Frontier Lady (Lone Star Legacy Book #1)

by Judith Pella

  And he had the power, the brute, physical strength, to do so. She could not fight him, at least not on a physical level. She had to surrender her body to him, but she clung desperately to her spirit. She refused to allow him to destroy it. Although at times she felt it had been crushed beyond help, still a spark always burned within her. She would not let Leonard or his father control her.

  There were moments when she considered running away, or even killing Leonard, but those were acts for which she did not think she was desperate enough. After all, she was married to the man. Other women had survived unhappy marriages without disgracing themselves. So could she. She soon found that life could be somewhat tolerable if she kept her “place,” as defined by her husband. And when he came to her at night, though she cringed, grit her teeth and had to choke down nausea, she found she could survive the ordeal.

  Actually, it was harder for her outside the bedroom, in public, to maintain the unnatural ruse. One evening when several male guests came to dinner she carelessly spoke up during the discussion of politics. Later, out of the public eye—he was always careful about the image he projected to others—Leonard railed furiously at her for behaving like a “brazen hussy.” How could this be the same man who had offered the voice of reason before their wedding when Caleb had blasted her for the same offense?

  At first she retained a hope that Leonard could be won over by her feminine charms, that deep down she was more than an object to him. If only she could win him away from the corrupting influence of his father. She believed this probably because she had to believe in something; she had to have some hope that she was not locked into a life of misery. In time, Leonard would lose his youthful insecurities that were no doubt the reason he felt compelled to control her.

  But it was not long before even that slim hope was dashed.

  One morning she arrived at breakfast with a bruise across her face where Leonard had struck her the night before. Caleb was there alone. He studied her, particularly noting the bruise.

  “You will stay inside, today,” he said.

  “I had planned on shopping in town—”

  “I said you will stay in.”

  “Are you afraid for people to see what he does to his wife?” She could not help the smug satisfaction the words gave her.

  “Most men around here would applaud him for keeping a rebellious and self-willed wife in tow,” he answered evenly. “It is to prevent your own shame that you will not go out into public.”

  Deborah could not believe he really cared a whit about her honor. His cool “fatherly” advice to Leonard when he came to the table seemed to confirm this.

  “Leonard, do not strike your wife on the face again.”

  “She tried to tell me she had a headache again last night.”

  “There are other ways to deal with such behavior so neither you nor she is shamed.”

  Deborah could not help the glimmer of hope Caleb’s words stirred in her. Perhaps she had misjudged Caleb. Maybe at last, he would instruct his son on the proper way to treat his wife.

  “Never strike your wife so the marks can be seen,” Caleb said. “It is very distasteful.”

  When the two men went off alone to Caleb’s study, Deborah had no hope at all that their session together could possibly benefit her.

  That night, as if to demonstrate his newly acquired skills, Leonard struck her several times. She had no visible marks afterward, though her whole body ached.

  More than this, she realized that with his father goading him, indeed, encouraging him, Leonard would never change. She might have to resign herself to this abhorrent life forever.

  8

  A month after her marriage, two things happened to offer Deborah a brief respite from her misery. First, Leonard went away. Second, she found a friend.

  Leonard had been home only on an extended furlough from his duties in the Home Guard. When Indians on the frontier began harassing settlers, he was called back to duty. Deborah bade him farewell with all the decorum she could manage, only barely concealing her great relief at his departure. She felt as if a huge weight had lifted from her shoulders. She understood now what a runaway slave must have felt as he approached the Ohio River and freedom.

  She fairly sang the first morning she awoke free from his sickening touch. She almost found herself smiling at breakfast and was hardly perturbed by Caleb’s sour reaction.

  “What are you so cheerful about?” he demanded, as if such behavior were an abominable crime.

  “I don’t know.” She immediately tried to dull the obvious.

  “Just remember,” growled Caleb, reading her motives, “he’ll be back.”

  She secretly hoped her husband would stop an Indian arrow and never return, but Deborah did not even want to admit that to herself.

  She ate her meal quickly and hurried outside, hoping that Caleb’s dark, grim eyes were not following her.

  Ever since her arrival she had heard about the Stoner Ranch’s stock of fine horses. At first the memories of home were still too sore for her to show much interest, but the love of horses was simply too deeply ingrained for her to stay away forever. When she made her first trip out to the stables, Leonard had reprimanded her for it.

  “The stables are no place for a lady,” he told her firmly. “If you would like to ride, one of the servants will bring a mount with a sidesaddle for you.”

  Deborah loved the environment of the stables as much as the horses themselves, and she hated to ride sidesaddle. She determined that in this, at least, she would have her way. After all, she had made her share of sacrifices for her husband. But with so many other adjustments to deal with, she put off further visits to the stables. When she discovered he was going away for several weeks, it seemed as good a time as any to get these people used to her presence in that area. Discovering how much she knew about the raising of horses, they might even come to welcome her.

