Sixty Acres and a Bride

by Regina Jennings

  She couldn’t keep her head from spinning long enough to think the whole process through. George would leave today with the sheep. He would sell them at the auction tonight. Tomorrow, the fourteenth, he would take the money to the courthouse and pay their bill. After that they were free and would never again need to come up with a hundred sixty dollars in three months. Never again would that much be required of them. They’d proved they could run a ranch, hadn’t they? They’d raised enough food to live on. Next year they would be self-supporting.

  “I just can’t believe it. I thought the farm was lost, and now you . . .” Rosa turned shining eyes to George and, before he could stop her, lunged, throwing both arms around his neck.

  His eyes rolled sheepishly beneath bushy brows. “Miss Rosa, this is the one part that caused me to shy away from doing this. I didn’t want you carrying on about it.”

  “George, you old fool, you have to let us say thank-you, at least.” Louise searched for her handkerchief but gave up and used her apron to wipe away the tears.

  “I reckon we might as well get it over with.” George patted Rosa’s arm as she squeezed his neck. “Maybe being the hero isn’t half bad after all.”

  17

  HER PASTURE SPREAD BEFORE HER, deserted—the gentle woolly residents driven away the day before.

  “Don’t worry about them.” Rosa scratched Conejo between his long ears. “We’ll get you some more little friends to guard next year. Until then you can go to Uncle George’s so you won’t be lonely.”

  Next year. She wouldn’t believe it until Uncle George came back, and the further the sun trekked toward the horizon, the more worried she grew. What if it wasn’t enough? George said they could sell the chickens if they needed to, but would they have time tomorrow, the dreaded fifteenth, for gathering chickens and a ride to Lockhart? At what time did the money need to be at the courthouse?

  Those thoughts had kept her up last night. She couldn’t float around the house with a song on her lips like Louise until she saw the receipt from the tax office. The tragedies she’d experienced made it impossible for her to ever take anything for granted again, and the longer Uncle George delayed, the more her imagination turned to unpleasantness.

  By the time they’d washed the supper dishes, even Louise couldn’t hide her anxiety.

  “Why doesn’t he come by?” She wiped out the basin for the third time. “You’d think he’d come here first, just to let us know.”

  Rosa’s stomach knotted. The chickens had enjoyed the dinner she’d declined. Maybe it had fattened them up a little for their trip tomorrow, for she’d already surrendered to the idea of an early morning emergency ride to Lockhart.

  With a slap, Louise threw down her wet rag and ran to the door.

  “It’s Mary. She’s cutting across the field.”

  Rosa ran too but couldn’t see around Louise.

  “What? What is it? Let’s go!” She tried to worm her way around her, but Louise was rooted to the ground.

  “Louise? What is it?” She succeeded in squeezing into the doorway and stopped, as shocked as her mother-in-law.

  They didn’t need to meet Mary to hear her news. Her arms were dangling slack from her sloped shoulders. Her grotesquely elongated shadow was dragging behind her like fresh kill. Something had gone horribly wrong, and whatever it was, Mary bore the brunt of it.

  “Oh, Mary!” Louise dropped to the porch and covered her face in her apron.

  Squatting next to her, Rosa wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Mary came to the bottom step, her eyes lowered.

  “It wasn’t enough?” Rosa asked.

  She shook her head but didn’t answer.

  Rosa took a long, shaky breath. She shouldn’t be so upset. She’d known this was coming for months. Surely she wasn’t surprised now.

  “Thank you for trying. It’s not your fault,” Rosa said.

  “No, it’s not, but y’all need to hear the whole account. I need to say my piece before you decide if you want to associate with us or not.”

  Mary’s words sent a chill up her spine.

  “Go on.” Rosa’s dark eyes never left the woman.

  “I’ll keep it short. Lots could be said that don’t need to be said, but you deserve to hear the truth of it from me—since George ain’t got the nerve.” With a swoop she pulled her bonnet off and smoothed back her hair.

