out, then settled the horses with feedbags while she lined the children up and smoothed flyaway hair and wrinkled clothing.
When they walked into the church, fiddle music and voices raised in worship greeted them. Kurt found a pew they could squeeze into and ushered them one by one into place. Her heart thumping, Holly couldn’t help feeling nervous in the crowd of unfamiliar faces. She felt dozens of eyes fix on them as they sat. They certainly drew plenty of attention. She knew just what they must be thinking – who was this woman and all her children, and what were they doing with Kurt Sawyer the bachelor rancher?
Kurt watched Holly’s face with curiosity. Her cheeks and neck were bright with red spots. She studied the preacher attentively, only looking away to shush the children or make them sit up straight, or stop fiddling with their sleeves or skirts.
She looked so pretty today, in a white dress with blue pinstripes. It fit her figure precisely and had ruffles, frills and lace aplenty. He didn’t know fashion, but could tell it was something few other women in church could afford, and noticed some envious looks directed her way. It was like she’d stepped right out of one of his mother’s fashion magazines back in New York, the ones she’d leaf through while sipping coffee in the parlor.
Kurt was proud to call Holly his wife. But he still wondered how she felt about him.
Holly stood and rubbed her damp palms against her skirts. The service was over and people were leaving the pews, milling around or heading for the back door. The murmur of conversation filled the space, echoing against the walls and roof, making it difficult to hear anything in particular over the din of dozens of voices.
“I’ll see you outside,” said Kurt, close to her ear.
She spun around, wide-eyed. He was leaving her alone? But by the time she opened her mouth to protest, he’d disappeared into the crowd, the children following him. They ducked beneath arms and around wide skirts, and soon she was by herself.
She swallowed and smiled at a woman to her right, but the woman stared through her. She ran a hand over her hair, smoothing it back into place. She lifted her chin, stepped out of the pew and spied three women conversing to her left. They looked to be about her age, and small children flitted between their skirts, laughing, hiding and clutching the fabric with pudgy fingers.
With a smile, Holly inched closer, joining their circle. The conversation ceased and their eyes locked on her. One woman frowned. “
Hello,” she began, her throat tight. “I’m Holly Sawyer.”
“We know who you are,” responded the frowning woman.
“Oh. Er …”
“Just so’s you know, we don’t approve of your type.”
Her heart lurched. “What do you mean, my … type?”
“The type of woman who tricks a young man into marryin’ her just to take on her children,” another woman, blonde hair pulled back into a severe bun, contributed. She shook her head and the other women nodded and sniffed in agreement.
Holly’s stomach twisted. Is that what they thought of her? “That’s not what happened. I answered an advertisement Mr. Sawyer placed in the newspaper in New York. He needed a wife and I a husband, and …”
The first woman, whose brown hair hung in bangs down the sides of her face, arched an eyebrow and interrupted her. “Mr. Sawyer is an upstanding member of our community. There are plenty of young women who’d have made him a good match.” She glanced at her friends smugly. “Including my niece, Jane She’d have been far more suitable for such a fine young man.” She sniffed again, looking Holly up and down in disdain.
Holly’s spine stiffened. “I’m sorry to hear you don’t approve of our marriage. But truth be told, it really isn’t any of your business. Who we marry and what we do is between Mr. Sawyer, myself and the Almighty, and none of us give two hoots what you think!” Her cheeks burning, she spun on her heel and strode out of the church.
When she reached Kurt’s side, he’d already hitched the horses to the wagon and settled the children into the wagon bed. He and another man turned to face her as she approached. “Holly, this is my brother Angus. Angus, this is my wife Holly.”
Holly was still wound up from the encounter with the women inside. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Sawyer,” she said sharply. He nodded and shook her outstretched hand with a compliment of some kind, but she couldn’t focus on his words.