by Joyce Wright
“Marriage isn’t a bargain, Etta! I’m not asking you to do yourself or that baby harm as part of it!”
They stood there, glowering at each other. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat of the fire and the light in her dark eyes shone with the reflection of the flames. But there was no denying that she was in a temper.
“I’m doing what a wife should do,” she answered him. “I’ve made stew for lunch; I thought you would be hungry. I’ve heated the biscuits. I’m minded to be a proper wife to you.”
Except in one thing, he thought, knowing that his unspoken response was plain.
“Don’t be shoveling,” he said curtly. “I’ll finish it now.”
He went outside and shoveled the rest of the path at an ambitious rate. If the snow kept up, he reckoned humorlessly that he’d be able to shovel out all of Texas just from sheer frustration. What was wrong with him, desiring a woman who, for all that they were married, had been the possession of another man? He wasn’t some green lad, boiling with sap. He was thirty years old and he knew right from wrong, and right wasn’t lying with a woman who was carrying a child from another man.
He went back inside when he had finished shoveling, took up a handful of biscuits and said he had to get back to work. “No more shoveling, mind,” he said as he shut the door.
When he was gone, Etta sat down at the table where the bowls were set, waiting to be filled. She had hoped that he would enjoy her cooking so that their marriage could have some semblance of propriety. She wanted to be a good wife. She wanted to love and respect her husband. Jack Carruthers was a man she would find it easy to respect. He was considerate and hardworking; she had seen the evidence of his preparation for marriage in the way he’d stocked supplies for winter. The mirror in the bedroom hadn’t been for his benefit, she knew; it was a gesture that some men would have thought foolish, buying a mirror to suit a woman’s vanity. She’d looked in the mirror when she was alone in the cabin, reassured that there was still no visible sign of the baby within her.
But the memory of that night back in Oklahoma was still too raw in her mind for her to think of intimacy with any man, even if she was a married woman now. She realized that Jack wanted to know the truth about her pregnancy but she could not speak of it; she wouldn’t even let herself think about what had taken place on that terrible night when her innocence had been wrested from her and she had nowhere to turn for help or protection. How would Jack react if she told him the truth? Would he blame her? Would he think that she should have been smarter? That she should have protected herself better? He would have no way of knowing what it was like to be an orphan and alone, nothing but a burden to those around her who had their own household to maintain without the added expense of a girl who, no matter how hard she worked, was always reminded that she was taking food from the mouths of others.
For so long, she longed to have a house of her own where she would be the one who fed others, and she would do so joyfully, eager to share, not begrudging people their bread. When she read the advertisement seeking a mail-order bride, she wasted no time in responding, even though she had to send her letter in secret and receive the answer covertly. Her hopes of a new beginning had been shattered when she realized that she was leaving Oklahoma, not to start a new life, but to carry the remnant of the old life with her all the way to Texas.
Clearing away the dead, frozen cattle was a grim task and even the most jocular of the cowboys kept silent as they all worked in the cold. How much longer Big Jim could keep all his hands when it was apparent that, after the summer drought, this killing winter would reduce his profits drastically was something that Jack didn’t want to think about. He had his savings, and as the trail boss, he’d be kept on after the others. But it was a sorrowful prospect.
By the time the workday was finished, he’d had time to take account of his temper and he realized that he was to blame for the argument with Etta. She’d done her part and more and he’d shown her no kindness.
He headed back to the cabin intent on making up for his harsh words, but when he went inside, the kitchen was empty. The bowls were still on the table where they’d been at lunchtime but the fire had gone out.
“Etta!” he called out.
Then he noticed that there were drops of blood on the floor. “Etta!” he cried with urgency in his voice.
He ran to the bedroom. Etta was in bed, lost in the mountain of blankets that covered her. She looked more like a child than ever.
“Etta, what’s the matter?”
Her face was terribly pale, the creamy skin drained of all liveliness. The dark smudges beneath her eyes were deeper and ominous looking.
“Etta, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have been so cross. What’s the matter?”
“The baby . . . “
“I’ll get Lizzie, she’ll know what to do.”
“There’s nothing anyone can do,” she said in a voice absent of intonation, too tired to express emotion. “I’ve lost the baby.”
“How—are you sure—what happened?” This was a world he didn’t know, the world of women and babies. She’d come here because she wanted a husband and whatever had happened before she arrived, Jack didn’t want her to suffer.
“It’s . . . there was pain and blood and I knew . . .I came to bed, but it was no use . . . I’ve stained the sheets, I’ll wash them.”
“Etta,” he pleased, climbing onto the bed and taking her into his arms. “The sheets don’t matter. You’re what matters.”
Tears glittered in her eyes. “I didn’t want to be a burden to anyone. All my life I’ve been a burden, but I thought that here, I’d be a wife that you could lean on, as I would lean on you.”
“Who said you were a burden? Shhhhh, you can tell me later; please don’t cry. You’re not a burden. I shouldn’t have scolded you for shoveling the snow; I just don’t want to see you doing my work. If I’d shoveled this morning, maybe you wouldn’t be—maybe this wouldn’t be happening. Etta, please be all right. I need to get Lizzie.”
