A Bride for Keeps

by Melissa Jagears

  Even if the scratch on her face was as deep as it looked, why’d she run from his protective reach with Ned barely out of the yard? He didn’t know what made the woman tick. He’d studied every curve and plane that filled out her dress, every dimple and freckle on her face. Asked her every question he could think of, but he still didn’t know her, not at all.

  He slumped against the beam. He’d prided himself on caring for every woman the same regardless of her physical features. But he probably understood Helga better than his own wife.

  Sitting on the railing, he took slow breaths to settle the rattling in his chest. His fingers raked into his hair until they caught in the gnarled mess, his forehead cradled in the palms of his hands. He closed his eyes and searched his soul.

  He wanted a real marriage. Not a convenient one. Not a fake one. Not one governed like master and slave. But one like his parents had. When his dad had stepped in the door after a long day’s work, the first person he’d greeted was his mother. Not because his father forced himself to do so or was stuck in a routine, but because that was all he wanted to do.

  And that’s what Everett wanted too. To care for her, protect her, love her. To know she spent the day waiting to step back into his arms.

  He had to shuck his restraint and lay himself open. She might stomp on his heart and crush him into tiny bits, but would he not deserve it for how he’d treated her?

  He pushed himself off the post and grabbed his hat off the porch before walking toward the woods. A bit of blue through the scrub brush down by the pond broke through the green and brown. His heart beat low and hard as he threaded his way through the thicket.

  He’d start slow. But he would woo his wife. No matter what personality lay behind the veneer of beauty, she was the only wife he had. And that made her worth it.

  Chapter 17

  Everett’s footfalls sounded behind her. She wiped her tears with her sleeve, grabbed a rock, and hurled it into the pond. Why must he bother her? She’d been bothered enough today, bothered enough for a lifetime.

  Not even glancing toward him, she found another rock close to where she sat and chucked it into the water. Everett’s knees cracked as he settled in the grass beside her. As long as he didn’t touch her, she’d endure his presence.

  The frogs hidden in the grasses along the banks chirped in rhythmic pulses. Bubbles popped on the water’s surface where a turtle’s nose poked into the air. She hugged her knees and leaned against the tree, waiting for him to speak. Nothing he could say could unclench her stomach or make her gooseflesh go away.

  The frogs croaked on.

  Keeping her head down, she looked at the ground next to him. His hand lay flat on the earth inches from her skirt. A knot of purple and blue puffed his top knuckles. She blinked back tears at the sight of his bruises. He’d saved her. No matter what happened, she’d always be thankful he’d rescued her. Though she wanted to be alone, a little part of her was glad he was there.

  “I’m sorry I was so upset back there.” She peeked at him from under her eyelashes. His eyes were ready the second hers found his. “I’m very grateful you came and saved me from . . . from . . .” Her mind’s eye faded into gray. A good thing—otherwise she’d too easily summon up a picture of her fate if Everett hadn’t arrived.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” His voice was hushed, barely discernible above the insect humming.

  She shrugged. Yes, she wanted to talk, but not to him. Not even to Rachel. Not to anyone she knew. What would they think of her?

  The same as Ned.

  Everett’s hand inched toward hers, but she tucked her fingers under her skirt. He took his hand back. “I won’t let him come onto the property anymore. He didn’t . . . Did he do anything I should—”

  “No.” Her voice cracked. But he would have. How could she have endured another man forcing her to fulfill his pleasure? The thought of suffering through it again made her want to curl up so tight she’d vanish. “Ned didn’t anyway . . .”

  Everett’s face grew a bit older, the question on his face unmistakable. “If you don’t want to talk, how about you lean against me instead of that tree? At least let me help you feel a bit more comfortable.”

  She searched his face. Nothing but kindness and sympathy. She wanted comfort, but the tree would suffice. A man’s arms—any man’s arms right now—would not feel pleasant. She couldn’t look at him anymore.

