Sixty Acres and a Bride

by Regina Jennings

  “Oh no.” She laid a hand on his arm to reassure him. “Not at all. You . . . you’re always welcome here. . . .” He stared at her hand. Was she being inappropriate again? Rosa jerked it back. Her chest rose in a deep, shaky breath as she composed her answer. “It was just the storm. I was scared.” She traced a design on her flute with her fingernail. “The cellar, you know. It’s so small and dark.”

  “That’s difficult for you, isn’t it? I wish I would’ve been down there with you, if it would’ve helped.”

  “You can’t be everywhere.”

  “And yet I feel like I should be.”

  Rosa had no answer.

  “Where did that sister of mine go?” he muttered. “Eliza!”

  The chairs scraped across the wooden floor. The table creaked as someone leaned on it to rise from their seat. Footsteps sounded. But Rosa’s thoughts were far from the women entering the room.

  What would it be like to be loved by a man like Weston Garner? To know he chose you? To know you possessed some precious trait, some beautiful element he held dear? Rosa turned toward the window. She had caught a glimpse of a treasure and didn’t want it to vanish unexamined. Would she ever be pursued, instead of fled? Would she ever experience the vast difference between being resented and being cherished?

  Hearing Louise’s request as from a distance, Rosa put her flute to her lips. Futile questions sowed discontent. She would be fine. One could live without love. She’d done it before.

  11

  WELL, SHOW ME WHAT YOU’VE GOT.” Mr. Bradford swept nonexistent dust from his countertop as Rosa hoisted her carpetbag onto it.

  The moment she’d anticipated for weeks had finally arrived. She prayed her work would be good enough for Mr. Bradford, pleaded that God would make him like it. They didn’t have long now, and they were counting on a quick sale. But she needn’t have worried.

  Snapping the latch open and lifting out a tablecloth, Mr. Bradford whistled low. “Land sakes! If the ladies don’t knock my door down to get these, I have no business working retail.”

  “Does that mean he likes them?” Rosa whispered to Louise.

  “Like them?” Deacon Bradford interrupted. “Dear girl, they’re exquisite. How you crafted such fine detail with wool thread is beyond me. It makes me wonder what you could do with silk.” He pulled the pillowcases out and, after examining the work, placed them with their mates. “And the colors . . . But here is a test.” He nodded to a woman approaching the door of the mercantile. Taking a tablecloth and two napkins in hand, he met Mrs. Schwartz, the newsman’s wife, who sailed through on a mission.

  “Mr. Bradford, I’m looking to acquire a lamp and thought that a painted glass would be just the thing. Do you have any in stock?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I sure do, but if you don’t mind, would you please hold these for me while I check in the back for the lamps? The linens just arrived, and they’ll make a nice display in the storefront—if I can get them there before they sell out.” He turned to go but wasn’t fast enough.

  “These are for sale? They’re beautiful.” She held a napkin up in the sunlight. “How many come to a set?”

  “Um . . . there are only two napkins presently, but for a loyal patron we could specially commission a set. How many do you need?”

  “Napkins? Twelve at least. Maybe a few dish towels would be nice in a complementary design. This tablecloth is just the right size already. Can I take it?” She was already fumbling in her purse, lamp forgotten.

  Rosa covered her mouth in astonishment. Louise threw an arm around her shoulder and gave her a silent squeeze. They tiptoed to the hardware department to give Mr. Bradford the room he needed to negotiate a price without Mrs. Schwartz seeing them. Rosa didn’t mind the anonymity. She’d much rather have gold in her pocket than praise in her ears. Too bad she couldn’t pay the county land office directly in napkins and call it even.

  As soon as the woman departed, Mr. Bradford found them. “What’d I tell you?” He opened a jar of licorice and offered each of them a piece before selecting one for himself. “We’ll have no problem selling these,” he said, taking a bite. “If I still had my own store, I’d start selling them to the other mercantiles around. As it is, we might keep you local for now. Once this market is saturated . . . But listen to me, I’m didn’t mean to bore you with business talk.”

  Rosa wasn’t bored at all, but he wasn’t talking to her. He was smiling over her head at Louise.

