Susan

by Patricia Pacjac Carroll

LILAH – CHAPTER ONE

  Prairie Roses Collection

  Sneak Peek of LILAH

  How could a body be so mad at someone she loved so much?

  Lilah kicked a rock onto the grave, then hurried over, kneeled beside it, and lifted the stone from the bare mound. She thought to toss it far away then changed her mind and slipped it into her skirt pocket where she rubbed its cool smoothness.

  Tears welled, but she didn’t want to cry.

  Lord knew she’d cried a bucketful the past six months. She swiped her cheeks.

  “Why did you have to die?”

  “It’s time, baby. Come on; we’re ready.”

  Ready? Ready for what? To ruin her life? She turned. Her mother walked toward her, looking as happy as a simpleton to be leaving.

  How could she be so callous? So unconcerned?

  “Please, Lilah, let’s not rile him. He’s hoping to make twenty miles today. Come on, baby. I’ve loaded your carpet bag into the wagon.”

  If only she had a choice. She filled her lungs.

  One glorious day not so far into the future, she would, but on that most horrible of days, destiny forced her to do what they wanted—leave the only home she’d ever known and head off for a place none of them knew much about.

  Why? She exhaled.

  “Give me a moment, please.”

  “Fine, but don’t dawdle. You know how your uncle gets.”

  Indeed. All too well. She looked around anyway.

  Most likely, she’d never see the place again. The new owners would be there any day.

  If only she could have given her father’s grave a proper marker. The wooden cross made from branches of the tree he rested under wouldn’t pass the test of time. He deserved a proper headstone.

  But they’d spent all the money on the wagon and supplies for the trip west.

  Oregon, pshaw! Only ne’er-do-wells migrated.

  His whistle split the air. Without another sashay to the pond as she’d so wanted, she marched toward the wagon like the good Pa’s girl she was. If only his worthless brother had died instead of him. She lifted her gaze to the sky.

  Where was the justice? Where was God?

  A quarter mile out, from what her father called Home Hill, Lilah took a long last look at the old place, the only piece of dirt she’d ever known, being born right there in the cabin.

  Perhaps the new owners would catch the wanderlust like her no-account uncle had and put what should have been her land up for sale.

  But would she ever find her way back again?

  If there truly was a God up there watching over her, she would. She’d return with a good man by her side; one who had enough gold coin to make her dreams come true.

  Plenty of girls were married at sixteen, some even younger. She was old enough if she could only find a worthy beau.

  The wagon rolled on. She wiped her cheeks, filled her lungs, then spun around and made her feet walk. Hopefully, her sojourn wouldn’t be all that long.

  As she trudged behind the wagon, the idea of finding a good man filled her thoughts.

  First off, he had to be big and tall and strong. Well, even more than that, courageous. Easy on the eyes would be a plus, but the main thing he had to be someone who could stand up to her uncle.

  The old coot wouldn’t let her go without a fight, she was sure of that, and her mother wouldn’t provide any resistance at all to him.

  How many times over the years had her father bragged on what a hard and good worker she was, toiling right along beside him?

  Whether chopping cotton or shoeing a mule . . . it made no never mind; she could do it all. Shirking or slow walking wasn’t in her—not with Pa.

  But who said she couldn’t learn how?

  Besides not letting her go because of her labor, the last month or so things had taken a different turn with Uncle Ludvig. He seemed more interested in her than before, but . . .

  So far, her prayers had been answered along those lines. She wondered at times if the knife she kept on her at all times had anything to do with him staying away?

  Did he even know about it? Or that she wouldn’t hesitate to use it if he ever . . .

  It was bad enough he’d taken her mother to wife. He’d never have Lilah. She’d kill him first. Or die trying.

  All thoughts of shirking vanished that late afternoon as she gathered deadfall and he tended the oxen and her mother went to preparing supper.

  The evening played out pleasantly enough. Supper around the campfire, no bugs, and the temperatures not too chilly for early March. Then to her surprise, he made himself a pallet under the wagon and told her to bunk with Ma.

  Was his explanation the truth—that he wanted to keep an eye peeled? Stay on the ready?

  As soon as she settled onto the feather mattress, her mother scooted close. “Pray for me, baby. I’m with child.”

