by Linda Ford
Donny’s arms tightened around the pup making Tippy squirm and whine.
“Your mama is right.” Bruce cupped a hand over the boy’s head. “You want your dog to be the best dog he can, don’t you?”
“I guess.” Donny’s tone wasn’t very convincing.
“Then put him down and let’s go.” Stella helped him put the pup on an old blanket close to the cats. They made their way to the door, Tippy hot on their heels.
Stella pushed the dog back and closed the door against him. The dog’s protests were loud and sad.
“Mama,” Donny wailed.
“Come on.” Stella took her son’s hand. Her jaw muscles clenched, and Bruce knew this was difficult for her.
He took Donny’s other hand. “Tippy is brave. Once he realizes you aren’t coming back, he’ll be fine.”
“He’s crying.” Donny sounded close to doing so himself. Blossom sniffled. From the way Stella rubbed her lips together and swallowed loudly, he suspected she was equally close to tears. It was more than Bruce could handle. He put Blossom on the ground. “I’ll race you both back to the house. I’ll even give you a head start. Are you ready?”
They nodded.
“One, two three. Go.”
They took off, Blossom trying hard to keep up to her brother. The way her arms and legs pumped had exactly the result Bruce hoped for as Stella started to laugh.
He trotted after them, catching Blossom and tucking her under his arm as they raced after Donny. He made sure Donny reached the house ahead of him. The boy jumped up and down, yelling, “I beat you.”
“I wonder what’s holding up your mama.” Bruce caught the boy around the waist and jostled both children on his hips as he trotted back to Stella. “Are you coming?” He grinned at her. “Do you need a push?” The children squirmed from his arms.
Donny pushed and Blossom pulled Stella to the house. By the time they reached the doorstep everyone was laughing, and the look Stella gave him seemed to offer approval.
Her smile settled in his heart.
As she put the children to bed, he looked around the main room. Simple by most standards. Aunt Mary’s house had been bigger. But this house was full of love.
Love? Of course, the love he felt was of Stella for her children. And if he enjoyed the aroma of it, he was grateful and could expect no more despite Aunt Mary’s prayers.
He put water in the kettle and set it to boil. Sitting outside to drink their tea had proven a pleasant way to end the day, and he hoped she’d agree to do so again. The kettle sang as Stella came from the bedroom, and he warmed the pot, added tea leaves, and poured on the hot water. “They’re looking mighty sad but are consoling each other with the fact they are doing the best for their pets.” She rubbed at her forehead. “I almost relented as we cross the yard. Thanks for making them think of something else.”
“It was easy, and you’re welcome. I made tea. I thought we could sit outside again.” He waited to see if she liked the idea.
The worry lines disappeared from her forehead. “I’d like that.” She joined him in the kitchen to take down two heavy white pottery mugs. The same ones they’d used the night before. He liked them much better than the thin china cups with impossibly tiny handles or the tin cups he used when traveling.
She filled both mugs, and they each carried one as they went outside.
They sat on the butt ends of the logs he’d put there yesterday. She released her breath in a long, quiet sigh.
“Is that a sigh of contentment, frustration, or relief?”
She chuckled. “The first. It is so right to be back home and now to have the animals back. Plus pets for the children.” She started to laugh. “Can you imagine if Donny called the dog Frank? Frank, get down. Frank, bad boy. Frank, come here.” She burst into peals of laughter.
He chuckled though he found the idea more awkward than amusing.
She sobered and wiped her eyes. “Sorry. It just struck me as funny.”
“Likely Frank wouldn’t have. And I would have found it exceedingly awkward. Him being your husband and all.”
For the length of time it took for the pink-edged cloud to move in the sky, neither of them spoke.
He regretted his words. They had built a fence between them just when he was enjoying a sense of belonging and acceptance.
Acceptance? Why did the word keep coming to his mind? Only because of what Aunt Mary said.
He tried to think of a way to retract what he’d said.
