“Is yours,” Heath acknowledged. “Pa planned to give her back to you anyway.”
She lifted her troubled eyes to meet Heath’s dead on. “Thank you.” She didn’t say anything more; however, he had no such compunction.
“As Jenny said, there are not enough words to express my gratitude. However, I can’t ignore how your leaving affected my brother. I also wish you well, Wisteria, and hope you never regret your actions, although I fear you’ll do exactly that and will wake up one day to realize all that you threw away.” With that portentous message delivered, Heath took Jenny’s arm and led her back inside.
Chapter Six
One year later…
Hopping down from the wagon, Wisteria turned and held her hands up for Micah, who sat snug as a bug in her friend Rebecca’s lap. Rebecca and her husband Arthur had become like family to her and her son, and were nothing short of heaven sent. Before she met them, she had no one to watch him so she could work and money was extremely tight.
One day, when Micah was no more than two months old, Wisteria was window shopping in the small marketplace that had popped up near The Inn. While exploring the shops and artisan displays, she’d come across a beautiful, intricately hand-carved cradle on display in a store window. Without a prayer of affording it without a job, she’d still gone inside the small wood craft shop and inquired about the cost. Rebecca’s eyes had lit up with delight upon seeing Micah. They had chatted about the baby and life in Manitou Springs, including some gossip over a few local scandals, and soon an hour had passed. The two women became fast friends.
Not long after, Rebecca kindly offered to watch Micah while Wisteria looked for work. Not wanting to put her new friend out, Wisteria had declined, but Rebecca had insisted, explaining her days were often dull and monotonous out front at the shop, while Arthur worked on his handmade furniture and wood carvings out back. She said watching the easy-natured child would help pass the time and it wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle while taking orders or seeing to the shoppers that came trickling in to peruse Arthur’s goods.
It had seemed like the perfect solution for both women and Wisteria had quickly found work at The Inn nearby. Now they were her ride to and from work, surrogate grandparents to her baby, and friends who she turned to for the love and support she didn’t have in her life.
As was her habit, Rebecca pressed a goodbye kiss to Micah’s downy soft hair while inhaling his essence as if it were more precious than gold. As Rebecca relinquished him into her outstretched arms, Wisteria didn’t miss the look of unmistakable longing on the childless woman’s face.
“See you tomorrow?” she asked, cuddling her son close as thunder rumbled overhead.
“If the bridge doesn’t wash out again,” Arthur remarked as he signaled to the team and drove away. She waved, laughing as her precious eleven-month-old attempted to do the same, his chubby baby fingers opening and closing as he tried unsuccessfully.
“You’ll get the hang of it, sweetness,” she said, hugging him to her chest and flipping her shawl over his head as a steady rain began to fall.
Upon entering the small home she shared with Jarrett, she noticed there was no fire in the hearth and the lamps hadn’t been lit. “He must not be home yet, baby.” Setting Micah in his crib by the front window, she handed him several toys to keep him occupied while she got to work. She really wanted a nap, after getting up at four a.m., working the breakfast and lunch shifts and then setting up for supper. Twelve hours on her feet serving others only to come home and do more for herself, her son, and her ungrateful lout of a husband was exhausting.
Micah wasn’t happy playing by himself and began to fuss; more than likely he wanted his dinner, too. Wisteria gave him one of his favorite shortbread treats to tide him over while she built a fire in the old cast-iron stove. He’d settled happily with his cookie as she floured a board to roll out some dough, when she heard a noise from the back room.
Checking on the baby with a brief glance, she walked quietly to the door. As she approached, she heard two distinct voices and paused, listening for a moment before opening it. One was clearly Jarrett’s, the other feminine. Turning the knob, she pushed it inward. Her eyes beheld her husband’s pale, sweaty backside as he pumped away between some woman’s thighs. The sight disgusted her more than it upset her. Curiosity drove her further into the room and to the right. The brassy red curls and bounteous bosom were all she needed to see.
“Almira Baumgartner! Won’t Herman be upset to find you carrying on with someone other than him?”
