by Natalie Dean
Chapter Twelve
The shutters slammed against the window frames, causing them to shake and rattle. Thunder cracked overhead and lightening lit up the sky, making Roan yelp and close her eyes. She was hiding in Jack and Bridget’s bed, curled up under a thick quilt. Bridget frowned and stood away from the window, watching the storm through the thin slit in the shutters. She rubbed her arms, frowning as she watched the trees whip back and forth. Nothing good was going to come from the storm.
Jack came out of the bedroom, wrapped in thick layers of clothes, his hat abandoned. He had a determined look in his eyes that Bridget didn’t care for.
“Where do you think you’re going?” she asked with her hands on her hips.
Jack glanced over at her and shrugged on another jacket. “I need to get the horses out of the barn. It could collapse at any time, and if we leave them there, they’re going to be killed.”
“You can’t go out there, Jack,” she said seriously, her brows furrowed. “Look at that wind!”
As if to illustrate her point, there was a loud crack as a tree caved to the wind and fell to the ground. Jack didn’t flinch at the sound, he just looked at her and leaned over, kissing her cheek tenderly.
“This isn’t my first storm. I have to go help my horses.”
“You’re going to get yourself hurt!” she argued, feeling more than a little exasperated.
He kissed her forehead, cupping her cheeks. “I’m going to be alright. I’ll be back before you can even worry about me.”
“I highly doubt that.”
He just smiled and turned towards the door, leaving her with her arms crossed, chewing on her lip as she watched him wander into the storm. She took a step towards the shutters, one hand over her mouth as she watched him stumble through the rain, fighting against the wind. Her heart was slamming in her chest, and she had to remind herself to breathe. She’d never seen a storm like this in her life.
Finally, she stepped away from the window, unable to watch any longer. Instead, she paced along the length of the living room, her hands in the pocket of her apron, running her thumb across the pocket watch she’d purchased months ago. She still hadn’t given it to Jack. She would have liked to pretend she didn’t know why, but she knew it was because the words “I love you” were engraved on the inside.
She clutched the watch for a long moment and finally tore the apron off and tossed it to the side. She went to their bedroom and wrapped her arms around the tiny lump bundled up in a quilt. “I need you to stay right here, Roan. Can you do that?”
A small whimper came from the quilt. “Where are you going, Mommy?”
“I need to go help Daddy, but we’ll both be right back, okay? It’s important you stay in bed though. You’re safer in here, okay?”
She poked her head out and looked up at Bridget, nodding slowly. “A-Alright.”
“Good girl.” She kissed Roan’s forehead before running out and slipping her thick work boots on.
When she opened the door, the wind yanked it from her hands, and it slammed against the wall, making Bridget jump. She finally managed to close the door, though she was nearly thrown to her knees when she stepped off the porch. She struggled to her feet, planting them firmly in the soft earth as she started towards the barn. Horses were running out towards the fields, shaking their heads, as their manes whipped around their heads.
The last horse made it out, and there was still no sign of Jack. Bridget’s heart dropped into her belly, and she pushed against the biting wind, squinting against the rain. Each drop felt like a needle burying itself into her skin. She pushed forward, head down as she struggled against mother nature herself, determined to make it to the barn.
Finally, she reached the doors, and her fingers dug into the wood as she pulled herself along the front of the barn until she finally managed to pull herself into it. She fell to her knees, struggling to hold up the weight of her soaked dress. When she finally got to her feet the barn was creaking and swaying in the wind, the beams groaning, threating to snap any moment.
Jack was at the back of the barn, cursing and struggling with a bear trap that had closed over his foot. In his rush to get the horses out, he’d forgotten it was there. She ran over to him as fast as her dress would allow her and fell to her knees beside him.
“Jack!”
“BRIDGET?!” he cried out his eyes wide. “You shouldn’t—Ah!”
“Don’t argue! We need to get you out of this trap.”
He hissed and pointed a shaking finger to a metal rod that lay on the ground. “Go get that bar!”
She grabbed the bar and swung around, jamming it between the trap’s powerful jaws. She’d seen Jack set these traps up before and she’d seen him release them. She grabbed the bar and pulled down, arms shaking with the effort. In her mind, she could hear Willam. She could hear his voice.
You’ll wilt and die out here.
She wasn’t going to let him be right. She let out a loud, animalistic noise as the jaws finally opened and Jack’s leg was freed. He scrambled away from the trap and hoisted himself to his feet as the wind picked up and the first beam cracked.
“We have to go!” he cried, limping towards the door.
He was moving too slow, and Bridget knew it. She ran up to him and draped his arm around her shoulders, pulling him toward the doors, urging him to move faster. They passed the threshold and had made it maybe a hundred feet away before a loud snap echoed through the storm, and the barn caved in on itself.
