by Vivi Holt
When they’d journeyed from town to the ranch a week earlier, she’d missed so much, so busy had she been inside her own head. Now she could discover each piece of scenery, every aspect, and digest its beauty as carefully as she pleased. It had seemed such a long way, a mile on a hard wagon seat. But today, with the sun rising at her back and the beautiful vista ahead, she found it didn’t last as long as she’d like.
Beside her Kurt whistled a happy tune, and the sound brought a smile to her face. She caught his eye, and he paused the melody to grin and tip his hat, his blue eyes gleaming. “Will your brother be there today?” she asked, adjusting her bonnet as they bumped over a particularly deep pothole.
He nodded. “He should be. He’s generally there every week.”
“Good. I’m looking forward to meeting him.” She wanted to ask him what he’d been thinking about when he wrote the advertisement for his brother in the New York Gazette, but she knew propriety wouldn’t allow her to.
“I believe he feels the same way.”
She watched him out of the corner of her eye. He did everything so easily, fluidly, as if nothing was too difficult. The way he hitched the horses to the wagon, or mounted up and rode away across the prairie, or held the reins loosely in his hands. The way he fetched her fresh water from the creek or carried luggage in from the wagon. He was strong, confident and at ease with himself in a way she’d never seen in a man so young.
When Charles died, he’d been forty-three. Kurt was twenty-five, and the difference seemed more obvious to her with each passing day. He was so vibrant and full of life. She felt almost old next to him and had to remind herself that the difference in their ages was a mere five years – nothing, really. Though it didn’t feel that way.
He caught her staring and raised an eyebrow at her, which made her blush. She quickly looked away and focused on the trail ahead of them. She could see the town in the distance, each step the horses took drawing them closer. The children, growing tired of the journey, were quarreling over who could sit where, how much space should be between them and who was poking, touching, or humming beside whom. She turned, admonished them, then returned her focus to the road ahead.
“There’s the church,” said Kurt as they made their way into town. She could see wagons and buggies parking around the clearing in front of the building. And before long, they were winding their way up the rise to join them. The church itself was pretty, a brick cruciform building with a tall steeple and a bell. According to Kurt, it had been finished earlier that year, and the congregation was justifiably proud of it.
As their wagon pulled in front of the building, she saw a young couple with a baby open the door and hurry through it, letting it swing shut behind them. “Are we late?” she asked, smoothing her skirts and feeling her pulse accelerate.
Kurt pulled out his pocket watch as he set the brake. “No – just in time.” He got down, helped her out, then settled the horses with feedbags while she lined the children up and smoothed flyaway hair and wrinkled clothing.
When they walked into the church, fiddle music and voices raised in worship greeted them. Kurt found a pew they could squeeze into and ushered them one by one into place. Her heart thumping, Holly couldn’t help feeling nervous in the crowd of unfamiliar faces. She felt dozens of eyes fix on them as they sat. They certainly drew plenty of attention. She knew just what they must be thinking – who was this woman and all her children, and what were they doing with Kurt Sawyer the bachelor rancher?
Kurt watched Holly’s face with curiosity. Her cheeks and neck were bright with red spots. She studied the preacher attentively, only looking away to shush the children or make them sit up straight, or stop fiddling with their sleeves or skirts.
She looked so pretty today, in a white dress with blue pinstripes. It fit her figure precisely and had ruffles, frills and lace aplenty. He didn’t know fashion, but could tell it was something few other women in church could afford, and noticed some envious looks directed her way. It was like she’d stepped right out of one of his mother’s fashion magazines back in New York, the ones she’d leaf through while sipping coffee in the parlor.
Kurt was proud to call Holly his wife. But he still wondered how she felt about him.
Holly stood and rubbed her damp palms against her skirts. The service was over and people were leaving the pews, milling around or heading for the back door. The murmur of conversation filled the space, echoing against the walls and roof, making it difficult to hear anything in particular over the din of dozens of voices.
