by Yvonne Jocks
Mariah ducked her head to think that Dawson could see her unladylike feelings about Stuart. "I wish it were spring," she whispered, slipping her arm through her beau's yet again.
“And I,” Stuart sighed.
But in the meantime, at least he was living on his own, without his family's daily disapproval. At least he need not worry about upsetting his family with their engagement, or being snubbed by former friends he'd thought more highly of. And thank goodness for that.
At least one of them was all right.
“Do you ken of something cal ed wolf fencing?” asked Stuart's father from the seat of his spring wagon, as he drove the family to church the next Sunday.
Stuart, flanking the wagon astride Pooka, felt everything in him go still. “Fencing?”
He'd thought courting a rancher's daughter put his life in jeopardy, but fencing?
Ma, seated beside Da with little Rose on her lap and six-year-old Ian bundled between them, said,
“No business on the Sabbath, Mr. MacCallum.”
Da said, “We've not reached the church yet, Maggie.”
When Ma scowled, she looked even less like a “Maggie” than usual. “Church doesna make the Sabbath, Mr. MacCallum.”
And Da said, “Well there you have me.” But the way he slanted his hat-shadowed gaze toward Stuart, his droopy moustache twitching, promised a return to the topic at her next distraction. And they had plenty of offspring to do the distracting. Besides Ian and Rose, up front, six more—Emily, Bonny, Jenny, Kevin, Anna, and Caroline—huddled under blankets in back. Spring wagons did not give a particularly pleasant ride anyway. With the snow gone, frozen patches of mud added to its jolts, and thawed mud splashed up to spoil Sunday clothes.
Like Da's Basque herders, Dougie had stayed behind to stand guard. Earlier in the week they'd come across some longhorn cattle grazing on their side of the deadline. Of course they'd chased the beasties back to their own range, but their very appearance concerned Stuart.
The weather had not gone cold enough for cattle to range this far from the foothills of the Bighorn range— not on their own. But someone could have driven them across the deadline to start trouble. And he'd not missed that at least two of the rangy cows bore the Circle-T brand.
Bonny let out a screech, and Kevin laughed at her, and Da turned back to Stuart.
“They've been trying wolf fencing down Texas way,” he said. “It's wire, but the way this fellow told it, it's woven, meshlike, so that the stock canna get out—and fewer predators get in.”
“And cattle?” challenged Stuart. As little sympathy as he had for cattlemen, he knew why they so hated fencing. Unlike sheep, cows roamed the range wild. Faced with a big blowup, they outwalked the worst of it... unless they tangled into a fence and froze to death.
“Are you so worried about cows now, Stuart MacCallum ?” asked his mother, finished with the malcontents in the wagon bed. "This lass you're chasing has you putting the interest of those hulking great beasts over that of good, honest sheep now?"
Da said, “Don't forget it's the Sabbath, Maggie.”
"And I'm not speaking of business, Mr. MacCallum, I'm questioning your son's loyalty, and high time someone did!"
“I'm a good sheep man, Ma, and you know it.”
"Then marry a lass from a herding family. The Wallaces over the Montana line have a daughter just turned sixteen. Why not court her?"
One reason was that he'd only met the girl once or twice. Another was that he had loved Mariah since he'd been old enough to love any woman at all . “I mean to marry Mariah Garrison.”
"Or a granger. At least a fanner's daughter would know hard work. Sheep farming would be a step up from plow-chasing."
Stuart suspected even a nester's daughter would question the social advancement of wedding a sheep farmer. And in any case, “I'll marry Mariah Garrison, Ma.”
"If she doesna get you killed outright, you'll starve or freeze to death, her being accustomed to servants and gas heat and the like."
"If you mean to see your grandchildren, Ma, you'll speak of my bride with a civil tongue or not at all ."
For a long moment, the only sounds were chains, creaking wood, and the squelch of mud under hooves and wheels. Da said nothing. Once Stuart filed for his own claim and moved out, that gave him the right to say his own piece... as long as he was not rude about it, of course.
