The room brightened and George sat down on the sofa. “Sarah was upset after you left. She didn’t eat any supper. She went straight up to bed.”
Briggs leaned against the door frame and folded his arms. “Are you trying to make me feel guilty? I’m not the one who lied.”
“I know, I know.”
“Whose side are you on, anyway?”
George raked a hand through his hair. “I’m not on anyone’s side. I just think Sarah needs—”
“Sarah needs. I’m your family, George. Me. She lied to me from the beginning and you act like I’m the only one to blame here, like I’m causing all the problems.”
“I don’t think that.”
Briggs moved into the room with deliberate care. “Then what do you think?”
“You can’t turn your back on her, Briggs. She has no one.”
Briggs tried to push away the throbbing sensation in his head. “No one? Did she tell you the story of her poor deceased parents?”
“Yes. Why are you looking at me like that?”
“So you lent her your sympathetic ear, did you?”
“You’re not making sense.”
Briggs stood and walked to the mantel. He leaned one elbow upon it, resting his temple on two fingers. “George, you don’t understand everything that has happened.”
George rose and rested his hand on Briggs’s shoulder. “Sarah really does love you, you know.”
Wincing inside, Briggs stepped away from his brother. “I don’t want to hear that.”
“But you care about her, Briggs. I know you. You’re just angry.”
“Damn right, I’m angry. And you don’t know everything, big brother. You think you know her because you’ve spent a little time with her, but you don’t. She’s a beautiful woman and she uses that to get what she wants. You’re playing right into her game.”
George backed away, retreating into the dark kitchen. Briggs followed. “Don’t walk away from me.”
“You’re drunk and you’re being foolish.”
“Am I?”
George said nothing. He went to the kitchen window and slammed it closed.
“You’re always taking her side,” Briggs continued, “like I’m the one who did everything wrong. I haven’t always been easy to get along with, I admit, but dammit, George, I’m your brother! We really don’t know anything about Sarah.”
George sank into one of the kitchen chairs. Leaning both elbows on the table, he said, “I’m sorry, Briggs. I just can’t accept what you’re saying.”
“I know. You were taken by her the moment you saw her at the train station. Weren’t you?”
George shook his head. “No, Briggs. She’s your wife.”
“That’s not the point.” Briggs sat down and stared at his brother for a few minutes. “Funny, you were the one trying to convince me not to marry her in the first place. You wanted me to get to know her first.”
George leaned back in his chair. “I remember. I had a bad feeling about everything.”
“And you were right. You have no idea what I learned tonight.”
“Are you going to tell me?”
“I suppose I’ll have to….”
A half hour later, George sat back in his chair and sighed. “You believe him?”
“I don’t know what to believe. I just know this marriage is not meant to be. I thought I was avoiding trouble by getting a mail-order bride. I thought it would be simpler.”
“What are you going to do?”
Briggs rested his forehead in his hand and squeezed his eyes shut. “I should do what any man in my position would do. But the idea of it…”
George looked up. “The idea of what?”
“The idea of…” He couldn’t believe this was happening. “God, George, I really do care for her, but I can’t let how I feel about her change what has to be done. I know it’ll be hard, but I have to do the right thing. I need your help.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Sarah lay awake in the darkness staring at the ceiling. Her throbbing arm had awakened her an hour ago, and she’d tiptoed into the hall only to find herself alone in the house.
Her mind had already created an alarming number of unpleasant scenarios. What if Briggs and George had gone out to find Garrison? What if something terrible had happened to them? What if they’d reported everything to the sheriff?
Back in bed now and turning onto her side, she rested her cheek on the back of her hand. If only she could sleep through this uncertainty and awaken when they returned.
About a half hour later, she heard a wagon pull up in front of the house. She leaped out of bed and hurried to the window.
They were back. A sigh of relief escaped her. She stood at the window, one hand resting on the sill. George and Briggs spoke for a moment. Then George hopped down from the wagon and came to the door.
Briggs drove away.
A sick feeling crept into Sarah’s stomach. Where was he going?
Sarah wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and hurried downstairs. She met George in the kitchen. “Where were you?” she asked, unable to restrain the desperate tone in her voice.
George laid some papers on the table, refusing to look at her. “I think you better sit down.”
Her heart began to thump in her chest. “Why? What’s happened? Where did Briggs go?”
“Why don’t you sit down?” George suggested again, finally making eye contact. His face was pale, his eyes red with exhaustion behind his spectacles.
Sarah hesitated, then slowly made her way into a chair. She sat there waiting while George flipped through the papers. “Would you like a cup of tea or something?” he asked, distractedly.
“No! I don’t want anything—except for you to tell me what’s going on!”
He sat in the chair across from her and laid his hand flat on the papers in front of him. “I have bad news.”
A jolt of fear left her paralyzed in her seat. She could not speak.
“I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but Briggs has decided on an annulment.”
Everything seemed to grow dark around her as George’s words pounded against her skull. Annulment? Had she heard him correctly?
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“No.”
George wouldn’t look at her. “I’m sorry, Sarah. He was quite firm. He wants you to go back to Boston.”
