Julianne MacLean

by Prairie Bride

  Exhausted and confused, he collapsed on top of Sarah. She squeezed him tightly, nibbling on his earlobe. “Was that enjoyable for you?” she asked innocently.

  “Yes, my dear wife.”

  He told himself to enjoy her, to let himself fall in love with her. She was his wife, after all. He smiled and buried his face into her thick, black hair. “But satisfied only for a short time, I think. Then I might need your assistance again.”

  “It would be my pleasure, Mr. Brigman,” she answered, and he held her closer than he’d ever held anyone.

  Chapter Sixteen

  A week later, pale-gray clouds settled over the prairie, their cottony textures seeming near enough to touch. The air was heavy and uncommonly still, the distant horizon shrouded in mist.

  Sarah walked back from the barn carrying a bucket of fresh milk and feeling the prickly rope handle dig into her palm. Breathing fast, she struggled not to spill any of her valuable cargo. She would set the bucket out overnight to let the cream rise to the top, then wear herself out making yet another batch of butter to trade for wool blankets.

  “Come, Shadow!” she called over her shoulder when she reached the door to the dugout. “Looks like rain.”

  The dog trotted out of the chicken coop, creating a flurry of feathery commotion and clucking, and his cheerful wagging tail swept Sarah’s skirt as he went by.

  Inside and down the steps, the house seemed darker than usual for this time of day, the clouds stealing what precious light could normally sneak into the tiny dwelling. Sarah set down her bucket and rubbed her reddened palm. She looked around the empty house and decided to light the lantern to avoid straining her eyes. Shadow yawned and stretched out next to the unlit stove.

  As she struck the match and touched the flame to the lantern wick, she reminded herself to purchase matches before winter came. And more lamp oil.

  Oh, how would her meager butter collection pay for everything if something happened to the fall wheat? There was no chance she’d be able to churn enough to save her from selling her mother’s pearls.

  She glanced curiously at the bed made of narrow tree stumps, wondering if the box beneath it contained any money besides what Briggs had given to Howard. Strange, that her husband had not mentioned the box before, but she supposed he had never mentioned much of anything at all.

  Until very recently, that is.

  Thanks to a swarm of locusts.

  She sat on the chair, still staring at the bed, trying to decide if she could move it herself. But would that be snooping? Would that be a breach of trust? Not that there was a heavy load of trust to breach in the first place, but there was something growing, no matter how small or fragile.

  Shadow whimpered and Sarah jumped. She turned to see him staring at her, his dark eyes wide, his head tilting.

  “What are you looking at?” she asked, feeling ridiculously guilty over something she hadn’t even done.

  Thunder rumbled outside and Sarah rose from her chair, absentmindedly smoothing the creases on her skirt. Thinking not a moment longer about trust and guilt, she moved toward the bed and closed her palms around the rough tree bark that covered her bedframe. Her back strained when she lifted it, inching it out from the sod wall. She felt Shadow’s judgmental glare and reminded herself that he was just a dog.

  When she pulled the bed out far enough, she saw the tin box sitting unobtrusively in the square hole. Odd, that she had not known of its existence before a week ago, having slept above it all this time.

  Her stomach did a quick flip and she found herself glancing nervously at the door. If it had begun to rain, Briggs may have decided to return early from plowing the field.

  Not that it would matter, she told herself. She wasn’t doing anything wrong. She only wanted to know how much money they had so she could plan their trip to town and prepare a list of supplies.

  Forcing herself to ignore the nervous tightening in her belly, she crouched down on her knees between the bed and the wall, lifted the cold tin box, and set it on the mattress. She stared briefly at the tarnished tin, back at the door, then back at the box again. Slowly, tentatively, she raised the lid.

  The small, rusty hinges squeaked, and Shadow trotted over to sniff what was inside. Sarah looked down at a few buttons sitting on top of some papers. Reaching in and unfolding them, she discovered the deed to the property and a few old grocery bills marked Paid.