The couple stopped mid-thrust, both of their heads twisting toward her in surprise. Although she suspected Jarrett’s was put on; he had to have expected her arrival after work, the cheating bastard.
Only mildly incensed, she continued, “Oh, but wait. Herman shouldn’t be surprised or upset, considering you were carrying on with him while still hitched to your first husband, Frank. What are you on now, anyway? Marriage number three? How you walk with all the leg spreading you do is beyond me.”
“Take that back, Wisteria Skeens!” Almira screeched. It was so loud and close to Jarrett’s ear that he flinched and rolled away. Wisteria grimaced, seeing more of Almira than she ever wanted to. The woman didn’t have the common courtesy to cover herself. She shifted her eyes to her husband, who was doing up his pants.
“Finished already?” she cooed acerbically. “Did I ruin the mood for you and your whore, husband? How very rude of me.”
“Who are you calling a whore?”
“Oh, pardon me. Is he too much of a skinflint to pay you? I take it back, but instead, that makes you a cheap, easy, piece of—”
“That’s enough,” Jarrett cut in without much heat. “You’ve made your point, I believe. Mira, get dressed and make your way on home.”
“Is that it? That’s how you defend me?” the screeching woman complained as she rolled naked from the bed. Yet another glimpse of her pendulous breasts jiggling as she gesticulated in her ire was not pretty. Done with the scene, Wisteria spun on her heel and left the room, almost laughing as she heard Jarrett’s reply.
“It’s her bed and we were fucking in it. What would you have me say?”
She had the biscuits cut and was dicing potatoes when a fully clothed and irate Almira stormed by. Wisteria smirked a bit when she pulled open the door and squealed, becoming fully aware for the first time of the deluge pouring down from the sky.
“Stay dry now,” she called out with a snicker. “Say hello to Herman for me.” She should have let her go and be done with it, yet she couldn’t resist one final dig.
Almira turned on her and with her hands on her hips smugly stated, “You know, if you kept your man happy, he wouldn’t be coming to my bed to keep satisfied.”
“First of all, what you two do in your bed doesn’t bother me in the least. However, it was my bed you were in, which means I have to wash the sheets with lye soap in order to get your stench off of them—most inconvenient. Second, I have no intention of keeping my man satisfied. He’s on his own and has been ever since he started sparrow catching a week after saying our vows. That means he can look for his happiness wherever he wants, as long as he doesn’t look to me.”
The wind taken out of her sails by Wisteria’s honest remarks, Almira stomped off into the cool early June rain. Jarrett followed her to the door that she’d left open, staring out after her for a few minutes before he closed it, shutting out the damp weather.
“She was soaked through by the time she got to the gate,” Jarrett snickered. “Her ridiculous hat was hanging in her face.”
Wisteria said nothing, only glared at him.
“If you’d come back to my bed, that wouldn’t happen.”
“You dare ask me that after what I just saw? It will be a cold day in hell before I lie with you again, not to mention there isn’t enough soap in all of Colorado. Kindly take care of your urges elsewhere, that’s all I’m asking.”
He shrugged and walked over to the
crib, staring down at Micah. Jarrett usually ignored the baby unless he was fussing, and then it was to curse about the noise before storming out and going in search of ‘a little peace and quiet.’ Other than that, he didn’t hold him, speak of him, or pay attention to him in any way, so his sudden regard of him made Wisteria wary. She threw the potatoes in the pot and crossed the room to lift him out of the crib.
“I thought it wouldn’t bother me,” he said, his eyes following Micah as she put some space between them. “I was wrong. Every time I look at him, I see a Jackson. Same hair, same eyes, and it’s gonna get worse as he gets older.”
“I was honest, Jarrett,” she said, a fraction above a whisper. “You knew I was expecting when you said your vows.”
“I didn’t know it would hurt so bad. I love you, Wisty Rose.”
“So what does that mean? What are you thinking?”
“I’m moving on.”
