Julianne MacLean

by Prairie Bride

  Sarah folded her arms. “You have no idea how my heart works. You seem to think that because you can’t let go of Isabelle, I shouldn’t be able to let go of Garrison. Yes—that’s his name. Garrison. And you don’t know what happened before I came to you. You have no idea.”

  Briggs sat forward. “Then tell me.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Sarah stared at the black window, wondering how much of the truth she could reveal without ruining everything.

  “I don’t love him, Briggs. I might as well tell you that now. I thought I did at the time, but I was very naive and very alone.” She shook her head solemnly. “He wasn’t what I thought he was.”

  “And what was that?”

  She had to consider it a moment. “Decent.”

  Briggs shifted in his chair but his expression remained untouched. She wondered if he was believing any of what she was saying. “What are you trying to tell me?” he asked.

  “I’m trying to tell you I made a mistake. After my parents died I was suddenly on my own. I was very close to them and I don’t think I’ll ever get over that loss.”

  “Wasn’t there anyone you could go to? Any other family?”

  “No. There was no one else and I wasn’t a child anymore.”

  “How did they die?”

  “Their carriage turned over and went down a sharp incline. They died instantly.”

  Sarah walked to the window. She heard Briggs’s chair slide back and felt his strong hands rest on her shoulders. “I’m sorry.”

  She nodded, unable to speak without her voice breaking, but thankful for his small kindness.

  “Garrison was nice to me at first,” she said, needing to change the subject and to explain something to her husband who knew so little. So little…

  “He was handsome and polite,” she continued. “I had taken a number of jobs since my parents died. I worked in a shoe factory, then a clothing factory. When I met Garrison, I was working in a hotel restaurant. He came in every day for supper. He seemed like such a fine gentleman, always charming. When he began bringing me a flower each day, I have to admit, I was flattered.” She faced Briggs. “I enjoyed his attentions. I was alone and missing my parents and I wanted a family. I wanted marriage and children. I saw no reason to turn him away. He seemed so genuinely interested in me.”

  Briggs took a step back, as if he didn’t want to hear this, but she had to tell him. She had to explain and make him understand she had not been as shallow-hearted as he thought.

  “He took me driving every day and was always so attentive to my welfare and happiness. After only a few weeks, he…” She stopped, uncertain she’d be able to tell the rest.

  “He what, Sarah?”

  “He proposed to me.” She moved past Briggs and sat at the table, resting her chin in her hand.

  “He proposed?”

  Sarah heard the surprise in his tone, the subtle jealousy. “Yes.”

  “Did you accept?”

  She forced herself to meet his questioning gaze. “I did. But—”

  “You did?” Briggs sat down again, his face drawn and pale. Sarah could see how shocked he was at this bit of news, and she couldn’t imagine what he would do when he learned all of it.

  She couldn’t look at him. She was too angry with herself. She had been so fanciful, so trusting and so foolish. She had been raised by ethical parents and she had not seen what other kinds of people lived and operated in this world. She had wrongly assumed Garrison would be decent, too.

  Oh, if only she had known about his other marriage. She would never have become involved with him.

  “Sarah.”

  She jumped, her gaze flicking through the dim light to her husband. She continued, her voice shaking. “As soon as I accepted, he insisted I never go back to the boardinghouse where I lived. No wife of his would ever have to live in a place like that, he had said. He booked me into a fine hotel.”

  She stumbled around words, trying to continue her story. “That was when…”

  “He stayed with you in the hotel?” Briggs leaned forward in his chair, his brow creasing. “I would very much like to get on a train bound for Boston tomorrow and wring his scrawny neck.”

  Sarah froze with panic. Briggs couldn’t go to Boston. He simply couldn’t meet Garrison. She had been right to think that when Briggs found out about the unlawful marriage, he would try to turn Garrison in to the authorities. There was no telling what Garrison might do. She left him because she feared for her safety and the marriage was void anyway. Why go back there?

  But to keep it from Briggs when she wanted so desperately to trust him with this…

  What was worse? To lie or to risk both their lives?

  “So, why did you leave him?” Briggs asked directly.

  “Because…because after we…”

  “After you spent the night together…” he said for her.

  She nodded. “Yes, after that, he showed a side of himself he’d not shown before. I think because he had taken my innocence, he felt he owned me in some twisted way. He tied me to a chair in the room while he went out to take care of some business—”

  Briggs shoved his chair back and stood. “He did what?”

  She couldn’t look up. Tears were coming. Her hands were trembling. “He tied me to a chair.”

  “For how long?”

  She searched for strength to continue, to remember it all. “Not long. As soon as he closed the door behind him he turned around and came right back because I was making too much noise screaming for help.”

  Briggs covered his face with a hand and paced back and forth. “I want to meet this man in person. I want to—”

  “No, Briggs, please. Just leave it be. I want to forget it. I just want to stay here with you and forget any of it ever happened.”

  Briggs was dangerously angry. He would insist on finding Garrison. She couldn’t let that happen….

  He paced toward the bed. “He should rot in prison for what he did to you.”

  “I wish that could be so, but I have no proof of any of it. No one would believe it. He was powerful and well-respected. I just wanted to get away from him.”