  Feeling a little foolish for having been so curious about nothing, she moved to replace the papers. It was then she noticed a small blue velvet bag with a drawstring tucked into the corner of the box.

  Shadow dropped his furry chin to rest on her outstretched arm, watching closely as she withdrew the bag and inserted two fingers to open it and feel inside. She touched something cold and hard, and pulled it out.

  Eyes wide in disbelief, she stared at the sparkling discovery—a jewel necklace—undoubtedly worth far more than her mother’s pearls. A large oval diamond surrounded by smaller sapphires was set into a teardrop-shaped setting of gold, suspended on a shiny gold chain.

  Sarah held the exquisite object between her fingers, feeling her pulse soar at the sheer beauty of it as it reflected the golden flame from the lantern.

  Shadow whimpered again and she patted the soft fur on his head. “What’s the matter, boy?” she asked, knowing he sensed her uneasiness and wanting to convince him everything was all right.

  But in all honesty, it wasn’t. What was this necklace doing here and why hadn’t Briggs mentioned it? They were literally sleeping on a fortune—a fortune that could see them through the winter and probably the following winter, too.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, wanting to believe there was a good reason he hadn’t mentioned it or offered to sell it instead of her pearls. Perhaps it was made of paste and worth nothing. No. Most likely it was a treasured family heirloom.

  She opened her eyes and looked down at it, deciding immediately that it had to be genuine. Only true gemstones could sparkle so beautifully, so brilliantly.

  Then something clicked in her mind.

  With a growing sense of dread, she turned the necklace over in her hand. The inscription made her body go numb: To Isabelle. Love forever, Briggs.

  Briggs had told Martha and Howard that he’d sold the necklace, but really, he had kept it. Why? To hold on to the memory of his first love?

  Sarah shuddered. He had loved this other woman. She would have been his first choice—if he’d had one.

  Sarah sat back on her heels. Shadow lay down beside her, resting his chin on his paws and staring up at her. She ran her fingertip over the diamond. How had Briggs given this to Isabelle? Had he knelt down on one knee and proposed at that moment, or had he held her in his arms and kissed her and felt like he would never love anyone else that way again?

  She stared blankly across the room and thought of the day her mother gave her the pearls. It was Sarah’s thirteenth birthday. She had felt like a woman that day. For the first time.

  She gazed once more at the inscription. Love forever… Did Briggs think his memories were worth more than hers?

  The pettiness in her wanted to throw the necklace straight at him as soon as he stepped through the door. But no, that would not do, she decided. She was not a hysterical person and neither was he. He had not thrown anything at her on their wedding night when he’d made a similar discovery about her past experiences. He’d just walked out. Maybe there was a simple explanation for this and for why he hadn’t told her about it when she’d offered her pearls. She could not very well be judgmental, given her own circumstances.

  Carefully, she dropped the necklace into the tiny velvet bag, pulled the drawstring closed, and returned everything to its proper hiding place. As she pushed the bed back against the wall, she knew she must let this unreasonable jealousy settle a bit, and like a sensible adult, she would simply ask Briggs about it when he returned.

  Sarah leaned over the butter churn and forcefully—too forcefully perhaps—pump
ed the smooth wooden handle in and out. Her back was going to pay for this tomorrow, she thought, feeling her muscles strain. But she couldn’t help it. She needed to work off some tension somehow.

  Her arms soon felt like they were going to fall off. Straightening to rest a second or two, she glanced down at Shadow, stretched out on the floor at her feet. She remembered the hectic days in her old life back in the restaurant in Boston, when another server would quit or walk out—most of them had after a short while—leaving Sarah to tend all the tables by herself.

  At least here, Garrison couldn’t wander in any time he pleased, sit at her kitchen table, and expect her to wait on him.

  She tightened her clammy grip on the churn handle and pumped it again. If she could handle Garrison and get herself out of that mess, she could confront a husband about a simple necklace.

  Shadow raised his head and perked his ears, drawing Sarah’s attention away from that prospect. Hearing a wagon, she glanced out the dust-covered window and saw Howard, Martha and their children. Though she was happy to see them, a part of her wished they had chosen another day.