  Like Ned said, Everett thought she didn’t belong on the prairie, that she needed coddling. Life here couldn’t break her—she’d prove it. No more tears, no more wasting time. Too soon harvest would come and then winter.

  She stood and looked down at him. “I’ll prove myself worthy of the trouble you’ve taken to save me.”

  He reached out and tugged on her skirt. “Please sit, Julia.”

  “There’s no time to sit. I’ve got chores.” The longer she remained here idle, the more likely she’d crumble in front of him.

  He squinted at her.

  She turned toward home and put speed into her feet.

  Everett called to her, his voice rushing closer each second. “Wait.”

  She kept walking, but shortly his warm hand encircled her upper arm.

  “There’s no reason to rush. You’ve just been through something awful. We could use a day of rest.”

  “Chickens need tending.” She took another step toward the house, pulling against his grasp.

  He shook his head and took her other arm. “Then I’ll see to them.”

  “Dinner needs fixed.” The conflicting desires to flee his embrace and to bury herself there fought within her. Her fists tensed into tiny balls. No, she needed to be left alone.

  “I lived on canned beans and hardtack before you came. I can come up with something.” A small smile graced his lips.

  The concern in his eyes, however, begged her to succumb. But she didn’t want to be held. Ned and the men back home had only wanted her body. Theodore had gotten it. The thought of more touching made her shiver.

  She pulled her arms from his hands. An embrace was not what she needed.

  Crying mixed with the sound of the grease popping in the skillet. Julia took the pan off the stove and set it on a trivet. Poking her head out the door, she listened. Yes, crying. She glanced to the far field, where Everett had begun weeding and dispatching worms once they’d returned from the pond. He shuffled down rows at an even pace, flicking his hands back and forth, gathering the pests in a bucket for the chickens. She was thankful he hadn’t followed her inside and insisted she answer more questions.

  Her muscles tensed. Surely some crying man wasn’t out there waiting to pounce on her. On the other side of the barn, a movement caught her attention. A thick-hipped woman hobbled in the shadows, her right leg stiff and her hair a tangled mess.

  “Helga?” Her breath wedged in her throat as she raced to the woman’s side.

  Blood oozed from Helga’s mouth. “I’m sorry, but you said I may come without asking.”

  Julia threaded her arm underneath Helga’s and braced the woman, her tiny body acting like a human crutch. “Such nonsense. Don’t apologize.”

  Every other step, Helga sucked in air. How had she gotten hurt? Could Ned have hurt this sweet woman because of her? She was pretty sure she knew the answer, but she held her tongue. It took all of her strength to keep Helga upright as she hobbled along.

  She helped Helga to the bed, but the woman resisted. “No, your quilt will be dirty.”

  Julia gave her a gentle push. “Sit.” She grabbed the pallet blankets and shoved them behind her neighbor so she could recline, then pulled the kitchen chair over to the bedside, the chair legs thunking against the planks. “What happened?” The gash next to the woman’s mouth kept pulling Julia’s attention to the blood dried there. She doubted that was the only injury the woman had. “What hurts?”

  The lines around Helga’s eyes grew pronounced as the woman squinted. A few moments later, she let out a long stream of air.
“Lots of places.”

  Not being able to stand the sight of blood on the woman’s face, Julia patted her shoulder. “I’m getting some water.”

  She filled the bucket and grabbed the dipper from the well. After helping Helga take a few sips, she wetted a cloth and wiped Helga’s mouth. She tried to catch the woman’s gaze, but she kept her eyes closed. How could Ned wreak so much evil in one day?

  Finally, Helga looked at her, the pain evident in the funny way one eyelid drooped and the other spasmed. “Can I have cloth? My hands are dirty. And my knee—” She touched the bump under her dress and hissed. “I need clean it.”

  Wringing out the cloth, Julia passed it into the woman’s filthy hands and grabbed another before pushing back the woman’s skirts. A large abrasion marred her knee and shin. With as little pressure as possible, she cleaned the wound, but Helga still tensed. She examined her neighbor’s round face. “Ned did this to you?”