  Louise dimpled and brushed her red hair back. “I’m sorry, Mr. Bradford. I haven’t changed since school. Numbers don’t mean a thing to me.”

  “Does zero mean anything to you, because that’s where your account stands now, and I owe you more to boot. Is a dollar fifty fair, Rosa? I’ll trade you the work you did on this batch for a dollar fifty plus the balance on the account.”

  Looking around the store, she saw that a dollar fifty would go a good ways toward buying the supplies they’d come after. With the account paid off, she should be able to put money up from the next batch of linens. How many napkins would she need to embroider to make a hundred sixty-six dollars?

  Louise broke into her reverie. “You’re more than generous, Mr. Bradford. She’d find something to sew on anyway. It might as well give us some pin money.”

  Pin money? These funds weren’t for trivial purchases, but to keep them from being homeless. Time kept rolling toward August fifteenth, and the money hadn’t accumulated. But it didn’t do any good to be frustrated with her mother-in-law. God hadn’t given the woman a lick of sense about money. Concern over the finances was shouldered by Rosa alone, but she’d have to remember to speak up more quickly in these situations. She couldn’t let Louise negotiate for them.

  “I do enjoy sewing, but with all the work we have to do in the garden, and now with the sheep, I don’t know how much time I’ll have. Those things have to be tended to if we are going to keep our ranch.” Would Louise take the gentle hint?

  Mr. Bradford sure did. “Yes, and depending on how fast you sew, it might be worth your time or it might not.” He chewed on the licorice. “Tell you what, Mrs. Schwartz caught me off guard. Maybe she would have paid more for those napkins. I don’t know, but I’ll try to do better next time. You finish that order at two bits a napkin and then make me a slew of samples with different designs and colors. We’ll let them pick the design they want and do only custom orders from then on out. We can charge more that way, and we won’t have any surplus sitting around. We can do the same with the pillowcases. Does that sound reasonable?”

  “So my commission on these napkins was two bits each. Next time it’ll be higher?”

  He shrugged. “If they’ll pay more.”

  “Rosa, you know Mr. Bradford will treat you fairly,” Louise said. “You can trust him.”

  “I appreciate your confidence, Mrs. Garner, but your daughter-in-law is sharp. She knows that it’s best to get the details before you strike hands.” He scratched his chin, probably not realizing that he was still staring at Louise. He blinked as he caught himself. “But there is one more project I’d like her to take on, if you have no objections.” Bradford disappeared behind a display of canned goods and returned with a bright rose bolt hoisted on his shoulder. He dropped it on the counter. “What do you think of this color? It’s new, called magenta.”

  Rosa ran her fingertips over the shiny material—too fragile to work for pillowcases or table linens—amazed by how it turned from lavender to pink to nearly violet.

  “They say this dye was discovered in Italy, but you’ve got some of it in those napkins.” Mr. Bradford smiled. “I think you like it. Too bad no one else in this town does. They’re all afraid to wear it, afraid that the color is too strong for them. They’re probably right. So if you’ll use it, I’ll send a few yards home with you. A welcome-home gift.”

  “I can take this?” she whispered. Since leaving Mexico she hadn’t seen any colors this bold and beautiful.

  Louise smiled through tea
rs at Deacon. She unfurled the bolt and draped it over Rosa’s shoulders. “You’ve never had taffeta before, have you? Then it’s settled. You must make yourself a gown. This color will be magnificent on you . . . when you’re out of mourning, of course. No one else would do justice to this hue.”

  “For me to wear?” Rosa had never seen anything as exquisite as this shimmering fabric and would’ve never dreamed of using it all for a gown, but she wasn’t going to let them change their minds now. “I will use it. It will be glorious. Thank you, Mr. Bradford. Thank you so much. I can’t wait to tell Molly when I have dinner with her. Magenta? Is that right?”

  Deacon took a pair of scissors and sheared off a generous amount. “So are you eating with Molly? I’d hoped to treat the two of you to dinner. The noon clerk will relieve me shortly.” He wrapped the material with brown paper and tied it up tightly.

