High Plains Wife

by Jillian Hart

  Mariah felt her way up the porch in the dark. The night felt so quiet as she stood there in the shadows, hesitating to turn the key in the lock because she didn’t want to go inside. There was no one waiting for her. No husband to welcome her, no children running in their nightshirts who’d missed her all evening long.

  Regrets. Why did she feel things so keenly tonight? She wished she could push them aside, but they remained, a heavy sharp blade in her breastbone. Did it have to be so darn quiet here? The door hinges squeaked like chalk on a board and her shoes tapped as loud as a war drum on the wood floor she’d polished only yesterday. The emptiness echoed around her and did not fade when she hurried to light a nearby lamp. The faint glow of the flame on the wick only illuminated the truth of her life—rooms in perfect order, not a speck of dust in sight, but without anyone to fill them.

  Just her. It didn’t seem enough. Not tonight. Not after dancing in Nick’s arms. Not after what he’d said to her.

  Marry him? She couldn’t marry him. He didn’t like her. She didn’t like him. He’d proposed to her out of pity, for heaven’s sake. Pity. As if she were a sad, lonely old spinster in need of charity.

  Angry, she dumped her reticule on the hallway table. There was her reflection staring right back at her, the face of a woman no man could love. Or so Pa had told her, and told her often. And as time passed and she went from schoolgirl to spinster, she’d come to believe it.

  Nick couldn’t have meant his proposal. She was old, and getting older by the minute. The dim light accentuated every wrinkle and imperfection on her no-longer-youthful face. Not that she was ancient, it was just that life had a way of marking a person, like rings in a tree. Sadness had marked hers, and she hated seeing it there. Had to wonder if Nick had seen it, too.

  Oh, stop thinking about that man! She shrugged out of her shawl, hung it with a curse on the wall peg and made it all the way to the kitchen before she realized she’d forgotten her basket in the back of the wagon. What was wrong with her tonight? Even standing in the dark of her kitchen, surrounded by the sounds of emptiness and the wind scraping the lilac branches against the siding, she couldn’t seem to make her mind stop reeling her back in time to the sensation of waltzing in Nick’s strong arms.

  It’s not Betsy I intend to marry. It’s you, he’d said in that deep dark voice of his, as intriguing as a rogue’s, making her shiver from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes. He couldn’t mean it. She didn’t know why he’d even asked, and maybe he didn’t, either. He had to have proposed knowing she would reject him. Right?

  Breathing in, she could remember Nick’s scent and feel the warmth of his shirt against her cheek, the security of his strong arms holding her. A part of her would always yearn after him, as she had when she was young, watching him marry another woman. And, as the years crept by, offering congratulations on the birth of his children. Watching from her father’s kitchen window as his family surrey swept by on the way to town, with Lida at his side.

  Pain filled her, at the loneliness of her own life. It wasn’t better being alone. She didn’t care how right her father was. If she could pray for any one thing and have it granted, no holds barred, then it would be to have a heart that could love. A heart that wasn’t cold and used up, like a hunk of winter’s ice. One that bloomed like the wild prairie roses, and no harsh winter or dry summer could stop their stubborn blooms.

  But she was her mother’s daughter. Ice to the core. Good for only one thing—hard work. At least she did that well.

  Taking solace where she could, Mariah crossed the dark kitchen, petticoats swishing in the silence. She felt proud of how hard she’d worked tonight. Her contribution made a difference. They’d raised more than half the money they needed for the school addition. See? Her life had meaning enough. The children of this town would have new desks and plenty of room so they could become better educated, and a new heater to keep them warm through the winter.

  She found the match tin by feel and snapped open the lid. The curtains were open, giving a view of her backyard and orchard, and a glimpse at her neighbor’s house. Lights blinked on in their windows like beacons in the night, drawing Mariah’s gaze. Their curtains were open, too, and she caught sight of the Bryants, returning from the dance, no doubt. Mrs. Bryant balanced her year-old son on her hip, while herding her other two small children through the front room toward the bedrooms in back.