  Thus the first day of Leonard’s absence, she took a handful of sugar cubes from the kitchen and headed directly for the stable. But with each step she resented her stealthy, back-glancing movement. One of the hired hands was in the corral saddle-breaking a chestnut filly. Resting her arms on the wooden rail, Deborah watched, entranced. The animal moved with such fluid grace it seemed a shame to confine her. The filly bucked several times as if to indicate her displeasure at the weight on her slender back, but the rider held on, and in a few more moments the chestnut took several spritely steps. She then pranced around the corral with only an occasional buck, finally settling down into an even gait. Another Stoner filly was broken.

  She didn’t hear the footsteps approach from behind. The voice startled her, even though it sounded friendly.

  “I wondered if you would come out to see my father’s horses.”

  It was Jacob Stoner.

  Deborah had hardly spoken more than a few words to him or his brother in all the time she had been at the ranch. The two brothers were present only at an occasional evening meal, and even then were noticeably silent. Most of the time they managed to be gone. Deborah did not think they had rooms in the house—at least they never slept there, as far as she knew.

  “Leonard does not think it fitting for a lady,” Deborah replied, attempting to keep any rancor from her voice. She had no idea if this Stoner son would carry her complaints back to Caleb, who would no doubt find a way to make her pay for them.

  “My brother does not think a woman is fit for anything but—” He stopped abruptly, suddenly embarrassed at his near-impropriety.

  “My own father raised horses,” Deborah said quickly to soften the awkwardness.

  “Yes, I know. That’s why I am surprised you stayed away so long.”

  “My brother and father and I found much pleasure together in our horses,” said Deborah. “When they died, I did not think I wanted to look at a horse again. It brought too much sadness. I suppose that, along with Leonard’s discouragement, was enough for a while.”

  “But once you love t
hese animals, it is hard to get them out of your blood for long.”

  “Yes, exactly.”

  Deborah attempted a slight smile in her brother-in-law’s direction and gave him a closer appraisal. He did not sound or act like the elder Stoners. His tone, the acerbic edge to his voice when he mentioned his father and brother, indicated that he had no great love or admiration for them. He was only three or four inches taller than she was, furthering the impression that he was not cut from the tall, lanky mold of his elders. Stocky and muscular, he was obviously no stranger to hard work. That, too, could be seen in his ruddy, sun-weathered complexion, though how much of that was from his Mexican heritage, Deborah could not tell. His black hair and eyes indicated that his mother’s blood was dominant in him. His facial expression as he spoke to her was warm, almost gentle. She realized that her impression of him as a sullen, dour young man might well have been due only to the fact that she had seen him solely in the company of Caleb and Leonard. That was enough to make anyone sullen!

  “Do you break all of your colts directly to the saddle?” Deborah asked, not wanting this pleasant exchange to end.

  “That is the western way. There is often not time for extensive pre-training. But I think the cowboys consider it more manly to ride the buck out of a horse.”

  “Oh, you western men! You will set civilization back hundreds of years!”

  He chuckled softly at this—by no means a hearty laugh, and rather tentative, but nonetheless sincere.

  “I will show you the stable if you like,” Jacob said.

  “Oh yes, I would!”

  As they started away from the corral, Deborah instinctively glanced over her shoulder toward the house.

  “I saw my father take the wagon into town a few minutes ago,” said Jacob. Pink instantly flamed across Deborah’s face, and he added, “Don’t worry, I understand … I am his half-caste son.” The poignancy of his tone made Deborah’s heart quake.

  “I—I’m sorry.” It was all she could say past the sudden ache that rose in her throat.

  “Thank God for the horses,” he said in a rather poor attempt at levity. “They help one forget. Come on.” He took her arm, nudging her into motion.

  He was right, of course, and she knew now why she had finally sought out the animals she so loved. They did make her forget, and they almost made her happy again.

  Jacob spent the next hour showing her around. There were two thoroughbreds that had won cups in local competition, but Deborah had to do some probing to learn that Jacob himself had been the one to ride both horses to victory. He deprecated his feat with a casual shrug, saying, “Because I’m small I happen to make a suitable jockey.” Deborah knew it took more than size to make a good jockey and told him so.

  Besides these and several other fine stock horses, there was a new foal, only a week old. Deborah rubbed the new colt’s fuzzy bay coat and fell in love immediately. She gave the foal’s proud mother a lump of sugar and an affectionate pat on the nose. She and Jacob stood for several minutes, silently observing mother and son together.

  “I never tire of watching them,” she said.

  “I’ll bet you never tire of riding them either, eh?”

  “Oh, Jacob, do you think I could?”

  “Why not?”

  She did not miss the irony in his tone as he asked the simple question. But that’s why she had come out in the first place, to show her husband that he could not control her life as if she were his property. The fact that he was miles away, as was his father, did not lessen the boldness of her act. She had no doubt that her actions that day would somehow be reported back to Leonard and Caleb—though she felt certain not by Jacob.

  It did not take long for Jacob to get two horses saddled. Deborah regretted that she had to ride sidesaddle, but she had not come dressed to ride and dared not return to the house to change, lest by some ill chance Caleb were there and tried to stop her. At that point, she was simply happy to be on the back of a horse again. When they rode out of the ranch house compound into the open country, Deborah had such a sense of release that she actually threw back her head and laughed. Suddenly she realized just how much of a prison that house had become, how much of a captive she felt. She also realized how lovely this country was, though vastly different from her home in Virginia.

