by Nathan Adams
“Did you pack everything you need? You don’t want to forget anything. ” Abigail continued merrily.
“Everything is packed, Mother. You needn’t worry about me.”
“Oh, but I do worry. Always,” she exclaimed gaily, only to realize that it might not have sounded exactly right. “Not that you’ve ever been a worrisome child, Lucy, my dear.”
Apart from that one episode that is making you send me away, Lucy thought to herself, unwilling and incapable of speaking the words out loud.
Having noticed that she had created an uncomfortable pause, Abigail continued. “Going out West! Isn’t that exciting?”
“I suppose,” Lucy replied. She didn’t find it particularly appealing, and she was almost sure that her mother knew this.
“You’ll be so happy there, Lucy, my dear! Quentin’s father has been a dear family friend for years, and if Quentin is anything like his father, you are free to consider yourself one lucky lady,” Abigail chuckled, and as she did, her heavy motherly bosom filled with pride.
Lucy had to admit that she didn’t have much recollection of either Quentin or his father. This was probably due to the fact that whenever their family came to visit, the men went walking around the ranch, horseback riding, hunting or whatever else it was that men did, while the women chit-chatted in the clean, cozy comfort of an inside parlor room, paired with a cup of warm tea and apple and cinnamon biscuits.
I guess I connect Quentin with cinnamon biscuits, Lucy thought to herself again, and a smile escaped her for the first time in days.
“Oh, is there something funny, young lady?” Lucy’s mother asked with mock scorn.
“I just remembered something funny,” Lucy replied monotonously yet again.
“Well, I do prefer you to smile than to sulk,” she was quickly to reply before giving her daughter a warm hug.
This seemed to be too much for Lucy, who broke down in her mother’s arms and started crying.
“Well, well, now what’s all this then?” Her mother pulled away a little, trying to wipe her daughter’s tears.
“Things will be all right, dear, you’ll see,” she said reassuringly. “We’re doing this for your own good. I know it might not seem that way at first, but trust me, we are, and we know that this will help you see the light of God. There, there, little one. There, there.”
The two women embraced for a long time before either of them felt like moving. Silently, they prayed for each other, as well as for themselves. Lucy was soothed into believing that things would actually turn out all right. Not everything was as black as she thought it was.
Chapter Two
The following morning all was set for Lucy’s journey. She was to go and settle in her new household, and her parents, along with other members of their extended family, would join them shortly afterwards for the big day. Not that they decided to make it a big deal or anything, but Lucy knew that her mother would do a bang-up job of organizing everything and everybody. But if anybody had asked her, there was very little to celebrate.
It was a quick farewell, one that didn’t bring much pain despite the fact that a daughter was leaving her ancestral home for good. It was a joyous occasion that everyone obviously looked forward to. Everyone apart from Lucy, that is.
The journey out West didn’t take as much as Lucy had expected—or was it that she was too busy trying to remember the last time she met Quentin and what was it that they talked about (probably nothing of too great relevance). But now, they would be meeting as future husband and wife, and this thought made her shiver.
What if I don’t like him? I don’t remember liking him much when we were kids. I’ll probably like him even less now, she thought to herself.
But it didn’t really help her much to think this way. Besides, whatever memory she had of him, it wasn’t him being a hard case. Not that he was too much of a goody-two-shoes, either.
“Oh, fiddlesticks,” she exclaimed.
She felt helpless and lost, but she also knew that just like you can’t prevent rain from falling or the sun from shining, you also can’t prevent life from going on and the devil from creating obstacles along the way. It’s what he does, after all. But she could remain faithful to God, and in doing so, she knew that his message was clear: Never be afraid for I am here with you!
That was how Lucy knew that somehow, someway, everything was going to be all right. Because even though she sometimes lacked the right words to express how she felt, what matters is that she always feels the right way, and He sees this.