  It was just a slice of their lives Mariah could see through that window, but how warm it looked. How cozy. Mr. Bryant came into view and laid a gentle hand on his wife’s shoulder. She gazed up at him with a smile. How happy they looked, man and wife. There was love there, a kind Mariah knew nothing about. She closed her eyes and turned away.

  No, she belonged here. In the house she grew up in. In the house where she’d cared for her father until his death. It was hers now. And she would live out her days here, not troubled by the demands of children and a husband and by her own inadequacies.

  No, she was happy here—alone—and she was content with that. Mariah snapped the curtains shut against the night and other people’s bliss.

  She vowed not to think of Nick again. And she didn’t. Not when she fetched the basket from the wagon and unloaded her dishes. Not when she prepared for bed. Not even once, in her dreams that night, or any of the nights that followed.

  Chapter Five

  “Mariah!” Rayna Ludgrin’s knock echoed through the warm house the next Monday morning and was followed by the squeak of the hinges. “Mariah! Are you in here? I’m a little early, I know. Some of your dishcloths got mixed up with mine. I’d best return them while I’m here, or I’ll forget all about it.”

  “Good thing, because I have some of yours.” Mariah sprinkled water on the collar of Nick’s blue muslin work shirt. “How much did the dance bring in?”

  “We topped last year’s in donations.” Rayna bustled through the door like a whirl of gaiety and dropped a neat pile of a dozen dishcloths on the crowded table. “Oh, you look busy. Your business is growing.”

  “It’s improving.” Mariah had told no one, not even her closest friend, how hard it had been making ends meet. “Have you heard from Betsy? She was dancing with the gunsmith when I left.”

  “Betsy ought to be here in a few minutes. She’d never miss our weekly tea time. Speaking of Friday night’s event, what about you? I saw you waltzing in Nick Gray’s arms.” Rayna helped herself to the tea water simmering on the stove. “It was the talk of the dance.”

  “Hardly. It was one waltz.”

  “Yes, but did you see the way he looked at you?”

  “I did happen to notice. That’s why I’ve vowed never to speak to him again.”

  “Mariah! If you keep this up, you’ll never marry.”

  “Marry? What does that have to do with Nick Gray? Oh, sure, you mean his act of pity. He danced with me out of his conceited, self-centered sense of obligation.” She blinked hard and stabbed the point of the iron into the seam of the muslin’s narrow collar. “So, he must have chosen a wife by now. Those children of his need a woman’s care. Who’s the lucky bride?”

  “I have no idea— Wait, I hear Betsy. Why, Betsy, good morning.”

  Mariah’s hands stilled for a shocked moment. What was wrong with Rayna? Why was she avoiding the subject of Nick Gray?

  “Good morning, or, well, a few minutes to noon.” She waltzed in, looking happy as a lark in a pretty blue calico dress with a matching bonnet, balancing a pink bakery box in her gloved hands. “Guess what? Zeke asked me to go driving with him on Sunday.”

  “He’s a good man, Betsy. I’m glad for you.” Mariah set the iron in its stand. Maybe this romance would work out for Betsy, but what about Nick Gray?

  He’d proposed to someone else.

  Pain pierced like an arrow into Mariah’s chest, making it hard to breathe. She couldn’t let her feelings show. Keeping her chin high, she turned the shirt on the edge of the board, smoothing the fabric until it was perfect.<
br />
  There. Another shirt done. She folded it precisely and laid it on the stack of others.

  It’s all right. You didn’t expect he really wanted to marry you. But that didn’t stop her heart from breaking or the disappointment from welling up like a geyser. She hadn’t realized how much she wished Nick’s proposal had been a real one.

  Blinking hard, she set the iron aside, her work done for now. She had a few hours to spend with her friends. This afternoon she had more garments to iron and deliveries to make.

  Nick Gray’s choice of bride was not her concern.

  It was just as well. She was content with her life. Look at all she’d accomplished. Rayna was right—her laundry business was beginning to flourish. The fund-raiser had been a success. She had friends, her own house, and her independence. What more did a women need?

  “A good man.” Rayna waggled her brows as she gathered china from the corner hutch. “Betsy, did you hear what Mariah said? He’s a good man, she said of the gunsmith. What did you mean by that?”