They glanced back for only a moment before making their way back to the house. They fell into the door, and it opened easily, swinging on its hinges and threatening to come off completely. Bridget ran over and slammed it closed, using all of her weight. It shut, and she locked it, sliding down to the floor, her legs shaking from the effort it had taken to get Jack into the house.
She pulled herself up and grabbed her apron before collapsing beside Jack, panting. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine. Thanks to you,” Jack grunted, struggling to slip his boot off.
Blood had pooled in the boot and soaked through the sock. Bridget winced at the sight of his foot before helping him to his chair. She took a moment to slip out of her overdress, glad to have the weight taken off of her shoulders. Then she grabbed some bandages and whiskey, settling on the floor near his bloody foot.
“I’m not much of a nurse, you know,” she said, her voice shaking just a little as she cleaned his wound with the whiskey.
He hissed and jumped a little, reaching for the bottle and taking a swig, watching as her fingers worked to wrap the bandage around his foot. “It’ll do until we can get to the doctor.”
She nodded and fell silent, her hands shaking. Once the bandage was tied off, he reached down and took her hands. “You’re shaking, darling.”
Bridget looked up at him and then down at her apron. Slowly, she reached into the pocket and pulled out the watch. It was still wrapped in strips of baby blue silk. “When I saw that barn swaying and shaking…I didn’t think I was going to get to you in time,” she admitted, holding the watch out with both hands. “I didn’t think I’d ever get the chance to tell you how I felt.”
He took the watch and slowly unwrapped it, smiling softly. It wasn’t until he opened it and saw the engraving that his eyes widened. “Bridget.”
“I’ve never been good at telling people how I felt. I was always taught to keep my emotions hidden, but I don’t want to do that with you. I want you to know exactly how I feel.”
“Bridget. You don’t have—.”
“No. I want to say it,” she said firmly, and he knew there was no arguing with her. “When I saw you go out that door, I just wanted to grab you and tell you I loved you. Then when I saw those horses and I didn’t see you…I’ve never been more scared in my life. I never felt regret like I did at that moment and I never want to feel that way again. So, Jack, I love you,” she whispered.
He wrapped his arms around her and held
her close, rubbing her back gently. “I love you too. I do. You came in here and turned my life upside down, but I love you for it.”
She smiled and leaned into him, holding him close. It was then that she knew she belonged here, and no one would ever make her doubt that again.
Epilogue
After that night word spread of her bravery. It started with the neighbors and spread through the town like wildfire. Soon even Willam was patting her on the back, assuring her that she had more than proved her strength.
She didn’t need their approval though. She already had the only validation she would ever need. When Jack smiled at her, it was like the sun itself was opening its arms to her, letting her know she was right where she needed to be.
After the storm, they rebuilt the barn as best they could. Bridget was finally welcomed into the community, and after all the suffering, it seemed that life was finally on track. The following spring, just as the storms started to sweep in, she found out she was with child. Before she came to Montana, the thought of having a child would have horrified her, but now she only felt excitement.
She leaned against the trunk of the only tree the winds hadn’t swept away and smiled, running her hand over her round belly. The wind picked up and carried the sweet smell of blooming daffodils. Roan and Jack were in the creek, splashing each other with the water and laughing. They looked so happy. This was her little family and while it had been broken at first, they managed to pick up the pieces and put them back together, creating a masterpiece.
Roan settled on a rock, laying out and bathing in the sunshine as Jack ran up the hill, his pants soaking wet. He settled beside Bridget and sighed, resting his head on her belly.
She smiled and put her hands in his thick hair, sighing. “Do you hear anything?”
“Just a heartbeat.”
“That’s good, though.”
Jack nodded and sat back up. “It’s all I need to hear,” he said, putting an arm around her. “You know. I know this isn’t New York, but I hope it makes you happy.”
“I never would have been this happy in New York.”
“What? Why?”
She smiled and looked at him, pressing a kiss to his Jaw. “Because I never would have met you in New York.”
He chuckled and kissed her tenderly, cupping her cheek. “I love you too, darling.”
She meant every word. All this time, she thought she would find her happiness in wealth. As the sun kissed her face and the laughter of her daughter floated on the wind, she couldn’t help thinking how silly she’d been.
This was the happiness she’d been searching for.
THE END
THE EXPECTANT BRIDE HEADS WEST
THE EXPECTANT BRIDE HEADS WEST
A Western Romance Short Story
Book Description
No place to go, and only one option…
She must become a mail order bride.
Bernadette Dixon was elated with joy over the news that the war was over. Even better was the good news the doctor gave her yesterday. Unfortunately, her world got turned upside down once she read the letter stating that her husband died in the war. In the blink of an eye, she has become a widow whose only hope for survival depends on finding a husband to provide for her and her unborn child. Problem is, who's going to want a pregnant bride!
