by Linda Ford
He slapped his thigh. Great. Wonderful news. Because it made no difference. She intended to return home to the man of her father’s choosing. He couldn’t believe it. He’d accused her of being weak but he knew better. Or at least, he thought he did. He’d seen her deal with a cranky Meggie on the train and remain unruffled. He’d watched her help Paquette. Of course, maybe it was only good breeding.
He’d been so angry when he’d seen her with that black rebel of a horse. She could have been killed if the animal struck out with his hooves as he invariably did when any of the men approached him, and yet he’d watched her stroking the animal’s head. Maybe it was simply blind good fortune, not courage or perseverance.
He had no solid reason to think she was anything other than a well-trained Easterner. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more convinced he grew that’s exactly what she was.
Believing so made it easier to plan to take her back to town and put her on the train to her pa and her Ted.
He’d inform her of his decision tonight.
Regret threatened to suck his insides out.
Maybe he’d wait until tomorrow to give himself time to get used to the idea.
By morning the idea was no more welcome than it had been the day before. He milked the cow, fed the cats and tended to his chores, taking lots of time, delaying his return to the house when he must make the announcement.
Finally he could find no more excuses. He sighed. Knowing what he must do did not make it any easier. He stood outside the barn and stared at the rank horse she’d been petting yesterday. Fragments of her actions dashed across his thoughts. Her head close to the horse’s black head, almost touching. The way she lifted her face to the sky and laughed. The sight of her standing several yards from the buildings, gazing into the distance. The touch of her lips on his. He sighed. Those sights and sounds and feelings would be difficult to erase. But he must put them behind him. Never think of her back East with Ted. The name burned a bloody path through his mind.
He shoved a load of determination into his body and ordered his boots to march toward the house. He grabbed the neglected bucket of milk and crossed the yard. Halfway across he heard Meggie wailing and Jenny’s soothing tones as she tried to calm her. Meggie hadn’t cried like this since the first day or two.
Meggie’s cries paused.
Burke relaxed. Only a momentary upset. Nothing to worry about.
He hadn’t even completed the thought when Meggie started again, long shuddering sobs filled with shrill anguish.
What was wrong?
He rushed the last few yards, dashed in the door. Jenny sat on Paquette’s chair struggling with Meggie, who tossed her head back and forth.
Burke swung the pail to the cupboard without taking his eyes off the pair. He crossed to squat before them. “Meggie, what’s wrong?”
She screamed.
He sought Jenny’s gaze. Read her frustration and something else—worry?
“I’m trying to get her clothes on.”
Seemed ordinary enough. Shouldn’t upset Meggie. He turned his attention to the child. “Come on, sweetie, let Jenny dress you.”
Meggie gave him a defiant look without letting up on the racket.
“Give her to me.” He plucked Meggie up and struggling to hold her, took the little socks and boots Jenny handled. Impossibly small. He struggled to handle the tiny things and at the same time, corral Meggie. But he would manage. He had to prove to himself and Jenny that they didn’t need her.
He caught Meggie’s foot.
She wailed and twisted away leaving him with a stocking and no foot.
He snagged her thrashing limb and held on. He could do this…if he had another set of hands.
Jenny yanked the stocking from his tight grip and slipped it on as he held Meggie’s foot. Working as a team they managed the other stocking and the little boots. By the time they finished, both were disheveled and sweating. Meggie was a sopping mess of tears.
Jenny wiped her face with a towel. “Honey, what’s the matter?”
Meggie screamed.
“This is unacceptable.” Burke shifted the baby so she was facing him. It was like trying to corral water. She slipped through his hands every time he thought he had her. Finally, he gave up trying to make her face him and simply held her. “Meggie, behave yourself.”
His firm tone made no impression.
“Meggie, stop or I’ll put you in your room.”
No change.
He marched to the bedroom and sat her on the bed. “You can come out when you’re done.”
She curled into a ball with her back to him and sobbed.
