by Vivi Holt
“Good morning Mr. Taylor,” said an older woman who stood behind a long counter against the left wall of the store.
“Mrs. Cuthbert, how are you today?”
“Well, thank you. And you?”
“I’m fine. This is my wife Christy.” Brent placed his hand in the small of Christy’s back and smiled down at her.
“How lovely to meet you.” Mrs. Cuthbert came out from the behind the counter with her hand outstretched, took Christy’s hand in her own and shook it. “We’re all so glad Mr. Taylor’s found a wife. It was so very sad the way he lost Annabelle – I assume you know about Annabelle?”
“Yes, of course. Thank you – it’s nice to meet you as well.”
“Christy said she’d like to look around a bit. I’m going in back to see Steve – I need to order some horse feed and a few other things.” Brent turned and left
Mrs. Cuthbert slipped behind the counter. “Well, I imagine you don’t need clothes, if that lovely frock you’re wearing is any indication. Where did you get that?”
Christy smiled. “Wanamaker’s Grand Depot. I’m originally from Philadelphia.”
“Land sakes, you’ve made a journey, haven’t you? I got to visit Philly a couple of times – Steve and I are from Ocean City, New Jersey, by way of St. Louis.”
“Really? I spent a lovely summer week in Ocean City when I was twelve!” That got them talking in earnest about places they both knew back East. Soon Mrs. Cuthbert brought out tea and homemade ginger snaps, Christy sat on a stool on the customer side of the counter and they gabbed like old friends, interrupted only when Mrs. Cuthbert served a couple of Cherokee women, who traded some homemade blankets for other items. After they left, Christy asked, “do you get a lot of Indian custom here?”
“Oh, some. Steve doesn’t like it – he always calls them ‘savages’ – but they seem like nice enough folks to me. My only rule is I won’t sell them whiskey – I’ve heard their men can’t handle it too well. But otherwise, I’ve never had a problem with them. And people sure do like these blankets they weave – we make a lot of money from them.”
By the time Brent returned, Christy had purchased one of the blankets, done in varying shades of blue, along with a hairbrush, some cakes of soap (her experiments on that score were still uneven), a washtub, a string of garlic bulbs and – for Brent – a bolo tie with a big chunk of turquoise for a clasp. She hurried over to her husband and put it around his neck. “There. How do you like it?”
Brent was pleasantly surprised. “For me? Well, thank you – you didn’t have to get me anything.”
“I wanted to.”
Mrs. Cuthbert grinned. “You’ve got yourself a lovely wife there, Mr. Taylor. I look forward to seeing you again, Christy!”
“And you too,” Christy replied. She didn’t say that while she definitely wanted to, it would be up to Brent whether she could.
The space around the meeting hall was filled with empty wagons and picketed horses, the latter grazing and resting beneath a large oak. Christy and Brent made their way inside, stopping to greet those they knew along the way. Brent seemed to appreciate her dress. It floated around her legs, and her corset and petticoats gave her curves a boost that drew eyes her way as they walked.
The band – an upright piano and two fiddles – began to play as Christy set her cake on a long table already filled with delicious food. “Shall we dance?” asked Brent, bowing with a twinkle in his eye.
“I’d love to.”
He drew her out to the dance floor and held her close as they waltzed with several other couples over the worn floorboards. Christy leaned into his embrace, and the room around them swirled and then disappeared as she gazed into his blue eyes.
After that song ended, a man tapped Brent on the shoulder and cut in. She didn’t recognize him, but he led her in an energetic two-step that had her laughing and out of breath by the end. Then Clive Harris cut in, and she found herself being whirled around the dance floor again.
When she had the chance, she looked around the room for Brent and found him standing by the food table, eating from a piled-high plate. She wished he were here on the dance floor with his arms wrapped around her again. It was fun dancing with the other men, but what she really wanted was to dance with Brent. The feel of his embrace sent a thrill through her every time.
She earnestly hoped that he wasn’t hiding anything from her, like spending time at the saloon with that Prissy woman. She wanted to trust him, but she wasn’t sure she knew him well enough yet. Just when she felt as though she did, something else would come up to make her second-guess everything.
Finally, the song was over and Christy bid Clive farewell, found a chair against the wall and flopped into it. Dancing was a lot of fun, but it had been too long since she’d done it and it was taking a lot out of her. She pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the beading sweat from her brow.
Mary and Emily hurried over to sit beside her. “Christy, how are you? How’s the house working out for you?”
“And the garden?”
“And Brent?” Henny, trailing the group, chimed in. They hammered her with questions, all eager to find out how things were going at the ranch.
Christy laughed. “Things are going very well. Brent is kind and thoughtful. The house is amazing, and the garden is growing like crazy. Thank you all so much for everything you did. It helped us immensely.”
“Never mind that. How are things between you and Brent?” asked Henny, leaning forward with a grin.
“Henny!” exclaimed Emily, slapping her wrist.
“What? We all want to know. The lone stallion has finally been tamed! Tell us everything.”
“The … lone stallion?” asked Christy, with arched eyebrows.