Stella shifted so she looked fully at him. Her eyes were dark, full of what he hoped was gentleness. Compassion. Acceptance.
Could he not complete a thought without that word?
“Bruce, you are my husband now, and even though it’s a business agreement, my loyalty lies with you. Frank has been gone long enough that I do not hanker after him. The months since his passing have been full of so many struggles and challenges that it seems he’s been gone forever. I’m simply happy to be here.” Her look went on and on, trapping him in a pool of warmth.
He tried to think beyond her promise that her loyalty lay with him. “Did you have a good marriage?”
“He was a good man.”
“How did you meet? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“I have nothing to hide. I had stayed behind in Hebert, Kansas when my parents moved on and found a job cooking at the hotel. I wanted one thing in life—a place of my own so I would never have to leave. So, I was saving my money and living in a little room. I ate leftovers at the hotel to save the cost of buying food.” She smiled at Bruce. “The pennies didn’t add up as quickly as I would have liked, but I meant to succeed.”
“I’ve seen how much having a place means to you. Enough for you to marry a stranger.”
She chuckled. “You don’t seem like a stranger anymore. Odd, isn’t it?” She sipped from her cup, watching him over its rim.
“I feel the same way.” He jerked toward the house. “Is it Aunt Mary’s prayers?”
Pink flooded Stella’s cheeks, and she lowered her gaze, seemingly interested in the contents of her cup.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. You were telling me how you met your husband.”
“Frank delivered freight in the area, so I often saw him when he brought luggage and supplies to the hotel. We struck up a conversation. Soon we were talking about our goals. We both wanted the same thing—to own a place of our own. His goal was to go west to the Montana Territory and get a homestead. Soon we ended up walking and then going to church and various things. We married the spring of 1878, filled his wagon with everything we needed to start a new life, and headed west to settle here.”
“You must have been very young when you married Frank. You don’t look a day over twenty now.”
The way her eyes flashed, he knew she was pleased at his assessment.
“I was seventeen when we married.”
“That makes you twenty-three.”
“You’re good at arithmetic, aren’t you?”
He laughed at the teasing in her voice. “Same age as me.”
They stared at each other in a silence rich with connection and bonding. In the back of his mind, he knew he was getting way out of bounds. Just because they were married didn’t mean they shared anything but his name and her farm. And yet he couldn’t deny he wished for more.
He sat back. She had asked him what he wanted, said she hoped he would find it here.
His brain had offered an answer to her question. He wanted to belong here more than as a partner on the farm.
Was it something he could hope to receive?
Stella watched a play of emotions flicker through Bruce’s eyes. They passed so quickly she couldn’t identify them. Though if she had to, she would say hope had flared and then been replaced by something she could only describe as caution. What had he hoped for, and why did he resist it? But she didn’t feel she had the right to ask. Would she ever feel free to ask him about his thoughts and feelings? Where did
the boundaries for a marriage-for-business-purposes lie?
She turned to watch the sun dipping toward the mountains and finished her tea. “It’s nice sitting here.”
“It’s nice for you to be back home.” Was it caution that made his voice so deep?
She was overcome by an incredible urge to remove some of that caution and hear hope. “It’s more than that.” Would he pursue the subject?
“You’re enjoying the sunset? I have to say it’s beautiful. The mountains have drawn me like a magnet since my first glimpse of them. So strong. So majestic.”
“I love the mountains too, but it isn’t only them or the sunset I’m enjoying.”
The words hung between them like a sheet half-pegged to the line. If someone didn’t finish the job, it would fall to the ground.
“What else are you enjoying?”
Hearing wonder in his voice, she turned to face him. She sucked in air, using it to force out the words she wanted to speak but feared to, thinking she was being rash. “The company. Sharing the evening.” She rushed on. “Frank would never sit outside like this in the evening, even though I asked him. It feels right to spend a bit of time together at the end of the day.” Even though her face warmed she did not break from their locked gazes. Let him think it was a reflection of the lowering sun or let him guess how difficult it had been to speak frankly. Would he know just how true the words were? Business partners maybe, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t be friends, couldn’t share the joys of the farm and family.
