Bleeding Heart (The Heart's Spring Book 2)

by Amber Stokes

  With Sally by his side as his wife he returned to Virginia City. Neither of them preferred the place with its terrible memories, but it was home for him. Running the ranch with his brother was what he had been raised to do, and he was done running away. Judging by his wife’s quiet compliance, he guessed she was done running, too.

  When their train arrived in Virginia City, Sally shivered next to him on the seat. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and held her close. Rubbing her arm to comfort her and still her quaking, he was transported back to the day he and Myghal found her in the woods outside of Eureka – utter exhaustion evident in her countenance. She seemed exhausted now, too, but in a different sort of way. He wished there was some way he could revive her.

  “We’re here.”

  She shivered again when he whispered the words into her ear. Dare he hope it was from pleasure?

  He gathered up their few belongings and then tucked her arm into his, escorting her off of the train and into the blinding autumn sunlight. Tugging his hat brim lower to shade his eyes, he glanced around before leading Sally up the steps and onto the street. He skimmed the passersby for a glimpse of his brother, but he was nowhere to be seen.

  “The town is dying.”

  Looking down in surprise at Sally, Joe waited for her to clarify, but she didn’t say anything else, and she didn’t meet his questioning gaze.

  He stared up the hill. People still swarmed the streets, but more like a group of flies buzzing over a dead carcass than the pack of wolves that used to roam the town. The pounding of mining machinery sounded more like gasps for breath than the heavy, incessant heartbeat it used to be. If he hadn’t grown up with the town, he might not have been able to pinpoint the subtle differences, but they were there. Miners had already started to move on years ago, and the town had nothing left to offer but the lives and businesses that had been planted too deeply to be uprooted.

  He finally replied, “I reckon you’re right.” It ate at him to dwell on it, though, so he nudged her shoulder, pointed to the livery, and said, “Come on.”

  If his brother wasn’t going to be kind enough to meet him here, he would have to find some other transportation down into the canyon.

  ***

  Unlike Elizabeth, Sally had never been to the Clifton ranch. It bothered her that she should think of another woman right now, but she couldn’t help but consider the fact that Joe never would have imagined bringing a prostitute home as his wife. He had dreamed of a decent girl who was all sweetness and innocence – something Sally could never be again.

  Reining in the horses they had rented from the livery, they stopped in front of the ranch house, neither one saying a word. For a moment, Sally hoped that Joe would carry her over the threshold, like a real lady.

  But Seth Clifton appeared in the doorway, barring the path to her daydreams. His clothes were rumpled, his eyes bloodshot, and his stance unsteady.

  He’s drunk…or was not that long ago.

  Joe swung off of his horse and ran up to his brother, grasping Seth’s upper arms. “What’s happened? You look awful!”

  Seth stared beyond him and met Sally’s uncertain gaze. “That your wife?” He gestured to where she sat, still atop her horse. The whole situation didn’t feel right, and Sally clutched the saddle horn tighter.

  Joe ignored his brother’s question. “What happened, Seth?”

  He’s ashamed of me.

  “She died.”

  “Who died?” Realization washed over his face a moment later. “Naomi? Naomi died?”

  Seth pushed past Joe, staggered down the porch steps, and approached Sally. Letting go of the saddle horn, she gripped the reins and clamped her jaw shut to still the tremors and the bitter words aching to leave her mouth. Seth’s hair and eyes were darker than Joe’s, but the somber demeanor was the same, and she couldn’t help but wonder…

  Is this how Joe will be as a husband?

  Joe followed after his brother, rubbing his moustache with finger and thumb in agitation. His uncertainty and his mussed-up, sandy hair made him look like a little boy.

  Grabbing the reins from Sally’s hands, most likely to steady himself, Seth scrutinized her. She knew her gaze was hard, untrusting, but she didn’t know how to change her wary habits. They had served her well the past three years.

  “She ain’t Elizabeth,” Seth finally said.

  Joe growled a warning to his brother, although his lack of action suggested he was still in shock.

  “No, I ain’t,” she mimicked.

