Caleb's Rain Lily Bride (Texas Frontier Brides Book 1)

by Mary L. Briggs

  He turned his face to her. “So what makes you and your grandmother stay?”

  Memories flashed through her mind. She stood and walked to the window, her back to the injured man. “I guess Ian’s dream of making this a good place. Found it ‘by chance’, he always said. And so, that eventually became the name of the big creek we crossed, as well as the town.” She stared through the window to the sky. The night was clear and the stars were bright. “Considering what we were left with after the war, this place seemed so perfect. New, and unscarred.”

  She turned back and walked to the chair and sat. A conversation like this one should be done face to face. Her eyes met his. “I know that’s hard for someone like you to understand.” The bitterness in her own voice sent a shiver down her spine. Blame for the north kept rearing its ugly face to her. Someday, she would have to deal with it. Do as Grammy advised and forgive. If only God would help her do so. And as yet, she hadn’t bothered to ask.

  “But it’s not,” he argued, his face darkening. “The war didn’t affect just the south. We all suffered, we all lost years, people, family, and friends. Our places were in disarray when we returned home. Many men found their farms in such disorder that they had to start over. Their houses were in disrepair, roofs leaking, livestock gone.”

  But not burned to the ground. They hadn’t been left cleaning up ashes. If repairing a roof was all the damage suffered, she and Ian would never have left Georgia.

  Still, Maggie measured his words. She had never thought of the people in the north as having any kind of loss, even when she heard the estimated number of dead on both sides. In reality, the Union had lost so many more men than the Confederates. More widows in the north than in the south. It was something to consider.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, not believing the words were coming from her own mouth. “I…it’s hard to know other’s suffering when you are consumed with your own.” She stared at her hands, not daring to look at him.

  His voice was quiet and gentle. “It was a bad time for our country. It’s been ten years and the wounds are still raw. But, someday, things will be different.”

  Maggie shook her head and looked at him. “I’m not sure the south will ever forget.”

  He smiled. They were certainly a strong-willed people, at least those he had met and worked with. But a good people. Surely God would heal the strife that separated them. “I hope you’re wrong about that, Maggie Price. And maybe I don’t really mean forget. That would be too hard to do. There will always be some that can’t let go of the past, but the rest will learn to forgive and love again.”

  “You sound like Gram,” she accused, shaking her head.

  “Is that such a bad thing? She seems like a smart woman,” he grinned.

  Maggie smiled back and gave a soft laugh. “Well, she is. But just don’t brag on her too much or there’ll be no living with her.”

  He smiled and shook his head. “A woman like her deserves all the praise she can get. And you should consider what she said. Not being able to forgive only hurts yourself, not those you are holding a grudge against.”

  Maggie nodded. Gram had said as much, herself. She stared at the quilt covering him, the scrap pieces visible in the lamp light. It was old, made before the war. She and Gram had pieced it together, using strips from Maggie’s worn out dresses and Gram’s sewing scraps. They had stayed up late some nights just to finish their blocks for the day, making a contest between them to see who could get the most done.

  It was the Log Cabin pattern, her favorite. The center of each block was red, to represent their home fires. Back then, they had had a real home, the four of them. Herself, Gram, Lane, and James. She shook away the thought and looked at the injured man. “Caleb, who is Amanda?”

  His eyes narrowed slightly and his friendly smile wavered. “Why do you ask that?”

  She shrugged. “This morning, after I found you, you called me that a couple of times.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry.”

  He spoke in a quiet voice, as if controlling his words. “My wife. Amanda was my wife. She died a couple of years after the war.”

  Maggie reached over and touched his hand. “I’m sorry.”

  He nodded and put his warm fingers over hers. “Thank you. I’m sorry for your loss, as well.”

  She ignored the leap of her heart and allowed her hand to mingle in his soft touch for a moment before she pulled away and sat straighter. “I guess maybe I should let you get back to sleep.”

  When she was almost to the door, he called to her, “Maggie? Do you have my guns?”