“What? To where? I’ve got a decent job here and we have the house. It’s not the likes of which Horace Tabor could buy what with all the silver pouring out his ears, however, it’s sturdy, clean and will be a good place for Micah to grow up. We can’t just up and move.”
“No. I’m moving on. Alone.”
Eyes wide as his meaning took hold, a heaviness set up in her chest. Jarrett was a rotten husband; still, he contributed at least. She wasn’t sure how he made his money and suspected a right smart amount of dirty dealings went on under her nose. She’d ignored it because they always had food, shelter, and fuel for the fire. What would it mean for her and Micah if he left? She never thought he would do such a thing. She’d known Jarrett since she was in pigtails and short skirts. Seeking clarity, she asked quietly, “So you’re leaving us?”
“Yep, as soon as my business is tied up, I’ll head out. About a week or so is all it will take.”
“If you go, how will we live? I can’t keep up the rent on this place on my wages alone. Or buy food, wood for the stove.”
“My advice, head back to Laramie. The Jacksons will welcome one of their own into the fold with open arms. ‘Sides, they’ve got money to keep you up real nice, honey. Like you deserve. Like I couldn’t give you, no matter if the boy were my own.” He paused, his eyes shifting from her to Micah. A pained look crossed his face before he turned toward the door.
“Jarrett, wait…”
“I’ve made up my mind.” She heard the conviction in his tone and for the first time during the conversation, his manner turned cool and dismissive. “I’ll leave money for a few months’ rent or train fare to your brat’s daddy. Use it wisely because that’s all you’ll get from me. I expect to see the last of godforsaken Denver by early next week.”
Then he walked out, closing the door with a soft thud behind him.
Stunned, Wisteria collapsed into one of the ladder-back chairs at the dining table and stared blankly at the door. What on earth would she and Micah do now?
Chapter Seven
Pulling Micah’s sweater more snugly around his shoulders, Wisteria balanced him on her shoulder as she flipped open her umbrella to protect them both from the light rain that had begun to fall, yet again. It had rained every day for weeks, so it seemed. As she walked faster, she murmured to her sleepy child, “We’re almost home, sweet baby boy.”
Rounding the corner, she picked her way through the muddy, pothole-ridden street as she hurried as fast as she could, her skirts dragging through the puddles, unable to lift them as she juggled both Micah and the awkward umbrella. At the end of the row of evergreens that formed a natural hedge around their small, rustic cabin, she slowed, seeing the front door standing wide open and light streaming into the small front yard. Coming to an abrupt halt at this odd circumstance, she began scanning the area for Jarrett when she heard loud, angry words drifting out on the damp night air.
“Where’s the rest of it?”
“That’s all I got, Zeke. Fordy has the rest. Swear.”
“Liar. Fordy don’t have half of the haul we expected—not nearly.”
Wisteria heard a tussle ensue with the sickening sound of flesh hitting flesh, bones crunching, and several loud grunts before there was a thud and groans of pain.
“Search the place, Virgil. It’s here somewhere.”
A cacophony of noise followed—furniture scraping along the floor, splintering of wood, crashes of glass, and what Wisteria guessed were her dishes breaking.
“It ain’t here, Zeke,” another voice announced into the sudden silence; Virgil, she assumed.
After a pause, she heard booted footsteps on the wooden floor and Jarrett begging for mercy.
“Please, Zeke—” His pleas ended abruptly, replaced by ghastly choking sounds. Horrified, Wisteria took a step back. Through a small break in the trees, she could see in through the open cabin door. She caught a glimpse of a short, thin man with bright orange hair chortling with unsurpassed glee as he watched a bigger, stockier man pin Jarrett to the wall by his throat. She backed up another step, preparing to flee with Micah. The chilling words that came next halted her retreat.
“Last chance, Skeens. Cough it up or you’re a dead man.”
“Kill me,” Jarrett managed to choke out, “and you’ll never get your money.”
“Then we’ll take what you do have of value.” Zeke let go and Jarrett fell to the floor, laughing.