He could hardly stand it. She sounded so miserable. Made him feel so helpless. How did one deal with a squalling child? No doubt some would suggest a spanking but he couldn’t bring himself to do so. She barely knew him, had lost both her parents and been transported halfway across the country. Seems it was enough to drive an adult to tears let alone a child. But how to console her?
He would hold her, rock her. “Meggie, come here.” He touched her shoulder.
She curled tighter and wailed louder. “Mama.”
The cry made him want to join her. His parents were dead. His sister dead. The woman he intended to marry in an asylum. And he was prepared to send a woman he could see himself growing to love back East to marry another. Meggie’s cries reached into the ache of his heart, gave it breath and life. Oh, Meggie, I know how it hurts.
Ignoring her resistance, he scooped the baby to his lap and cuddled her close, rocking back and forth. “Hush, little baby, don’t you cry. I will sing you a lullaby.” He crooned words from some deep forgotten corner of his memories. He didn’t even know he knew these words. He must have heard his own mother sing them. Perhaps to him. Or to Lena. His throat tightened so he couldn’t go on. The pain of all his losses brought hot tears to the back of his throat.
After a few minutes, Meggie’s sobs settled into shuddering gasps. Burke got his own emotions safely relegated to the back rooms of his mind. Along with every speck of feeling toward Jenny. For his sake, his sanity, for all of them, she needed to leave. Before he couldn’t let her go.
He and Meggie would do just fine with Paquette to help.
Jenny heaved a sigh of relief as Burke took Meggie into the bedroom. She’d been at her wit’s end to quiet the child. What was wrong with her? Was the reality of her loss making itself felt? If so, they would all be hard-pressed to provide her some measure of comfort.
Burke’s voice came to her. First, pleading words and then a song. A lullaby. He was singing to the baby, his voice deep and calming. Plucking at something unfamiliar deep inside.
Drawn by curiosity and an invisible thread that bound her to this pair, she tiptoed to the bedroom and drew to a halt at the doorway.
Burke cradled the baby and crooned, his head bent as if he intended to shelter Meggie from every danger, every hurt.
She reached toward the pair, wanting to add her comfort, share the way they clung to each other. She wanted to hold them both close. Be held close by them. Or perhaps be held by Burke as they closed their arms around Meggie.
This was wrong. How could she yearn after him when she’d given her promise to another?
Why did she continue to find submission so difficult? Had she not learned her lesson? She shuddered. Her eyes stung with shame. Yes, she’d learned the risks of ignoring her parents’ wise guidance. They only wanted to protect her even as Burke wanted to protect Meggie. She lifted her fingers as if she could touch the pair and be part of them. Then she spun away, unnoticed by either and returned to the kitchen.
She would leave immediately. In fact, she’d announce her intention at breakfast.
Burke and Meggie would manage well enough without her.
Chapter Eight
Her resolve was firmly in place when Burke entered the room with Meggie in his arms. It faltered only slightly when Burke met her eyes. She imagined regret and longing in his gaze, b
ut knew it was only concern about Meggie. He had no idea of her foolish imaginations. She ducked her head lest her eyes give her away.
Now was the time to act.
She was about to make her announcement when the men trooped in, ready for breakfast.
Burke stepped to her side. Was he going to say something to try and change her mind? She stomped back the little thrill on the heels of the idea. Her mind was made up. He only wanted someone to look after Meggie, but they would manage on their own. Though she wondered how well they’d do.
“Time for breakfast, little Meg peg.”
She silently mocked her thoughts. He only wanted to put Meggie in her customary place at Jenny’s side.
Meggie stiffened and refused to let go of Burke.
Jenny closed her eyes against the feeling sweeping over her. She could understand Meggie’s reluctance to leave those comforting arms.
“I guess you can sit on my knee. Just this once. Remember, Meg peg. This is just once.”