  “George and the boys made it to market last night, and your sheep did right well—got closer to thirty dollars for them, so they were pleased as punch.” Louise quieted and listened through the apron she clutched to her face. “So George stayed and took the vegetables to market and headed to the bank to get our share of the payment.” Mary paused and cleared her throat. She wadded the bonnet in one hand, stiffened her spine, and continued.

  “Seeing how we didn’t need as much since your sheep did so well, George decided to take the extra and try his luck at cards. . . .”

  “Oh no. . . .” Louise lifted her head.

  “He said he was just going to wager that extra money, but when he lost some of it, he couldn’t walk away. He wanted a chance to win it back. Well, those cardsharps were more than happy—”

  “Mary, did he lose it all?” asked Louise.

  Mary’s chin quivered, and she beat her eyelids rapidly, but then her jaw set. “No, he didn’t. He stopped. I may be a fool, but I’m proud of him. There’s a lot of blame to heap on George, but he did learn to walk away. He didn’t lose it all. We’ll still come up short, but you have all your money. Every penny of it. George didn’t gamble your money. Just ours. We aim to give yours to you as soon as you’ve got a safe place to keep it.”

  “A safe place? I don’t want a safe place. This is my home. . . .”

  “I’m so sorry, Louise, but it ain’t gonna turn out that way. We haven’t got long, but you got to make some plans. You have a fair amount of cash, more than you came with. You should be able to let some nice rooms. . . .”

  But Louise wasn’t listening. She tore off her apron, ripping loose a strap at the neck and one at the waist, and stuffed the crumpled material to her face to muffle her cries.

  Rosa covered her ears with her fists, fingernails digging into the palms of her hands. The last time she’d heard that cry was in the hills of Ciauhtlaz. It rang through the hollows of the mountains and echoed against the wall of fallen rock piled over her husband. She felt the sky crashing down on her, pressing her against the wood siding of the porch, holding her down to inflict more blows. Rosa wanted to get away, but where would she go? Last time Louise had presented the escape, but it had proved to be nothing more than another ambush, another cave-in to trap and suffocate her. Nowhere to run now. No sanctuary left.

  “Rosa!”

  She pried open her screwed shut eyes when she felt Mary’s strong grip on her arm. Mary practically lifted her and dragged her into the kitchen. Spinning her around, Mary stepped close enough that their skirts pushed at each other.

  “Listen, I hate that it happened this way, that we can’t fix it for you, but you can’t fall apart. Louise needs you to be strong.”

  Rosa leaned against the wall, hands placed flat on the cool plaster. She was so weary. She had offered all that she had, everything she was, and it wasn’t enough. She would never be enough.

  “Let’s see if we can get her in here.”

  Louise’s sobs continued to pour through the window with the cool evening air. The light was gone. Morning would come, but there was not another chance. Not for them to remain.

  Sprawled across her bed, shoes still on, Louise had finally quieted.

  “What are we going to do?” she asked Rosa for the hundredth time while Mary wiped her brow with a cool rag.

  “You aren’t forsaken,” Mary said. “Haven’t you been reminding us that God keeps a special watch over each of His children—especially widows? He won’t forget you, and He gave you lots of family that loves you. Tomorrow, George will bring out the wagon, and we’ll get you moved over to o
ur place. It won’t be so bad.”

  Louise groaned and pulled the cloth over her eyes.

  Mary rose from Louise’s bed. “Reckon that kind of talk can wait. You two need your sleep. Tomorrow will be busy.”

  “You aren’t going home? What about the kids and George? He’ll want you with him tonight,” Louise said.

  Mary took Louise’s hand in hers. “They’ll be fine. George will hold it together for tonight. Weston is there to take his flock to the sale barn tomorrow, and wild horses couldn’t drag the story out of George in front of Wes.” She yawned big and kicked off her shoes. “It’s late. Better get some shut-eye.”

  “Stay with me, Rosa,” Louise begged.

  Rosa nodded to Mary. “Go ahead. You can sleep in my room.”

  “Are you sure, honey? You look like the walking dead already.”

  “I’m sure. I wouldn’t sleep well worrying about her.”