With these thoughts, Lucy calmed down and actually managed to enjoy the rest of the trip. Upon her eventual arrival, she saw—to her disappointment—that she was welcomed not by the man of the house himself but by the housekeeper. She was a sweet-looking, elderly lady, who actually reminded Lucy of her own mother. The thought made her smile and reassured her that there would be someone to scold her lovingly here as well.
“Welcome, dear child!” The voice of the lady echoed throughout the entire ranch. Even the birds seemed to stop chirping. “Quentin had some urgent business to take care of I’m afraid, but don’t you worry. I’m here to help you settle in.” She was a chatty little soul, and Lucy took an immediate liking to her.
“Mah name’s Betsy, and mah job here’s to make ya’ feel comfy-cozy like. Oh, look at ya’, aren’t you all skin and bones.” She took a stern glance at Lucy’s figure. “My, my, my, we can’t have that now, no sir. But don’t you worry, sweet child, you’re under ol’ Betsy’s care now.”
Lucy couldn’t help but smile at this woman spilling her heart out in front of her.
“But where’s mah manners?” she interrupted herself. “You must be exhausted from that trip. Let’s get you settled in and then get some food in ya’! Toby! Oh, Toby!” She turned around. “Where’s that useless old man now?” She seemed slightly angry, but Lucy couldn’t possibly imagine this sweet lady getting mad at anyone.
“Here I am. Whatcha yellin’ for?” A man appeared from behind one of the barns closest to the house.
“Get this little lady’s cases inside, second floor, right most room.”
“Yes, dear.” The man winked surreptitiously, and it dawned on Lucy then that the two might be husband and wife. “You wouldn’t believe what a looker he was when we was young. Boy, oh boy,” Betsy said as she watched Toby disappear into the house. She seemed to reminisce for a second, then continued, “But I wouldn’t give ’im up for anyone else in the world.” She smiled at Lucy. “I’m sure that’s exactly how Quentin’s gonna make you feel, child. But, enough talk. Let’s get ya’ inside.”
She took Lucy by the hand and gently led her inside. Only then did it occur to Lucy that she hadn’t spoken a single word since she arrived. But she didn’t mind. This little warm-hearted woman’s affectionate jibber-jabber actually made her feel more at home, even though the person who was really supposed to do this was nowhere to be found.
That is until a few hours later, as the two women were sitting at the dinner table, when a strong manly voice echoed through the house.
“Betsy, fetch me my dinner!” This wasn’t any voice Lucy remembered belonging to Quentin. But, then again, she had very little recollection of him, so his voice would probably be the last thing that would linger in her memory.
“Quentin!” She stood up to meet him. “We hoped you’d be back sooner. I’ll get you your supper.”
Quentin entered the room, carelessly tossing his dark brown hat on the mantelpiece.
“Oh,” he managed to utter upon seeing Lucy, seated comfortably—though now less so—at the dinner table. “You’re here,” he muddled.
Lucy didn’t know how to interpret this. Was he happy she was here? Or wasn’t he? By the looks of it, it seemed he didn’t even expect her to be here. Did he even know she was coming today?
All sorts of questions raced in Lucy’s mind until Quentin finally continued.
“Welcome, Lucy.” He approached her clumsily, solemnly, a
nd kissed her hand, though without much affection. “I trust your journey went well?” He looked in the direction of the door, expecting food.
“Yes, it was fine. Thank you,” she managed to utter. “I was hoping you’d be here upon my arrival.” She blushed as she spoke the last words.
“Yeah, that.” He appeared confused. “I had urgent work, but I trust Betsy took good care of you, right?”
At which point Betsy entered with the food and set a place for him. She was done remarkably quickly, after which she graciously retired, excusing herself to do more work.
Lucy and Quentin were left alone, facing each other across the dinner table. She felt the need to ask him something but couldn’t manage to muster a word. He seemed to share her feelings.
“Are your parents well?” he finally asked.
“Yes, thank you. They send their regards,” she replied, hoping that he would continue this poor excuse of a conversation, but he simply continued chewing his food dutifully, allowing it to offer him the convenient excuse of not being able to talk with his mouth full.
