Maggie had no answer. Perhaps her grandmother was right. A smile twitched at her lips. The woman usually was. And despite the sorrow in her life, she still seemed to keep a cheerful disposition, though Maggie was sure she had heard her crying late at night, tucked safe behind her bedroom door. And what woman that lost most of her family to the war wouldn’t shed some tears from time to time?
But no need for Gram to see the sadness in her granddaughter’s eyes. Maggie forced a smile back to her lips and turned to face her. “You’re right. I’m just impatient.” Reaching to the counter, she picked up the rifle again. “I’m going out to the ranch and check on things. Maybe I’ll bring back a squirrel or rabbit for supper.”
Her grandmother shook her head. “A girl as pretty as you should be out hunting for something other than a jack rabbit. Just look at you!”
“What are you talking about?” Maggie grinned. She looked down at her brown trousers and leather boots. “Every self-respecting woman in Texas has an outfit just like this one. We Texas women aren’t afraid of a little hard work.”
Reba’s eyebrows lifted and she smiled. “Last I knew, you were a Georgia woman. Besides, it’s liable to be mighty hard to catch a man when you’re dressed like one.”
“Yes ma’am,” Maggie suppressed a smile and nodded. There was no use arguing with Reba Barkley when she got a burr under her blanket. But Georgia was a lifetime ago, or so it seemed. Going on nine years in Chance made Maggie a Texas woman now, and she had every right to claim the title.
And a husband was the last thing on her mind. Ian’s grave stone proved he had been buried in the Chance Creek Cemetery for almost two years, yet it seemed only a few months. She should be over him, ready to move on. But something inside just wouldn’t let go. Praying about it every night had seemed useless, so she’d given up. No use arguing with the One who knows best. God had made her a widow, and a widow she was going to stay.
Reba pushed away from the machine and stood, shaking out the piece she was working on. “Before you go, I’d like you to try on this dress for me.”
Maggie resisted rolling her eyes. Grammy needed to find another model for all her creations. “I really don’t have time right now, Gram, and–”
“Of course you do. This pretty thing is for Nancy Rollins. A makeover of one of her old ones. There wasn’t much wear on it and she’s finally coming out of mourning. I know she’d like something cheerful.”
“It’s about time,” Maggie said, following her grandmother to the back room. “I don’t know why she mourned that sod for so long.”
“Why you should be ashamed of yourself, Maggie!” Her grandmother scolded. “Now get that shirt off so you can try on this one.”
Maggie swallowed back a quick retort as she began to undress. “I know, Gram. But it’s obvious to everyone that Nancy isn’t quite as, well, ‘clumsy’, as she used to be. When is the last time you saw a bruise on her face or arm?” She waited, then added, “It was before her husband died, wasn’t it? He was nothing but a drunk and he treated her badly.”
Her grandmother sighed and nodded. “I know that’s probably true, but it’s still been hard on her, having to take in washing and bake for folks. Not many have the money to spare, but we all try to send a little business her way.”
“Of course we do,” Maggie said, pushing her arm into the sleeve. She stared in the mirror as Gram buttoned the front and tied the bow under the collar. Her face was plain as ever, with brown, over large eyes and a nose just a bit too long. Her dark blond hair was pulled back in a tight bun. Practical, but not attractive. She studied her image. It had been a long while since she’d looked in a mirror and seen herself wearing anything other than a man’s shirt and trousers.
A lifetime ago, once the chores were done in the evening, she would don a pretty dress and she and Ian would dine in style, the lamp burning its soft glow across the plank table, and pretty wildflowers or herbs in the little silver vase, a wedding gift from Ian’s mother.
Smoothing the gathered skirt, a tiny twinge of envy shot through her. Nancy Rollins would wear this to the next dance. She would be the prettiest one there, too, with her black hair and violet-blue eyes.
“What is it?” Grammy asked, meeting her reflection in the mirror.
Maggie quickly smiled and covered her thoughts. “Nothing. I was just thinking how pretty she is going to look in the dress. All the men will want to dance with her.”
