Sixty Acres and a Bride

by Regina Jennings

  “Just as soon as a leprechaun shows up and leads you to a pot of gold,” Mary grumbled.

  Rosa shared her frustration. How many times would they have this discussion with Louise? True, Eli had never included his wife in the family’s financial decisions, but how could she be so ignorant of matters?

  Mary and Rosa had already separated the bills from the coins, which were few. Rosa had the bills on her side of the table. Her eyebrows lowered as she counted them for the third time. “I’m coming up with twelve dollars. What do you have?”

  “Maybe another five by the time I get these all figured. I ain’t too good with ciphering.” Mary looked again in the crock. If she was hoping that, like the widow’s jar of oil, it would miraculously fill, she was disappointed.

  “Seventeen dollars? Can you believe it? And that’s without selling the sheep!”

  Mary blew her hair out of her face in a huff. “Louise! I told you, George says that you might get twenty-five dollars for the sheep. That’s all. You’re still over a hundred dollars short.” She picked at some dirt under her fingernail. “So when is the fifteenth? A week from Thursday? George should come that Tuesday for the flock. We’ll see what they fetch at market. Then we can take whatever vegetables you have ready into town and see what we get.”

  “They won’t all be ready,” Louise protested. “Some need a few more weeks.”

  “Either way, sister, you need to bring them in. There’s no use leaving food behind if . . . you know. You’re going to have to live somewhere. Might as well bring your own victuals.”

  The room went silent as each lady avoided the touchy subject they’d been afraid to broach. As of yet, Louise hadn’t taken George and Mary up on their offer for a room. Likely she would, but it would require considerable sacrifice from the struggling couple. Their large family crowded the house enough as it was. Besides that, George and Mary were beholden to Weston. They shouldn’t be taking in more mouths when they themselves were in debt.

  “Where’s he been anyway?”

  Rosa didn’t need to ask of whom Mary spoke. She was thinking of the same man.

  Louise shook her head. “I don’t know. It’s been about a month since I’ve seen him around. For a couple of weeks we saw him right regular. Now, even at church he slips in late and doesn’t stay for dinner. I don’t know what’s stuck in his craw. Seems like he was warming up to people again there for a spell.” She turned to Rosa. “You haven’t heard from him, have you?”

  Rosa grew light-headed. “I haven’t.” The teakettle squealed. Louise jumped to tend it, but Mary’s eyes narrowed.

  “Come to think of it, the last time he was out at our place was on the Fourth of July. Seems like maybe something happened that night?” Her weathered face searched for an answer.

  Of course Mary remembered the dance. She was giving Rosa an opportunity to explain. But how could she? She didn’t understand herself.

  “Something happened? To Weston?” Louise set teacups and saucers around. “He seemed fine when I saw him the next night.”

  “It was nothing.” Rosa allowed Louise to fill her cup.

  Mary blew on her tea. “Nothing, you say? That’s good, because when I saw him he was spitting nails. I’m glad to hear you worked it out.”

  Louise turned a questioning gaze on Rosa as she took a gulp of scalding tea. Rosa crammed a napkin against her mouth just in time to keep from spewing the burning liquid across the room.

  “It’s hot, goose. Be careful.” Louise patted her back as she choked. “Now, what’s this about him being mad?”

  Rosa sucked a breath of cool air and wiped the tears from her eyes. “It was nothing. Just a misunderstanding. Everything was fine the next day.” She found something very interesting about the wood grain of the floor and refused to look up.

  “Well, that’s good to hear.” Mary pounded the table. “It doesn’t do to make enemies in times like these. We need every friend we can get.”

  Rosa couldn’t agree more, but she had a suspicion that maybe she’d been too friendly. No, that wasn’t right. Weston had instigated every moment of their time together. Perhaps she was guilty of enjoying his company too much. Had that offended him? How could she tell, and how could she make amends if he never spoke to her again?

  But if he never spoke to her again, there was one sacrifice she’d be more willing to make. “My dress—we could sell it.”

  “That beautiful pink-violet one?” Mary asked. “But you’ve never got to wear it.”

