Sixty Acres and a Bride

by Regina Jennings

Willie tipped his hat, and then stepped back, but Rico, seeing a fellow compatriot, bounded forward and, with a sweep of his hat, caught Rosa’s hand and pressed it to his lips.

  “Mucho gusto, señorita.”

  The Mexican youth made an instant impression on Rosa. Initially, she’d thought that both he and Willie were of African blood, so she wasn’t prepared for how her heart leapt at the language from her homeland.

  Rico was considerably younger than she, as were all the cowboys with the exception of Jake, but she couldn’t help but be drawn to him. She wondered about his family. Where were they? Could she meet them?

  Ambushed by homesickness that’d been tightly suppressed, she answered him. “Thank you, señor. Mucho gusto, as well.”

  “That’s not fair.” Bailey pulled Rico away from her. “You’re in Texas. Speak English so the rest of us can understand.”

  “The rest of you could never understand.” He fanned his face dreamily and made such obvious eyes at Rosa, she knew at once he was only acting for the benefit of his friends.

  “Sorry about them, ma’am,” Jake interrupted. “They’ve been out of civilization for too long. We should have given them more time to get adjusted before bringing them out here.”

  “I’m not offended.” Rosa smiled at each of them, boys really. Dangerous, impulsive boys, but boys at heart.

  Louise waved them forward with her wooden spoon. “Come on in. At least allow us to get you refreshments before going back.”

  “No, ma’am. Weston would string me up if I let them in your parlor. Bulls in a china shop, they are, but if we could help ourselves to your water pump, we’d be mighty appreciative.”

  The June sun had peaked and was relentless. The heat would get worse—at least that’s what they’d told her—and she couldn’t doubt it, as every day the green spring was burned out of the grass and leaves, the colors fading and fading. The prairie would brown long before the autumn chill stopped the growth, but for now they still could catch a cool breeze in the evenings. Still, it was hard to imagine more heat for weeks on end. The foliage and altitude of Ciauhtlaz hadn’t allowed for such misery.

  “So, the sheep are at pasture. Those in the field are healthy. Don’t know what he had in mind with the donkey. That thing is purt near worthless. Could barely get it through the gate.” Jake flashed a grin at Rosa. “Is that for you to ride?”

  “No, sir.” But she would if she needed to.

  “We unloaded the hurt ewes and wethers from the wagon and put them in the barn. They’ll need that ointment on their cuts once a day. If they get infected, send over to George’s, and he’ll get someone to come and check it out. Is that it?”

  The cowboys swung into their saddles and headed toward home. Bailey let Samuel hold the reins on the empty wagon, bringing an end to their dispute.

  Jake turned one last time. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Garner. I’m glad to finally make the acquaintance of Eliza’s favorite aunt. And you, Mrs. Rosa. I think I see what all the fuss is about. Good day.” He clicked to his horse and was gone.

  Rosa watched them ride off before she turned to Louise. “What did he mean by that? I haven’t made any fuss, have I?”

  Louise put her arm around her shoulder as they walked to the barn to examine their sheep. “No, honey. You haven’t made a fuss, but evidently you’ve caused one.”

  From his seat on the church steps on Sunday, Weston had an unobstructed view of his sister and Rosa at their places in the serving line. Their foreheads almost touched as they shared some private news over a pot of green beans. No telling what mischief Eliza was up to, but the girls got on splendidly. He was a little surprised. Maybe Rosa would have a calming effect on Eliza.

  But the congregation’s varied reactions to the señora astonished him. Some had quickly welcomed her into their tight-knit circle, perhaps out of sympathy—both for her and for Louise—and perhaps because she was the tiniest, least threatening filly to ever wander in their midst. If dishes needed washing, she chose the dirtiest. If children needed tending, she held the heaviest. She did her part, and then some.

  But a few grew more suspicious with each good deed. They’d already declared their disapproval—Weston remembered who—and Rosa’s good behavior thwarted their expectations. If she didn’t cause a scandal soon, they’d be eating crow.

  Weston mopped up some gravy with his biscuit. Rosa made him proud. She was a quick study. Keeping her on the farms helped, too. Not much trouble for her to get into out there—unless the sheep got loose.