“Value, that’s rich. What are you gonna do, take the bullet-riddled clothes off my back? Other than a swayback mare nearing twenty, I ain’t got nothin’ you’d want, Zeke. I’m worth more to you alive than dead.”
“You’re wrong, stupid man. You’ve got something the madames of Denver would pay big money to have.”
“No.”
“Yes, we’ll sell your wife’s pretty little body to the highest bidder.”
The second man snickered. “Yeah, Jarrett, we’ve heard about your Rose and her long black hair, purple eyes, and big juicy tits. Kill him and let’s go get her, Zeke. I’d like a round or two with her before we sell her to a brothel, for my troubles and all.”
“Touch her and you’re dead.”
Both men laughed. “Skeens, you always were a dumbass.”
Two gunshots echoed in the night. Wisteria couldn’t keep from jumping, her arms squeezing her son reflexively. The little whimper he made in response had the terror already filling her chest tightening around her pounding heart like an iron fist. She bent her head and whispered to Micah soothingly, bouncing him as she turned and began tiptoeing away. As she moved down the row of trees, she heard the second man say in a stunned tone, “Dang, Zeke, I thought you was bluffing.”
“No one fucks with Zeke Sanders, Virgil. Let’s go find the girl.”
She broke into a run.
* * *
With Micah safe in Rebecca’s care while Arthur, who’d armed himself to the teeth, kept watch out the front windows, Wisteria crept back to the cabin hours later. Approaching from the back, Arthur’s Remington pistol clamped in her trembling hands, she quietly crept around the side of the cabin. Not daring to enter through the front door that still stood wide open, light pouring out into the dark, rainy night, she pried open the bedroom window instead. Using all of her strength, she managed to boost herself up and straddle the sill, thanks in part to the trousers she’d borrowed, then dropped softly inside.
The sight that welcomed her was not pretty. Virgil had done a thorough job when he’d searched her home. Everything was turned inside out and topsy-turvy, the mattress flipped to the floor, dresser drawers ripped out and the contents strewn chaotically about. What few trinkets she had were smashed to bits. Tears filled her eyes. She didn’t have much; nonetheless, what she had managed to acquire had come through hard work and honest sweat. It made her feel violated that a stranger’s hand had touched her things, some of those things private, and in the end destroyed almost all of them.
She sniffled, blinking back tears while scolding herself about being distraught over material possessions. None of it was important righ
t now. Micah’s safety and getting out of Manitou Springs took priority. Locating her carpet bag in the closet, she hauled it out and started filling it with essentials: a few changes of clothes for her and Micah, a stack of clean cloth diapers, and his favorite toy. She located her mother’s ring on the bedroom floor. It was small, the diamond no more than a chip, the gold dull from tarnish, yet its value to Wisteria was more than monetary. She slipped it on her finger and moved on.
Peeking out into the main room, her eyes zeroed in on Jarrett. Still in death, he sat with his back against the far wall, his sightless eyes staring straight ahead. A chill passed over her and a heaviness settled over her chest. He wasn’t a good man, and Lord knows he wasn’t a decent one, but in the end, he’d tried to protect her. After knowing him for most of her life, to see him come to such an end filled her with sorrow.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, she moved out into the main room, avoiding looking his way. Her goal was the loose floorboard in the corner where her husband kept his little stash. Jarrett never suspected that she knew; if he had, she felt sure he would have moved it. She’d discovered it while mopping the floor one day. He’d had about fifty dollars hidden in the box tucked below the boards at the time. She sent up a fervent prayer that at least that sum remained today.
Grabbing a knife off the debris-littered floor, she knelt and peeled back the worn, threadbare rug. The board pried off easily. The box beneath it exactly where she’d seen it last. Her pulse picked up its pace as she struggled to pull it out, being much heavier than she remembered. Popping off the lid of the square tin, her mouth fell open in amazement. Inside, amid a handful of greenbacks, was a glittering collection of gold coins, jewelry, and loose stones of red, green, blue, and white. She picked up a sparkling clear-stoned ring and held it up to the light. The large diamond winked back at her in a rainbow of sparkling colors.
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