Tears flooded her eyes. She swallowed, trying desperately not to cry. “Did he say anything more? Did he tell you why, exactly?”
“It’s his legal right.”
The coolness in her brother-in-law’s voice stung. It seemed the whole world had turned against her.
“Does he still love Isabelle?” she asked, her voice cracking.
“It’s not my place to discuss these things with you. I’m acting as Briggs’s attorney.”
Sarah felt like she’d been hurled against a brick wall. She tried, but could not stop her eyes from filling with tears.
George picked up the papers. “Everything’s right here. Briggs has already signed it.”
Staring in disbelief at what George held in his hand, Sarah wiped her cheek dry. “What does it say?”
George kept a stony expression. “It doesn’t implicate you as a bigamist if that’s what concerns you. We discussed it at great length to come up with a phrasing that would—”
“I don’t care about that,” she blurted out. “I just want to know what his reason was.”
“It says you misrepresented yourself. Led Briggs to believe things about you that were not true.”
She shoved her chair back and stood. “This annulment won’t make me go back to Garrison if that’s what Briggs thinks. I’ll make my own way. I want you to tell Briggs that.”
George stared at her, his face pale. “I will.”
“And if Briggs can walk out on me knowing that I love him, I’ll welcome this annulment. If he’s incapable of trusting me—of loving me!—then I’m better off alone.”
Heart racing, she turned and walked out of the kitchen, but stopped at the bottom step. The papers. She hadn’t signed the papers….
She squeezed the railing. Should she sign her name? Should she let Briggs go so easily?
Sarah took a deep breath, feeling a cold rage grow inside her. How could he leave her without saying goodbye? He’d sent his brother to do it for him.
As she stood at the base of George’s staircase, trying to see her future, she realized with sorrow that this sudden end to her marriage had been inevitable from the beginning. As desperate and frightened as she had been on her wedding day, she was wrong to have deceived Briggs, and this was her much deserved comeuppance.
Fighting unfathomable grief, Sarah spun on her heel, walked into the kitchen, and hastily scrawled her name.
The sun was just rising when Briggs drove into his yard feeling sleepy, sore and very much alone. He’d driven all night in a blank stupor, brooding over Sarah’s lies and deceptions. At the same time, he’d fought the urge to turn around and bring her home with him. Though now he had to wonder what there was to come home to. Dry, dead fields? A tiny structure made of sod? A bitter cold winter on the way?
He pulled the wagon to a gentle stop, set the brake and hopped down. The chill of night had not left his bones with the advancing dawn. Autumn would soon be here. With the sky growing lighter, he could see his breath floating from his lips in small, quick puffs.
The barn door suddenly swung open, lantern light spreading like spilled water on the ground. Briggs stared until little Frank Whitiker appeared in the doorway.
“Briggs! You’re back!” the boy shouted. “I was looking after Maddie for you. She’s milked and the pigs are fed.”
Briggs walked toward the boy and messed his hair. “Thank you, Frank. I knew I could count on you.”
The boy’s face beamed with pride. Briggs smiled, but noticed how much effort it took to do so.
“I should be getting home. I still have my own chores to do before breakfast.” He bolted across the yard, but stopped suddenly and turned back. “Wait till I tell Ma and Pa you’re back! They’ll want to come over again for more dancing.”
Briggs frowned. He wasn’t looking forward to explaining any of this to Howard and Martha. “Mrs. Brigman isn’t with me, Frank. She stayed in town.”
Frank scratched his head. “Oh.”
“You can tell your folks not to worry, though.”
The boy hesitated, then slowly turned and took off across the barren field.
An hour later, Briggs sat at the table staring at the dirt wall, listening to the wind roaring eerily over the ocean of endless prairie. Why didn’t he feel relieved? He’d just cut loose a deceptive wife, gotten out of it legally, yet the only thing he could think about was how desperately he missed her.
After accepting George’s offer to pay for a train ticket anywhere, Sarah went to the train station and chose her destination. Caldwell. It was as good a place as any. Then, not feeling very well, she went out for a walk, thinking the fresh cool air and sunshine might help. She stepped up onto the Front Street boardwalk, her heels clicking in a steady rhythm as she walked by Mueller’s Boot Shop. The smell of fresh bread emerged from the bakery next store and an unexpected wave of nausea moved through her.
Not again, she thought, holding her gloved hand up to her mouth. Her eyes searched frantically for a place to go, but where? She gagged, then turned and ran into the fenced-in alley beside the boot shop. With one hand on the tall fence, she bent forward and retched.
A moment later, she was wiping tears from her eyes and sniffling. What else would she have to endure today? Making her way back onto the boardwalk, she tried to ignore the curious stares. She waited for the sick feeling to go away, but it lingered. When she imagined getting on the train and rocking and swaying for the entire journey, she nearly retched again.
“Are you all right?” an older woman asked her. “You don’t look well at all.”
“I’m fine.”
The woman stared sympathetically. “Why don’t you let me take you to the doctor? I couldn’t live with myself if I left you here.”