  Shadow barked and darted out the door. Sarah pushed fallen tendrils of hair away from her forehead and wiped the perspiration from her nose and cheeks. She would try to forget her problems for now.

  She gathered her skirt and walked up the steps and outside into the sunny afternoon. “Martha. Howard. How wonderful to see you.”

  Howard helped his wife down from the wagon, and as soon as her feet touched ground, she strode to Sarah and clasped her hands. “I’ve been after Howard to let me come calling. It’s dreadful what happened to our farms, but we will survive. You’ll see.”

  Sarah nodded politely, hoping it was true.

  “Shadow!” Mollie shouted.

  Tail wagging, the dog paced back and forth in front of the wagon. Howard lifted Mollie out while Frank hopped down on his own. Sarah smiled as she watched them stroke Shadow’s golden fur and nearly crush him with hugs.

  “Please, come in. I’ll put on a pot of coffee,” she said, hoping her first time as hostess would go well. “I hope you’ll all stay for supper.”

  Martha smiled and followed, but Howard stayed behind. “That sounds mighty neighborly,” he said. “If you ladies will excuse me, though, I think I’ll head out to the field to see how Briggy’s doing.” He climbed back into the wagon and drove away. The children took off with Shadow, laughing and chasing him around the yard in circles.

  “They’ll tire out soon enough,” Martha mentioned, her arm looped through Sarah’s. “But until then, let’s enjoy the silence indoors.”

  They went into the dark little house. “Oh, my,” Martha commented. “You’ve made quite a difference here. I knew you would, but I see you’ve given up on your window.”

  Sarah looked sheepishly toward the dirty panes. With all her work, she’d forgotten to wipe them these last few days. “With the wind, it gets dirty so fast, and I just haven’t had time to—”

  Martha held up a hand to hush her. “Please, don’t apologize. I know what it’s like.” She picked up a wet cloth from the table, went outside and scrubbed off the dust. Welcome sunlight beamed into the house. “What you need is a little helper or two,” she said, returning. “Things will get easier when you have children old enough to take over some of your chores.”

  Still thinking about Isabelle’s necklace beneath the bed, Sarah replied, “I’m sure you’re right. Why don’t we sit down?”

  Martha sat and dug into her bag. “I have something for you. Howard returned from town this morning and it’s our habit to pick up the mail for the entire vicinity.” She pulled out a letter and handed it over.

  A warning voice whispered in Sarah’s head as she reached for it. Who would write to her? No one knew she was here. There must be some mistake. But when she accepted the tattered envelope, she saw it was addressed to Sarah MacFarland. Her maiden name.

  Cold fingers of fear slowly crept up her neck. She’d sneaked away from her old life without even informing her employer. This letter could be from only one person.

  She ran her finger over the tidy, familiar penmanship. All it said was, “Sarah MacFarland, Dodge City, Kansas.” How could she open this in front of Martha? What would she tell her?

  Sarah walked toward the window, keeping her back to her neighbor, fighting the panic that came at her. She hesitated, then gently tore open the seal and began to read.

  My dearest Sarah,

  I don’t know if you’ll ever receive this. All I do know is that your ticket took you as far as Dodge City. The train master was kind enough to help me.

  My heart forces me to write to you, regardless of where you may have traveled since Dodge. Why, my dear? Why did you go? And why so far away? What are you hoping to find in such untried country? Who there could give you the things you deserve? Fine things, for a fine woman. That’s what you were meant for.

  Please, love, come home. Couldn’t we put that misunderstanding behind us? I know you love me. You said so in your vows. And surely I don’t need to remind you what will happen if you’ve betrayed me. Come home, Sarah. Come home to me before I am forced to fetch you.

  Your truest love,

  Garrison

  Numb with shock, Sarah folded the letter. She stared unblinking out the window at the frolicking children, hearing their muffled laughter as if it came from a distant world.

  A hand on her shoulder startled her.