“Well, what men there are,” Gram nodded and began to pin the hem. “It’s hard times for women needing a husband.”
“You mean if they want one,” Maggie blurted before thinking.
Grammy chuckled and took another pin from the small, soft heart-shaped cushion on the floor beside her. “I was talking about Nancy, not you.”
Maggie bridled her feelings and swished the skirt. “I know that.”
“You just hold still, child, while I get this finished. And you needn’t count yourself out in the husband getting. You never know what God intends for you.”
A hard laugh shot from her throat. “Of course I do! Obviously, He intended for me to be a widow.” The words were short and hot with anger. She felt the heat rise to her face as she said them.
Reba stood and pulled her shoulders around so they looked eye to eye. “I don’t ever want to hear you say that again. Do you understand? Ian was a good man and I know the two of you were happy. Don’t think God didn’t have a hand in that part. The Lord gives and the Lord takes. And whatever else, I know that Ian would want you to be happy. He wasn’t the kind of man that would want you to live the rest of your life in grief and bitterness.”
Maggie swallowed hard and nodded. She blinked back the tears behind her eyelids. “I’m sorry. It’s just–”
Reba shook her head. “It’s not up to us to question what happens and what doesn’t. All we do is the best we can to keep on following God.” She knelt back and began pinning the hem again. “He’s the one in charge, not us.”
The shelf clock across from them ticked away the time. Maggie let minutes slip by before she spoke again. “I didn’t mean to sound bitter, Gram. I know we’ve both been through a lot….lost so much.” It was selfish of her to think only of her own feelings. Gram had lost a daughter to fever, and then both sons at Shiloh. Now, she and Gram were all that was left of the family.
“Well you never mind,” Gram replied through the mouth full of pins. “We’ll make it together just fine, but I wouldn’t object to the Lord sending a good man our way.”
Maggie smiled. She glanced down at her grandmother’s head. Only a few strands of gray wove through her dark chestnut hair. She was still a fine looking woman. The old gents over at the boarding house all seemed to think so, but Gram was having none of them.
“Well, don’t you worry, I’ll be praying the Lord will send you a good man, Gram,” she smiled.
“Now you just hold your horses on that, girl. You’re still of an age to make a man a fine wife.”
Maggie laughed. “If I wasn’t already a widow, I’ve reached the age to be considered a spinster.”
The older woman continued to measure and pin the fabric for a few moments. She stabbed in the final pin and pushed herself to her feet, walking round and round Maggie, her eyes on the hem. “You’ve got too much spirit for the Lord to intend you to live life alone.”
Maggie sighed. It was hard to argue with her when her eyes got that twinkle. Best to go along. “Whatever you say, Gram.”
***
Maggie dressed and headed back to the front room, glad the ordeal was over. Seeing herself in such a pretty dress had jarred awake too many memories. Times that were best forgotten.
“Now, before you leave, you get back to the kitchen and grab a couple of those biscuits to carry with you. You always tend to stay out there longer than you say, and you’re liable to get hungry.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Maggie grinned, and waited. Gram always had more to say.
“And be careful out there. It�
�s not a place a woman ought to go alone,” Reba said, back at the sewing machine, adjusting another piece of cloth under the needle. No doubt a surprise for another neighbor. The woman constantly thought of others.
Maggie nodded and headed down the short hallway. She stuffed the bread into a cloth sack and turned to go. The flash of light on silver beneath the counter caught her eye. She reached down and retrieved the revolver kept hidden behind the sack of flour. It didn’t hurt to leave town well armed. And it would make Gram feel better.
Chapter 2
Maggie stuck two fingers in her mouth and whistled. The black horse came trotting inside the shed. The attached corral led to a field out back that kept him happy most of the time. But in winter, especially when the weather was bad, Maggie was sometimes forced to stable him down at Larson’s Livery.