Sarah was about to decline the lady’s offer, but thought better of it. Perhaps she did need some help. She would put the visit on Briggs’s account.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice shaky, her body weak as she tried to walk. The kind woman held Sarah’s good arm and led her slowly down the street.
“Pregnant!” Sarah shouted, staring wide-eyed at Doc Green. “Are you certain?”
“Yes, I am.”
Sarah collapsed into a velveteen upholstered chair by the door. The doctor knelt in front of her, his brown eyes full of compassion. “Is there a problem?”
A problem? Only if one considered it a problem to be pregnant and not know who the father was.
She stood up and touched her fingers to her lips. Did the baby belong to Briggs? If so, she could not dispute what she felt—a joy so intense, it could not be matched by anything in this world.
Something inside her told her it was his….
She whirled around and yanked the door open, her skirts spiraling outward.
“Mrs. Brigman! Where are you going?”
“I’m going to tell my husband!”
From where he sat in the barn milking Maddie, Briggs was exceedingly aware of the late afternoon silence. The wind had died down; the grass had gone still. If not for the rhythmic streaming of Maddie’s milk into the wooden bucket, he would have questioned whether or not his ears still worked.
He hunched forward under the cow and remembered all the days during the past month when he’d looked forward to returning to the warm house after a long day’s work. It’s true what they say, he thought, squeezing the last drop of milk from Maddie’s udder—you don’t appreciate what you have until it’s gone.
He gripped the bucket’s rope handle and rose to his feet, wondering if what he missed was simply the smell of hot corn bread and pork roast. Any woman could prepare a meal and create a cozy feeling in a sod house. All it took was a few flowers, a tablecloth, a curtain hung on the window.
But would another woman make this empty feeling go away?
Suddenly he wanted to hop on one of the horses and ride back to town, get down on his knees and beg Sarah to forgive him for being such an ass, such a coward. When had he ever just let himself love her without fretting about it? When had he ever given her what she’d given him?
He turned to carry the bucket outside, but stopped when he heard something. Hoofbeats?
Anticipation rippled through him. Had Sarah come back to give him another chance?
His heart flooding with hope, he bent forward to set the bucket on the ground. The hoofbeats came to a halt just outside and someone hopped down.
Briggs moved to the door. His mood began to rise. He was beginning to shake with joy, with the urge to laugh! The orange sun came into view as he stepped outside into the light, ready to break into a run.
He stopped dead in his tracks.
Approaching him with her long flowered skirt sweeping to and fro was Isabelle.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Clutching her purple skirt in a tight fist and holding on to her hat, Sarah burst out of the doctor’s office and ran up the street toward the livery. She would hire a buggy and find her way to the farm. She would tell Briggs she was expecting a child. A child!
As she ran, each long stride sent a jolt of pain up her arm, enough to make her feel faint. How would she steer the horse with this miserable splint on her arm? Maybe she could ask George to help her. She just couldn’t give up. This news had to change things. She raced into Ham Bell’s Livery and skidded to a halt, panting.
“Hey there, what’s your hurry?” a man in blue denims asked.
“I need a horse and a buggy.”
“Well, okay. We got that. How long do you want it for?”
Sarah struggled to catch her breath. “I need to drive out to the Brigman fa
rm.”
He stared at her, his face lighting up like the Fourth of July. “Are you the one that left him for the gentleman from Boston?”
“How in heaven’s name did you hear about that?”
“Everybody knows. Aside from that, the reverend’s daughter was here this morning, hiring out a horse. Seems like Briggs is finally going to get her back.”
Sarah staggered back a step. “Wh-when did she go?”
“This morning. I reckon she’s there by now.”
Defeat held Sarah immobile. She tried to catch her breath. Had she lost Briggs forever?
“You still want that buggy?” the man asked.
For a long moment she just stood there, the world shrinking before her eyes. Could she dare to hope that Briggs would give her a chance when Isabelle had finally come back to him?
And the baby? Wouldn’t he think she was now using her condition to get what she wanted? Hadn’t he always been quick to think the worst of her?
Sarah looked up at the wood rafters, searching for answers. A meadowlark flew back and forth, trapped high in the peaked ceiling. When it swooped down and found its way out the wide barn door, Sarah took a deep breath and stared directly into the man’s small, round eyes. “I want that buggy. If you please.”
A few minutes later, Sarah paced back and forth in front of the livery, waiting for the little man to bring the buggy around. Her courage cracked slightly when she pictured herself pulling into the homestead. What if Isabelle was inside the cozy dugout preparing a meal? What if Briggs was there, too, sliding his hands around her waist and pulling her to him? Burying his lips into her neck?
If Sarah walked in on that scene, her courage would surely dissolve like embers in the wind.
Biting her thumbnail, she decided to see what was taking the man so long. She walked around the side of the building and collided hard with someone.
Taken aback, she looked up. “No, not now.”
Garrison grabbed her broken arm. Sarah shrieked, the pain so intense she sank to her knees. “It has to be now, my love. Otherwise, we’re going to miss our train.” He dragged her toward the station.
Julianne MacLean Page 21