Leaving Waverly: Novella

by Sara R. Turnquist

  She took another deep breath and let the sensations wash over her.

  “Ready?”

  Turning, she met Pa’s clear blue eyes. The dark storm that once filled those orbs had dissipated. Now there was calm. If only she could partake of it for this day.

  Pa took her hand and looped it around his arm, smiling. “Henry is waiting.”

  Yes, Henry. Her beloved. That was who stood at the other end of that aisle amidst the crowd of faces. Henry.

  “We best not keep him waiting any longer.” Claire offered her father a smile from the swell of emotion within her.

  Patting her hand, he nodded to the manservant at the door. The young man opened it, revealing the small gathering beyond.

  A piano banged out the tune that heralded her entrance and all eyes were on her.

  But her eyes were fixed on Henry. She would never forget the look on his face in that moment. He stood at the ready to receive her. That was all that mattered.

  Moments later, she stood beside Henry. Her father spoke his part of the ceremony and then Henry reached for her.

  As their hands connected and they said their vows, Claire pledged her heart to the man next to her. She would forever put her past behind her and look to a future all theirs.

  ****

  The ceremony had come to a close. Claire and Henry were wed. Nothing could keep them apart now.

  Henry glanced at his bride beside him, etching into his memory the way she looked this day. Would he be able to remember the details of the dress? Perhaps not, but he was certain he would never forget her smile, the way her eyes lit up, or the inflection of her voice when she promised to be his for all their days.

  Squeezing her hand drew her eyes to his. A smile graced her lips. They had done the impossible, and against such odds.

  He leaned toward her, pressing a kiss to the side of her face. “Can I get you anything?”

  She sighed. Did his breath in her ear affect her so?

  Henry pulled back enough to watch her features.

  Something played across her face, something difficult to describe. Yet it warmed his core.

  “Perhaps something to drink?”

  He nodded before lifting her gloved hand to his lips. Then he reluctantly slipped away and toward the refreshment table.

  Pouring a glass of punch, Henry intended to rejoin Claire as soon as possible. A clap on his shoulder interrupted his plans.

  Henry spun toward the intrusion.

  Mr. Crawford stood beside him, grabbing for a glass.

  Clearing his throat, Henry stood as tall as he could manage and angled his body toward the man. “Mr. Crawford, I wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done.”

  Crawford’s gaze landed on Henry. “I’ve done a lot of wrong things in my life. A lot to regret. I didn’t want my daughter to be one of them.”

  Henry nodded. “That means a lot to me.”

  “But don’t think you are free of me. I will be watching. Someway, somehow. Know that I am.”

  What did that mean? Did Crawford not trust him to be faithful? To care for her? A fury ignited within, but he quelled it. There would be no reason in it. For Claire's sake, it would be best if everyone got along.

  Henry glanced at Claire, speaking with a couple of ladies her age. And he spotted her mother doing the same, but she blotted at her eyes with her handkerchief, as if she were in mourning.

  “I wish things could be better between Claire and her mother.” Had he said that out loud?

  Crawford’s gaze turned toward his wife. “That will take time.”

  Henry nodded. Why had he spoken out? He didn’t want to have this conversation with Crawford. “That it may. But with us headed west, their time may have run out.”

  Crawford met Henry's eyes once again, eyebrow arched. “Garrett, time is all you have.”

  With that, Crawford took his glass and walked off.

  Henry looked after him.

  “Did you need help?” a voice broke into his thoughts.

  Turning, Henry saw that Claire had found him at the punch bowl. “Sorry, I got distracted.”

  Claire glanced in the direction of her retreating father. “I can see that. Everything all right?”

  Henry placed a hand on her arm. “Do not worry.”

  “I just want everything to work out.”

  Henry rubbed her arms. “It has, my love, it has. Our very own happily ever after.”

  ****

  The wagon was packed and ready to go. Henry's parents were more helpful than Claire could have imagined. And Pa had been so generous. More so than she would have thought.