  Her hand on the doorknob, she turned and looked at him. “I have the Colt upstairs. Would you like me to bring it down?” Why did she offer that? What if it was foolish to trust him? Gram’s ‘honest face’ comment must have worked its way into her mind.

  “Sure,” he answered. “And the Winchester, too.”

  Maggie shook her head. “There was no Winchester. At least not that I saw.”

  Caleb’s eyes narrowed as they met hers. “Then the shooter must have it.”

  A trickle of fear coursed through her. Whoever had shot him and come up to him, stared down at his seemingly lifeless body and left him to die. “I’ll be right back with your pistol.”

  Chapter 8

  Sunlight poured through the sheer curtains. Caleb groaned and tried to move. Pain shot through his body, as if he’d been thrown from Kit, and then trampled by a herd of cattle. Concentrating, he tried to find at least one area of his body that didn’t seem to scream with pain. Failing in his quest, he glanced at the chair beside the bed. It was empty.

  Maggie must have left sometime in the night. She had stayed there after she brought down the pistol. Sitting there rocking and singing softly with a tune from the piano across the street. He smiled, despite his discomfort. It was probably the first time he’d gone to sleep with a woman singing to him since he was a babe.

  A soft knock sounded and he called, “Come in.”

  Maggie stuck her head inside the room and smiled at him. Pushing the door wider, she stepped inside and stopped. “Good morning! How did you sleep?”

  He grimaced. “The sleep was all right. It was the waking up that was uncomfortable.” He offered her a faint smile for his complaint.

  Beside the bed, Maggie pulled back the quilt and untied the bandage, pulling the cloth from his side. He gave a slight jerk as the dressing pulled from places where it stuck to him. Raising his head, he tried to see what she was doing.

  “I’m sorry,” she apologized, with a glance, then returned her attention to her task.

  He started to tell her it was OK, but he couldn’t take the chance his voice would give away the fact that it felt like she was ripping his skin off. He knew she was being as gentle as possible, so there was no need to complain. And her fingers were cool and soft on his skin, easing a little of the tenderness around the wound.

  He watched as she studied the gash. He had always been able to read Amanda’s face. Know what she was thinking. But not Maggie Price. She was special. A mystery to him. He cleared his throat. “So how does it look?”

  She sounded pleased when she answered. “It looks fine. I’ll get some more silver water and dress it again this morning. But first, how about we get some food in you?”

  Caleb breathed a sigh of relief and let his head rest back on the pillow. “Sounds good to me.”

  ***

  “You’re eating enough to get your strength back,” Maggie laughed, as she reached for the breakfast tray. “A hearty appetite must certainly be a good sign that you’re on the mend.”

  “It’s hard to resist cooking like your grandmother’s. Even if I don’t feel so great,” he smiled, wiping his mouth and dropping the cotton napkin on his empty plate.

  Reba appeared behind her and took charge of the dishes. “I’ve got some water heating on the stove. We’ll get you cleaned up in no time,” she said. “You just stay here, Maggie, and I’ll bring everythi
ng in.”

  Maggie felt herself blush as she caught Caleb watching her face. “I still feel like a small child when Gram takes over, like that,” she laughed. “I sometimes wonder who she was bossing around those years I was married.”

  He nodded. “She probably likes for you to feel like that sometimes. You may be grown, but she needs to be needed. Like we all do.”

  “I’m just thankful I still have her,” Maggie answered. Gram had been so sick, so thin during the war. And losing Uncle Lane and Uncle James had taken a toll on her. There had been many times Maggie was afraid that Reba would give up. But she should have known better. Her grandmother was a strong woman. More resilient than the pain and fear that had been inflicted on them.

  Reba returned with a bowl of warm water, a towel, and a bar of soap. “This ought to get you feeling better,” she said, putting the bowl on the table. “I’ll be back with another bowl for rinsing, in a minute.”

  Maggie reached and soaped the rag in the bowl. She squeezed out the excess water and began to wash his face.