  Mary picked up her shoes and gave Rosa a squeeze. “You’re blessed to have her, Louise. Mack’s best day’s work was when he got you such a good daughter-in-law.” She kissed Rosa on the forehead, tucked her shoes under her arm, and lifted the lamp. “Try to get some sleep now. ’Night, Louise.”

  Rosa waited until she heard Mary’s heavy steps on the stairs before she stepped out of her slippers and lay next to Louise. The breeze was mercifully fresh. At least she was wearing her loose blouse and skirt from home. She was too tired to go upstairs for her bedclothes. Lying on top of the quilt, Rosa couldn’t tell through the darkness if Louise was asleep, but her breathing had evened.

  “Are you awake?” Louise whispered. When Rosa grunted she continued, “Maybe it isn’t hopeless. Mary’s right—God takes care of us widows. Surely He’s going to do something. Remember Reverend Stoker’s sermon about Elijah and the widow? How God multiplied her flour and oil during a famine?”

  Rosa closed her eyes. They didn’t need oil and flour. They needed over a hundred dollars by sunup tomorrow morning. She had yet to hear Louise make a reasonable suggestion when it came to their financial straits. Too late now.

  “And then there was Ruth and Naomi. They were both widows about to lose their farm.”

  Rosa bunched the pillow under her head and tried to act interested. “And God gave them a miracle?”

  “Not a miracle. They had an unseemly plan, but God blessed it. I’m not sure I understand why.” Louise sighed. “If only we had a Boaz.”

  If only. If only they had a dollar for every if only, they wouldn’t need something called a boaz. If Louise had a better option, she should’ve spoken up long ago.

  Louise propped herself up on her elbow. “Rosa, he’s at George’s tonight.”

  “Who?”

  “Weston. He always stays in the barn at Mary’s when he’s there. Do you think he could be our Boaz?” She fell back against her pillow. “What am I thinking? I couldn’t ask you to do that. And what would he think?”

  “Think about what? What’s a boaz?”

  “He’s the man that saved Ruth and Naomi.”

  “Saved their ranch?”

  “Yes, of course. But I don’t condone their actions. Even Mary wouldn’t approve.”

  What had the woman done? If this plan involved petitioning Weston for help, Rosa didn’t know if she had the courage. The memory of being left on her porch was too fresh. Too painful. Since that day, she hadn’t exchanged a single word with him. She couldn’t approach him, not for any amount of money.

  But it wasn’t just the money. She wanted to save a legacy—to keep the land of a family she loved from falling into the hands of a man she loathed. Rosa ground her teeth together. Her neck tightened against the pillow. Already she could hear Jay Tillerton’s boots echoing down the hall, imagine his long, puny body stretched out in her parlor. What wouldn’t she do to keep him from winning?

  Rosa rolled to her side and got to her feet. Standing, she lifted her chin and wiped the blurriness from her eyes with her turquoise sleeve. How bad could it be? Surely Louise, with her concerns over propriety, wouldn’t direct her to do anything too offensive.

  “If you think it’d work . . .” She didn’t have the strength for another failed attempt.

  “I think it would, but what about Weston? What if he isn’t agreeable?”

  “He can always say no.”

  Louise chewed her lip as she looked Rosa over. “I don’t suppose he would, but if he did, how could you face him? Listen, forget I mentioned it. It was a bad idea. Instead, let’s ask the land office for more time. I can’t believe they’d really evict two women.”

  Sometimes Rosa envied her naïveté. Too bad the world wasn’t as generous as Louise imagined. But was Weston? Through the wall she heard the parlor clock gong eleven times before she reached for her shoes.

  “I’m going to find him. Tell me what to do.”

  They had nothing to lose. That’s what she kept telling herself. Rosa stumbled away from the house. She was numb. Her emotions were worn slick, but she would follow the story just as Louise had told it. After all, Louise had taught her what was proper in this land. She wouldn’t have Rosa behave scandalously, would she? As wild as the scheme sounded, it must be like the dancing—shocking to Rosa’s ears but part of the Texan culture. Biblical, even. Yet the closer Rosa came to her destination, the more aware she became of the awful disgrace to which she was exposing herself.