  “No.” She let out something that sounded like a chuckle. “That he didn’t do. I must need add pain to myself, so I trip on tree root.”

  “So Ned didn’t hurt you?” Helga’s muscles tightened when she brushed more grit from the cut. No one could get that many scratches and bruises by tripping on a root.

  The line of Helga’s mouth grew thinner and wider. “That is not what I say. Just my knee. I do that myself.” She pushed hair back from her face, uncovering a greenish ring around one eye.

  “What did he do?” Similar to what she’d endured at his hands that morning, no doubt.

  “Not much more than other times.” She leaned against the blankets and wrung the limp cloth in her hands. “But more anger this time. Enough I was afraid he would not stop, so I run out the door when he grab something.”

  Julia sat in the chair and held Helga’s hand in both of hers. Ned’s anger was surely because of her. She was responsible. If only she’d never come to Kansas . . .

  Helga’s head rolled to the side. “He said things about you—”

  “I don’t want to hear them. Don’t tell me.” She didn’t mean to snap, so she calmed her voice. “But do tell me where you hurt.”

  Helga shrugged and grimaced. “My face, my knee, and my head. He pulled hair. And then my arm.”

  “Did he say why he hit you?”

  “No,” she whispered. “But often he does not tell me reason.”

  “Helga . . . your husband was here earlier. He, uh, made some advances toward me, and Everett punched him a few times. I’m so sorry he went home to you the way he did.” She’d considered her looks to be a problem for herself, but now they caused problems for others. “It’s my fault.”

  Helga’s glittering eyes snapped open wide. “No. He is to blame for what he does. Today he had more anger, but today is not the first day he hit me.”

  “He has no right.”

  Helga smiled lazily. “He would not say that.”

  “We need to get you away.”

  “I am away. I am here.”

  “But you can’t go back to Ned.”

  A sigh escaped her lips. “Yes. I think that, but I don’t know how I cannot. I have only one place to go, but no way to get there. The train is too much money. Ned doesn’t have enough for me to take. But I’ve wanted to go to my sister for so long.”

  “Then we’ll get you there.”

  “I wish that I never married Ned. But it is my fault, and I should live with my punishment.”

  “You could not have done anything that merits such treatment.”

  “It is not what I done, but what I did not do. You did right marrying Everett. And you are more beautiful and young than me, so that should make him very happy. He is a man who deserves good wife.”

  Julia frowned. How hard had Helga hit her head? She wasn’t making sense. “What does my being—”

  The loose door thumped against the wall. “Julia, we need to talk—” Everett’s mouth dropped open, and he strode straight to Helga. “Are you all right?” He gently pushed back a swath of bloody matted hair from her forehead. Though he did it slowly, Helga winced.

  “She’s got scrapes and bruises. Ned took his anger out on her.”

  “Why, that low-down dirty—” Everett clamped his mouth.

  “We can’t let her go back.” Julia clasped his upper arm.

  He placed his hand over hers and turned to Helga. “That’s right. You’ll stay here until we figure this out.”

  “Yes, stay.” A maternal fierceness low in her stomach rose to invade her chest. Helga had to be older than Everett, but her helplessness reminded her of little Emma Stanton. “And we’ll get you back to your sister.”

  Helga shook her head. “I check railroad schedules. Second class is seventy-five dollars. I can sleep in my seat, but need food too. Can’t get so much money. Ned has twenty dollars only.”

  Julia looked at Everett. Should she ask him if what was left in her purse should be used to help them through the winter? She’d kept it hidden in case she needed to get away. But would he agree to giving Helga so much cash? “I have a hundred and two dollars I’ve kept since I arrived. . . .”

  ———

  She was worried about him disagreeing with giving Helga her savings. Everett could see it in the way she bit her lip, kept her gaze from meeting his, and tucked her head in. But hers was the perfect solution. He had enough to cover Helga’s passage, but wiping out his savings needed for the winter if the harvest failed was not smart.