  “Feels good. Smells nice, too.”

  Maggie lifted the bandage on his head and carefully washed around the cut. “Gram keeps her soap stored in a box strewn with mint leaves. It keeps the mice out and always leaves a nice scent on the bars.”

  Wringing out the rag again, she washed across his bristly cheeks. Rinsing the soap away with water from the second bowl, she handed the cloth to him. “I’ll be back in a moment,” she said, and headed out the door and up the stairs.

  In her room, she opened the trunk in the corner and pulled out Ian’s razor. The sight of the pearl handle made her eyes sting. She had loved to watch him shave in the mornings, hearing the sharp blade on his skin. Handling his things always brought a spark of sadness to her. But life had to go on. Closing the trunk she stood and headed back downstairs.

  ***

  Caleb eyed the razor in Maggie’s hand. “Are you sure you’ve done this before?”

  Surprise showed in her eyes and she laughed. “Quite a few times. Ian broke some of his fingers once and I had to shave him for over a month. He was a brave man,” she added, with another laugh.

  She was pretty when she smiled. And the laughter lifted the seriousness from her face. The way she should look most of the time, he thought. “Well, at the moment, I might be braver,” he teased.

  She began to soap her hands. “And how do you figure that?”

  He grinned. “I’m just thinking I might be the only Yankee in this town of Rebels. And I’m about to let one of them put a razor to my throat.”

  “I believe you reminded me last night that the war is over,” she said, rubbing her soapy hands on his face. “Besides, I’m not a soldier.”

  He laughed. “I’ve met enough southern women to know how tough you ladies are.”

  Maggie sighed and picked up the razor. “Our reputation for fainting at the slightest incident is a total falsehood. Ian always said the women of the south were tough as leather and strong as iron. I guess we had to learn to be resilient.”

  Caleb felt the sharp edge begin to scrape down his cheek, her other hand holding beneath his chin. Her fingers were warm and soft and he was tempted to close his eyes and enjoy her touch.

  “I can’t help but be curious to know just where you met these southern women.”

  Her voice interrupted the thoughts that were taking him places he had thought were dead to his heart. “Atlanta,” he managed.

  She stopped shaving and her eyes met his. “You were there?”

  He blinked. He had to be honest with her if he had any chance to explore these newfound emotions inside of him. “I was on the outskirts, not in the city.”

  Maggie wiped the blade on the towel and soaped his cheek again.

  “What about you. Were you there, Maggie? In the city when it burned?” He had to ask. I hope she wasn’t there. I hope she didn’t have to live through such a nightmare.

  Maggie pursed her lips before she answered. “No. We were about twenty miles away. But we could see the fire in the sky at night. Smell the burning. Hear it, even, when the wind was right. I‘ll never forget.”

  Her expression sobered and she began to shave him again, the blade smooth and sure in her hand.

  He swallowed hard. This might not be the best time to stir up her old memories of the war. “I’m sorry. Sorry that you had to be that close to all of it.”

  She smiled. “I don’t hold you personally responsible for the war, Caleb. Now, tilt your head back.”

  Her face leaned in to his as she carefully worked the razor under his chin. The light scent of roses touched his senses. Her lips were close to his, her sweet breath on his face. All he had to do was turn his mouth and their lips would meet. And he wanted to more than anything.

  He had known her only a couple of days, yet he was drawn to her in a way he never felt possible. But if he kissed her now, this moment, she would think him too forward. And she would be right. Maggie deserved nothing less than a gentleman to treat her like the lady she was.

  He realized the razor had stopped and her eyes were locked on his. Confusion clouded her face and she sat back. She pulled her gaze away as her cheeks flushed. Reaching for the towel, she wiped the razor, then dipped it into the bowl of water.

  She took a shaky breath and offered a smile. “I guess we’d better finish up so you can get some more rest.”