  “Oh, Mother. Does he know? Why didn’t you insist you couldn’t come?”

  “It wouldn’t make any difference to him. You know that. Lud wants himself a son, and he claims it was all your father’s fault that I miscarried so many times.”

  “He doesn’t know that.”

  Footfalls silenced her then once he settled in under the wagon she resumed in a softer voice. “Well, he said your father shouldn’t have let me work so hard.”

  “Oh, and going to Oregon is like a stroll along the creek?”

  “Just pray for me, Lilah. I’d love another baby.”

  “I will. And you can pray for me that I survive this trek across the country without killing him.”

  “Lilah Annette! Don’t you talk like that. What would we do without him? Especially with your Pa gone!”

  “Live our lives in peace?” Her mother rarely used both her names, but if she thought for one minute Lilah wouldn’t use her knife if the man ever touched her . . . but Ma probably wasn’t aware of how uncomfortable he made her sometimes.

  “We could have stayed in the home Pa built for us! Instead of this! If he wanted to go west, he should’ve gone by himself!”

  “Your uncle only wants what’s best for us, baby. And what could I say? He’s my husband. I’m duty-bound to go where he goes.”

  “Well, I’m not!”

  Though she didn’t respond, and Lilah couldn’t see her in the darkness, she imagined her mother wore a pained expression. The lady rolled over, turning away, with a soft goodnight.

  But there wasn’t anything good about it. Her feet ached, and her back and legs hurt. Ma having his baby would surely prove to be one more link in the chain holding her to her uncle.

  It was a wonder he hadn’t insisted she call him Pa or some other infuriating term.

  Being related at all was bad enough.

  A brother or sister would surely change things, but she was past getting excited about a baby. She’d had her hopes crushed too many times.

  If her mother was still expecting when they got to Oregon or wherever he intended to go, then she’d let herself think about being a big sister, but she harbored little hope that Ma would be able to carry the baby on such a long journey.

  If only she’d birthed a brother, things would have been so different.

  In the five days it took him to get the wagon to Hannibal, Missouri, nothing changed. Well, except that her legs and back got over being sore, though her feet still hurt.

  Laying up a day to rest the oxen and wash up some proved a nice change but knowing that she’d traveled a hundred miles from her home didn’t melt any butter with her.

  The next morning when her uncle joined the wagon with three others heading to Saint Joseph, everything changed.

  A young, single man rode with the wagons!

  Though not as tall as she would have preferred, nor with the big barrel chest she’d always imagined, everything else about him drew her. He oozed confidence and courage.

  From the way he rode his gelding to how he strode among the others to his easy manner telling men twice his age how things should be do
ne—and then their doing it just that way.

  Even Uncle Lud! She’d never seen him fall into line like that.

  After supper that first evening, she excused herself as if perhaps she needed to visit the bushes, but once out of the firelight, she made her way straight to where the man sat his cook fire.

  Stopping just short to make certain her skirt was out of sparking range, she swallowed. “Good evening, Mister O’Sullivan. I’m Lilah Eklund.” She extended her hand.

  “Good evening, Miss Lilah.” Oh, she loved his voice! He raised up enough to gently squeeze her two longest fingertips then sat back down. “My mother named me Padraig, but I prefer Paddy.”

  “Mine calls me Lilah most of the time.”

  “A fine name.” He cleared his throat. “Hadn’t you best be getting’ back, Miss Lilah? Your pap’s liable to be missing you.”

  “He’s isn’t my father. He’s my uncle. Married my mother after my Pa died.” She hated the venom in her voice, especially since she was trying to impress the man.

  “Stepfather then. Either way, he’s not likely to take so kindly to you being out here alone with me.”

  “I only . . .” She backed up a step. “Ma put a new pot of coffee on. If you’d like a cup . . .”

  He smiled and she’d could’ve sworn the angels took to singing. “Thank you, Miss, but I’ll pass.”

  “Well.” She backed up another step. “I’ve got a jar of honey if you might like to have a buttered biscuit smothered in bee juice to break your fast come morning.”

  “Stop temping me, Lilah girl, and get on back to your mother.”