  Louise’s black skirts twisted as she spun to Rosa, eyes bright. “Wouldn’t you rather meet Molly without me? I imagine that would be agreeable to everyone, don’t you? I’m sure you’ll have a splendid visit without having to endure my rambling.”

  Louise’s rambling didn’t bother Rosa. It’d saved her from having to converse on many occasions, but from the expression on Louise’s face she could hardly refuse.

  Who looked more eager for her answer, Louise or Mr. Bradford? “Go have your dinner with Mr. Bradford. Molly won’t mind.”

  They didn’t ask twice. Mr. Bradford handed his apron to the stunned clerk walking through the door, and they were off.

  “Mother will be so pleased we had this rendezvous. She really wants us to be friends, you know, since she and Mrs. Garner are so close.” Molly dipped her spoon daintily into the creamy potato soup and blew on it from perfectly pouted lips. “And you must have a confidante. No girl should go through life with only her mother-in-law with whom to share her deepest secrets.”

  Did she have any secrets in this county? Rosa couldn’t lace up her boots without someone commenting on the color of her stockings. And if she was the type to share secrets, she’d find someone more discreet than Molly.

  “So it’s for the best that Louise—oops—Mrs. Garner, I mean, couldn’t come. Don’t misunderstand, I love her with all my heart, I really do, but this gives us a chance to gossip without her. Now, I’ve received extensive training on identifying eligible men. Have any of the young bachelors in town caught your eye?”

  Rosa couldn’t hide her disapproval.

  “Don’t pout at me, Rosa. I mean, you’re still dressed as black as a crow, but a girl must plan ahead.”

  Molly waved the waiter down for more sweet tea, gave him an effusive thank you, a touch on his arm, and settled into her task of filling Rosa in on the local swains—their attributes and failures. Rosa tried to remember names and descriptions, but they all ran together.

  “Molly, by August I may not even live in Texas, and, as you pointed out, I’m in mourning. Don’t you think it’s premature to be choosing a husband for me?”

  “No, I don’t. You should be laying the ground work, even now. First, you need to identify a target. Personally, I’d rather you aim for a Mexican. It’d be awful if we found ourselves at cross purposes. . . .” Molly looked up at Rosa through curled lashes. When Rosa didn’t respond, Molly continued. “But if you want to expand your options, I understand. Once you’ve set your cap for a man, you must determine what he likes and where he goes. Men really are simple creatures. Unlike us, they can say what they think, which is quite helpful. Nevertheless, I think you’d benefit from my assistance. Since everyone is a complete stranger to you, it might take a while to discern their interests.”

  Especially since Rosa couldn’t even discern what “setting your cap” or “cross purposes” meant.

  The hovering waiter took their bowls and asked if there was anything else they wanted. Molly requested two pieces of pecan pie and reminded him to place the bill on her father’s account.

  “For instance, Rosa, if he plays an instrument, you might join a musical society. If he’s handy, you might find him at a barn-raising. If he’s a lawyer, you could get a job at the courthouse—not a good example. That one didn’t pan out.”

  “But I’m not interested in that sort of courtship. If a man admires you, he should seek you.”

  Molly rolled her eyes. “What if he doesn’t know he loves you? What if he’s committed to bachelorhood? Many happy brides have married men who had no plans for matrimony.”

  “You mean they tricked them?” Was Molly planning something against Weston? Rosa’s heart thudded.

  “Tricked, swayed, wore down. It hinges on being in the right place at the right time. One moment of weakness for the poor fellow, and he’s committed.”

  The pies arrived. Rosa poked at the crust, her mind a jumble of alarm.

  Molly stared at her. “Aren’t you going to taste it?”

  Rosa managed to get a lump into her mouth and wash it down with water.

  “Mm . . .” She faked appreciation. Her eyes watered and her throat constricted. She couldn’t eat another bite without setting Molly straight.

  “Never trick someone into marrying you.”

  “People do. Happens all the time.”

  “But he won’t love you. If it isn’t his idea, he’ll resent you.”

  “My stars, Rosa! I’m not going to compromise a man. What do you take me for?” Molly’s eyes widened. She shoveled in another bite of pie. “I’m talking about making myself irresistible or setting the mood. About finding what he wants and becoming that.”