  “Sarah, my dear. Is it bad news?”

  She was breaking out in a sweat. Her head was throbbing as she tried to find an answer to Martha’s question. “No, no everything’s fine. I—I was churning butter before you arrived and I must have worked a little too hard.”

  Martha led her to a chair. “Perhaps you should sit.”

  Sarah knew her friend was right. If she didn’t get off her feet, she might swoon, but when she sat down, the tension in her neck and shoulders failed to leave her. The pulsing of rushing blood continued to pound inside her head.

  “Is that better?” Martha asked.

  Sarah could barely respond. She didn’t know what to do. Her hand trembled as she stuffed the letter back into the envelope. She wanted to burn it now, but she couldn’t. Not in front of Martha.

  “Tell me, Sarah, what is it?”

  “It’s nothing. Just a note from my old employer. It seems he wants me back.” She laughed nervously and slid the letter under the cup of flowers on the table.

  “The patrons must have liked you.”

  Feeling flustered, Sarah stood up again, but realized immediately that Martha noticed her sudden restlessness. Searching for something to do, Sarah stoked the stove.

  “Do you need some help?” Martha asked.

  “No, I’m fine.” She wiped her hands together. “Would you like some coffee?”

  “That would be lovely.”

  While Sarah moved around the kitchen, she couldn’t help sensing that Martha knew something was wrong. After sitting in silence for a moment or two, Martha began to talk about the locusts. Sarah nodded and tried to respond accordingly, hoping she hadn’t driven a sharp wedge into this blossoming friendship.

  Sarah finally served the coffee and sat down again, finding it difficult to ignore the letter that was screaming at her from under the cup.

  She couldn’t let Briggs find out. She couldn’t drag him into this. He would try to do something about it, with no idea who he was up against. Garrison would kill him. She had to figure out a way to solve this problem on her own. In the meantime, she would have to burn that letter.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Holding the soft leather reins in his hands and resting his elbows on his knees, Briggs steered his creaky wagon into the yard. Behind him, he could hear Howard’s team rolling in, the horses nickering and jingling their harness as they came to a stop. With Howard’s help, Briggs had plowed more field than he’d expected. He decided just this once to quit early. Besides, Howard had brought his fiddle.

/>   Mollie and Frank came darting out of the house shouting, “They’re back! They’re back!”

  “Hello there!” Briggs called out.

  Little Mollie ran straight into her pa’s arms while Frank ran toward Briggs and grasped Gem’s bridle, eager as usual to help in some way.

  “How about unhitching the team, Frank?”

  As he hopped down from the wagon and landed with a thud in the dirt, Briggs couldn’t mistake the pride and excitement in the boy’s face.

  Just then, the ladies’ melodic voices emerged from the house. He turned. Something happened inside him—a sudden burst of joy, a contentment. He couldn’t take his eyes off Sarah, who bent forward to pick up little golden-haired Mollie, then approached him with the wee girl straddling her narrow waist. One day, Sarah would be the mother of his children. He wondered if that time would come sooner than he thought. He’d just have to wait and see….

  “How was your day?” she asked.

  “Fine, thanks.”

  For some reason, she wouldn’t look at him. Instead, she watched Martha speak to Howard.

  Briggs took Mollie into his arms. “What do we have here? A little mermaid?” Mollie giggled and planted a wet, smacking kiss on his cheek. “Why thank you, Miss Mollie,” he replied, chivalrously. “I was waiting for that.”

  “You need to shave!” she blurted out, rubbing her tiny soft hand over his stubbly chin.

  Martha marched over. “Mollie! You shouldn’t say such things!” Martha smiled playfully at Briggs as she took the child from his arms. “Hello, Briggy,” she greeted, touching her cheek to his. “It’s nice to see you. Did Sarah tell you we brought a letter?”

  Briggs looked at Sarah. Her face went pale. “No, she didn’t. Not yet, I mean.”

  “My old employer,” Sarah said, too quickly. “The restaurant is very busy and…” She stopped talking and her smile quivered.