  Mariah blushed as she snatched the stack of plates from Rayna. “Just what I said. Zeke is a good prospect for a husband. He’s an honest businessman. He’s kind. He makes a good wage. I think you ought to let him court you, Betsy.”

  “That’s what I’m going to do.” Betsy smiled. “Rayna, did you hear what Mariah said? She said a man who’s a good prospect for a husband is honest and kind.”

  “Huh! Mariah, just goes to show what you know.” Rayna winked, sharing a private grin with Betsy as she gathered small plates from the high shelf. “Mariah has never been married, so we’ll have to forgive her ignorance.”

  “Hey! I’m not ignorant!” Mariah protested, used to the ribbing of her friends. “I can’t imagine why you two think marriage is such a joy—”

  “Not a joy,” Betsy corrected. “A pleasure.”

  “Oh, yes, it’s that.” Rayna nodded, blushing. “Oh, the pleasure.”

  “You two, I’m shocked at you. To think I call such lusty, indecent women my friends.” Laughing, too, Mariah grabbed the bread plates from Rayna, stacked them on top of the china she already had and marched toward the dining room, pushing through the glass door.

  Really. They were talking about intimacy, and as embarrassed as Mariah was, she was more curious.

  “Me? Indecent?” Rayna blushed harder. “Why, I should hope so.”

  “That is what I miss most about being married.” Betsy sighed with longing, the fondness in her voice unmistakable. “Charlie was a thoughtful man. Oh, and so tender. As much as I miss him, I miss that tenderness with a man. That intimacy.”

  Mariah set the plates on the lace-covered table, alone, listening to her friends in the other room, voices low, talking of marriage with such fondness. Remembering how thrilling it had felt to be held in Nick’s arms, snug against his chest, made her wish for the first time that she knew what her friends were talking about. What true intimacy with a man felt like. Was it that wonderful? Was it special to be so loved?

  Yes, it was. Why wouldn’t it be? Longing filled her so sharp and sweet, tugged at the cold edge of her heart like spring’s first sunshine on frozen tundra. What she would give to know that wonder. To be treasured and held like that. To have Nick hold her in that special way.

  He doesn’t want you, Mariah. Nick would marry someone else, just as he had last time, and the man she’d loved forever would be out of her reach. The same man that her father had sent away when she was young and halfway pretty, when she’d had a chance of being loved.

  Now that chance was gone for good. Mariah could see her reflection in the mirror over the fireplace. She didn’t like what she saw. Hers was the stark, unhappy face of a woman who looked older than her years.

  That’s not me, she thought. It couldn’t possibly be.

  But it was. Time had changed her on the outside. There was no doubt about it. She couldn’t go backward. She really didn’t want to. It’s just that… She sighed. The longing within her was the sixteen-year-old schoolgirl she used to be, who had never stopped loving Nick Gray.

  I hope his new bride, whoever she may be, makes him happy. He deserves that. And his beautiful little girl, with those wonderful gold curls tangled and falling everywhere, she deserved a kind mother. Mariah ached, remembering the child. Remembering how hard Georgie’s small fingers had held tight with a mountain of determination. So fragile and dear and amazing.

  She’d give anything to have a child like that. A child of her very own. If only…

  Some things were not to be.

  The room echoed with the joyous chatter of her friends as they rescued the meal out of the oven—chicken and dumplings. This would not be a day of sadness, but one of joy because she wasn’t alone. She had friends she treasured.

  Truly happy for Betsy and Zeke, she finished setting the table before she hurried to the kitchen to join in the merry talk. But today, for some reason, visiting with her friends could not chase away the sorrow inside her.

  The sorrow of what could never be.

  The Gray’s ranch house loomed ahead of her, and it may as well have been a tornado heading her way. Facing a twister head-on would be less fear-inspiring than pulling the wagon to a stop in the shade of Nick’s front porch.

  Remember, you’re glad for him. Glad he found someone who could make him happy. Mariah set the brake, taking time to gather her courage. She could do this. She’d handled more painful situations than this, and she could walk into that house, deliver the laundry, look Nick in the eye and find it in her heart to be happy for him.