  “Then it’s perfect. It’ll bring more than a used one.”

  Mary got out of her seat and came to stand behind Rosa. With strong, sure hands she kneaded her shoulders, working the tension from the younger woman’s neck. “Rosa, honey, selling that dress ain’t going to solve your problems. You might as well wear it. Wear it and feel like a queen. You just let us old folks worry about this. You’re taking it too hard.”

  Losing it wouldn’t sting so badly if they weren’t losing the farm to Jay Tillerton. Knowing that he would own the property, could actually sit in this kitchen if he wanted, made it that much worse. But she wouldn’t tell them. They couldn’t do anything anyway.

  Louise sat across the table folding and refolding her hands. The movement caught Rosa’s attention, but when she looked to Louise, the older woman had nothing to offer.

  Rosa dropped her hands and implored Louise. “We have less than two weeks. Think! What can we do? All we’ve done and it’s still not enough.” Rosa’s soul was crushing in on itself, collapsing and then collapsing again. She wanted to be a turtle—bury her head in her shell and not have to face the harsh world until all the scariness disappeared. But even in her shell the words echoed . . . not enough, not enough, not enough.

  The same words had driven her to carry the water from the pump to the garden every day of the long drought. Every drop of water the thirsty plants could hold increased their weight. And until Mr. Bradford ran out of orders, those words kept her straining in the dusk to make a few more stitches before turning in every night, hoping to get a dollar more that week. And worst of all, they caused her to tell Louise she wasn’t hungry so she could cut back on the beans she cooked and make fewer biscuits, hoping the staples in the pantry would last longer.

  All of that and still it was not enough—but she’d never expected it would be.

  “Mary’s right. You mustn’t make yourself ill.” Louise took Rosa’s hand. “You need to have faith. This land has belonged to the Garners since the Battle of Plum Creek. We aren’t going to lose it. God will have a plan for us.”

  Rosa lifted her head. “God may have other plans for you, but not for me. I came all the way from Mexico to help you—to live on Eli and Mack’s ranch. I left my home. You might have other people who’ll take you in, but I don’t. I’d be destitute without you.”

  Louise squeezed her hand. “Rosa, you’ll be fine. You’ve taken such good care of me—I’d never leave you behind. I’m confident there’s a solution waiting for just the right moment, and then it’ll appear.” She brightened. “And maybe it just did. The chickens! I completely forgot about the chickens. Why didn’t I think of them before? Mr. Bradford is sure to get a premium for them. Do you think we have a hundred dollars’ worth of chickens?”

  “You only have twenty-five dollars’ worth of sheep.” Mary wiped her forehead with the back of her arm.

  “But we have twice as many chickens.” Louise smiled and waited for Rosa’s reaction to her good news.

  Dropping her head to the table, Rosa covered her face with her arms so Louise wouldn’t read her thoughts.

  A waning moon hung over the creek. From her bedroom Rosa watched it glide from the corner of her window to the absolute center. Another sleepless night. Her mind swirled with possible solutions, but each one ended in a crockery pot with a smattering of bills.

  The week had dragged on through a painful end. Everything Rosa’s eyes fell upon was another possession she would forfeit, another place to whic
h she must bid adios: the porch where she sat during the breathless summer nights with her embroidery basket at her feet, the parlor where Eliza and she played through their heartache to form melodies of healing, and the garden where she blistered her hands. Even the spooky spare room across the hall had become part of her domain, tamed by her time at the spinning wheel and the comforting smell of the wool with which she worked.

  But it was slipping out of her reach. Rather, the ranch would stay there, and she would slip away. No difference.

  Where would she go? No one had answered that question, and during this, their time of desperation, their circle of companions had grown regretfully thin.

  On Rosa’s dresser sat an envelope in fine white stationery—a letter from Eliza explaining that Jake had forbidden her to ride for the remaining time of her confinement. She promised a visit as soon as one of the men had an opportunity to drive her over in the carriage. If she waited on Weston, she wouldn’t arrive until there were new tenants on the property, but Rosa doubted Eliza’s brother had the nerve to tell her.