“Brent has something of a reputation,” Mary explained. “Nothing bad, mind you. He’s just so handsome, and he was about the only young man in town who came here without a family. And you know how gossipers –” She glanced briefly at Henny. “– go on. A few women tried to entice him, but he was never interested in that sort of thing. So of course everyone’s curious about you – the woman who finally won him over.”
“Really?” Christy frowned. The description did sound like Brent, and she supposed that with no other eligible men in the area he might easily end up a sought-after beau. Still, the whole incident with Prissy had her concerned. “Things between us are mostly good. I mean, we’re still getting to know each other, but I really like him.”
“I should hope so – you’re married to him,” chuckled Mary.
“Yes, but we were married the first day we met, so it’s an unusual situation.”
“Why only mostly good?” asked Henny.
Should she tell them? Well, she needed to talk to somebody about it … “Well, when we drove through town earlier, one of the saloon girls called out to him as though she knew him.”
“Ah yes, those saloon girls. They know just about every man in town and out of it. He’s likely had a drink or a meal there – there aren’t many men around these parts who haven’t.”
“Is that true?” asked Christy.
“Yes, unfortunately.” Emily grimaced. “Clive went once, and I told him he’d better not do it again.”
“But just because Brent’s been to the saloon doesn’t mean anything,” Mary assured Christy. “He may have only gone there for a drink, or just to be around people.”
“That’s what he said when I asked him.”
“Well, there you go, lass. That’s probably it.”
“I hope so.” But Christy wished she could be sure.
When the dance was over and everyone had eaten their fill, they all bundled into their wagons and buggies and headed home. The sun was setting across the plains, its golden light bathing the settlers in a fiery blaze of pinks, oranges and yellows.
“Do you think you could hold Patty’s reins while I fix the traces?” asked Brent, one eyebrow raised.
“I’ll try,” answered Christy.
“What’s this?” Brent took the leg and looked closely at the hoof. “It looks like he has a thorn in the frog. I’ll have to get it out – hold tight.”
Christy gripped the reins tightly and gritted her teeth. Brent pulled the thorn out with a grunt, and the beast’s head flung upwards, striking Christy under the chin and making her see stars. But while she cried out, she didn’t let go of the reins. “Silly old Patty, hold steady there,” she admonished the horse, stroking the length of his face.
Brent looked at her in surprise and pride. “Thanks, Christy. Are you all right? That must have smarted.”
“I’m fine, I think.” She blinked a few times to clear her head.
He smiled at her. “You’re becoming a real rancher’s wife, you know that?”
“I guess I am.” Top that, Prissy, she thought.
19
Monday dawned bright and sunny, with only a few fluffy clouds on the horizon. Christy sighed in contentment as she collected the eggs from the henhouse. The dance on Saturday had been the highlight of her week, and church on Sunday was a blessing as well. She was already looking forward to the church scavenger hunt that they’d announced for the following month. But to attend, she’d have to stay past the three-month trial period. Was that what she wanted?
Part of her longed to return home, but only because she missed her parents and the life they’d had there. Going back to Philadelphia wouldn’t bring them back. She also knew that she had to accept what her mother had told her, that part of life was embracing change, wanted or not. There was no way but forward.
She wandered inside and placed the eggs in a bowl on the kitchen table. As she began preparing breakfast, Brent strode in from the barn where he’d just finished his morning chores. “What do you think about a picnic after church?”
“A picnic? Where?”
“We could ride out to Red Rock Canyon. It’s not far from here and I think you’d like it.”
“But I don’t know how to ride.”
“And you could learn. I’ve got an old mare, Sally, and she won’t go faster than a trot. You’ll be fine – and I’ll be with you the whole time. What do you say?”
She gave it some thought. “That sounds lovely. Shall I pack some sandwiches?”
“Good idea. I’ll go get the horses ready.”
Sally swayed from side to side, walking slowly, her dappled gray coat dull beneath the morning sun. Christy scanned the horizon, delighting in the tall, waving prairie grasses and the peaked shadows of a distant mountain range.
“How are you doing?” asked Brent, slowing Patty to ride beside Christy on Sally.
“Very well, I think. You were right, Sally is gentle.”
“Yes, she’s an old sweetie. She won’t give you any trouble.”
“Did you know that we only less than two weeks before the end of our trial marriage?” asked Christy, squinting through the sunshine at Brent’s tanned face.
He shot her a sidelong glance. “That soon, huh?”
“I know, it’s hard to believe. It’s gone by quickly, don’t you think?”
“Sure has.”
Christy sighed and rolled her eyes. Sometimes she had to work so hard to extract anything from him. He’d never told her how he felt about her, or whether he wanted her to stay. She hoped he’d say something before the time was up – she really wanted to make plans. If he decided he didn’t want to stay married, she’d have to figure out what she would do and where she could go. But she hoped he did want her to stay, because of how she’d grown to care about him.
Before long, Brent pulled Patty to a stop, stood in his stirrups and pointed ahead. “There it is. That’s the canyon up ahead.”