His eyes had widened at her words then crinkled around the edges and filled with such brightness that she thought they must be reflecting the sky. His smile held warmth. “That’s about the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She sat back to watch the sunset and enjoy the company. She felt no need of words, content to simply be there.
In the trees by the river, an owl hooted then took to wing. Several birds exploded into the air in noisy protest. They both turned toward the disturbance.
“I wonder what’s alarmed them,” she said.
“I’ll take a look.” He went inside to reach over the door and take down the rifle.
“It’s growing dark, so be careful.” Her heart crawled up her throat at the dangers he might encounter.
He touched her elbow. “Always.” With distance-eating strides that took him away far too quickly, he soon reached the trees. The birds had settled back down, but again erupted with loud squawks at his approach. He disappeared in the shadows.
Stella walked to the edge of the yard, watching, waiting. What if there was a bear? A desperado? A wildcat? Her heart clinging to her ribs, she prayed for his safety.
The minutes ticked by, as slow as winter’s passing. No more birds fluttered. No sound came from the trees. Nor did Bruce reappear.
Stella’s throat grew dry. She lifted her cup to wet her mouth, but the tea was gone. All she could do was swallow. Please come back. I know we haven’t married out of love, but I would like to keep you around. I need you. I want you.
She promised herself she would examine the last statement after he was safe and sound.
A shadow shifted, grew darker. She pressed her lips together. Her breath stalled. Her heart beat a tattoo inside her head. And then the shadow parted into two. One of them became the shape of a man. Bruce. He was okay.
She wrapped her arms around herself tightly, surprised at how cold she’d grown.
Bruce jogged toward her. “I didn’t see anything to worry about.” He reached her side.
She shivered.
He tilted his head to study her face. “Are you all right?”
She nodded, but for the world she couldn’t have uttered a word.
“Were you worried about me?”
Again, she nodded, feeling her eyes stretch wide.
He cradled the rifle in one arm and drew her to himself with the other. “Nothing to worry about. You’re freezing.” His arm tightened around her. “Time to go inside.”
But neither of them moved. For her part, she didn’t think she could force any of her muscles to work. His arm steadied her both inside and out.
“Come on.” He urged her to the house. At the door, he stopped. “My hands are full, you’ll have to turn the knob.”
What was she thinking? She jerked from his embrace, opened the door, and hurried inside.
He paused to return the rifle to its place above the door while she crossed to her bedroom.
“Stella.” His call stopped her. “I enjoyed the evening.”
She stilled her racing emotions. “I did too.” And without looking at him, she slipped into her room. She leaned against the door and listened to him pad to his room and close the door.
What must he think of her? Did he see her as too bold? Or too weak?
Thank you for keeping him safe. She added the words to her usual bedtime prayer.
She worried her racing thoughts would keep her awake but instead, a peacefulness filled her, and she smiled into the darkness. Life was good.
For now. The words came to her in the little-girl voice of her past.
In her grown-up voice, she replied, He isn’t my father. He’s different.
Time will tell, the little girl said, with a weariness that spoke of years of being forced to move on just when she’d made new friends and had almost begun to think she could keep them.
Yes, time would tell. And she was willing to allow whatever time was needed.
Having reassured herself, she fell asleep and dreamed of a sunset that filled the sky from horizon to horizon. She laughed with abandon and joy. Someone held her hand. She couldn’t see who it was because every time she turned to look at him, the sun was in her eyes. But she didn’t care. She was enjoying herself far too much.
Her dream was shattered by a loud crash, and she leapt from her bed, trying to orient herself to the sound. Trying to determine if the sound was in her dream or real. She shook her head to clear her thoughts. It was real. But what was it?