  But Claire slipped away from it all. She had one more stop to make. One that she had avoided.

  She had to see Millie, Isaac, and Mrs. Amos one last time.

  Her heart thundered in her ears as she neared their tiny home. What would become of them? They had lost their only way to make a life as sharecroppers. No one would let land to a woman, even if Mrs. Amos could work the land.

  But she had to see them all the same.

  Claire carried a bag of her mother-in-law’s carefully thought out provisions. They could do without a few things. A sack of foodstuffs could mean another week for the Amos family.

  Stepping to the door, Claire knocked gently.

  Mere seconds later, Mrs. Amos opened the door. She smiled broadly at Claire. How was it she could find such a smile in the midst of her hardship?

  “Miz Claire! Millie and Isaac shor have missed you!”

  The sound of two sets of feet running for the open door sounded on the thin boards of the home. And the children crashed into their mother from behind, squeezing around her. Had they heard Mrs. Amos say her name?

  Claire crouched to gather the children in her arms. “My, how you have grown!” Her heart ached as she spoke the words. They had grown, but would that continue to be true? Would they be able to develop and grow into everything they could be?

  “I missed you!” Millie shouted, putting her hands on Claire's cheeks.

  “I missed you more.” Isaac touched her hair.

  “Well, I missed you both the most.” Claire sniffed back tears that threatened to come. They would not serve the children. Only confuse them.

  “Now, y’all go play.” Mrs. Amos shooed them off into the yard.

  Claire watched them bound off into the sunshine. Then she turned back to Mrs. Amos. “I brought these things for you.” She handed over the sack.

  Mrs. Amos glanced in the bag. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say these are Miz Garrett’s.

  “They are.” Claire furrowed her brows. How could Mrs. Amos know that?

  Mrs. Amos laughed. “Goodness, child. Don’t you know? Everybody can tell Miz Garrett’s cornbread when they smell it.”

  Claire relaxed and let a smile break across her face.

  “But I can’t take it. I have a mind this was meant for you.” Mrs. Amos held the bag out to Claire.

  “No. You need it. The children—”

  “Will be just fine.” Mrs. Amos smiled. “I appreciate your concern, Miz Claire, but we’ll be fine.”

  Claire was no less confused than before. She couldn’t stop her questions. “How? How will you make it?”

  “Don’t you know? Mr. Crawford found me a position cooking at the Abbott manor.”

  “He what?”

  Mrs. Amos laughed again. “I tell you, child, the Lord takes care of those He calls His own.”

  Claire could only nod.

  “Now you best be on your way if you’re going to make any distance by sundown.”

  “I agree,” a voice behind Claire said.

  Claire didn’t have to turn to know that voice. It was her husband.

  “Mr. Garrett, come to collect your wife?”

  “Yes, ma’am. And to see that you have what you need.” Henry stepped up beside Claire and put an arm around her waist.

  “Your wife already tried to give away some of your Mama’s cornbread and veget
ables.”

  Henry appeared stricken. “Not Ma’s cornbread!”

  Claire smiled. “Indeed.”

  “Now, I thank y’all for being so concerned, but we’ll be fine. The Lord has us in the palm of His hand.”

  Leaning forward, Claire hugged the woman she had come to admire so much.

  Henry shook Mrs. Amos’ hand and then held out an arm for Claire.

  She slipped a hand though the crook of his elbow, and they began the walk back toward the Garrett’s farmhouse.

  “Do you suppose that’s true?” Claire gazed at the horizon. Midday was upon them.

  “What?”

  “That we are in the palm of God’s hand?”

  “That’s what the Bible says.” Henry pulled her closer.

  “Do you believe it? That an Almighty God would care about us as individuals?”

  There was a pause. Was Henry considering her question?

  “Yes. I do.”

  Her eyes met his.

  “Because He gave me you. He brought us through all these obstacles. And I can find no other explanation for it.”