  She could still see Weston’s outraged face after her dance. What would he say about her coming to him in the middle of the night? She’d promised to trust Louise, but the one who would have to prove trustworthy was Weston.

  Her usually nimble feet thudded like blocks of wood across Uncle George’s dewless south pasture. The outline of the barn was visible against the night sky, and the closer it loomed the harder her heart pounded until, as she entered the barnyard, she was sure that anyone inside could hear it.

  And according to Louise, someone was inside the barn.

  The warm scent of horses reached her. Silently Rosa crossed the corral in her soft-soled shoes. Her hands shook as she pushed against the barn door.

  The weak moonlight streamed in. She stood in the doorway and allowed her eyes to adjust. Weston was there. Bedded in the midst of a pile of sweet, clean straw was a figure, half hidden, but large nonetheless. Rosa scanned the barn. Good. He was alone, just the horses standing in their sleep as if carved in marble.

  And no one had seen her. It wasn’t too late to turn and go home. She stood on the threshold, undecided. Her eyes traveled the path back to their ranch, which until that very evening had been home. Going back meant accepting defeat, and the terms had not yet been drawn. Who knew where surrender would leave them?

  But the dark barn held a future even more uncertain and in ways more threatening. If anyone could help her, it was this man. And if there was anyone she’d like to visit with or work beside, it was Weston, but alas, he didn’t return her regard. He’d purposely avoided her for over a month now. He’d completely rejected her.

  She shook her head to clear the cobwebs. Although too scared to yawn, Rosa wouldn’t be able to hold off exhaustion for long. Her options had expired. If she was going to be humiliated, Weston was the last person on the earth she would want to witness it, but she had to take that gamble.

  Rosa judged the distance to Weston’s bed, counted the steps in her mind, and then pulled the door shut behind her, plunging the room into darkness.

  Maybe it would be easier if she couldn’t see him. She took the first step, heart pounding. Should she call out and wake him? No, she’d better do exactly what Louise told her. At least then the other woman would share the blame for her actions.

  Rosa’s tentative steps brought her closer and closer. The straw gathered around her ankles, but she pressed on. When the straw reached about knee deep, she knew she was there. With an outstretched hand Rosa searched until her fingers touched the edge of a woven blanket. Trembling, she went to her knees and allowed her hand to brush against him only enough to ascer
tain the difference between heads and tails. She mustn’t hesitate or she’d lose her nerve. With her heart hammering away at her ribs, she knelt close to him.

  She’d intended to keep her distance, to wait until he woke, like Louise told her, but the straw sloped where it supported his weight and she slid right into his chest. Rosa couldn’t budge. Terrified. Her nose pressed against the pocket of his shirt, filling her every breath with the scent of peppermint.

  She didn’t dare move, even though one arm was thrown across him. Was it possible he was still asleep?

  Weston felt her warmth against his chest; her breath burnt a ring of heat near his heart. The lady trembled, so he took her in his arms and pulled her close until they were both burrowed deep in the hay. Poor child, he thought through the haze of sleep. I wonder what’s got her so frightened.

  In his dream Weston knew the woman wasn’t Cora. Not for a moment was he fooled into thinking that. Yet he was at peace, happier than he’d been in weeks. He tightened his arms around her. Should be improper, but it sure seemed right. Having her there was approved—sanctioned—his heart told him. God gave him someone to protect tonight, even if the mirage evaporated in the morning light.

  For a few moments contentment washed over him like the first warm rays of spring. He enjoyed the feel of her against his chest, a feeling denied him for so many years, but as much as he wanted to savor the sensation, he couldn’t shut out a persistent impression, faint but growing more distinct, that he should wake up.

  With an effort Weston struggled to find his senses. Were his eyes open? It was so dark he wasn’t sure. He had to be sleeping because the petite figure remained in his arms. But how did the rest of the barn seem so real? The owl hooted. The hay poked through his collar. Either those things weren’t physically real or the woman in his arms was.

  Who could it be? But even as he formed the question, he knew. He couldn’t go a day, an hour, without thinking about her. And she was in bed with him.