  The sound of her name on his lips thrilled her to the bone. She giggled just a little. “I’ll save you one.”

  Chuckling with her, he shooed her with a finger flip. “Go on now before you get me shot.”

  “All right, of course. Pleased to meet you, Paddy.” She spun around then strolled back to the wagon. Hopefully, what she saw in his eyes would prove akin to the same of what had been born in her heart.

  It took some doing, but she saved him a buttered biscuit the next morning without her uncle noticing.

  Wrapped in a scrap piece of an old petticoat she’d cut into squares, she snuck Paddy’s treat into one pocket and the little jar of honey she’d poured up the night before in the other. After her turn walking next to the main ox, she sat on the back of the wagon.

  That’s when she caught his eye as he rode by.

  She grinned, retrieved the wrapped biscuit, and held it out.

  He nodded and mouthed something before he spurred his gelding to a trot. Had he said he’d be right back? She hoped so. Uncle Lud took over the drovering after her, so it’d be the perfect time.

  With a sigh, she stuck the hunk of light bread back into her pocket then climbed down. She smoothed her dress and fluffed her hair, but she decided against pinching her cheeks. She’d always thought that was so stupid.

  Before she had time to second-guess what Paddy had mouthed or wondered if she had it right and if so, when he might be back, the man rode up. He dismounted and was walking beside his horse in one smooth motion.

  His hat sat back on his head a bit, exposing his darkish hair. It wasn’t the light Irish-red sandy color so many had.

  It didn’t matter, except she’d been dreaming of a fair-haired baby boy for years.

  He tossed the reins over the gelding’s neck then eased closer. The wagon between her and her uncle made the position quite perfect, too. “Good morning, Miss Lilah.”

  “Yes, it is, Paddy. Quite beautiful. I love the spring when all things turn green again. And I have something for you.” She handed over the biscuit then the little jar of honey.

  “Why, thank you.”

  “I put at least three spoon’s worth in there, and there’s more where that came from.”

  He unwrapped his treat, poured only a smidgen’s worth of the golden sweetness on the edge of the biscuit then ate the palm-sized piece of bread in three bites, dribbling more honey on each. He wiped his mouth then faced her.

  “Mmm.” He grinned. “Thank you again. Did you make it yourself?”

  “Yes, sir. My pa and I used to cook breakfast together. Ma don’t eat until noon or later; she only wants coffee before then.”

  “Good to know.”

  “I turn sixteen in three months. I figure that’s a right nice age to get married. Wouldn’t you say?”

  “Oh, my.” He chuckled then shook his head. “You sure don’t beat around the stump, do you girl?”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  Paddy nodded. He best lay his cards on the quilt. That would surely quell her obvious intentions. “My mother never married.”

  “Oh. Well. That doesn’t matter, not to me anyways.”

  Much as the girl intrigued him, he couldn’t let anything sidetrack him, especially not a pretty gal of such a tender age. “Where’re you headed, Miss? Oregon or California?”

  “Uncle Lud hasn’t fully decided. He says he’s torn on account of both have appeal. But you still haven’t answered my question.”

  “You’re determined; I’ll give you that.” In spite of himself, he smiled. He didn’t want to lead this one on in any way. She’d surely take it the wrong way. “I’d say . . . yes; sixteen sounds a proper age for a girl to marry, but I’m way too young, myself.”

  Her eyes sparkled and she giggled a bit. Nothing like the high-pitched, irritating sound a nervous little girl made, but more tinkling, akin to a how an angel might sound if one believed in such beings.

  “No, sir! How could you say that?” The angel seemed offended. “You are not too young, not at all. How old are you?”

  “Coming twenty-three this summer.”

  “That’s plenty old enough for me! So, what do you say? Want to get married?”

  If he did believe in heavenly beings and the likes, he’d say God had sent the little forthright angel to keep him from doing what he needed to do. He tipped his hat then whistled.

  Like the good boy he was, his horse walked right up next to him. Paddy swung into the saddle then tipped his hat.

  “Thanks for the biscuit and honey, Miss Lilah.”

  She grinned then winked. “That’s settled then. How does my birthday sound? It’s June fifteenth.”

  He had to snicker, but instead of telling her no, he rode off.