  Then, a few weeks ago Nicholas and Molly had visited, full of news about what had gone on at the Independence Day festivities in town. Molly had artfully pried and prodded but could get no satisfactory news about Weston from Rosa, who was certain that, sooner or later, the story of the mariposa would reach her. Rosa didn’t have the nerve, or the skill, to relate the story faithfully while protecting Molly’s pride, so she remained mute. Her excuse that she retired before the fireworks didn’t help, for Molly was as perceptively acute as her brother was obtuse and seemed painfully aware that Rosa had dodged the questions.

  “What was I supposed to do?” Rosa said aloud to the God who created the moon. “I don’t want to make her mad, but I can’t lie. Besides, I have bigger problems stewing than an unfortunate courtship dance.”

  She held her flute but dared not play it for fear of waking Louise. At least she would get to keep her music. In fact, she was going to have everything she’d carried into Prairie Lea. She’d lost nothing. Nothing except her hopes and dreams of living on the land of their family.

  But what right had she to dreams? She’d usurped another’s position. For the millionth time Rosa revisited the trail that had led her there. Had committing her life to Christ been a mistake? Absolutely not. Yet that decision had guaranteed her expulsion from her family and her community. Was she supposed to decline Louise and Eli’s offer of shelter? She had nowhere else to go, but from there the choices she made grew more and more questionable.

  Mack was charming. Mack was kind. Mack needed a wife, and Rosa needed a husband. Should have been that simple. Turns out, Mack hadn’t suffered from the same desperation Rosa had. Eli insisted they couldn’t continue to live under the same roof without a commitment. Had Rosa known that Eli was less concerned with her welfare than he was with his son’s relationship with another woman, she would’ve refused. Wouldn’t she?

  Leaning her arms on the windowsill, her head partially out the open window, she tried to appreciate the solitude of what would be one of her last nights at the ranch and pondered her future. How many of her options had been pieced together with the scraps, bones, and remains of real choices? She’d surely never had the luxury of two desirable alternatives. Why couldn’t God just once give her a choice that wouldn’t lead to heartache and uncertainty?

  At first, this move to Texas seemed to be her chance. She’d been filled with such hope that sunny day when she’d pulled up the drive with Mary and Louise, so excited when she first saw the pretty two-story home, so eager to set things right and restore the property to the condition that Eli and Mack would have remembered.

  All of those things had happened. They’d restored the ranch. They’d reclaimed the land. Family and guests had filled the house, but it wasn’t going to last.

  With a sigh she rested her chin on her arms. Sleep had eluded her. The nearer the deadline loomed, the fewer hours of respite she could snatch from the night watch. If only she could see a solution!

  She turned the flute in her hands again and hummed a sad melody that begged to be set free. Maybe she could play. She didn’t wake Louise the night of the storm, the night that Mr. Garner sat somewhere out there listening to her.

  She bit her lip. If only he were there now! Why was he staying away? The soft moonlight lit the landscape. The ground was barely visible through the spreading leaves of the oak tree, but the wide expanses further out glowed brightly.

  There. That shadow seemed to move. One step closer, the dark bulk inched to the border of their property. It was a horseman, edging his way up to where the picket fence separated the lawn from the roadway. Was it Weston? She waved before she remembered her lamp was out. He probably couldn’t see her, but as she was hardly dressed for company, it was for the best.

  Why didn’t he come closer? He’d had no scruples about approaching the house before. But he kept his distance, only allowing his horse to broach the boundary by a hoof before making her turn and pace the border in the other direction.

  What horse was that? It wasn’t Pandora or Smokey. She strained to make out some familiar markings. So intent was she on the horse that Rosa didn’t realize she was leaning out the window, Molly’s old white gown that she was wearing gleaming in the blue light. Not until he took his hat off and sneered did she see the moustache.

  Jay Tillerton!

  An icy fear poured across her shoulders, down her back, and into every pore of her body. She froze, unable to move out of his sight, unable to spare herself his vulgar expression visible from across the yard. He was counting the days, and she was powerless to stop him. He knew her anguish, but he offered her a razor-edged lifeline to grasp with her bare hands.