  Claire leaned into his shoulder. It was a nice thought, that God held them close and would continue to hold them tenderly in His care. What sweet reassurance.

  And so, arm in arm, they faced the horizon, knowing that God, and their love for each other, would sustain them for whatever the future, their future, held.

  More from Sara R. Turnquist

  Chapter One

  Beginnings and Endings

  AMANDA STARED AT the blood on her hands. Her husband’s blood. She was numb. Cried out. She shoved the door open with her hip and stepped into the fading day. Her focus was on the water pump across the yard. The few steps stretched out before her. Holding her hands away from her body, she moved toward it, not caring that she stirred the dust of the dry earth beneath her feet as she walked.

  The pump’s handle was solid and cold. She yanked her hand away. Jed’s blood now stained the metal. It couldn’t be helped. Grasping the handle once more, she pulled it up then pressed down. Her long blonde hair fell into her face. Amanda fought the urge to push it to the side. Again and again she pumped, until water began to flow from the spout. Thrusting her hands underneath, she rubbed at the dark red covering her skin.

  Once all traces were gone, she tugged at her apron, wrapping her hands in the thin fabric. When she looked at them again, they shook. And she could still see the deep crimson upon them. She blinked. The red vanished.

  Spinning on the balls of her feet, she turned back toward the house. The clicking of her shoes alerted her that she was once again inside the house. And the smell.

  “Where were you?” A gruff voice greeted her.

  She jerked in that direction.

  The tall frame of the doctor filled the doorway to her bedroom. His scowl accused her.

  “I needed some fresh air.”

  He shook his head. Had she disappointed him? “You are needed in here.”

  She nodded, lowering her gaze to the floor as she stepped toward him.

  He held up his hands. “There’s no point now. He’s passed.”

  “What?” It wasn’t possible.

  The doctor moved past her, his shoulder grazing hers. “It was only a matter of time.”

  Amanda’s heart stopped. Cold surrounded and pervaded her being. Her breath rushed out of her. Would she be able to draw in another? In time, it did come, but with it came the tears. There were more. After all.

  ****

  Brandon Miller pushed the gate closed and secured it. Gazing out across the cattle, he frowned. Would his efforts be enough? He doubted it. All the wishing in the world would not pay the bank.

  Shoving away from the fence, he turned toward the homestead. Time for lunch.

  He slipped into the house and spotted his uncle hobbling across the room. Rushing over, he put an arm under the old man’s bad side. “Uncle Owen, you should have called Cook to help.”

  “She’s busy getting things ready for you and the boys. I couldn’t bother her. ‘Sides, I get around just fine.”

  Brandon shook his head. The man leaned even more on his nephew. His body was worn. Too many years abusing it. If he took another fall…Brandon would rather not think about it.

  They reached the dining table at last, and Brandon shifted his uncle’s weight into one of the chairs.

  Uncle Owen let out a sigh. Surely the man could not deny that it was becoming more difficult for him to get around the house.

  The front door opened, and Brandon’s ranch hands trailed in, dirty and dusty as ever. They were a misfit group indeed.

  “Whatever Cook’s got stewin’ smells mighty good,” Cutie, the smallest of the men, said as he turned his chair around backward and straddled it.

  Brandon furrowed his brow. Cook wouldn’t like that one bit.

  Cutie glanced the other way.

  Slim, who was tall and well built, not at all slim, cocked his head at Brandon. “Any idea when the new cattle are coming in?”

  Brandon ran a hand through his thick brown hair. How was he going to answer? He had neither the money nor the means to procure more cattle. Though his ranch desperately needed more for the auction if they were to make enough to sustain the place.

  Perhaps he should tell the men there had been some sort of delay. He opened his mouth to speak, but Cook came into the room and all eyes fell on her.

  “Now, I don’t want to hear any more gums flappin’,” Cook’s voice boomed as she bustled around the men, first setting the dishes of food down and then placing napkins in their laps. “Y’all best be eatin’ up!”