  “It’s good to see you laugh.”

  Weston took a second to make out who was speaking amidst the pink flounces and red ribbons. He should have known. Only Molly could pull off a getup like that.

  “Good day, Miss Lovelace. That’s quite a plateful of sweets you have there.”

  “Mother always said my eyes were bigger than my stomach.” She batted the former and cinched up the latter. “May I share?”

  That’s what he got for sitting by himself, unsociable. He scooted to the far side of the wooden steps, giving her room to join him. If anyone had a right to his attention, it’d be her. Her family could lay claim to his time whenever they pleased. He’d only started shaving when he joined Mr. Lovelace’s rescue attempt for the Texas Mounted Volunteers after the disastrous Sibley Campaign. His father died during the ill-fated attack against the Union at Glorieta Pass, but many local men were saved because of Lovelace’s actions. It didn’t hurt Weston to talk to his daughter.

  “Are those gingersnaps?”

  “Sure are.” She sat a step lower than he and held out her plate. “I brought them.”

  They melted in his mouth. “They’re my favorite. You made these, you say?”

  The smile froze on her lips. “Not exactly. Lola made them.”

  Her cook. “Well, pass on my compliments to Lola. They’re delicious.”

  Had he done his duty? The steps steamed under the noon sun. Weston wanted to seek shade, but Molly’s brother caught him before he could escape.

  “Howdy, Weston. Why are you sitting way out here by yourself?”

  “He’s not by himself. I’m here.”

  Nicholas rolled his eyes. “What I mean is, he hasn’t stayed for dinner in ages. Now here he is, and he’s acting like a leper. No offense, Wes, just making an observation.”

  Molly shoved her plate into her brother’s hands. “Here, why don’t you finish this off for me?”

  Weston couldn’t keep his attention away from Rosa. Was it his imagination, or was she troubled? He saw her startle, then drop her serving spoon. She went to the dessert table to stand by Louise, leaving Jay Tillerton holding his empty plate in confusion.

  Weston realized too late that Molly was watching him with the same intensity.

  “Nick,” she said, “why don’t you see if Rosa has had any dinner yet. She should get something to eat before they have to start cleaning up.”

  Nicholas’s dimpled cheeks moved up an inch on his face. “Capital idea. And she’s already at the dessert table.”

  Perhaps Weston was mistaken. Whatever had alarmed Rosa seemed to have passed. She smiled brightly at Nicholas as he ambled toward her. Weston couldn’t hear what he said, but it must have been funny, for Rosa repeated it to Louise, causing the laughing woman to fling her dish towel at Nicholas.

  Molly cleared her throat. “The other night I was reading a volume called The Mythology of Ancient Greece and Italy, and I found it so fascinating.”

  “Really?”

  Nicholas brought Rosa a drink. Of course she was thirsty. She hadn’t had anything since church started. Why hadn’t he thought of that?

  “Yes, and several stories caught my attention. I couldn’t help but wonder, what’s your favorite?”

  Rosa took a seat at a long table with Nicholas at her side. She wolfed her food down, probably trying to get away from the oaf as quickly as possible. Nicholas either chewed or talked continuously, sometimes simultaneously, for his mout
h never stilled.

  “Weston?”

  Weston turned, surprised to find Molly sitting by him. How had he imagined that she’d left?

  “What?”

  “Your favorite Greek myth?”

  He shrugged. “I’m not familiar with Greek myths.”

  “But your horse is named Pandora.”

  “Eliza named her. If you are interested in myths, talk to her. She likes to read all those old books.”

  “You don’t know any myths?”

  Why was the girl so disappointed? “I never had a reason to read them.”

  Molly flicked a beetle crawling up the step. “Neither have I, evidently.”

  Rosa had finished eating. She rose, putting a hand on Nicholas’s shoulder to steady herself as she slid between the table and bench. Weston winced and then rose to his feet.

  “Looks like time to break camp.”

  Molly played with a red ribbon. “And I didn’t bring my apron. Why can I never remember that?”

  “Then maybe I can lend a hand. If you’ll excuse me.”