Ma backed down first. "The good Lord knows you'll need somebody who can keep bairns alive out here."
Stuart said, “I'm sure Mariah will appreciate your wisdom, Ma.” As far as fibs went, it did not feel so bad as some he'd told. At least it gave his mother a graceful way out.
Da said, “I didna mean to fence off the range, lad. But I'm of a mind to start penning the beasties at night. It could mean better sleep for all of us, including the dogs.”
Ma said, “No business on the Sabbath, Mr. MacCallum.”
Da said, “Yes, Maggie, my love.”
And Stuart decided not to force a proper introduction today after all . As ever, after church, his folks loaded the children into the spring wagon while he found Mariah. As he did, she spotted someone else she knew leaving the services.
She stood on her toes and waved. “Gerta! Hello!”
But the round-cheeked woman and her friend did not even look in their direction.
Mariah's arm sank slowly—and Stuart cleared his throat. “Lass?”
When she turned to him, it was with an expression of determined cheer. "She must not have seen me,“ she supposed, slipping her arm through his. ”I haven't talked with her since the party... but she normal y doesn't come into town. She must have been distracted."
Stuart looked after the departing woman, her head bent to her companion's in clear discussion, and he hated that woman enough to say, “She saw you.”
“No, not her” insisted Mariah—had others done the same thing? “That's Gerta Schmidt, and her husband is very close to my family. She wouldn't snub me.”
Stuart stared down at her, unblinking. “Schmidt?”
He remembered the first blow all over again. And the second. And the third ...
Though the bruises had near to vanished, even off his ribs, he remembered the whole afternoon of his beating all too clearly.
Mariah nodded. Schmidt.
“Your cousin,” remembered Stuart, gut clenching.
“Not exactly. Hank is Thad's—my brother's—cousin, actual y. Through Papa's first wife, who died.”
She cocked her head. “I'm surprised you knew our families were related.”
Stuart saw his mistake then—briefly, as they started walking, he considered a lie. But Mariah gazed up at him with her fine gray eyes, holding his arm as if she trusted him for countless things he may never achieve. If he were to lie to anybody, it would not be to Mariah.
“We had words,” he admitted, and hoped that would be enough. “But it's done with.”
“Oh.” Considering, Mariah asked, “Over sheep? Sheep and cattle, I mean?”
“It's done with,” repeated Stuart, but apparently she saw that as the denial it truly was.
Her eyes widened, and her lips, forming an “o.” “Over me?”
“Mariah,” insisted Stuart, wishing he'd said nothing. “It's done with.”
“You didn't even mention it!”
“‘Twas between him and me, not you. I'll not be telling you everything that passes between me and other menfolk. Not even once we marry."
Mariah made a sound that reminded Stuart of a snort. "Well I don't see what business Hank should have with you anyway. He usual y only does what my father tel s him to."
Stuart said nothing at all , that time.
They walked on in a rather thick silence; he noted that, somehow, the mud had not yet spattered her coat. That somehow fit her. She lived in so charmed a world, after all .
He said, “Look. Those boys are playing catch instead of fol owing us.” Not as many people watched them from windows, either. Maria
h should see something cheerful in that.
Instead she stopped. Rather than pull her along, Stuart stopped too. “Is aught—?”
From the furrow between her brows, something certainly seemed wrong.
“Was Hank doing what Papa told him to do, Stuart?” she demanded. “Was he giving you a message from my father?”
When Stuart admitted nothing, she asked, "But what could Papa possibly have Hank tel you that he could not tel you himself?"
“Will you please leave it be?”
"It concerns me too, doesn't it? Doesn't it concern me too, Stuart?
It was clearly too late for her to leave it be.
But he would rot in hell before he was the one to tel her.
Chapter Ten
Over the last two weeks, Papa had taken to waiting for Marian on the verandah instead of at the street. He still wore his gun, but Mariah had hoped it meant he trusted her at least a little more now, to stand back as she bid Stuart good-bye for another week.