  Brandon smiled at the woman. How did she always know?

  “Not this second!” She slapped Dan’s hand when he reached for the serving fork. “You know how we do things. Grace first.”

  Dan glared at her but withdrew his hand.

  Brandon gave the men a once over and then bowed his head, returning thanks for the food.

  Only then did Cook nod and return to the kitchen.

  Brandon couldn’t help but notice that Uncle Owen watched after her until she disappeared through the doorway and there was nothing left but the clatter of pots and pans. Their dinner music.

  Slim met Brandon’s eyes. “So, boss, about those cows—”

  “I hear chatter in there,” Cook called.

  Brandon looked down and shoved a bite of food into his mouth. It was clear who ran this ranch.

  ****

  Cold. The air whipping her hair chilled her face, but it couldn’t touch her heart. That was already lost. Was this all she would ever feel? Perhaps that’s what she deserved.

  A small hand pulled at her skirt. Samuel. She couldn’t forget him. He deserved better. More than what life had dealt him. Leaning down, she swept him into her arms and held him to her chest. If only there were some semblance of warmth there for him. It couldn’t be helped.

  “Don’t cry, Mama.” His tiny voice broke through the silence. Small hands framed her face. “Pa’s in heaven, right?”

  Nodding at her son with his simple faith, she set her forehead on his, closing her eyes so he couldn’t see her tears.

  Movement to her left gave her pause. But she dare not look. Probably another well-meaning friend come to comfort her. A face among many.

  “They need to start.” It was Reverend Mason.

  Men with their shovels clanging fell into step behind him. Why now? Could she just have a few more minutes before time continued? Before the inevitable swept her along?

  “Ma’am?” The preacher’s voice was kind, but insistent.

  Didn’t he know her world was falling apart? That nothing would ever be the same? That she had lost the only one who ever knew…who ever understood…

  A hand fell upon her arm, and she did not try to resist as the reverend tugged at her, pulling her away from the graveside.

  She snuggled Samuel closer to her chest, placing a hand behind his head and pressing his little
face into the crook of her neck. He didn’t need to see. No, she couldn’t let him see as the two men scooped dirt onto his father’s casket.

  “Mama, you’re hurting me,” came the muffled little voice.

  She loosened her grip. And guilt slammed into her—she had caused enough pain, enough grief. No more. And certainly not for Samuel. He was everything.

  “The next few days will be hard, Mrs. Haynes. Don’t expect anything different. You will have to find a new normal. Life as you knew it is gone.”

  Amanda nodded numbly as she pressed a kiss to the side of Samuel’s head. New normal. What did that mean? What was normal? Her husband had been ill for near three months. She had watched him waste away. And her child watched his father suffer until death released him.

  Shouldn’t they welcome a new normal? But Amanda would give anything to have Jed back. Not to hear his voice, or feel his arms one more time, but to know that everything was going to be all right. Was that selfish? Because right now, the future looked grim. How was she to care for Samuel? For herself? For the ranch?

  The preacher stopped in front of Amanda’s cart. They stood in silence for several moments.

  “If you need anything, let me know. The church is of little means, but we may be able to help some.”

  Her eyes met his then. What could they do? The good church-going people of Wharton City barely managed to pay the reverend and keep the doors open. Help her? No. Amanda refused to lay herself on the mercy of the church. She would find a way.

  “Thank you, Reverend, for your kind offer. We will manage.”

  Then he gave her a long look, his mouth a thin line. Who cared if he believed her? He lowered his voice. “Your parents, are they still back east?”

  Her eyebrow shot up. What exactly was he getting at? That she should return to her parents’ home? He didn’t know what he was saying.

  Holding her chin high, she maneuvered Samuel to her right hip so she could look the preacher square in the face. “Yes, sir, they are.”

  “Perhaps they would enjoy a visit—”

  “I appreciate your kindnesses toward me and my son, Reverend Mason. If you’ll excuse me, I have much to attend to at home.”