  “I don’t understand. What if you catch him? What if he marries you and then regrets it? Would you want that kind of union? You’re beautiful and smart, Molly. If a man doesn’t appreciate those qualities, you don’t want to make a spectacle of yourself hounding him, do you?”

  “Beauty is an asset—intelligence a liability. Believe me, if I had any say in the matter . . .” Molly rolled her blue eyes. “Let’s just say that until I’m wed, I won’t have achieved anything of value in the eyes of my parents. At my age, I’m getting frightfully close to being a disappointment, but don’t you worry. I wouldn’t do anything to humiliate my family. I do have some pride.”

  Rosa finished her pie with relief. She wasn’t sure what Molly was capable of, but it didn’t sound like Weston was in imminent danger. Good thing. The Garner family didn’t need two members providing fodder for scandal.

  12

  HULLO! DID SOMEONE ORDER a shipment of sheep?”

  Rosa dropped her embroidery on the settee. A quick look out the parlor window revealed a mounted man waving at her and a flock meandering up the drive to the open pasture gate.

  “Louise, you’re not going to believe your eyes.”

  “Land sakes!” Louise still held a wooden spoon in her hand. “Where did all those sheep come from? And what’s that donkey doing in the mix?”

  Rosa couldn’t wipe the smile off her face. He’d even sent a burro. Grabbing her stunned mother-in-law by the arm, she dragged her to the front porch.

  “Howdy, Mrs. Garner and Mrs. Garner. Jake England at your service.” He tipped his hat with a roguish smile that spread beneath a nose knocked awry, probably by a hostile fist long ago. “I sure hope I’m at the right farm. I ain’t herding these old girls back across the creek.”

  The sheep milled past, driven by two young men. Behind them came a wagon holding two more men, one being young Samuel, Uncle George and Aunt Mary’s son.

  “My nephew Weston told me to expect some unsound ewes. You’ve got the correct location, but perhaps you’ve brought the wrong flock.”

  “No mistake, ma’am. I reckon there were some extras he wanted to be rid of, ewes and wethers. If it makes you feel better, there’re some in need of doctoring in the wagon. We’ll get them put up in the barn for ya.”

  Ignoring the sheep, Rosa watched the cowboys’ antics. The wagon driver had kicked Samuel out and was arguing with him over the best way to get the stubborn burro to its fi
nal destination. Seeing them squared off, no one could deny the family resemblance. Not only did both boys have Uncle George’s features stamped across their faces, but their heated gestures were easily identifiable as Aunt Mary’s. Why, she really was surrounded by family! And the man on the horse? Louise pieced it together at the same moment she did.

  “Jake England, did you say? Then you’re my little Eliza’s sweet husband.”

  “I don’t know about sweet,” he drawled. “That girl is more trouble than any sweet man could handle.” He winked outrageously at Rosa. Evidently, Eliza had met her match.

  “Nonsense. I won’t have you talking about my niece that way, although I have to confess she hasn’t changed one bit since she was a little sprite—sassy-mouthed and bossy. Weston had his hands full after their father died.”

  “Yes, ma’am, and now the job falls on me.” He took off his hat and swung it over his heart. “When you’re saying your prayers at night, remember to send up a special request for ol’ Jake England. I need the patience of a saint.”

  “And you’re far from it!” The speaker was a lanky young man with hands too big to fit in his pockets. “Welcome home, Aunt Louise.”

  “Bailey? George and Mary’s boy? My, how you’ve grown!” Louise’s words confirmed Rosa’s suspicions. Another cousin.

  Louise rustled forward, and he accepted the obligatory hug and cheek kiss, much to the amusement of his fellow cowboys, who’d returned from penning the sheep and burro. There they stood, lined up, gawking like they’d never seen women before.

  “And this is my daughter-in-law, Rosa Garner. You remember Mack, don’t you, Bailey?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Mother told me about your loss.” They observed a moment of silence, as was fitting, and then Bailey commenced with his own introductions.

  “Please excuse me, ladies. I’ve been on the trail for three months and have completely lost my manners. Anyway, this fellow here is Willie and the youngster there is Rico.”