Christy leaned forward over Sally’s neck. She could see the grasses give way and a massive crack in the earth opened up before them. Its brick-red sides jutted downward, sheer as the walls of an ancient fortress.
“Let’s leave the horses here and walk the rest of the way,” suggested Brent.
They dismounted and pegged the horses under a redbud tree where they could graze. Taking the picnic basket under one arm and offering the other to Christy, Brent led the way down to the canyon’s edge.
It wasn’t a large canyon, now that she could see it more closely. But it was still spectacular, the cliff faces dropping to a rocky floor below. “It’s beautiful,” said Christy as she laid out the blanket for them to sit on. She pulled sandwiches, fruit slices and cookies from the basket.
Brent sat close beside her and lifted his hand to trace the line of her cheek. “You look beautiful. I don’t tell you that often enough.”
Christy smiled at him and rested her cheek in his hand for a moment, her eyes closing with the pleasure of his touch. “You can tell me that anytime you feel the need.”
“I will.”
“Let’s eat, shall we?”
“It looks delicious and I’m famished.”
Christy handed Brent a sandwich and they ate quietly, looking out over the gaping chasm in the earth. A hawk soared above the canyon, its keen eyes searching for prey while it climbed on an updraft.
“It’s so beautiful out here,” said Christy.
“Yes, it is. It’s so different from Kentucky, but I love it just the same.”
“I spend my entire life in cities, so everything here is new to me. But I’m growing to like it too.”
Brent was silent for a moment. “Is there anywhere you’ve always wanted to go?”
“Not really. I never thought much about traveling until Mam and Daddy decided to move to California. Now, I feel as though I should go there sometime, just to finish what they started.”
Brent’s eyes clouded over and he dropped his eyes to the picnic blanket beneath them.
“I don’t mean move there,” she added hastily, “just visit sometime. I’m not even sure why – maybe to say goodbye to them in my own way.”
Brent looked up at her hopefully. “That makes sense.”
Christy’s heart ached to tell him she wanted him to go with her, but she couldn’t get the words out. Instead, she took another bite of her sandwich and stared up into the sky. “Wouldn’t it be amazing to be able to fly like that hawk?”
“Hmmm … you like to be free, huh?” Brent stood up, wandered over to Patty and stroked the horse’s neck while he finished his sandwich.
Christy shook her head in dismay. What had she said to upset him? Sometimes she wondered just what was going on inside his head.
20
Hoofbeats thundered up the driveway and into the barn where Christy was milking Bo. It was the last day of the trial marriage, and she found herself humming nervously as she worked. She stood and wiped her hands clean on her apron as she walked to the barn door, to find Clive Harris leaping from the back of a prancing chestnut stallion. “Mornin’, Christy. How are you on this fine day?”
“I’m well, thank you, Clive,” she lied. “And you?”
“Just fine and dandy. I have somethin’ for you. I went to town yesterday and collected our mail, and the clerk had a telegram for you.” He reached into his shirt pocket, fished out a folded piece of paper and handed it to her.
“Thank you, Clive. Let me see …” Christy unfolded the paper.
Christy Hancock. Inheritance resolved in your favor. Money wired to Topeka National Bank as requested. Please write with further instructions. More details on way via mail. Smythe, Esq.
Christy sighed in relief and held the telegram to her chest. She closed her eyes and offered up a prayer of thanksgiving.
“Good news, I hope?” said Clive, shuffling his feet in the dust.
“Very good news. Thank you for delivering this.”
“You’re welcome. I can’t stay – harvest time, you know. Tell Brent howdy for me.” He climbed back onto t
he chestnut and, with a tip of his hat, cantered back down the drive toward his own ranch.
Christy felt as though a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She raised her arms skyward and twirled in a circle with her eyes closed and her face lifted to the heavens. She had hoped this day would come, and now it finally had.
Even though she’d never really wanted for anything since her parents died and God had provided all she needed, having the legal issues around her inheritance resolved gave her some measure of closure over her parents’ death. She didn’t really understand why, but having her inheritance taken from her would have made her feel as though she was even further disconnected from them. Having the house in Philadelphia and the small nest egg was a way for her to hold onto them for a while longer.
She ran into the house in search of Brent to tell him the good news. She found him in the kitchen, pouring himself a cup of steaming, black coffee. “Brent, good news! I …” She stopped short. All of a sudden, she realized that she had never told Brent about her legal issues and wasn’t sure how to broach the subject.
“What is it, Christy? Did I hear a horse outside?”
“Yes, it was Clive. He brought me a telegram from town.”
“Oh? What was the telegram about?”
“I’m sorry I never told you this before now, but there were some legal issues with my parents’ estate. Relatives of mine in Ireland contested the will – they claimed the inheritance should be theirs and that I should come to live under their guardianship. I have no idea why they thought that – perhaps they were trying to protecting me … anyway, the telegram is from Daddy’s lawyer, saying the issue’s been resolved in my favor. I’ve inherited my parents’ estate in its entirety. Isn’t it wonderful? It’s as though I’ve been traveling around with this cloud over my head and now the sun is shining! I feel free for the first time since they died!”