  He looked at her. “That’s why you answered my advertisement.”

  “Yes. He told me he would never let me go and I knew if I wanted to be free of him, I would have to go very far away, where he wouldn’t find me. I slipped out of the room when he was indisposed, and I was wandering the streets trying to decide what to do when I found the newspaper.”

  Briggs rose and paced the dirt floor, shaking his head. His eyes had gone from green to icy gray.

  Sarah stood. “I told you I loved Garrison before because I didn’t want you to think I’d give myself to a man I did not love.”

  Briggs sat down on the edge of the bed and said nothing for a long time. Sarah hoped this would be the end of it.

  His eyes narrowed when he finally looked up. “Sarah, the fact that you weren’t a virgin—that didn’t matter to me. What mattered was that I believed you continued to love this man. Why couldn’t you have just told me the truth? I would have understood.”

  “Would you? If I had written about all of it in my letter, you never would have accepted me. You would have taken someone else with a prettier past.”

  He raked his fingers through his hair. “You don’t know that.”

  “Yes, I do. After Isabelle, you wanted calm waters. No unexpected difficulties that might require you to feel something.”

  He glared icily at her.

  “Maybe it didn’t matter to you that I wasn’t a virgin, but it mattered to me. I will always regret giving myself to a man I didn’t know or truly love.”

  “But you gave yourself to me on our wedding night. We barely knew each other.”

  She lowered her gaze. “That was different.”

  “Why? Because we were married? Or because you were no longer innocent. The first one mattered? The second one didn’t?”

  “Of course it matt
ered!” she cried, unable to control her desperation. “Can’t you see? It’s not the first time that matters so much as the last. The last! There will never be anyone else after you. Doesn’t that count for anything?”

  An unrecognizable emotion flickered across his face. She wished she knew what it was. “Do you intend to keep your vows?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Then write to Garrison and tell him. Tell him you are married, and that if he ever contacts you again, your husband will hunt him down and make him regret the day he met you.”

  Sarah saw the rage in Briggs’s eyes and realized he meant every word.

  “We’ll post it tomorrow. We’ll go to town for some supplies.” He brushed by her to leave but stopped and turned. “And if this man knows what’s good for him, he’ll put you out of his mind for good.”

  Briggs stormed out of the house, leaving Sarah standing in the middle of the room, feeling doubtful and afraid, and fully aware that Garrison McPhee, unfortunately, did not know what was good for him.

  He only knew what he wanted.

  Chapter Twenty

  Sarah swayed, rocked and bounced in the wagon seat, holding her white woolen shawl closed with fingers that were beginning to feel numb with cold. The temperature had barely warmed since she and Briggs left the dugout. The sky was pure white, the morning colorless. The prairie grass quivered beneath the steady wind. Without the sun, the summer heat seemed to be relinquishing itself to autumn too early.

  A chilly breeze blew over her cheeks as she sat quietly with the letter to Garrison in her pocket, feeling its presence like a lead weight. She knew its contents by heart. She’d worked hard to find just the right words.

  Dear Garrison,

  I received your letter. Please do not write to me again or try to contact me. It’s over between us. I do not love you. I love someone else.

  Sarah

  She’d been torn over the last line, but in the end, she’d left it.

  Briggs cleared his throat beside her. She wished he would say something. Anything. All he did was flick the reins and hurry the horses on. She guessed he wanted this mess over with as much as she did.

  All of a sudden, the wagon rose and fell, then jerked to a halt. “Tarnation,” Briggs cursed quietly beside her. “Yah! Yah!”

  The horses labored, but the wagon would not budge. “We’re stuck,” he said, throwing down the reins and hopping over the side.

  Sarah felt like this was all her fault.

  Briggs leaned into the left front wheel. “Take the reins and get the horses to pull.”

  Sarah slid across the seat. The horses strained to walk, their large hooves thumping against the ground. Briggs grunted and groaned.

  “Okay! Stop, stop!” he yelled, breathing hard. He went around to the front and tried to lead the horses backward, but the wheel was wedged in a deep hole.

  “Maybe I should get off,” Sarah suggested. “Maybe the wagon’s too heavy.”

  Briggs glanced up at her, his expression clouded with frustration. He nodded.

  Sarah hopped down into the grass, seeing for herself the depth of the hole. From the ground, the wagon looked tilted at an impossible angle.

  Briggs moved to the wedged wheel again. “Go in front and lead them forward.”

  Sarah did as she was told, and for ten long minutes she and Briggs pushed and prodded and grunted, but to no avail. Sarah walked back to examine the situation. “How long have we been traveling?”

  “It must be almost noon. Four hours at least.”

  She felt uncomfortable making a suggestion, but at the moment, things didn’t look very promising and she couldn’t bear any more of her husband’s angry looks.

  “Why don’t we have lunch?” she suggested. “You’re tired, the horses are tired, and maybe if we just take our minds off it for a bit, we’ll come up with a way out.”

  He ignored her suggestion and pushed the wheel one more time. After a worthy effort, he cursed and backed away. “We’re going to be late. The post office will be closed.”

