by Dinah McLeod
Clay. I remembered the first time I saw him, his hat shading his face from view.
I took in deep, gulping breaths of air as I pumped my legs forward. Clay—the way he called me “ma’am” always made my heart skip a beat.
I felt the animal behind me, though I didn’t dare turn my head to look. I suspected, rightly so, that if I did so it would rob me of the tiny shreds of hope I was clinging to.
Clay. I remembered his sweet, gruff proposal. His words came back to me, even as my chest hurt with the effort of breathing. I think we should marry soon. Tears were running down my face from the effort it took to keep going. I cursed myself for having run away earlier. If I wasn’t tired, maybe—but no. I had not a chance in hell no matter what shape I’d been in. Sooner or later the animal would overtake me. It was a wonder it hadn’t already. It seemed to be toying with me, getting its exercise before its next meal.
My eyes blinded by tears, I didn’t see the root in front of me, and when I stumbled, I knew it was over. My legs were burning, my heart racing so hard I was sure it would come out of my chest any moment. I heard a low growl behind me. Swallowing back my tears, I stood stock still. I couldn’t move even if I wanted to, I was too terrified. And what was the point? I felt something brush by my skirts, and let out a sob.
Suddenly, a gunshot rang through the air, and I squeezed my eyes shut, crying hard. “Maggie, over here!”
Could that be—? I opened my eyes to see Clay, like a vision called into being sitting atop Sapphire with a gun in the air. He discharged another shot, and I realized that the cat had slunk back, watching with angry eyes. It was deciding whether or not to jump me, I realized.
“Over here! Quick!”
I don’t know where I got the strength, but I ambled over to his horse as quickly as I could, wobbling on my exhausted legs. The animal decided in that moment that it couldn’t let its food get away, and lunged for me. I saw it moving toward me out of the corner of my eye, and I fainted, falling into a heap on the ground and losing all consciousness.
* * *
Maggie
I knew I was dead when I opened my eyes and found myself in the kitchen back home. The warm scents of sugar and cinnamon were wafting through the house, the smell of my mother’s famous cinnamon cookies. I turned around, and there she was, stirring vigorously with a wooden spoon.
“Mag-pie,” she said, her back to me, “fetch me a pan, would you?”
I couldn’t move. All I could do was stare at her. God, it hadn’t even been a year since I’d seen her last, and already I’d forgotten how her shoulders bent forward slightly and the wide girth of her waist that boasted of her good cooking. Stepping forward, I grabbed her from behind, wrapping my arms around her.
The sweet, hearty notes of her laughter truly were music to my ears. “What on earth?” she turned to face me, taking my hands in hers. “You aren’t trying to swindle me into making extra for you, are you, Maggie? You know your brothers are going to claim their fair share.” Her brown eyes danced with laughter. “Oh, alright! I’ll set some aside for you, but shhh! Don’t tell your pa, d’you hear?”
I took a step back from her, my lip trembling with emotion. “Pa?”
“He’ll be coming in any minute. Now, get me that pan, darlin’.”
I moved to follow her orders, reaching for the cupboard where she kept our meager store of baking supplies. Even as I moved, I kept my eyes trained on her back, afraid that any moment she would evaporate before my very eyes—no more than the product of my imagination.
“Am I dead?” I asked aloud.
Mama whirled to me, her spoon in her hand, covered with flour and sugar. “Why, heavens no! Why would you even say such a thing?”
I couldn’t think of anything to say to her question. Surely, I must be. Or could I have dreamt it all? Could everything have been a horrible, lonely dream? “Where’s Libby?”
“Who, dear?” Mama asked, wrinkling her brow. “You don’t mean Libby Herrington, do you, dear?” Mama sighed at my answering nod. “That girl,” she muttered. “She’s a beauty, to be sure, but I’m afraid I can’t think too kindly on her after…” she trailed off, not needing to finish. We both knew what she was referring to. “After how cruel she’s always been to you. But why would you ask about her, dear?”