  “That’s too bad.” Seth backed up then and returned to the house, slamming the front door shut after he entered. Sally stared after him, wondering how much of his disapproval came from grief. A soft touch on her leg startled her and brought her gaze down to Joe.

  “I’m sorry, Sally. I didn’t know… My brother isn’t normally this way. I just cain’t believe…”

  “I know.” She allowed Joe to put his hands on her waist and help her down from the horse, but as soon as her feet touched the ground she stepped away from him. If she were Elizabeth, she might have expected to be carried over the threshold and to receive a warm welcome.

  But she wasn’t Elizabeth.

  ***

  It was settled. Myghal had made a commitment to be there for Sally, but such a commitment had to be broken when she agreed to marry someone other than him.

  Ah, but it isn’t the first time I’ve lost a lass to someone else, is it?

  He gave himself a shake. There was no purpose in reminding himself of such things. He didn’t have the energy to survive in a swamp of regrets.

  “Here again, are ya?”

  Myghal looked up from his spot by the doorway to see Mr. Taylor clearing the dirty dishes from the long wooden table in the cookhouse. He had purposely come to visit when none of the other loggers remained. Since it was a Saturday evening, most of them were gathering in the dance hall.

  “Yes, I am.” He picked up a plate and followed Taylor into the kitchen.

  “Never thought I’d see you and your friends again. How long have you been back?”

  Myghal set the dish down next to the washbasin. “A couple o’ weeks. Thought it was time to catch up with ye.”

  “Is Sally with you, then?”

  “No.” No matter how much he selfishly wished she was here with him, that would never change.

  He shook his head, trying to free the stubborn, sappy thoughts that lingered in his mind. Sally didn’t belong with him. Apparently, no woman did. It was just him and his fiddle and a handful of broken-hearted tunes. He wouldn’t be able to play them if he was happily settled-down, now would he?

  “What happened to her?”

  The interest in Taylor’s voice made Myghal feel suddenly defensive. “Why do ye ask?”

  “I wouldn’t be a friend if I didn’t ask after her welfare.”

  Myghal folded his arms over his chest as he leaned against some cupboards. “A friend, is it?”

  Taylor looked up from where he had started rinsing dishes. Studying Myghal for a moment, he finally added, “I was worried ‘bout her, is all. An old acquaintance of mine was askin’ after the three of ya…”

  Myghal stood up straighter. “Who?”

  “A man by the name of Rufus O’Daniel. He telegraphed me a while back wantin’ to know where you three were. I told him you had left and I had no idea where you had gone.”

  Myghal’s heart began to pound painfully. Everyone in Virginia City knew of Rufus O’Daniel, and from what little he had heard, havin’ the likes of him stalking after a gal was never a good sign. “And how do ye be knowin’ Mr. O’Daniel?”

  Taylor sighed but didn’t turn around. “We both fought with the Confederates during the War Between the States. The point is that I know Rufus, and he’s never been a gentleman when it comes to the ladies. I didn’t like the thought of him havin’ anything to do with Sally.”

  “Did ya hear from him again?”

  “No. Nor do I want to. If
you didn’t come across him by now, I doubt you have anythin’ to worry about.”

  “Hardly,” Myghal mumbled as he made his way out of the kitchen.

  “Where are ya goin’ now?” Taylor called after him.

  “To Nevada.”

  He strode to one of the tables and laid his palms on the surface, hanging his head. The tremors started in his arms and then began to rattle his insides, until he couldn’t separate his heart and his mind, but that was nothing new for him.

  Taylor gathered a few more dishes from the table. “You know that if you leave this job again, you’ll likely never get it back.”

  “I know.”

  Myghal turned his head enough to see Taylor nod – perhaps in acquiescence, or approval, or farewell. When the kitchen door swung shut behind the man, Myghal pounded his fists against the table. If he were looking out for only his own interests, he wouldn’t leave this place. In fact, the farther he was from Sally, the better. But Joe and Sally were his friends, no matter what the two of them now meant to each other.