  A hundred dollars was a lot of money, and she looked guilty at the mention of it.

  “Please let me give it to her.” Julia’s eyes glistened.

  If Helga wanted to abandon her monster of a husband, he’d help any way that he could, but if Julia wanted to leave later, how would she afford it? He didn’t want her to go, but he didn’t want her to stay if she didn’t want him. He didn’t like either option, but he wanted her to be happy. If she could give such a large sum to a neighbor, he could save enough to purchase Julia a ticket to return east someday if she ever wanted to go. He prayed he would never have to watch her leave on the train that had brought her to him.

  He swallowed and nodded.

  Julia’s attention returned to Helga. She patted her hand. “You won’t be able to eat well, but we could send you with food.”

  Tears pooled and cascaded over onto Helga’s cheeks, which were turning a strange shade of yellow. Everett’s hands clenched. He should march over to the Parkers’ place right now and make Ned’s face match hers.

  “I can’t,” Helga whispered.

  Julia placed a hand on each of her shoulders and spoke when Helga looked up at her. “You will and you must. How long have you wanted to return to your family?”

  Everett could barely hear her say, “Almost a year.”

  “Then it’s my gift to you.” Julia shook her head. She glanced over at him. “I mean our gift to you.” Her eyes had never looked so soft and unguarded before. Was it simply concern, or something more?

  When she broke from his gaze, Everett turned to the crumpled woman on the bed. “Don’t argue, Helga. You take the money and get on the next train.”

  Helga shook her head, closed her eyes, and leaned against the wall. He glanced at Julia, who kept wiping the woman’s wet hair with an equally wet cloth. Both women held their bottom lip between their teeth.

  How could Helga not jump at the chance to leave? Ned was not a good husband, but Everett hadn’t known to what extent. If it hadn’t been for Julia, Helga probably would never have ventured over for help. She’d always been too ashamed by how she’d abandoned Everett to ask him for anything.

  Why had he not done something before now? Had his embarrassment over being jilted so many times caused him to turn a blind eye to her suffering? He clasped the injured woman’s hand and squeezed it gently. “It is my wish as well as Julia’s for you to use the money to return to your sister. You’ll not be putting us out.”

  The front door slammed against the wall. “But you’ll be putting me out
.”

  Everett sprung to his feet. Why hadn’t Merlin barked? The gall of the man to return the same day he’d been warned off his property forever. “Leave or—”

  “Or what? You’ll pummel me?” The smell of alcohol permeated the room. “You did that already.” Ned flicked his hand, an unsheathed knife glinted in the filtered light.

  Julia let out a gasp.

  “You want to kill me? Try it.” Ned brandished his blade and ducked his head toward Julia. “See? You ain’t enough. Now he wants my wife—again.”

  Everett held out his hands and watched the path of the blade Ned haphazardly waved. He had no experience in a knife fight, but Ned’s uneven steps and the knife’s chaotic movements gave him confidence he could disarm him.

  Ned lunged, his knife’s tip targeted at Everett’s heart. Without thinking, Everett grabbed the man’s wrist with both hands. The sight of the blade inches from his nose caused him to tighten his grasp.

  “Well, you ain’t gonna get her,” Ned growled.

  The stench of liquor made him cringe. How much whiskey had the man consumed in just a matter of hours? Ned tried to shove the blade toward Everett’s face, but he locked his elbows in defense. He took a step back and used Ned’s unbalanced momentum to pull him forward, keeping his focus on the rusted blade. With each angry thrust Ned attempted, Everett pulled him further around in a circle, attempting to keep the blade from hitting anyone or anything. A few turns about the room brought the drunk down to the floor.

  “Drop it.” Everett shook the hand holding the blade.

  “Forget it,” Ned slurred.

  Gritting his teeth, he slammed Ned’s wrist into the planks with as much force as he could muster.

  The knife clattered across the floor. “Ow! Stop hurting me.” Ned tried to retract his hand. “Let me go.”

  Everett stood, fists ready.