  Never!

  Forcing a long draw of air into her lungs, she fell back into her room and slammed the sash closed. Her head hurt. She collapsed into her straw mattress and set her flute aside with shaking hands.

  Their time was up. She needed to get ready for the move to . . . wherever. Only Louise still held hope, but Louise would never admit they could lose the farm. Rosa needed to look beyond the tragedy and start planning her new life. But hadn’t she done that already that year?

  The morning of August thirteenth came like an undertaker, right on time but not joyfully anticipated. Following the rising sun, with a lot more enthusiasm, Uncle George and the boys arrived to drive the sheep to market.

  “Good morning, ladies.” Uncle George stomped his feet on the back porch and motioned for the boys to do so, as well. Rosa thought she saw Bailey roll his eyes at the parental instructions, but he followed suit.

  They each gave their aunt Louise a kiss on the cheek, then stood staring at Rosa. She didn’t mean to make them feel uneasy, but she couldn’t disguise the puffy eyes and drawn mouth the sleepless nights had gifted her.

  Well, they couldn’t help the mess she was in. She passed a plate of tortillas to the boys, hoping to wipe the worried expressions off their faces.

  “Are the bushels of produce you want to sell out there near the barn?”

  “Yep, did you bring cages for the chickens? We still have the crates we hauled them in, but they won’t fit now.”

  George looked both directions to his sons. “Boys, go toss those bushels in the wagon, but don’t mess with the chickens. I’ll be out directly.”

  “It don’t take all of us to do that,” Tuck protested. “And I just cleaned my boots. Can’t I stay?”

  “Get!”

  Tuck stomped out with Bailey and Samuel, leaving George in the kitchen with the ladies.

  “Before I head out, let’s have some coffee. We’ve got some matters to discuss.” He swung a chair around to straddle the back.

  “So you can’t take the chickens? Do you think we have enough money without them?”

  “No, ma’am, you don’t. Not near enough.” He took a pull from the steaming cup of coffee Rosa handed him and continued.

  “Mary and me got to ciphering last night, and
here’s what we come up with: Add up the sheep, the produce, and the greenbacks you got, you still come up ’bout a hundred short.” Rosa nodded to affirm his reckoning. “Here’s where it gets interesting . . . turns out we got ourselves a little nest egg in the bank. We’ve been saving so we could run longhorns ourselves next year.” He studied the inside of the mug for a second before continuing. “You see, we were in the same predicament you’re in, but our family came through for us. Now we think it’s time to do the same for you.”

  “Oh, George, do you mean it?” Louise had his arm in a death grip.

  “Sure do. Those sheep ain’t so bad, and Wes’ll probably want to lease our spread next year, too. Besides, if we didn’t bail you out, I suppose Mary’d insist on your moving over to our place, and if that happened I wouldn’t get a lick of work out of those hands, Bailey included.” He winked at Rosa, who sat too stunned to respond.

  They weren’t going to leave? The land would be theirs? She didn’t realize she was speaking aloud until Uncle George answered her.

  “I think it’s all going to work out. It’ll be close. I’m not sure exactly how much is in the bank, but Mary tried to figure the interest, and if the sheep market hasn’t softened, we’ll be right as rain.” He shrugged. “If we’re a few dollars short, I’ll send the boys over with some cages and we’ll run those chickens up to Bradford’s. Surely he’d pay top dollar for such beautiful birds.”

  Louise blushed. “You mustn’t think poorly of him for not helping. He said he’d like to, but he’s saving to rebuild his store, since it burned in the big fire and all.”

  “Sounds like he’s got plans for the future, the scoundrel!” George said merrily, still relishing his role of deliverer.

  “Oh, stop. I couldn’t accept his money even if he offered. He’s already been more than generous with Rosa’s work. Hasn’t he, Rosa. Rosa?”

  Rosa remained motionless, stunned. All those months of awaiting judgment, and at the last count of the firing squad, the reprieve arrived. Pardoned. Too much to comprehend. The fear was a huge block of ice in her heart, and while George’s news was the first warmth in months, it would take a while before it would melt.