  Sarah wet her lips, understanding why he was so angry. They’d have to stay over and wait until tomorrow which would mean another day of plowing lost. All because of that wretched letter.

  Well, they were stuck and they were hungry. It wouldn’t hurt to eat something and then start fresh. She went to the wagon and withdrew the box she’d filled with corn bread and a jug of water. “Let’s sit down and eat and think about how we’re going to get the wagon out.”

  After sitting down and spreading her skirt around her, she sliced a piece of bread for herself. Sarah was biting into her second helping when Briggs finally came and sat down.

  “Corn bread?”

  He nodded and helped himself. They ate the whole loaf without saying another word.

  When they finished, Briggs leaned back, bent one knee and covered his face with an arm. Sarah watched his lips and his stubbly jaw. The rest of his face was covered by that fringed sleeve. “We’ll get on the road as soon as we can,” he said, “then we could either camp on the outskirts of town or stay with George. But I reckon he’ll string me up if we don’t come by.”

  “That sounds like a fine idea. We can run our errands first thing in the morning.”

  He didn’t say anything for a few minutes, then asked, “Did you write the letter last night?”

  Sarah’s stomach clenched at the question. “Yes. It’s in my pocket.”

  His wrist came away from his eyes. “Can I see it?”

  “If you like.” She reached into her pocket and slowly withdrew the note.

  Briggs sat up. The seconds it took for him to read it felt more like hours. Finally, he lowered the paper to his lap and let his gaze rise to meet hers. His brow was no longer furrowed. The firm line of his mouth had softened. “It’s a good letter.”

  Sarah’s shoulders slumped with relief. “Thank you.”

  Everything was quiet for a moment, except for the wind sweeping across the prairie.

  “Is it true?” he asked.

  She knew what he was asking her, and the question made her feel suddenly afraid. “Which part?” she asked, stalling.

  He handed it back to her. “The last part.”

  Sarah gazed down at the words. I love someone else. Her heart beat erratically as she considered it, wondering if she even knew what love was. She thought of how Briggs had made her feel over the past few weeks, how he had touched her and how she had shared her body with him and felt closer to him than she’d ever felt to anyone in her life. Was that love? Was it love because she couldn’t bear to think of living without him?

  When she didn’t say anything, Briggs sat up. “You don’t have to answer that. I shouldn’t have asked.”

  “No, please, I—”

  “I’m sorry I was so hard on you last night, but I was angry.”

  Surprised, she wet her lips. He was staring apologetically at her, his golden hair whipping in the wind. “It’s quite all right. You had a right to be.”

  “I should have given you a chance to explain.” He leaned back on one arm, plucked a blade of grass, and entwined it around his index finger. “Do you think, after we post your letter, we could…” He paused, swallowing. “We could start again? I don’t know what Martha told you about Isabelle and me, but it’s finished. I’ve brought the necklace and I’m going to sell it today. Once your letter goes out to Boston, things will be different.”

  Sarah’s heart warmed with hope. “I’d like that.”

  They sat in silence for a moment, staring at the clouds, and Sarah wondered if this nervous feeling would ever go away. Her husband wanted to start again. Out here on the prairie, so far from Boston, it seemed almost possible.

  “Let’s unload the wagon,” Briggs said, feeling replenished after eating his lunch and watering the horses. He had to admit his wife had been right in forcing him to take a break to eat something. The horses had needed the rest, too.

  Sarah helped him unload the cooking ute
nsils, the kettle, the spider skillet and the boxes of butter and eggs she’d brought to trade. Briggs removed his shovel and his rifle. “I’m going to dig us out of this hole, so it isn’t so steep. Then you can lead the horses out.”

  For the next half hour, he forced the shovel into the tough ground, thick with tangled, grassy roots. Growing warm, he removed his coat and shirt, draped them over the side of the wagon bed, and felt some relief from the cool wind on his bare back. The hole was longer now, and he hoped there was enough room to rock the wagon and get it moving. He set the shovel down and turned to face Sarah.

  “I’m going to wedge my shovel under the wheel for leverage and try to force it a bit.”

  Sarah walked to the team and took hold of the harness. “I’m ready whenever you are.”

  Briggs speared the shovel handle into the dirt to lift the wheel. It came up an inch or two. “Okay, start pulling!” he yelled, throwing his full weight against the iron tire and feeling it cut into his palms. Sluggishly the wagon moved, but stalled when it reached the slope he’d dug. “Harder!”

  The horses strained against the impossible weight, stumbling and groaning. The wagon creaked like an old ship, then soon shifted and rolled up the slope. The back wheel plunged down into the hole and the wagon seemed like it was riding the side of a large wave. Only the team’s momentum pulled it out again.

  All of a sudden, Briggs heard a scream. He scrambled out of the hole but couldn’t see Sarah. “Whoa!” he yelled, groping for the reins. Where was she?

  The team came to a sudden stop. “Sarah!” he called out, then he saw her trapped under the wagon. He dropped to his knees and crawled under, into the dark shade where she lay on her side, clutching her wrist. “What happened?”

  “I fell. The horses couldn’t stop. I think my arm is broken.”