Mattathias Jacobs is about to purchase a farm of his own with his boss's help...or so he thinks! What he needs is a sharp-witted bride to help him straighten things out. Will she still want to be with him when she finds out he's only a worker on the ranch? Better yet, will he still want to be with her when he finds out she's pregnant!?!
Copyright 2017 by Kenzo Publishing - All rights reserved.
In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document by either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited, and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.
Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Eight
Chapter One
Frank was dead.
No matter how many times Bernadette Dixon played the words over in her mind, no matter how many times she read them on the wrinkled piece of parchment in front of her, she couldn’t make herself believe it.
Her husband, Frank Dixon, the man she had vowed to love forever, was gone. Dead on a battlefield in Virginia.
They said that General Robert E. Lee had surrendered there. At Appottomax Court House. They said the war was over.
Just yesterday, Bernadette had been elated by this news. She had laughed with her sister-in-law, Lizzie. Both women had joined others at Lizzie’s boarding house in drinking to the victorious Union.
Yesterday had been a day of celebration and good tidings on many fronts. Even Bernadette’s visit to the doctor, at first fear inducing, had proved to be a joyous occasion.
Now, sitting alone in her dark boarding room, the room she used to share with Frank, yesterday’s joy seemed little more than a distant memory.
Two letters sat side by side on the wooden writing desk beside the bed. One in Bernadette’s own happy, loopy handwriting, the other in the careful, measured hand of an unknown soldier.
She’d received the letter that morning, just as she made her way down the boarding house steps to mail her own letter to Frank. The letter telling him the good news that the doctor had given her one day before.
The letter that proved they were about to become a true family.
When Lizzie handed Bernadette the letter addressed to her, Bernadette had known instantly that it was not from Frank. She knew her husband’s writing as well as she knew her own. Frank’s hand was hurried, slanted and sometimes illegible. It always looked as though he was so eager to get his thoughts down on paper that he had no time to worry about form, penmanship or readability.
This straight, measured hand was as foreign to her bright, energetic husband as it was to her.
Her heart had attempted to prepare itself as she opened it. Her heart had told her that this could mean nothing good.
All the preparation in the world could not have kept her from crumpling against the wall when she read the words.
Mrs. Dixon,
It is my unfortunate duty to inform you that your husband, Frank Dixon, has perished on the battlefield.
Now, sitting at the writing desk, she stared at the words again. Hoping or perhaps fearing that, at last, they would sink in. At last, she could fully understand their meaning and begin to rebuild.
Rebuild.
Create a new life.
That seemed impossible now. For the past two years, when Bernadette thought of her life after the war, she had always imagined Frank by her side.
When the war ended, she had pictured them buying a piece of farm land in rural Pennsylvania. Of course, Bernadette had never worked on a farm before. She knew only the basics of cooking and nothing about hunting eggs or keeping livestock. But, in her fantasy, it wouldn’t matter, Frank would be there to help her, to guide her and show her what to do.
She imagined their children, at least three, surrounding them.
Now, all these fantasies disappeared in the foggy haze that had begun to form in her eyes again.
She tried to force them back as her eyes moved from the letters to the only other item on the desk. The one that had been sent to her along with the letter.
Swallowing hard, she lifted Frank’s tattered Bible from the desk. As she opened the leather cover, she could feel the age of it in her hands. The pages had yellowed and become brittle with wear. Some were slightly torn and smudged. The
little book carried evidence that it had been read thoroughly.
This was the Bible Frank always carried with him. The Bible that his father had given him when Frank was baptized. The Bible she imagined she would give to their son…
Swallowing back more tears, she opened the cover to the first page. There, he’d copied down his favorite verse.
“Be strong and courageous,” it said. “Do not be afraid. For the Lord, your God will be with you wherever you go.”
Bernadette closed her eyes, trying her best to remember what those words meant. Trying her best to feel strong and courageous just as Frank would have wanted her to.
She did not feel either at the moment. And, despite her best attempts to feel strong, to take comfort in the Lord, she did indeed feel terrified.
Unable to stop it any longer, Bernadette felt a lone tear slide down her cheek. She opened her eyes just in time to see it splash onto the open Bible, smudging the words that Frank had written there.
Almost as soon as the tear splashed down and smudged the ink, a knock sounded from the door.
“Bernadette?” Lizzie’s voice sounded from the hallway. “Bernadette? May I come in?”
“Just a moment,” Bernadette called out, fully aware how thick with tears her voice sounded.
As she closed the Bible and set it back on the desk, she wiped her face with a nearby handkerchief. Her mother’s words from when she was a little girl came back to her inexplicably.
“You must always do your weeping in private, Bernadette,” she would say. “A true lady can never show her greatest weakness.”
After she had run off to marry Frank, Bernadette had made a great effort to forget about her parents. Indeed, when Frank was alive, there were days that she felt that she was just a simple soldier’s wife. That she was not a disgraced Philadelphia socialite.