“I just thought…” My mind raced for an explanation. “Aren’t they courting?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” she said, hmphing loudly. “Besides, Wesley’s too young to go courting, anyway. You’re the oldest.”
I took that in and weighed her words. “Are you disappointed in me, Mama?” I asked, deciding to voice the words aloud that I’d never had the courage to ask her. “Not having a husband, I mean?”
The eyes she turned on me were thoughtful. “Are you feeling well, Mag-pie? You seem to be talking about such foolishness today, dear. Do you need to lie down?”
“No, Mama. But, I have to know. Are you?” My voice trembled with emotion, and as I waited for her to answer, my palms began to sweat.
“Why would I be disappointed, Maggie?” She put down her spoon and pulled me to her. Her hands had always been so soft, usually lined with a fine dusting of flour. “Being a wife isn’t all women are good for, you know.”
“What else then?” I asked, echoing the words other women had said to me. “What else can I do?”
“I don’t have the answer to that, I’m afraid. I don’t know. But for now, you just keep on living at home and helping me in the kitchen. We’ll figure out the rest later. You don’t want to marry a man you couldn’t love, do you?”
I was so relieved to hear her say the words I’d been feeling in my heart. I squeezed her tightly, until she pulled back.
“Give me some air, child!” She patted my hair fondly. “Now, I’m still waiting on that pan.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I replied, reaching for the pan that I’d laid on top of the stove. That was when I saw them: a coffee cup that Trent and I had scribbled our names on years before. The sight of it made my heart pang. I knew that it had been lost years ago. I turned and surveyed the rest of the kitchen. There were the scraps of cloth Mama used to pull her hot plates out of the stove. Wesley had thrown them away one day when I was asleep.
As though I were in a trance, I stepped past my mother, who was humming “Silent Night” and went into the parlor. The familiar coo-coo clock hung on the way, above Pa’s rifle, which he always leaned against the wall if he wasn’t out hunting. I knew both had been gotten rid of long ago—the clock had fallen and broken, and Wesley had put the rifle away, being unable to look at it after our pa had died.
“Maggie!” my mother called. “Where are you, child?”
Before I could answer her, the front door swung open, and I watched in amazement as my father ducked under the door. I’d forgotten what a large man he was. He towered over everyone in town at 6’ 4’’, and outweighed most men by at least sixty pounds. Hugging his chest was like leaning against a wall of bricks. When I caught sight of his large hands, I was taken aback. I’d forgotten how much strength he’d carried in his hands, and it took me back to days when I’d watched him chop firewood or tame a difficult horse. His hands were full of love, too. It took very little recollection on my part to remember his long bear hugs or seeing him span my Mama’s waist so tenderly as they stared into each other’s eyes.
“Maggie?” he asked in his booming, boisterous voice.
“Pa?” The word was a whisper as it escaped my lips.
“Maggie!”
I saw the word come from his mouth, yet his voice was no longer his own. My heavy eyelids fluttered open, his name on my lips: “Clay.”
* * *
Maggie
“Thank God,” he murmured, his face filled with such tenderness and passion that for a moment I wondered who he was looking at. “I was terrified,” he admitted.
My heart surged at his words, and I reached up to brush my fingers over his face. As soon as I had done so, he caught m
y fingers in his hand and squeezed them so hard that I cried out. I knew I was weak, drained physically from exhaustion and fear, and the sound came out sounding like nothing more than the mewling of a kitten.
“Don’t you ever do that to me again, you hear? When I think about what could have happened… if I had gotten here just a minute later, thirty seconds…” he trailed off, looking over my shoulder. I turned my head and saw the great cat, dead in a puddle of its own blood. I knew Clay had moved me, because it hadn’t even been a foot from me when I’d fainted.
“It was foolish,” I whispered, my voice thick.
“Damn right it was!” he exclaimed, not even begging my pardon. “I swear to the God that made me, Maggie, if you ever—you do not leave without telling someone where you’re going, d’you understand me?” He pinned me down with his eyes, and though I struggled to turn my face from him, he just reached over and put his fingers under my chin, forcing me to look at him.