“Don’t leave me.”
“I’ll get someone from the ranch house to stay with you while I’m gone.”
“No, please, I don’t want anyone, I only want you.”
Chapter Seven
“I can’t believe you want me after the way I behaved today,” he said. Had her shoveling cost her the baby? He didn’t know how she felt about it, but she looked so weak and drawn that, regardless of whether the miscarriage was for the best or not, he didn’t want her to be ill.
“Can you eat? I’ll heat up the stew you made; it’ll be good for you”
She shook her head. She didn’t want anything. Feeling helpless, he continued to hold her petite body in his arms. After awhile, she fell asleep, but he didn’t let go of her. He didn’t know what he felt for her; he knew it was too early for love to have grown, but he felt something in his heart. He didn’t want to lose her. Was that how love started?
She stirred in sleep, murmured and pleaded for someone to stop. He relaxed his hold on her, thinking that his grip was confusing her and making her think back to something unpleasant. He couldn’t understand most of what she said, but she uttered a man’s name in a voice that trembled with fear. Jack realized that he might not know exactly what had happened in Oklahoma, but he knew enough to figure it out.
It was dark when she awoke. Jack had kept the candles in the room lit and the fire burning so that she wouldn’t be cold or frightened. She stirred in his arms and opened her eyes. “Jack, I’m sorry.”
“That’s the first time you didn’t call me ‘Mr. Carruthers’,” he told her.
“I think of you as Jack,” she said drowsily.
“Can I get you something to eat? Maybe the broth from the stew?”
“I’ll get it later.”
“You’ll stay in bed,” he said firmly, but not angrily. “I’ll bring it to you. Hush, just rest. Stay in bed and stay warm.”
He heated up the stew over the fire and then ladled spoonf
uls into the bowl that remained on the table as a reminder of the afternoon’s failed lunch. When he brought the bowl into the bedroom, Etta was sitting up in bed, the pillows behind her. She still looked frighteningly pale.
“Careful, it’s hot,” he warned. “Lean back, I’ll feed you.”
“I don’t need to be fed!” she said indignantly.
“Yes, you do or you’ll make a mess.” But his smile took the sharpness from his words.
He started with the broth and then fed her spoonfuls of the meat and potatoes. She ate several bites, but then shook her head to indicate that she didn’t want any more.
Jack realized that he hadn’t eaten in a long time, and the stew smelled too good to waste. So he began eating it himself. He’d nearly finished the bowl when he realized that Etta was watching him, a faint smile on her wan face.
“It’s good,” he said.
“I like watching you eat,” she told him.
“I like eating.”
Etta smiled. “I like cooking.”
“I don’t want to lose you. I know I’ve been an ass and I’m sorry. I was wrong.”
She shook her head. “You didn’t know. You couldn’t know. No other man would have married me.”
“It’s hard to say what any other man would do. I don’t want any other wife, though.”
“I should have told you from the very beginning. Instead, I made it all worse with my silence.”
“Who’s Thomas?”
He saw the fear transform her face into a captive of her memory. “How do you know about him?” she whispered.
“You said his name when you were sleeping. Is he the father? Was he the father?”
“Thomas was my brother-in-law. He married my sister when I was ten. Our parents had died just before she married Thomas, so she took me in. She died in childbirth, but Thomas said I could stay with him and mind the other children. He remarried when I was fourteen. His new wife was often ill and it was up to me to see that the work was done. I was an orphan, I had nowhere to go and I was grateful to have a home. I tried to be of use to them but his wife said I was a burden. Thomas didn’t say much. Then she was . . . she conceived, and it was hard on her. She had to stay in bed. But I was there and I didn’t mind doing her work. I was grateful---“
“You are the gratefullest woman I’ve ever met,” he interrupted.
“I had nowhere to go. But it was becoming difficult. Thomas was different. He wanted . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“I can guess what Thomas wanted,” he said, his jaw clenched.
“I saw your advertisement for a bride, and I thought Texas would get me far enough away from him. I tried to keep it a secret, but he found one of your letters and demanded to know what I was up to. When I told him, he said he would help me. I told him that you were sending money for the ticket but he said I would need money for the trip. He told me to meet him in the barn; he’d give me money to help me with the trip but he didn’t want Louisa---that’s his wife—to know.”
The tears were beginning to fall again. He held her close, burying his lips in her soft hair, waiting until she was ready to continue. “I didn’t want to come to you empty-handed and I didn’t want to be a burden. So I met him. He didn’t have money to give me, and after what he did, I wouldn’t have taken it. He—he told me not to tell anyone what he’d done, that no one would believe me. So I stayed and waited; I didn’t know what to do. Thomas was angry at me; he began to strike me whenever I did something wrong. It didn’t matter if he didn’t like the way I cooked the chicken for Sunday dinner or if I dressed one of the children in the wrong clothing. I was afraid but I had nowhere to go. I think Louisa knew or guessed what had happened; she became worse to me than she had been before. Then your money for the stagecoach came. I was lucky that no one saw your letter. I packed what I could take with me and I left that night.”