He settled in his place and awkwardly tried to fill his plate while struggling to hold a squirming baby. Meggie simply wasn’t going to be content. Jenny took pity on him and dug out a generous portion of scrambled eggs to place on his plate.
Thinking Meggie might be hungry, she offered her a taste of Burke’s eggs.
Meggie started to cry again.
“I can’t imagine what’s wrong with her.” Jenny studied the fretful little girl.
Paquette made clucking noises. “Child not happy.”
That was an understatement if Jenny had ever heard one. But why? Was she sick? Sad? Naughty? Spoiled? She didn’t believe the latter. Besides, she was certainly getting her share of attention at the moment.
Burke eyed his plate of food. She could almost feel his mouth watering. Then he sighed. “You eat first, Jenny. Then maybe she’ll settle for you so I can eat.” He pushed from the table and strode outside.
No one spoke as they listened to his boots thudding back and forth on the veranda floor as he sang to Meggie, who settled into a fitful fuss.
“Do you think she’s sick?” She meant the question for anyone at the table but directed it at Paquette.
“Not sick. Hurt.”
“Hurt? How?” Had she fallen? Been dropped? Had Paquette seen something?
“She be on horse day before.” Paquette rubbed her legs and then her neck. “Hard work for baby.”
“Ahh.” Of course. “Anything we can do for her?”
Paquette mumbled some foreign sounding words. “I make the rub.” She finished her meal then left the table and hurried to her room.
Jenny stared after her then slowly turned back to her food.
Mac touched her elbow. “Paquette knows Indian cures.”
Jenny nodded though her thoughts weren’t easy. Was this something Burke allowed? She cleaned her plate and went to take Meggie from his arms. “Paquette says Meggie is sore from the ride yesterday.”
Burke blinked. “I did this to her?”
At the shock and regret in his eyes, she wished she hadn’t said anything. “Paquette is making a rub.”
“I only meant to make her part of the ranch.”
“I’m sure she’ll be fine.”
“How could I expect her to ride like a man? She’s a baby. It was wrong of me.” He grunted. “Seems I’m always misjudging the females in my life.” His eyes grew hard. He flexed his jaw muscles then spun away and returned to the kitchen.
From the look he’d given her, Jenny knew he included her in his misjudgments though he had no right to do so. She’d been honest from the beginning. She’d told him she would return home and fulfill her promise to Pa to marry Ted. He had no right to ask her to stay.
Did he really think she would?
Her heart begged to be released so she could.
She quieted it.
Adventure was not in her future. Nor was the thrill of sharing life with a man like Burke. Only a long slow obedience. It was for the best. But acknowledging it did nothing to ease the pain threatening to bring her to her knees.
Meggie’s pitiful cries anchored her in her responsibilities, her duty. She couldn’t leave today. Not with Meggie fussy. It wouldn’t be fair to her. Or Paquette. Or Burke.
Nor did she object to the delay.
Her conscience accused her of unkindness that she could be even faintly happy that the situation gave her an excuse to stay another day. After all, Meggie’s suffering was responsible for buying her a reprieve.
I’ll do everything to help Meggie. It was faint comfort to her guilt.
Burke poked his head out the door. “Paquette is ready.” He waited at the door and touched her upper arm as she stepped through. She felt his urgency, knew he sought comfort from his guilt.
“Burke, don’t blame yourself. No one guessed this would happen.”
“I wouldn’t have listened if anyone suggested it. My mind was made up. Well, it’s made up again. From now on Meggie stays with Paquette until she’s old enough to saddle her own horse. Unless…” He sought her eyes, silently asking her to reconsider her refusal to stay.
“I can’t.”
“Then let’s get on with it.”
She didn’t know if he meant taking care of Meggie, or her leaving, or both. But she would not allow herself to think beyond her boundaries. She would focus on Meggie.
When she tried to put Meggie down so she could take the bowl of thick paste Paquette handed her, Meggie plunked on her bottom, leaning her head over her lap and crying hard enough to make Jenny want to sob along with her. “I didn’t realize her legs hurt too much to stand.”