“I don’t understand,” I admitted.
“You don’t understand? What I mean is, you won’t be going anywhere without telling me first, especially after sunset. That means—”
“No,” I whispered. “I mean… I don’t understand why you’d want to marry me.”
When my words reached his ears, he sat back on his heels, looking thunderstruck. “You what?”
“I just… it’s… I’m a spinster.”
I watched as the emotions warred on his face—he seemed torn between scolding me and laughing at me. Finally, the latter won out, and he chuckled. “Maggie, you know I’m older than you, don’t you?”
I nodded. “But it’s alright for a man to wait.”
“D’you know how much older?” he asked. I shook my head—I’d never thought it important to ask. “I’m forty-one, myself. Believe it or not, I was a friend of your pa’s.”
“Pa’s?” I echoed, his image still fresh in my mind.
“You don’t remember?” he chuckled. “I used to come over some nights, when your ma invited me and some other young bachelors. I used to watch you, I’m ashamed to admit. You were always such a lively thing, with such a quick temper!” he chuckled. “I remembered your pa saying that the only woman he’d ever met with a sharper tongue was your ma.”
I smiled despite myself. I couldn’t remember Mama ever saying a sharp word in my father’s presence, but then I doubted she would have been immune to getting his strap on her behind if she had. “But you never…”
“How could I, Maggie? It would have been improper… even if I was younger than your pa. I thought there might come a time—but then your father died, and I only saw your family at church. I got shy, I guess.” He ducked his head at the admission. “I couldn’t imagine how a girl like you could ever want an old man like me.”
“You’re not old,” I said, with feeling. Any man would consider himself lucky to be in the shape Clay was in—and anyone who could react so quickly, as he had done just minutes earlier, was still sharp and able.
“Well, anyway. I kept those memories close to my heart, resigned to living the rest of my life alone… until I saw you that day in town, by yourself outside that saloon.” His voice hardened with emphasis on those last two words, and I winced, remembering the spanking I’d received. Almost as if he’d read my mind, Clay nodded. “Oh, yes, you will certainly be feeling my strap for your stunt today.”
I wanted to protest, but I nodded—it was what a good, submissive woman would do, the kind of woman that Clayborn deserved.
“Let’s get you home, darlin’.” Clay stood to his feet and reached down, offering me his hand. I took it, and he pulled me off the ground. Before he helped me up onto the horse, who had been snorting and neighing in impatience for some time now, he brushed the dirt and leaves off the back of my dress.
When we were both in the saddle, me in front, Clay took my chin and turned me to face him. He brought his lips to mine in a kiss that surprised me with its possessiveness. After a moment, it turned sweet—sweet and warm. When we broke apart, both glowing from our first embrace, Clay crushed me to his chest in a hug.
“We should marry soon, Maggie,” he said again before flicking the reigns. Whatever reply I might have made would have been lost in the wind.
Chapter Six
Maggie
“Maggie and I have decided to wed in two weeks,” Clay informed my brothers as I sipped the hot cup of tea that Abby had made me. I glowed at him, wrapped warmly in every available quilt. “Assuming I have your permission, gentlemen?”
Wesley turned his eyes thoughtfully to me. “If that’s what Maggie wishes.”
“It is,” I answered, smiling at my brother. I was pleased that he’d asked me, even though he surely saw the answer on my face.
“Congratulations to you both,” Trent intoned, his voice unusually gruff. “I’ll miss you, Mags.”
“Hang on a minute,” Wesley said, holding up a hand. “I’ve been thinking, I was going to build an addition to the house for Maggie anyway, but I could make it large enough for two.”
“You were?” I asked, surprised.
“Maggie, your room is too small for a woman-grown!” he chided fondly.
I was overcome with emotion. Here I’d been, acting like a spoiled child, and my brothers had never been trying to shut me out at all! I felt so foolish. I looked to my husband-to-be to see what he would say.