  Making his way around the picnic blankets and long tables toward where Eliza and Rosa were already scrubbing plate after plate, he grunted again at the nerve of the Lovelace boy. Did he mean anything by his friendliness? Was he really going to court her? Weston didn’t think so. From what he knew of the man’s family, only a first-rate society belle would do, not a young widow without a penny to her name. If marriage wasn’t Nicholas’s goal, then his intentions could be narrowed to very few legitimate options. He might have a talk with the young man.

  Weston gathered empty dishes from a grateful young mother’s table and calmed himself. Nicholas hadn’t done anything wrong—yet. Surely Thomas and Adele wouldn’t permit him to meddle with Rosa.

  Yes, he felt obligated to care for the whole herd of Garners, but couldn’t little Rosita make things easier on him? The way she looked up at the boy with stars in her eyes . . .

  Jake joined him and followed his gaze. “Yep, the boys were pretty impressed with her when we delivered the sheep. They were squirming all over each other like puppies.”

  “I was afraid of that.”

  “Looks like you’ll need to ride shotgun until you get her safely married off.”

  Married off? What was he talking about? “I don’t think she’s in any hurry. Mack hasn’t been dead a year yet.”

  “That ain’t gonna matter to those good-for-nothing hands of yours. They’re taking to her like calves to sweet feed.”

  Wes tossed the contents of a mug to the ground. “I’ll talk to them. Help them see the light.”

  “I hope you can think of something to do. Walking around all stiff-necked and on edge like you are has got to be tiring.”

  “Stiff-necked?”

  “Every time you throw a glance in Nicholas’s direction, you look like you’re judging his hide for boot leather,” Jake said.

  “Now that you mention it, his hide wouldn’t tan well. Too greasy.”

  “Did you come to help with the dishes?” Eliza splashed her husband as they approached.

  “Just came to say hi to my new cousin and make sure you weren’t filling her noggin with nonsense.”

  Rosa ducked her head over her work, causing her silver earrings to swing forward daintily, but she wasn’t quick enough to hide her smile.

  At least someone was having a good time. They were all having a good time—except for him. Weston slid the pile of dirty dishes onto the workbench. At least he was there, and that was a step in the right direction. He’d known it wouldn’t be easy at first.

  Eliza took the plates, dumped the scraps past the split-rail fence, and dropped the plates into the sudsy water.

  “Rosa and I were just discussing how soon she could put off mourning and get into something besides black.”

  Weston felt as if he’d been socked right in the jaw. Maybe Rosa was as impatient as the fellows were. Before he could voice his disapproval, she spoke for herself.

  “Eliza wants me to get new clothes, but it’s unnecessary. This dress is still practically new, and we can’t afford anything else. Besides, I wear my old clothes on the farm.”

  Weston hadn’t realized he was holding his breath. His fists unclenched. “I couldn’t agree more, Mrs. Garner. You look very respectable in the black.” He knew Eliza was staring hard at him, but he wouldn’t look her direction.

  “We got the sheep.” Rosa’s eyelashes fluttered downward. “And the burro. Thank you. I love Conejo.” There were blank looks all around. “The burro’s name—it means ‘rabbit.’”

  “Because he’s so soft and cuddly?” Even Jake acted smitten. Was the whole county going mad?

  “No, because of his long ears and big teeth.” Rosa demonstrated by sucking in her bottom lip and making her teeth protrude.

  Their laughter carried across the grounds. Good. Let Nicholas hear her enjoying herself. Maybe he wouldn’t have the nerve to monopolize her time again.

  Deacon Bradford strolled across the green with more dirty plates in an outstretched hand. “I appreciate y’all taking over the clean-up duties. Gives us old fogies some time to reminisce.”

  Eliza turned and grinned at Louise still seated at his table. “Making some new memories, as well, Mr. Bradford?”

  “Yes, well, I . . .” He loosened the puff tie around his neck. “We have a lot of catching up to do. You there, Rosa, how’s the sewing going?”

  “I finished Mrs. Schwartz’s linens and made the samples you wanted. They’re in my bag.”

  “That’s dandy. I thought you’d have them finished. You don’t let the grass grow under your feet, do you? I brought more linens if you’re ready for them.” Deacon seemed far more comfortable combing the familiar shores of commerce.