They still knew better than to dare a kiss or embrace.
Now she wondered if instead, his bias against sheep-herders ran so deep, he did not want to even hear or smell one. But no, of course Papa had good reason for staying on the verandah. And he surely had good reason to send some kind of message, via Hank Schmidt, to Stuart. Papa always had good reasons for what he did, even if he was sometimes mistaken in them.
Stuart's refusal to tel her more still worried her, deep inside where worries hid. She loved his nearness, how he held and released her hands as he promised to see her the fol owing week, then stepped reluctantly back. She loved his height, his breadth, how safe he made her feel. She wished they need not wait another entire week.
But when she turned away from him, Mariah all but ran up the walk to where her father stood scowling at both the street and at Stuart.
“Don't know what you're plannin' for January,” he drawled, opening the door for her. If he would let her invite Stuart inside, they would not have to worry about the weather in January. But Mariah had other concerns at the moment, concerns that would not wait for her to get inside.
“Papa, why did you send Hank Schmidt to see Stuart?”
Was it her imagination, or did Papa stiffen at that? “What's your sheeper say about it?”
Mariah fol owed his gaze to where Stuart was already striding away, back toward the church where he'd left his horse. Dawson was riding around back, to stable his mare and come by the kitchen for always-hot coffee. “He won't tel me,” she admitted, still hurt about that.
“Then why should I?” Papa put a firm hand on her shoulder and guided her inside, fol owing her.
No reason to chill the others, just because she wanted to talk.
But she very much did want to talk. “I thought you had nothing in common with Stuart,” she challenged, surprised by her own boldness, as he closed the door.
Perhaps she'd surprised Papa, too. "Well Mariah Lynn, you just think on it a minute. What general y happens when a fellow takes liberties with a man's daughter?"
For a long moment—long enough that Papa left her for his den, conversation over—Mariah did not understand. Rather ... part of her mind understood, of course, but another part of her did not want to face it. If someone took liberties with a young woman who had no male relatives—like Evangeline Taylor—she had nobody to seek out that young man and ...
And make it right.
No. What Mariah was starting to think had nothing to do with Stuart. Stuart was strong and proud ... almost invincible! Besides, a young man made things right by marrying the girl he had compromised, and nobody had known about Mariah and Stuart until after Stuart proposed.
And yet...
Nobody seemed to want her marrying Stuart. Worse, Mariah remembered how stiffly he'd held himself, the first Sunday he walked her home. As if his tummy hurt.
Her fears were ridiculous, of course! And yet...
She trailed her father into his den like she had so often during her childhood, so that he could tel her the blizzard would end, the wolves couldn't get in, the Indians were peaceful. "Papa! Hank didn't... He wouldn't have hurt Stuart. Would he?"
Now he could tel her not to be silly, and she could breathe again. She just wanted to breathe again.
But Papa stood still , his back to her, and sighed—and said nothing.
He was supposed to say something, to make it right!
“If Hank did, you would fire him. Wouldn't you? Even if he is your nephew?”
“Not likely,” said Papa. But he still did not confirm that anything had really been done.
Perhaps he didn't know for sure. Why would he? A fair man like her father ...
“But that wouldn't be fair! Stuart did nothing that I didn't do,” she reminded him, her voice oddly thin in her building panic. As bad as the thought of Stuart being hurt over her was, something even worse lurked at the edge of her realization, waiting to strike. "Wouldn't you fire Hank if he hurt me? No matter what I did?"
“That's just foolish,” scoffed Papa to the opposite wall .
“Why? What's sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander, Mother always says.”
“Leave it be,” Papa warned. But then he added, under his breath, “Hear tel the boy took it fine, anyhow.”
Took it? Stuart took it? “Took what?”
And why would Papa know so much about it?
Behind Mariah, her mother's voice cool y asked, “Yes, Jacob. What did he take?”
When Papa turned to face them, he looked angry and defensive both. "Less than he had coming to him."