He had the same thoughtful expression on his face, but before he spoke, I saw him shake his head. “I thank you kindly, but I have a place, and I think Maggie needs a home all her own.”
I had been waiting in silence, but once he spoke, I knew it was exactly what I’d been feeling. I needed to be away from this house which held so many memories that I couldn’t see ahead to the future. I needed to be away from these walls, which for me held nothing but mourning. Maybe in time, when children came, I could be inside them again without feeling so overcome with loneliness. Maybe then I could see it as Wesley and Libby’s house, as Trent and Abby’s, not as Mama’s and Pa’s. How nice it would be to have a place I could make my own! It seemed like a grand adventure indeed, and I couldn’t keep the smile from my face.
Wesley saw it and offered me a small, regretful smile. “Alrighty then,” he replied, with false cheerfulness.
“It will be alright,” I told him. “I will come see you as often as I can—” Clay cleared his throat behind me, and I hurried to amend my statement, “—as quickly as we can, and you’ll have a new baby soon, anyway. You’re going to make a great father, Wes.”
As soon as the words were out of my mouth it began a series of embraces and well wishes for the future that would continue, off and on, for the next two weeks. I even took Libby’s hand, patting her still-flat belly with warmth in my smile.
“I’ll come help you when it’s time,” I told her, and she thanked me sweetly.
* * *
Maggie
“Here is your new home,” Clay told me as we walked to the door of a freshly painted farmhouse only twenty minutes from the one I used to call home. “Close your eyes.”
I giggled, feeling every bit the newlywed girl, despite my twenty-nine years. I did as my new husband bid and reached for the hand he offered. Once he wrapped his warm fingers over mine, he began leading me with gentle tugs. I walked slowly, letting him guide me with his other hand at the small of my back.
“Open them.”
I did eagerly and gasped at my new home. The walls were wooden, like at home, but the curtains that hung over the windows were a pretty red plaid, and there was a carved coo-coo clock on the wall that reminded me of the one we’d once owned. I walked from the exquisitely carved rocker, touching it lightly before moving my fingers over to the fine quilt that lay on it.
“We’ll be needing things, of course.” I could tell from the sound of his voice that he was enjoying watching me in his—in our new home. “You just make a list and we’ll go into town so you can get what you like.”
“Really?” I asked, my
eyes shining at the prospect.
“‘Course. You’re the lady of the house here. Which reminds me…” He offered his hand, and I eagerly took it. I thought nothing of it when he led me into the main bedroom which we would share. “Seems we have some things to discuss, if I recall correctly.”
I was about to ask him what things when I saw the razor strap hanging on the wall. What a place to keep it! I thought in instant irritation. “Does it have to be tonight, Clay?”
“I’ve put it off for nearly two weeks, wife. So, yes, it has to be tonight. I’d suggest we do it now, so we can get it out of the way and enjoy our wedding night.”
A flutter ran through me, though whether from anxiety at the prospect of our wedding night or the whipping that I had coming, I could not say. “But…”
His arched eyebrow stopped me. I knew that he could not be swayed by my pleas and that they would only get me in more trouble if they went on too long. “Get out of those drawers. You won’t be needin’ ‘em.”
My mouth dropped open, and I remembered him telling me that once we were wed, I wouldn’t be allowed to keep covered when I received my spankings. Gritting my teeth together and trying to gather my courage, I did as he instructed. I’d reached around to undo my waist cincher when Clay stepped behind me.
“Let me.”
The feeling of his fingers on my laces made my pulse race, even though I knew his intentions did not lean toward the tender moments of the wedding night. He unlaced it faster than I ever did it myself, and in no time my dress and underthings were puddled around my feet. Offering me his hand, he helped me step out of the pile of clothing.
“Shall I…?”
“Over the bed,” he said, not unkindly.
I turned toward it, seeing for the first time the white sheets that lined it. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’d washed them for the occasion. Thinking of Clay taking sheets to a wash board in hopes of pleasing me made me smile and somehow made what I had to do easier. Taking a deep breath, I lowered myself over the bed.