  She had passed her time during her journey west reading informative books on the subject of the frontier. In one book she had read a poem that, until now, she had glossed over as mere poetic overstatement.

  These are the Gardens of the Desert, these

  The unshorn fields, boundless and beautiful

  For which the speech of England has no name—

  The Prairies. I behold them for the first,

  And my heart swells, while the dilated sight

  Takes in the encircling vastness. Lo! They stretch

  In airy undulations, far away,

  As if the ocean, in his gentlest swell,

  Stood still, with all his rounded billows fixed,

  And motionless forever.

  How well she could relate to that foreigner’s words now! How faithful, how accurate was that man’s description! Others may have spoken of the monotony of the prairie, but on that bright May morning, none of the dreary tedium stood out in Deborah’s mind. To her, the flat, open expanse offered freedom, where she could ride forever and never tire. And the wild flowers! They speckled the low grass with many shades of brilliant color. Jacob pointed out the Texas bluebonnet and the vivid Indian paintbrush. Deborah believed she could live with Leonard Stoner for eternity if she could just ride every day upon this fair prairie.

  Later she would learn of the loneliness and desolation of these plains, and of their dangers; but now, riding with a man who evidently knew them well, she felt secure, content. When Jacob paused for a rest beneath a small cluster of oaks, she was out of breath from pure exhilaration.

  That evening, however, she had to pay for her excursion. She had managed to keep out of Caleb’s way when he returned from town, but he accosted her the moment she came down for supper. She had reached the last step of the stairs as he was exiting the adjacent study. Nothing short of a blind flight could have spared her a confrontation. She would have to face him at supper, anyway, so she determined not to back down from him. What could he do but browbeat her? Could anything possibly be worse than what his son did to her every night?

  “Good evening, Mr. Stoner,” she said promptly, her head high, her tone defiant.

  He focused such a cold gaze at her it made her shiver.

  “You were at the stables today?” he said.

  “I was.”

  “And you rode?”

  “I did.”

  “I believe my son made it clear such behavior was not acceptable.”

  “I see nothing wrong with it. It is the one thing around here I enjoy.” Although she quailed inside, she leveled an unflinching eye at him.

  “My son will be married to a lady, not some saddle tramp.”

  “Your son is stuck with me as I am with him.” Then a deliciously wicked thought popped into her mind and nothing could prevent it from escaping her lips, nor could she prevent the spiteful grin that accompanied it. “If he doesn’t like it, let him divorce me!”

  Caleb’s hand shot up, clipping her heavily on the side of the head. She winced and gasped at the sudden shock of the blow, though her aroused anger quickly blotted out her pain.

  “You dare!” she seethed, almost speechless in her fury.

  “Be assured, Deborah, that in this battle of wills, you will be the loser. There is no way you can win except in submission.”

  “Will you beat me to death if I don’t submit?” she retorted.

  “I do not think it will come to that.” His tone, however, implied that he would not be opposed to such measures.

  “Well, I will ride and go to the stables! The only way you can stop me is to hold me prisoner.”

  She did not wait for him to reply; instead, she s
trode away as if she had every confidence that she had indeed won. And, suppressing her burning urge to retreat to her room, she went to the dining room and sat in her usual seat. She refused to give him the satisfaction of watching her run from him. He joined her a few moments later, and Maria served the meal despite the silent tension.

  Deborah ate every morsel, regardless of the knots in her stomach.

  When she wasn’t appalled and horrified and frightened by her impossible situation and her disastrous marriage, she was simply mystified. How could two men possibly behave so inhumanly? Sometimes she wondered if it wasn’t somehow her fault, that if she knew better the mysterious ways of marriage and knew the right things to say, perhaps Caleb and Leonard would respond differently. She had never had to worry about such things with her father and brother, though perhaps it was different because they were family, her own blood. But with Jacob she had no need to calculate her every word and action. Perhaps it was different with husbands and fathers-in-law.

  As Maria served coffee at the end of the meal, Deborah found that confusion had begun to overcome some of her anger. Perhaps she just had not tried hard enough with Caleb. He had to have some sense of reason.

  “Mr. Stoner,” she began contritely when Maria had departed, “I believe I have somehow displeased you—not just today, but almost from my first day here. If that is so, I truly wish for peace in this household, as I know you must also. It is not too late for us to start over again. I’m sure we can work out a mutually agreeable relationship.”

  He seemed to ponder her statement, his eyebrows slightly arched in a mixture of surprise and satisfaction. Perhaps she was coming around after all. He said, “You have but to assume the role of the submissive and dutiful wife, Deborah, and we will all be ‘mutually’ benefited.”

  She struggled to keep her tone even. “I realize I can be strong-willed at times, Mr. Stoner, and I have no doubt I have room for some change. But I do think the same can be said for Leonard.”

  “He is your master, Deborah. It is you who must change to suit him.”