Mariah once saw a cowboy struck by a rattlesnake— lightning fast, deadly poison. When she finally understood Papa's defense of Hank, it felt like she'd just been bit. She felt the cold shock of disbelief more than anything else—but with a slow realization that she was about to start hurting ... and that part of her might even die.
Her father had real y told Hank to hurt Stuart?
Mama said, “Oh Jacob ...”
But Mariah didn't hear anymore, because she had to escape her father's den, his house. Barely thinking, she grabbed her coat from its hook and pushed out the front door and ran. She did not know what to do, even what to think, except for one overwhelming truth.
She had to find Stuart in order to do it or think it.
Mud sucked at Mariah's boots, tried to pull her down, but she fought it to run in the direction Stuart had taken, back toward the church. Surely she could catch up to him before he reached his horse. She could catch up to him and ... and ...
And oh, she could apologize!
She needed to apologize for her father, and for her step-cousin, and for causing Stuart such trouble in the first place. She needed to apologize for not believing him when he'd warned her of her father's bigotry. She needed to apologize for...
For being her. Somehow she needed to apologize for being herself—and a cattleman's daughter—most of all , because that was what hurt him. And to do that, she needed to find him!
When she caught sight of him several blocks up, walking steadily away with his hat tugged low against the cold, she could have sobbed with relief.
“Stuart!” she tried to yell—but her breath was tearing through her throat so, his name came out a mere croak. She stumbled to a stop and clutched the corner post of the Sanford family's white fence to steady herself, gasping for air, and tried again. “Stuart!”
He stopped, turned—and immediately started back to her. Stuart's here, she told herself, over and over, to quiet the drumming in her head. Everything will be fine. Stuart's here.
A door opened and Mrs. Sanford stepped onto her porch, wiping her hands on her apron. "Mariah Garrison. What in the world—!"
Unable to wait, or to listen to any more talk of propriety, Mariah ignored her to run again.
Stuart ran the last few feet to her, too, and when he caught her to him, wrapped her protectively in his arms, he sounded ironical y like Mrs. Sanford. “What in the world ... ?”
But now that she'd reached him, she wasn't sure she could force the words out. Al she wanted to do was hold him—and cry.
“Mariah? What's wrong?” Stuart's usual y low voice rose slightly with concern. “You must be freezing, lass! For mercy's sake, at least put on your coat!”
Only then, as he guided first one arm and then the other into her coat sleeves, did she realize that she had grabbed it but not put it on.
With the practiced ease of a man with younger siblings, Stuart buttoned her coat, then checked her pockets for mittens and put them on her, too. He kept asking questions. "What is it? Does your family know you're out?"
“I'm sorry,” she managed finally, her teeth chattering. "Stuart, I'm so sorry. I didn't believe you, but Papa said ... Did they hurt you, Stuart? And was it real y him? Why didn't you tel me? I'm so sorry...."
When she looked up at him, he was scowling down at her. His scowl looked blurry, and she realized she was crying after all .
Well , why shouldn't she cry?
How could her father do such a thing?
“You truly do not listen,” Stuart finally chided her, gruff. Still scowling, he wiped his thumbs over her cheeks. "I didna speak of it because it was between your menfolk and me, and because it's done with. I told you that. More than once."
“But it's not over!”
Only when he shrugged out of his own great coat and draped it, cloaklike, over her shoulders, did she realize she was still shivering. But it wasn't from cold—not the temperature, anyway. The cold that seeped deeper and deeper into her, like spreading poison, was the horror that too much of her storybook life may have been a lie. The one man she'd trusted beyond al others, perhaps even beyond Stuart...
“It's not over,” she insisted. “I didn't know he could do something like that. It's not fair.”
“I did take liberties, Mariah,” Stuart reminded her, as if that made it all right. He'd promised to marry her, too!
She sniffed. “I thought you were wrong about people. But you were right.” Stuart put his arms around the bundle of coats she'd become, held her tightly against him so that her nose smooshed into the warmth and weave of his chambray-shirted shoulder, and he said, “I'm sorry, lass.”