  Glancing down at his tightly clenched fists, he whispered, “God, I don’t know what Ye’re doin’, but, well, Ye’ve got a better view than I do, so I guess I’ll let Ya lead the way. Just, please…”

  He couldn’t finish the thought. Thankfully, God could figure out his unspoken plea.

  As he left the cookhouse, the damp chill took him back to Cornwall. How many times can a man’s heart break before it becomes beyond healin’?

  Chapter 14

  The blue sky arced over the canyon, vivid and bright with unshed tears. Between the dry and rocky walls, sagebrush, horses, the ranch buildings, and some tents dotted the landscape – not close enough together to ease the lonely atmosphere. Looking down at the small, sad grave, Sally wondered if this would be where she ended up, as well.

  She was just as much an outcast from the so-called “polite” society of Virginia City as Seth’s wife had been – if not more so. As a Jewish woman, Naomi had to be buried here in the canyon, in a Jewish cemetery that sat forlornly on a piece of the Clifton property. As a former prostitute, Sally had perhaps even less of a right to be buried in the grandiose cemetery in town that belonged only to the good Catholics and those accepted by them.

  A shiver racked her body as a sharp wind swept through the canyon. Sally pulled her shawl more tightly about her shoulders, longing to leave the wretched scene but held in place by the rhythmic beating of desert sand and dirt being flung onto a pathetic casket. Joe and Seth took turns filling up the hole in the ground, neither man saying a word. What could any of them say? Seth’s wife had died of consumption mere days before his brother brought his new bride to the ranch.

  Sally shifted her gaze away from the flying dirt that seemed to take the place of any falling tears, choosing to look instead upon the small headstone Seth had commissioned.

  Naomi Clifton

  Beloved Wife

  1852-1886

  Nothing else. No fancy poem. No words from Scripture. No intricate scrolling or other embellishments. And the size was a pebble in comparison to the ridiculous boulders up above in the main cemetery in Virginia City.

  Crouching down beside it, Sally traced the words and numbers with her finger. The stone was so cold.

  Closing her eyes, she pictured her own name on a headstone.

  Sally Clay Clifton

  Would it say “beloved wife”? Would Joe cry when the dirt rained down on her casket? Would anyone care that she was gone?

  Sally didn’t know if the tear that fell from her eye onto the headstone was for Naomi’s death, Seth’s loss, or her own uncertainty.

  A shadow covered her, and she turned around to find Joe standing behind her, his shirt soaked with sweat and his face damp – with more sweat or with tears, she couldn’t tell. Her heart constricted, and she slowly got to her feet.

  A movement caught her eye, and she noted that Seth was walking back to the house. Seth was sullen in his grief, but when faced with the choice between his company and Joe’s, her feet inched away from the man who claimed her as a wife but neglected to treat her as such.

  She hadn’t known how to act around him since their wedding day. Everything was different. She was beholden to him, dependent on him, but she couldn’t figure out how he wanted her to repay him. Her teeth clenched and her fingers twitched as she continued to back away, hating that he wouldn’t tell her what he expected of her, hating that they couldn’t communicate. Despising the fact that they were committed to each other when they were so obviously ill-suited. What had they been thinking?

  “Sally.” She heard him say her name as she turned her back to him and ran the rest of the way to the house. He didn’t follow her, and she moaned as she closed the front door because she wished he had.

  Seth sat at the kitchen table, his head buried in his arms, not glancing up once at the sound of her approach despite the slamming of the door and the creaking of the floorboards. He looked as desperately lonely as she felt. She watched his back rise and fall for a minute, then roused herself and went to set a kettle on the stove.

  After fixing some coffee, she poured and turned around to find Seth standing behind her. She gasped and put a hand to her heart, sloshing some of the hot liquid over the side of the tin cup.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” He reached for a cloth behind her and traded it for her cup. “I just wanted to see what you were doing.”

  It was the most he had said to her since she arrived, and the words were much gentler than his welcome had been. Wiping her hands, she gestured to the cup he held. “I was just making some coffee for you. You looked like you could use some.”