Picking up the red and blue saddle blanket, she adjusted it across his back. Going bareback had its appeal, but it gave her nowhere to carry the rifle, lest she strap it on herself. Too hot and uncomfortable in the summer. And tension in the town and surrounding area made it too much of a risk to go unarmed.
“You’re a patient boy, Ace,” she patted the horse and tied the sack of biscuits to the back of the saddle. He had always loathed standing still to be curried or saddled. Maybe he was beginning to calm as he got older.
She pulled herself up and felt the first quickening of her heart since leaving the house. Going home, to the ranch, always did that to her. “Let’s go!” She urged him out of the shed into the bright sunlight and on down Main Street. She pulled the hat lower on her brow and squinted her eyes at the intense light.
With the Sayers departure, citizens had come out of the homes and shops, where they had retreated at first glance of the outlaws. It was amazing how the town could change in just a blink of the eye, everyone burrowing themselves from sight just because two men rode in on horseback.
Maggie waved to Martha Jones, her dark blue calico skirt blowing in the breeze as she swept the porch of her two storey boarding house. The place needed a new coat of white wash, but it was always neat and in order. The row of red shrub roses, planted along the foundation were blooming their last of the season.
Martha, seeing her, dropped the broom and ran down to meet her.
Maggie pulled the horse up short and waited.
“You’re not heading out west of here just yet, are you?”
Maggie smiled at the concern in the woman’s eyes. Martha was a good neighbor, a good friend. “Don’t worry. They’ve been gone over half an hour. And besides, I’ll be getting off the road a mile or so on down.”
Martha nodded, her fingers twisting the apron tied round her large waist. “Well, I suppose. But you be careful, Maggie.”
“I will.” She smiled and waved at the occupants on the porch as Martha made her way back to her sweeping.
A few elderly residents, mostly old Confederate veterans, too old for war even when they joined and fought, had taken their usual morning places in the rockers lining the porch. Major Jenkins returned her wave.
“Have a nice ride. And keep a good look-out for those Sayers!” Martha called, stirring up another cloud of dust with her broom.
Maggie nodded. No doubt Martha had kept her house and residents locked up all morning. Like most in town, she had probably stationed herself behind gauzy curtains and watched for the brother’s departure, praying they would pass her humble establishment with no notice.
The thought sent a mixture of gall and shame through her. How long would they live in fear, running like foxes to their dens, at the first sign of danger? Without a true leader, the town would soon die away, leaving only a dusty trace of its beginning behind.
***
The late morning ride was pleasant and she found herself happy to be out of town. There was something about the freedom of being alone for a while that always gave her a sense of peace and joy.
“Now get on up there, Ace,” Maggie encouraged the horse off the road and over the rise. The sun streamed through the oak branches above their heads as she guided him through shrubs and underbrush. Limbs smacked at her trousers and slapped Ace’s legs. He stomped and snorted, but she coaxed him forward. The spoiled horse preferred the dusty road for walking, but rabbits tended to hide in the shadows of the brush and trees.
It was cooler under the trees, but the early heat of the day made it muggy and close under the foliage. The horse trod through a clump of ferns and sent dust rising into the air. Maggie fanned away the dirt and urged him to pick up his speed. It was hard to breathe in the close atmosphere.
She pulled the over-sized hat from her head and hooked it on the saddle horn. Shaking her head, her hair fell loose from the scrap of leather used to hold it from her face. A shiver ran down her back as the slight breeze flowed through her damp tresses, like threads of icicles across her scalp. It was one way to cool off on a hot day. That or just jump in the creek, she contemplated, as they emerged from the wooded area and she pulled Ace to a stop at the water’s edge.
Even in the dry days of summer, Chance Creek still flowed fast and cold. Smooth, rounded rocks were clearly visible in the bottom, making it easy to walk on with bare feet in the hot summer. She smiled. Not something a lady was supposed to do, but enjoyable, none the less. Fed from underground streams, and runoff from the mountains in the distance, it was a constant source of water for everyone in the area.