The time passed in dreadful silence, interrupted only by a few clumsily constructed sentences regarding her trip, her parents, the ranch and the weather. When he finished with his supper, he stood up. She mirrored his actions.
“I reckon I’ll retire for the night. Ask Betsy for anything you need. Good night.” He struck her with these short, abrupt sentences that marked the ending of their socializing, at least for now. Confused and irritated, Lucy only managed to nod.
An hour or so later, as she was combing her hair in her new room, she thought she had heard a noise coming from the end of the hall, where she knew Quentin’s room was located. Opening and closing of doors, hurried steps, then silence. She quickly threw on some decent clothes and rushed downstairs into the parlor, hoping to see him there and join him, even if it was in complete silence as before.
The parlor was empty, save for good old Betsy, who was sewing by the fire. She lifted her gaze, and upon seeing Lucy, smiled.
“Darlin’, come sit here by the fire.” Lucy obeyed. “You must wonder what happened.” Lucy didn’t understand. Wonder about what? It appeared that her gaze revealed her emotions.
“Well, Quentin.” Betsy looked at her. “He just left.”
“Left? Where did he go?” Lucy was astonished. Where could he go at 9 o’clock at night, with a future wife in his home?
Betsy sighed and left her sewing kit on a little nightstand next to her.
“The Rusty Nail.”
“The Rusty Nail? What is that?”
“A saloon.” There was doubt in Betsy’s voice. Lucy was left speechless. Quentin was at a saloon? Doing what? Drinking? Womanizing?
However, Betsy’s sweet face prevented her from expressing her fears so openly.
“I know what ya’ must be thinking, child.” Betsy was an old woman, and as such, knew what someone like Lucy might think of this. “He ain’t a bad man, Quentin. He’s just … broken.”
“Broken?” Lucy still didn’t understand. “Broken how?”
“It’s not up to me to tell ya’, Lucy. He will share this with you, in his own good time. I’m sure of this as I’m sure of the sun risin’ up tomorrow. So please, don’t judge him too harshly, child. He’s seen a lot, but he’s not the one to be kickin’ up a row at any saloon. He just likes the noises, the sounds, the people muttering, is all. It allows him to get away from himself, out of himself sort of. There’s more to him than meets the eye, and everythin’ you need, you can find in him. You just gotta keep searching. Do you understand me, sweet child?” Betsy smiled in a motherly gesture.
Lucy returned the gesture, though her words left her in an even more confused state. What was this journey of discovery that she was on? Why would the heavenly Father choose this path for her? Still, no matter what, she knew that if she was put on this path, it must have been for a very good reason. In the same way, she wouldn’t be faced with something she didn’t have the strength for.
Suddenly, she was even more happy and grateful to have this motherly figure around, someone who would smile when Lucy needed someone to smile at her, someone who would offer comfort and support when she needed it most—like now.
Then her gaze fell onto a pink envelope that was situated next to Betsy’s sewing kit. When she noticed Lucy looking at the envelope, Betsy picked it up and offered it to her.
“It’s a Valentine’s card from Toby. Wanna take a look?”
Lucy shied. It seemed too personal.
“Oh, come on,” Betsy urged her sweetly. “We ain’t teenagers no more, none of us.” She sighed. “Gone are those days.” She laughed heartily. “Here,” she offered Lucy the envelope.
Upon opening it, Lucy found it to be a card of the simplest kind, not one that was adorned with too many ribbons or bows or sparkly things like the ones she would get from boys back home. This one was different from any others she’d ever seen before. It wasn’t how it looked. On the contrary, the packaging itself was simple and unsophisticated. But the words—they seared through her mind.
Bee-
We got old. We got used to each other. Your thoughts are mine and mine are yours. You give without me asking. There’s no one who can hold a handle to ya’. You are mine—and that’s all I ever wanted in life.
Toby
The words were simple, dislocated even, but the message was clear. She carefully placed the letter back in the envelope and returned it to Betsy.