  Yep, that’s exactly what she would do. She gathered the rucksacks and pillowcases stuffed with fresh-smelling, perfectly ironed garments, and began leaning them in a tidy row up against the side of the house.

  The screen door snapped open and bare feet slapped against the wood porch. “It’s the apple lady! Hi, apple lady!”

  “Why, hello, Georgie.” Mariah hefted the last of the five bundles. “That’s a pretty dress you’re wearing.”

  “My mama gave it to me.” Georgie’s eyes filled as she smoothed the pretty yellow gingham with the flat of her hand. “Did you come to take me?”

  “I came to deliver your laundry.” Some of the garments she’d washed and ironed had been Georgie’s sweet little dresses. “Where’s your pa?”

  “Don’t know.” Georgie bit her bottom lip, as if considering something of grand importance. “My Grandpop’s in the chair.”

  “Want to go fetch him for me?”

  “No.” Georgie headed straight for the wagon.

  Where was the child going? Mariah leaned the last full sack against the others in a flash, intending to go after the little girl, but the screen door sprung open. A slender woman wearing a sky-blue calico dress flew across the porch. The screen door slammed shut.

  “Mariah!” Theresa Dayton skidded to a halt, breathless, her hand flying to her chest. “Goodness, I didn’t see you there. Where’s Georgie? Oh, there you are, you rascal. Didn’t I tell you to stay in the kitchen?”

  So, that’s who Nick decided to marry. The neighbor’s pretty granddaughter, who had grown up on a ranch. She’d make a busy rancher like Nick a fine wife.

  “I want to offer my congratulations,” Mariah managed, surprised at how much it hurt.

  “Congratulations? Oh, thanks, I guess.” Theresa took off after Georgie. The little girl was a few steps away from the wagon and began crying when Theresa caught up with her.

  “Gonna go to heaven,” Georgie insisted. “I miss my mama.”

  Poor little girl. Poor Theresa. The woman knelt, trying to pull the distressed child into her arms, but Georgie fought her. Mariah ached watching. She didn’t know what to do, how to comfort the child. She’d tried the other day, with little success.

  She knew nothing about being a mother or a wife. It’s just as well Nick was marrying someone like Theresa. Even if it hurt. Mariah took an unsteady breath, staring hard at her red, cracked hands made rough from long exposure
to lye soap. She would have disappointed him.

  “Hey, what’s all this fuss?”

  Speak of the devil. There he was in all his male glory, gray cotton shirt stretched over his capable frame, looking like something out of every woman’s most secret dreams. The sight of his wind-tousled hair made her fingers itch to run through those untamed locks.

  She turned, taking a step away from the man who strode across the porch and into the yard. He gathered Georgie up into his arms.

  “What’s the matter, princess?”

  “I’m goin’ with the apple lady. Long gone and far away. To heaven.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Yep. I wanna go real bad.”

  “So I see.” Nick leaned his broad forehead against his daughter’s little one, gazing right into her eyes.

  Mariah didn’t know much about children, but she knew what it felt like to be a little girl, unsure of the world around her. What a wonderful father Nick seemed to be—and that was hard to admit.

  “Heaven is far away, and I’m going to miss you if you go.” Warmth deepened Nick’s booming voice and it rumbled like a caress on the afternoon breeze. “I think you’d better stay with me.”

  “But I miss Mama.”

  “And I’ll miss you. I’d be lost without my little girl to love.” He gave her a smacking kiss on her brow. “Let’s get you back inside, okay?”

  Georgie shook her head, then threw her arms around his neck, holding on for dear life. So lost and alone and hurting.

  “Thanks, Theresa.” With one last kiss to his daughter’s face, Nick handed over the child into his fiancée’s gentle arms.

  “I’ll make sure to keep a better eye on her, I promise.” Theresa cradled the girl and carried her into the house.

  Yes, Theresa would make Nick a good wife. A loving wife. A kind stepmother.

  Something that Mariah didn’t know how to be. Now, a good businesswoman, that’s where she had some experience. That was the only reason she was here. Not to regret the path of her life. Not to remember the sweet thrill of being held against Nick’s broad chest.