“I’ll see you outside,” said Kurt, close to her ear.
She spun around, wide-eyed. He was leaving her alone? But by the time she opened her mouth to protest, he’d disappeared into the crowd, the children following him. They ducked beneath arms and around wide skirts, and soon she was by herself.
She swallowed and smiled at a woman to her right, but the woman stared through her. She ran a hand over her hair, smoothing it back into place. She lifted her chin, stepped out of the pew and spied three women conversing to her left. They looked to be about her age, and small children flitted between their skirts, laughing, hiding and clutching the fabric with pudgy fingers.
With a smile, Holly inched closer, joining their circle. The conversation ceased and their eyes locked on her. One woman frowned. “Hello,” she began, her throat tight. “I’m Holly Sawyer.”
“We know who you are,” responded the frowning woman.
“Oh. Er …”
“Just so’s you know, we don’t approve of your type.”
Her heart lurched. “What do you mean, my … type?”
“The type of woman who tricks a young man into marryin’ her just to take on her children,” another woman, blonde hair pulled back into a severe bun, contributed. She shook her head and the other women nodded and sniffed in agreement.
Holly’s stomach twisted. Is that what they thought of her? “That’s not what happened. I answered an advertisement Mr. Sawyer placed in the newspaper in New York. He needed a wife and I a husband, and …”
The first woman, whose brown hair hung in bangs down the sides of her face, arched an eyebrow and interrupted her. “Mr. Sawyer is an upstanding member of our community. There are plenty of young women who’d have made him a good match.” She glanced at her friends smugly. “Including my niece, Jane She’d have been far more suitable for such a fine young man.” She sniffed again, looking Holly up and down in disdain.
Holly’s spine stiffened. “I’m sorry to hear you don’t approve of our marriage. But truth be told, it really isn’t any of your business. Who we marry and what we do is between Mr. Sawyer, myself and the Almighty, and none of us give two hoots what you think!” Her cheeks burning, she spun on her heel and strode out of the church.
When she reached Kurt’s side, he’d already hitched the horses to the wagon and settled the children into the wagon bed. He and another man turned to face her as she approached. “Holly, this is my brother Angus. Angus, this is my wife Holly.”
Holly was still wound up from the encounter with the women inside. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Sawyer,” she said sharply. He nodded and shook her outstretched hand with a compliment of some kind, but she couldn’t focus on his words.
Finally Angus’ voice cut through the buzzing in her head. “… my wife’s getting close to her time, so she couldn’t be here today, but I know she’s dying to meet you.”
“Of course. I can’t wait to meet her. I hope she’s well.”
“Oh, well enough, though she says she feels like an elephant. She doesn’t look it to me, though.” He grinned. “See you soon.” He left with a wave.
Holly crossed her arms, forcing herself to smile until he was gone.
“Ready to leave?” Kurt asked.
“Very.” She frowned.
His brow furrowed. “Is everything all right?”
Her nostrils flared. “Just fine and dandy, thank you,” she replied sarcastically.
He loo
ked confused, but offered an arm to help her into the wagon. “Well then, let’s get going, shall we?”
She nodded and climbed aboard, even as her stomach roiled. How dare those women speak to her that way? They knew nothing whatsoever about her. They’d judged her before they even met her, likely based on some snippet of gossip that made the rounds. She didn’t know how it could’ve happened so quickly, since this was the first time she and the children had visited town since their arrival a week earlier. Apparently the talebearers in Wichita were even more efficient than New Yorkers!
She could feel Kurt’s questioning eyes on her. She’d been short with him and he no doubt wondered why, but was afraid to broach the subject. And she wasn’t sure she wanted to talk about it.
She sighed and her shoulders drooped. It would be harder than she’d realized to find her way here. She’d dealt with the rejection of society women before, but hadn’t been expecting it from the country folk of a frontier town. Tears stung her eyes, and she sat in silence listening to the buzz of conversation amongst the children. It seemed they’d enjoyed their trip to town, and a couple of them had even made friends at the church.