“I’ll put her on the bed.” Burke scooped her up.
Jenny took the concoction from Paquette.
“Wipe on legs and back. Not get in eyes.”
Burke already had Meggie stripped down to her petticoat. They perched on the edge of the bed, gently smoothing the pungent rub as Paquette had instructed. As they worked, they murmured to Meggie, assuring her she’d be feeling better real soon.
After a few minutes, Meggie relaxed and fell asleep.
They remained at her side.
“Poor baby,” Burke murmured. “To think I did this to her.”
“She’ll be fine.”
“Will she? She needs a mother.”
Jenny couldn’t argue. She’d been saying the same thing since her arrival.
He continued. “She had a mother. God saw fit to take her. Makes me even more convinced God is busy with the universe and has no time for petty details of our lives.”
“Oh no. God is concerned with details.”
“And you base this surety on what?”
She sought for the basis of her conviction. “Have you ever turned a leaf over and studied the intricate pattern? Have you compared leaves from different species of trees and seen how they vary?”
“What’s leaves got to do with humans?”
“Think about the birds. How each is so different. The variety of flowers. Why, even the sky. Such a display of color every morning and evening and never the same.”
“Yes?” He sounded impatient.
“Do you think a God who specializes in such variety is unconcerned with the details of our lives?”
He shrugged. “Seems to me nature simply repeats itself. Hardly proves a thing.” He fixed her with a demanding stare. “Tell me of a time when you knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that God cared about the details of your life.”
She didn’t doubt God cared even about little things in her life, but she knew she also had choices to make. She wasn’t sure how to reconcile the two. Too often her choices seemed to bring dire consequences. But she could hardly blame God for them.
“What brings that little frown to your forehead?”
She quickly forced her muscles to relax.
“Do you have doubts you aren’t willing to admit?”
“My doubts are regarding my own ability to do the right thing. I have no doubts about God’s sure hand.”
“Ahh. Now I see.”
“What?”
“Why you allow your father to choose your husband. You are afraid to take responsibility for the choice.” He leaned closer, his eyes dark and demanding. “You’re afraid to be who you were meant to be.”
She snorted but couldn’t find a response, afraid of where her natural instincts led her. “I have reason to be cautious.”
“Is it caution or are you hiding? They’re different. I think—”
She didn’t want to hear what he thought and half rose.
He caught her hand and stopped her, pulling her close until she practically bumped into his legs. Heat flared up her neck, and she dropped back to the edge of the bed rather than deal with such intimate closeness.
“I think the things you desire frighten you because they go against the constraints of your Eastern society.”
She wanted to deny it, but how could she when she struggled with the very thing every day? But she wouldn’t let him guess how correct he was. “Yeah. Like what?”
He leaned back, pleased with himself, as if he knew he had struck close to home. “Like adventure. Challenge. Risk. I think I have to amend my opinion.”
She couldn’t tear herself away from his amused, probing stare.
“Perhaps there are women who belong in this country.”
“You mean apart from the ones bred and born out here?” She couldn’t keep the sarcasm from her voice. Didn’t want to. Wanted to use it to stop him before he went further, probing into territory forbidden to everyone, including herself.
His expression shifted and grew distant.
Instantly she regretted her sarcasm. Wanted to pull the words back and return to that challenging, tempting place of a few minutes ago.
“However, we both know you won’t admit what you really want. Jenny, what happened to make you so scared of who you are?”
She opened her mouth to deny anything had happened. The words wouldn’t come. Because they’d be false. Something had happened. Something she couldn’t undo. But never again would she listen to that inner voice calling for adventure. Lord God, my heavenly Father, help me remember how dangerous that inner voice is. Help me hear Your voice guiding and protecting me. The voice she heard came from scriptures she had memorized. One had become her motto. ‘Honor thy father and thy mother that thy days may be long upon the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee.’