“I’d like to go back there and show him what Texas men do to cowards who force themselves on women,” Jack said.
“No. I want to forget him and everything that happened. I knew when I left that—that I might be—there was a baby, but I didn’t know what to do, there was no one to go to and I just couldn’t stay there. I decided that I’d tell you when I arrived. I didn’t expect you to be so kind.”
“I wasn’t very kind these past two days. You haven’t had much of a honeymoon.”
“You didn’t have much of one either,” she said, blushing. “Jack?”
“Hmm?”
Holding her this close in his arms, he could feel the curves of her body. Her hair was tantalizing soft. And yet, he could keep his desire at bay because she needed his strength right now, and needed it a lot more than she needed his passion.
“I want to be a wife to you when I’m healed from this. I want to be a good wife.”
“Etta, from what’s happened since we were wed, I’d say you give more promise of being a good wife than I do of being a good husband. But I swear that I’ll do the best I can to measure up.”
Chapter Eight
The winter finally ended, but the spring thaw that came brought early warmth. The corpses of the cattle that had died in the winter were covering the ground on ranches throughout Texas, their bodies rotting as the cold gave way to warmer temperatures. Big Jim estimated that he’d lost most of his herd. He didn’t have the will to start over, he said. He was taking his family to California. He was planning to sell his land; he was thinking that maybe he’d sell to one of those outfits in Europe.
“He says he’s going to try his hand at farming,” Jack told Etta that evening.
Etta sliced bread from the loaf she’d baked and handed the platter to Jack.
“What about us?” she asked. “What should we do?”
Jack hid a smile. She didn’t think of herself as a burden anymore. Etta was no longer the sad little orphan girl who felt that she owed it to others to make herself useful. She was a hard worker who did justice to the cabin he’d fixed up for them both to live in. It had been a grueling winter, but she’d realized that she was a wife and a partner to Jack and they worked together. Her cooking and sewing, her singing while he played the guitar in the evening, her thoughtful responses when he told her about the decisions they would need to make, all combined to make this the marriage that he’d hoped it would be. The marriage was complete and there was no more turning away from one another in bed.
It had taken time for her to understand that passion did not include violence and that Jack would never do to her what Thomas had done. But their lovemaking had introduced her to the man who was, even at the height of his desire, still tender and considerate. His kindness gave her a confidence that she had lacked before. She even had begun to flirt with him in the mornings after the night had been an affectionate one. His patience and gentleness had given her comfort and eased her fears. Their gratitude for each other’s tenderness and consideration was balanced by a willingness to freely accept what the other offered, knowing that it was love that made the transaction whole.
“I don’t know. I’ve got some money saved up. Got a good bit, actually. If you want to move, we can do that. What do you think? This is a decision we need to make together.”
“I want to be with you, wherever you are,” she said. “Where else would I be?”
“I didn’t mean for you to move away from me,” he teased. “But we have to decide what to do.”
“Would Big Jim sell you the ranch?”
He’d been pondering that himself but hearing her put a voice to his thoughts was both jarring, because it was as if she’d read his mind, and reassuring, because theirs was a marriage of true minds.
“He might. I reckon he’d give me a fair price. It’ll take time to build up the herd again. Money would likely be tight. There’s no guarantee that we won’t have another bad winter, or another drought in the summer. It won’t be easy.”
Her eyes danced. “You’d have to hire a trail boss as good as you are. That might be hard, too.”
“You’re making fun of me,” he said, grinning. He liked her sense of humor and discovering that she had one was one of the delights of being married. She had a smile on her face most of the time, which made coming home a pleasure.
“No, I just wonder if the new trail boss will have as fine a mustache as you have.” She reached over to brush away the bread crumbs that had gotten caught in his mustache, her fingers lingering to gently touch his lips.
“Impossible. I won’t hire a trail boss who has a mustache like mine,” he announced, holding his fork in the air as if it were a scepter. “Knowing that my wife has a fondness for mustachioed men, I’ll only hired on clean-shaven cowboys.”
“You should talk it over with Big Jim,” she said, ignoring his foolery and returning to the subject. “I’m sure he’d sell to you. If he’s leaving Texas, he’ll want someone he trusts to continue what he started, even if he is planning to leave the cattle business. I know that those big European outfits are gaining more and more land, but I’m not sure that Texans are happy about that.”
“Texans don’t much like intruders,” he admitted. “Especially intruders who take over from far away. People will always want beef, though and that means there will always be cattle ranchers. I know times are changing, but I don’t see Texas welcoming a lot of intruders into the state.”
“Are we intruders? I’m from Oklahoma and you’re from—where are you from, anyway? You never have told me.”
“You never asked. I was born in Illinois. I went west to mine for silver when I was eighteen. I had a little luck, made a little money and got out before I lost it. Found myself in Texas, along with the other lunatics, desperadoes, scoundrels and wastrels. But I ended up being one of the lucky ones. I found gold in Texas and she’s sitting right across the table from me now.”
**THE END**