  He nodded, his gaze bouncing around the kitchen and landing everywhere but on her. “Do you cook?” he finally asked.

  She wadded up the cloth. “Yes.”

  He nodded again. “I…” His gaze finally landed on her, serious and almost…hopeful. “I can help if you need anything.”

  The cloth fell from her hands. That was the last thing she had expected him to say.

  He set his cup on the table and bent down to pick up the cloth while she stood gaping at him. When he straightened, she took the cloth from him and stole a glimpse of Joe outside the window. She could just make out his stoic form across the canyon, still standing by the grave. Blinking from the brightness of the sunlight, she tore her gaze away in time to see Seth departing down the hall toward his room.

  “Wait!”

  He paused before opening his bedroom door.

  “I wanted to make some fresh bread to go with our supper.” She didn’t know how to voice her request. After a moment of silence, she was ready to wave him back to his room, feeling ridiculous. She didn’t need a man’s help in the kitchen.

  But he came back and said, “I’ll show you where we keep everything.”

  She followed him around as he poked through cupboards, her breathing evening out and her shoulders relaxing.

  ***

  Joe had no words for his brother. What sort of cruel irony was this – that he was newly married and his brother was in mourning? The night air whipped around him as he kept lonely vigil by the fresh grave. This was Seth’s place, he knew, but Seth came no farther than the porch after the headstone had been placed. He just sat there in his rickety old chair with the orange glow of the end of his cigar as the only light.

  Lifting clumps of sandy dirt before his face, Joe was tempted to rub them into his skin. He could never do anything right, it would seem. So why shouldn’t he mourn properly, pouring “ashes” on his head? Naomi was a good, kind woman – much quieter than Sally, although Sally’s cooking was more to his liking…

  What sort of thought is that?

  He brushed it away, along with the dirt clinging to his fingers. Some of the granules blew back onto his clothing, as if they knew he didn’t deserve to be clean – or blessed. Elizabeth had been smart not to accept him and all his self-centered ways.

  Now Sally was st
uck with him, and he with her. They weren’t a good fit. How could they be? A sassy, needy spoiled dove and a selfish, good-for-nothing raven that brought only death and bad tidings?

  Turning away from the grave, he stalked through the chill, past the tiny orange glare of his brother’s cigar, and into the house.

  Sally sat on a chair by the window, the smell of fresh-baked bread surrounding her and making his stomach grumble, but not quite enticing enough to reach beyond the sick feeling he’d had ever since he’d heard of Naomi’s death. He hadn’t been able to think of eating anything all day.

  Seeing Sally’s position, Joe thought perhaps she had been watching him, although it seemed unlikely she could have seen anything in the darkness.

  “Why don’t ya have a lamp lit?”

  “I don’t know,” she whispered, not glancing in his direction.

  He sensed that this was a moment when he could do the right thing. He could light a lamp for her, offer her a comforting embrace, and tell her that life would settle down. It would all be fine soon.

  But he couldn’t seem to find the energy to be kind to her. Instead, he went into his bedroom and closed the door behind him.

  ***

  One morning a couple of weeks after their arrival, Sally set extra bacon in a pan, relishing in the sizzling sound the pieces made as they cooked. Seth made the coffee and set out their cups just as Joe entered the room. He never said anything about Seth helping her out now and again, and she wished he would. In fact, she wished he would help her himself. If they could do something together – anything – maybe they could ease through the tension that settled over the house like fog.

  She put two extra pieces of the crisp bacon on Joe’s plate when it was ready, adding eggs and a buttered slice of bread. Joe nodded but didn’t say a word the whole meal.

  Neither Joe nor Seth thanked her before they went out to check on the horses. As she washed the dishes she compared their responses to those of other men she had been around in recent years. They had wanted her, always noticed her. There were ridiculous, flattering words and big, goofy smiles. Not genuine, really, but for a moment she longed for them. What good was it to be married to a man if he treated her like his burden to bear? Was this any better than if Jack had accepted her because she begged him to?