  ***

  Maggie stood at the kitchen counter, pouring boiling water over the razor blade. When she had retrieved it from her trunk, the object had put Ian on her mind. But now, it was Caleb’s face that flashed through her thoughts. For that one moment, she had felt as if there was a connection between the two of them. As if, somehow, everything in their past had led to that very moment. A moment that was supposed to mean something between them. Had she possibly seen him in the war? Had he been one of the soldiers that came to their home, demanding food?

  She shook her head. What was wrong with her? Caleb was a stranger. A man on his way to somewhere else. There was no place for her in his life. And no place for him in hers. In a few days or weeks, he would be gone, and life would go on as she and Gram knew it.

  “Maggie! There you are! Lands sake, girl, I’ve been calling from the other room. Didn’t you hear me?”

  Maggie’s breath caught and she forced a smile as she turned. “I’m sorry, Gram. I guess I was lost in my thoughts. Is something wrong?”

  “No,” Reba shook her head. “I was just wondering if you’d run on down to Stoner’s and get some more blue thread for me. I’ve got enough for another seam or two and then I’ll be out.”

  Maggie smoothed the blade across the cotton towel and set it on the window sill. “I don’t mind at all. In fact, I’d like a little fresh air.” And to get as far away from Caleb Hatcher as possible.

  Chapter 9

  “I think today is the day you need to get up and start moving around,” Reba recommended, as she left out the door with Caleb’s breakfast tray. “I figured you needed the rest yesterday, but it’s about time you got some exercise.”

  Maggie, seated in the rocker, watched her leave, then turned to him. “Do you feel up to it?”

  “I was ready for it by yesterday evening,” he grinned. “But you and your grandmother insisted I was too weak.”

  Maggie stood and pushed away from the chair. “Gram has your clothes cleaned and patched. I had to cut your shirt after I found you, so I dug out one of Ian’s I had in a trunk. You’re some taller than he was, but it’s a long shirt, so I think it will do fine.”

  ***

  The shirt fit him perfectly, even the length on the arms. Ian had always had to roll up the sleeves. She stared at the man wearing her husband’s shirt. A tiny sting behind her eyelids sent her eyes in another direction. It was silly to be uncomfortable with Caleb wearing Ian’s things. They were just going to rot away in that old trunk. It would be a shame not to give them to someone in need.

  “I think I’m ready,”
he grinned. “But I’ll have to take it slow.”

  Maggie nodded as she opened the front door. “You can lean on me, if you need to.”

  She breathed in the morning air, not yet touched by the heat of the sun. Caleb grabbed a porch post and stopped. “Are you all right?” she asked.

  He looked a bit wobbly. His fingers were blanched white from holding the cedar pillar. Maybe he wasn’t ready for this.

  Caleb gave a shaky laugh. “I’ll be alright. Just give me a minute.” He turned his head and stared down Main Street. “The town is bigger than I thought it might be.”

  “Mostly boarded up, though,” she nodded. “We do have a livery and blacksmith, bank, post office, and the mercantile. And one lawyer to try to keep things settled between folks.”

  “Sounds like you have the most important businesses, then.” He took a shallow breath and let go of the post. “How about we take a little walk?”

  “If you’re sure.” Maggie stayed close to his side as they stepped off the porch and crossed the road. Once they started walking, he appeared to gain some strength, and after a moment, she let out a long breath. It didn’t look as if she was going to have to drag him back home by his boots. Up on the board sidewalk, Caleb seemed to get in his stride.

  Ahead of them, Wally Stoner waved from the mercantile and motioned them to come in. Maggie slipped her hand under Caleb’s arm and they headed that direction. Slow, but sure, they reached their destination.

  Stepping inside, Maggie breathed in the smell of apples and fresh baked bread. She smiled at Wally, before turning to her charge. “Wally, I’d like you to meet Caleb Hatcher. He’s from Illinois. Seems he met up with an ambush when he arrived here.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Wally held out his hand. “I’m the mayor of this town. I heard about what happened. Sorry this is the way you were greeted when you made your way to Chance,” he said.