Sam and Sal clopped steadily on, heads high and tails swishing. She studied the open plains, saw a pocket gopher disappear with a flick of its small tail into a hole in the ground. A shadow sailed over the landscape and a dozen more gophers darted underground. She shaded her eyes with a hand to peer upward as a hawk soared overhead, its wings outstretched on an updraft, one eye angled downward to search for lunch.
She’d known it would be hard to start afresh, but she hadn’t anticipated this hollow ache in her heart that never left, as if there was no place in the world for her to belong. The ranch was Kurt’s place. Even though they were married, she still felt like she and the children were visitors, guests. At any moment Kurt could change his mind and rescind the invitation.
She stole a glance at him. He sucked on a blade of grass and squinted ahead, the reins loose in his hands, his hat tipped low over his face. Her husband was a stranger to her.
They passed a thickly wooded copse where birch trees mingled with orange, red and brown-leaved oaks and maples. The air was cooler there, the birdcalls echoing in the darkened air. Kurt turned to face her. “How does this look? For the picnic.”
Holly nodded, one quick bob of the head. “This is fine.”
He followed a side trail into the woods until they heard the tinkle of cool water over rocks. “There’s a creek here – it’s a nice place to sit,” he said almost to himself. He stopped the wagon, and the children wasted no time in disembarking to explore the creek banks, searching for flat stones to skip across its glassy surface.
After Kurt helped her down, Holly unfolded a picnic rug and spread it on the ground close to the bank where she could keep an eye on the children. She sat and unpacked the picnic basket Kurt had carried from the wagon bed. There was a distance between them. She felt it crackle with the tension of things unspoken. He sat next to her, opened his mouth as if to speak, then shut it again and ran a hand over his beard.
She took a long breath and saw Eleanor was venturing too far into the water. “Eleanor Bristol! Don’t you ruin your Sunday dress!”
Eleanor pouted and stepped back out of the stream to stand beside the row of small shoes with socks tucked neatly inside. “Yes, Ma.”
Edward shrieked and leaped out of the water and onto the shore. “What is it?” asked Holly, her eyes narrowed.
Kurt hurried to Edward’s side, then laughed as he saw what was in the boy’s hands. “It’s nothing but a crayfish. You should see if you can catch more for supper – they’re tasty.”
Edward gazed up at Kurt with wide eyes and grinned. “Yes, sir!” He rushed back into the creek, looked around, then pounced with both hands. He pulled another wriggling, clawed creature out of the water and shouted in delight. “I got another one!”
“You sure did – good work!” Kurt called.
As Edward carried his prize over to show Holly, the girls jumped around him in fear and glee. “Eddie, will you share it with me?” asked Sarah excitedly.
He shook his head. “Catch your own.”
She pouted. “I will, then.” She spun on her heel and strode into the creek, water splashing up to her thighs and soaking her skirts.
Holly closed her eyes tight and groaned. There would be no stopping them now.
Edward deposited a crayfish on the rug beside the first one and headed back for more. Holly sighed, unwrapped a pack of sandwiches and used the string to tie the creatures’ claws together, then stuck them in the empty picnic basket. She returned her attention to the children, who were all now splashing in the creek, soaked to the bone, squealing in delight as they chased small fish and hunted crayfish.
Kurt went to join them, laughing over near-misses and cheering successful catches, and Holly smiled despite herself. He looked like one of them, clambering in the creek as though a child himself, his hat, boots and socks left safely on the bank.
Sarah emerged after a minute, grinning from ear to ear, a writhing crayfish in each hand. She set them down in front of her mother with a flourish. “I caught two, Ma!”
Holly chuckled and hurried to unwrap another pack of sandwiches. “Well done, my dear. You’re quite the fisherwoman.”
Sarah glowed beneath her praise and returned to the water.