Ace neighed and danced around as they paused near the edge. “You don’t like the water too much, do you boy?” Maggie laughed as she reached and patted his neck. “You must have belonged to a rich city man who kept you solely on cobblestone streets. One thing is for sure, you’re not a typical ranch horse.”
When Ian had brought the black horse home, she had at first been excited by the purchase, then dismayed when she learned the truth of exactly how he came to own the steed.
“I know, sweetheart, but I just kinda got caught up in it once I was inside the saloon. I was in there looking for Jed, and old Bob Walker talked me into playing a hand at their table. Honest, I never meant to stay in the game.”
“And I guess you never meant to win this horse, either,” she had countered.
He laughed and shook his head. “Well you’ve got to admit he’s a fine piece of horseflesh.”
And that he was. Urging the reluctant horse into the water, her breath caught when the icy bits of moistness splashed on her pants and soaked in as they waded deeper into the chilly wetness. Once in the creek, Ace was solid and true, his focus on the bank ahead. His steady gait and attention to the task at hand always made her feel safe.
Topping the opposite bank, she gave the horse a slight kick and they were off at a trot. Ace, happy to be back on a road, wasted no time in moving ahead.
To the west, she could see a faint glimpse of smoke curled against the late morning sky. No doubt the women were busy making the noon meal in the Candlelight community, and banking the fires to re-warm what was left for supper. Mostly beans and cornbread, with maybe a squirrel or fish, Maggie was sure. They were a people still struggling to make it on their own. But they were strong and proud, and they reveled in their accomplishments. Slavery was their past, not their future.
If she had started her journey sooner in the day, she would have stopped by for a visit with Tilly. It seemed forever since the two of them had sat and talked about the old days in Georgia, the war, the people they had lost, the trip to Texas. And how life was going to be better someday.
***
She pulled Ace to a stop as they came in sight of her home. Even now, the view put a lump in her throat and an extra beat in her heart. It had been a sweet spring afternoon when they’d arrived over eight years ago. Redbuds and dogwood trees had been in full bloom. Ian had picked the spot immediately.
“Just look, Maggie. Wild persimmon trees for fruit, pecan trees for nuts, flowering trees for beauty in the spring, and oaks for shade in the hot of summer. What more could a man ask for?”
She blinke
d back tears at the memory. But he had been right. It was the perfect piece of ground. “Thank you, Ian,” she whispered. Then shook her head. Why did she still talk to him in her head? He was gone. Gone forever. “Let’s get going, Ace,” she nudged him with her knee.
The breeze was gentle and fresh under the live oak that stood next to the little log structure. She slid off the horse and pulled the bridle from him, exchanging it for a rope halter. “Go find something to eat, boy,” she said, giving him a pat on the rump as he turned toward the tufts of grass under the tree.
She stopped at the door and took a deep breath, calming the rapid beat of her heart. Sweat tingled on the palms of her hands and she rubbed them dry on her trousers, concentrating on the rough texture of the fabric.
She loathed coming here. And she loathed staying away. All of her dreams were locked inside of this cabin. Dreams with no chance of coming true. The plans they had made, their hopes, their future. Everything was dashed away that day on the dusty streets of Chance. Hobart Sayer had stolen her life away, just as he had Ian’s. And she would never forgive him. At least not until he was dead, she thought, ignoring the remorse she should feel for her unwillingness to forgive.
Even now, the state of her rebellion gave her pain. It was wrong to live with this un-forgiveness in her heart. But it wouldn’t budge. She was doomed to carry it with her for whatever was left of her own life. What can I do about it, Lord?
Pulling a key from her pocket, she unlocked the round padlock that secured the door. A twinge of guilt passed through her as the key slid into its slot. She should leave it open for passing strangers that might need shelter for a night, but the thought of outsiders staying there was more than she could bear. It was her house. Their house. Even if she couldn’t live in it. It was a selfish thing to do and she knew it.
Caleb's Rain Lily Bride (Texas Frontier Brides Book 1) Page 2