“That’s it from me, child. I’d better hit the hay now. It’s getting mighty late.” Betsy picked up her stuff and wished Lucy a good night.
Upon hearing the closed door, Lucy realized that she had been left all alone on Valentine’s Day. Miserable and desolate, she returned to her room and wrapped herself in a blanket. It wasn’t a cold night, but Lucy was shivering.
Chapter Three
The following morning when she woke up and went downstairs, Quentin was already finishing up with his breakfast.
“Good morning,” she said almost soundlessly. He simply nodded.
“Did you sleep well?” She tried a question.
“Yeah, I reckon. You?”
“Yes.” Both of them looked down at their feet, not knowing what to say or ask next.
“Perhaps, if you aren’t busy today, you could show me around the ranch? I’d love to see … ” she started, but was cut off mid-sentence.
“Um, not today,” he replied. “Got lots to do. With the horses. At the barn. Some other time.” He stood up to leave.
“Maybe I could join you?” she tried again. He seemed surprised.
“Wouldn’t a city girl like you hate the smell? And the flies? Wouldn’t your shoes get all muddy?” He didn’t appear to say this to be mean, but she didn’t feel like he was saying it to be nice, either. What was his problem?
“Oh, all right then,” she managed to utter.
“Yeah, see ya at lunch time.” He threw on his hat and, in a rush, left the house.
Lucy couldn’t understand it. Why on earth would he agree to marry her if he obviously didn’t feel anything for her—or worse yet resented her, disliked her, felt uneasy about her. Whichever one it was, it was obvious that the two of them simply weren’t meant to be.
Then why did her stupid heart skip a beat every time he was in the room? Why was she so eager to meet him in the parlor last night, when she heard his unmistakable footsteps? And now, why would she keep pushing on when he apparently wanted to be left alone and do his work? Why, why, a hundred times why?
But there was no answer to Lucy’s a hundred whys. There were only questions and her silly little heart that couldn’t understand logic.
Then again, she wouldn’t give up that easily. She had a quick breakfast, and after putting on some clothes that she didn’t mind getting dirty and muddy, she headed toward the stables. She didn’t know exactly what she’d tell Quentin once she got there—maybe that she wanted to help or keep him company? What could he possibl
y have against that?
Yes, exactly. To keep him company. That’s a good excuse, she thought to herself as she placed her hand on the stable door in an effort to push inward. It was heavier than she thought. She had to force it, and in doing so, she slammed it open to the inside.
“What in God’s green earth … ” Quentin yelled from the inside. “Toby, close that darn door. Breeze will run out!”
Without even going into the barn, Lucy was met by Toby’s sorrowful face, letting her know that this wasn’t a good time to do whatever she wanted to do there.
“Sorry, Miss, the boss says to close the door.” He disappeared inside, apologetically locking the barn door behind him.
Feeling a sudden urge to cry, Lucy took a deep breath and tried to prevent the waterfalls from spilling over. She turned around and headed back toward the house. She could find something to do there, something to occupy her mind while she tried to forget this disgraceful attempt at getting close to the man she was bound to share her entire life with.
Wandering through the big house that she felt would never be a home to her, she noticed that the doors to Quentin’s room were left ajar. Normally she wouldn’t dream of entering someone’s room without permission, but she wanted to get to know him so bad. She wanted to understand why he was so offish with her, why he simply wouldn’t admit that he either liked or disliked her so they could get this whole charade over and done with.
Perhaps his room would hide something, a key that could unlock his thoughts for her. She promised that she wouldn’t rummage. She’d only touch things that were in plain sight. No rummaging through closets or drawers. That’d be too much, especially under the circumstances.
Checking one more time for any unfamiliar sounds, Lucy let herself into Quentin’s room and silently thanked Betsy for leaving it open after one of her laundry rounds. His room was surprisingly like her own. There was little to indicate that a man occupied it. It was neat and clean, without too much stuff lying recklessly around for her to take a peek at.