Holly scanned the area for Tripp. Her eldest had taken to separating himself from the group, and today was no exception. She spotted him, seated alone on the ground behind her, his face drawn, faintly scowling. He watched the revelry before him with a flash of anger in his eyes.
Her heart fell. She ached for him and the pain he was feeling. As the oldest, he couldn’t shake the memory of their family, whole and happy as it had been. Her teeth clenched and she swallowed the lump that formed in her throat. She’d have to talk to him, but not now. He needed time to work things out in his own mind. He was much like her that way.
She turned back to the creek to discover they were playing a new game. Heather and Edward were pursuing Kurt in a wide circle, squealing and shouting. Sarah pounced in his path and splashed him. He shouted and rubbed his eyes to clear them, then grabbed Sarah, threw her in the air and watched her land with a splash in the creek. The rest of the children watched in silence.
Holly’s breath caught as Sarah struggled to find her footing and emerged from the water coughing and spluttering. She scrubbed her eyes with the back of her soaking wet sleeves … then burst out laughing. Heather, Edward and Eleanor all leaped at Kurt with cries of laughter. He dunked each one, making them all hoot and holler in delight – and come back for more.
Holly discovered she’d been holding her breath since Sarah’s head disappeared under the surface. But seeing their joy, she released it in a single burst and smiled widely. When she laughed out loud, Kurt spun to face her, his eyes sparkling, and motioned her over. She frowned, but complied. As he made his way toward her, her eyes narrowed – what was he up to?
She soon found out. He scooped her up with a grin, one hand around her back and the other beneath her skirts. She held onto him, screaming “Kurt, put me down!” as he carried her back toward the creek. “Don’t you dare! Kurt Sawyer, I demand you put me down this instant!” Surely he wouldn’t. He couldn’t.
He feigned dropping her into the frigid water and she shrieked, making him throw his head back in laughter. “You should see the look on your face,” he chortled.
She sighed and managed a wan smile. “I thought for a moment there you’d lost your senses and were about to throw me into the stream.”
A mischievous glint in his eyes made her catch her breath. “Who says I wasn’t?” he teased.
Suddenly she was very aware of his arms around her and the feel of his sturdy chest against her through his sodden shirt. Her heart skipped and her gaze landed on his lips, full, parted and half-smiling. She licked her own lips and took a quick breath. When her eyes found his again, her p
ulse quickened.
“Don’t fret, dear. I wouldn’t –” Before he could finish what he’d set out to say, he was shoved in the back. He stumbled forward, tripped and fell, landing them both with a great splash in the middle of the creek.
As the cold water soaked through her clothing, Holly gasped for air, clawing for the surface with both hands. Finally she set her feet on the bottom and stood, coughing and hacking up creek water from her lungs. Thankfully, the deepest part of the creek was barely five feet. Kurt slapped her on the back, then wiped the water from his own eyes. He laughed, coughed, then laughed again.
Her nostrils flaring, she marched out of the creek and up the bank, her fists clenched. She glared at the four children, who still stood in the creek looking contrite.
“Sorry, Ma,” said Eleanor, breaking the silence. She was always the first to speak.
“I just … I can’t imagine what you were thinking! I’m soaked …” Holly could barely form a sentence between her chattering teeth and racing mind.
“Sorry, Ma,” added the other three children.
“Sorry, Holly,” added Kurt. He’d also climbed out and stood close by, his hands on his hips. “Not that I planned it , but, well …”
She shook her head at him, then flounced back to the picnic rug. “Well, lunch is ready. Not that any of you deserve it.”
Deserving or not, they shouted with glee and raced over to the blanket to eat.
“Blessing first,” Kurt stated firmly, just as they were each about to thrust a sandwich into their mouths. And as Holly watched him lead her children in a prayer of thanks, the rage she’d felt dissipated like the creek water running from her clothing. She let herself smile just a little at the thought of how amusing it must have seemed to the children when she’d landed in that creek. And the memory of the looks on their faces when she emerged from the water sparked a giggle that she hid behind her hand.