12
A loud noise wakened Bruce, and he was instantly on his feet. He pulled on his pants and rushed from his room. Moonlight slanted through the windows, revealing nothing to cause such a noise.
Stella burst from her room, wrapped in a pale robe that fluttered at her ankles. “What was that?”
“I don’t know.” He lit a lamp, and they looked around. “I don’t see anything amiss here. I’ll look outside.”
She caught his arm. “Be careful.”
The concern in her eyes warmed him, and he hesitated. They both looked toward the door. Would someone burst through it? Did an animal circle the house? At least they were safe and sound inside. To be certain, he closed the kitchen window to keep intruders out.
Muffled sounds came from Aunt Mary’s room. She called out.
“She’s heard it too,” Stella said.
Bruce held the lamp up as he opened Aunt Mary’s door and let Stella precede him.
The little table that normally stood at the bedside was turned over. Aunt Mary reached upward into the air, making motions as if she were sewing something. She glanced toward the light. “I can’t find my…” She plucked at the covers. “It’s gone. I must find it.” She pushed the blanket down and tried to sit, bringing a moan to her lips.
Stella sat on her bed. “Aunt Mary, wake up. You’re dreaming.” She patted Aunt Mary’s cheeks.
But Bruce’s aunt slapped at Stella’s hands. “Stop that.”
Bruce righted the table and put the lamp down then took his aunt’s hands. “Aunt Mary, wake up.”
“I’m awake. Can’t you see that? Help me get up. I have to find my book.”
He pressed her shoulders to the bed, keeping her there against her struggles. He looked at Stella, just inches away, her face drawn into worry lines. “What’s wrong with her?”
“I think she’s delirious. I hope she hasn’t developed an infection.” Stella pressed her hand to Aunt Mary’s for
ehead. “She’s a little warm. Maybe if I sponge her …” She eased past Bruce and left the room.
Bruce took her place on the side of the bed, gently holding his aunt as she tried to get up. “Aunt Mary, you have a broken leg. You need to rest.”
“Pshaw. What foolishness. There’s nothing wrong with me. I have to get ready for the ladies’ meeting.” She tried to push his hands away.
Stella returned and knelt at the bedside to sponge his aunt’s face. But Aunt Mary batted at her.
“Leave me alone. Let me up.” She looked toward the ceiling. “There it is.” She reached for something that existed only in her mind. Unable to reach it, she scowled at Bruce. “Why aren’t you helping me? What use are you?”
His insides clenched as if in the grasp of a giant fist. Never in the years of living with Aunt Mary had she ever hinted that he was a nuisance or a bother, and now she said he was of no use to her. The acid words burned a wound in his heart.
Stella must have understood. She touched his shoulder, brought his attention to her. “She didn’t mean it. She’s not in her right mind. Don’t let it bother you.”
Bruce eased his breath out, letting it take his troubled thoughts with him. “I won’t.” It was Stella’s words that made it possible to dismiss what Aunt Mary said. He squeezed her hand. “I don’t know what to do for her.”
Stella remained kneeling at the bedside.
He cupped his hand over her head. Her brown hair hung in a braid down her back.
She lifted her gaze to him. “I don’t either. Although she’s a little warm, I don’t think she is fevered. When I checked her burn at bedtime there was no sign of infection, although…” Her voice drifted off.
“What? What are you thinking?”
“I suppose it’s possible for there to be infection coming from the bone. But in any case, all we can do right now is keep an eye on her.” The worry lines on her face disappeared in a narrow smile. “And try and keep her from disturbing her injured leg.”
Aunt Mary continued to mumble and reach into the air for things that didn’t exist.
“And pray. That’s the one thing Aunt Mary would suggest we do.” His hand still on Stella’s head, he bowed. “Lord God, the great healer, please ease Aunt Mary’s mind so she can rest, and if there is infection anywhere, please see fit to heal it. Thank you. Amen.” Reluctantly, he lifted his hand from Stella’s head. “I’ll stay with her so you can go back to bed.”