  “I’m not sure what grass has to do with it, but I’ll fetch my carpetbag.”

  Weston rubbed his chin. Maybe Eliza would like a new tablecloth. Rosa could come out and measure . . . His eyes followed her as she walked past.

  Eliza elbowed him. “Looking for something?”

  He threw his sister a withering look. “Just wondered if her bag was heavy, but I reckon she can manage without me.”

  The crowd gradually dispersed as small groups headed out, continuing conversations until the geography of their homes forced them to part.

  “You’re welcome to come out to the house,” Louise called to Weston from Jake’s skirt-filled buggy. “Jake and Eliza are going to stop for a bit, and we’d be glad to have you.”

  Jake pulled up his team, waiting for his answer.

  “Thanks, but I’ll get on home. Y’all enjoy yourselves.” Weston tipped his hat as they traveled on toward the creek, then spurred his horse to the east.

  No way would he stroll into that ambush. Just what Eliza needed, another opportunity to make a mountain out of a molehill. Wasn’t he having enough trouble finding his way without her complicating the matter?

  What was all her talk about Rosa ending her mourning anyway? Was she trying to annoy him?

  If he caught the story correctly, and he’d listened intently, Eli and Mack had died less than a year ago. True, things had changed after the war—mourning periods weren’t strictly observed now—but why rush her? Didn’t Rosa deserve the dignity afforded a widow?

  And if Eliza thought that Rosa should be ready to move on, what must she think of him? Five years and he was no more ready to consider matrimony than the day of the funeral. Maybe even less likely now that he’d let his loneliness leech onto him and drain away the cherished memories of being a husband.

  No situation he could imagine would tempt him to remarry. He’d learned too well how to remain aloof. He was an expert at it. But even as he rehearsed his resolve, he sensed a change.

  Letting the reins go slack, he coaxed the gentle thought out of hiding. His mind had traveled this bitter trail so many times, the ruts had worn deep. He wasn’t interested, he argued, but he sensed a calling to jump trail and explore the option agai
n.

  How had he concluded he’d never marry again? Had he prayed about it? Had God demanded it from him? No. Not much he’d thought or done in the last five years had been Spirit-birthed.

  On the other hand, wasn’t this for him to decide? He could make things right with God, but he wouldn’t cheerfully tangle with the same grizzly twice. Couldn’t they negotiate? He still wasn’t ready to enter society. Take today for example. Keeping people at arms’ length felt comfortable. He could still be generous and take care of people without really . . . caring. Or so he’d thought.

  But God wasn’t letting him get by like that any longer.

  He couldn’t get away from Uncle George’s question. Had God called him to keep his distance, or was he listening to his fear?

  Okay, God. I’ll agree I’m afraid, and you have the right to call me on it, but let’s not start worrying about marriage yet. There’s plenty of time for that. Besides, if you just want to see if I’m willing to follow you, then the answer is yes—I’m trying, but I pray it was just a test, like Abraham and Isaac. You really don’t expect me to carry it out, right? “Not my will, but thine be done . . . but if possible take this cup from me.” Can I pray that like Jesus did?

  But then Weston remembered how that prayer was answered and soberly rode the rest of the way home.

  13

  JULY 1878

  THE STIFLING HEAT had staked a claim and wasn’t relinquishing an inch. The long parched summer destroyed more crops than a round of tornadoes, spreading its damage far and wide instead of only upturning a narrow path. Only by constant vigilance were the garden kept damp and the sheep led to water. And the longhorns—they didn’t need much help. They thrived under the harsh conditions.

  Catching a glimpse of the sheep through an open window, Rosa smiled. They’d turned out the last ewe from the barn that morning. All had survived and would no longer need the smelly paste smeared over their wounds every day. If they stayed healthy until August fifteenth, the stain on her fingers would be worth it.

  She wiped the sweat from her brow with an already moist rag. She mustn’t drip on the rose taffeta as she bent over the table. The large steel scissors weighed heavy in her hand. She’d already measured twice. If she made a mistake, there’d be no surplus to draw from. Dress or no dress, she couldn’t bear to mar the scrumptious fabric.