A Love Defying The Odds (Historical Western Romance)

by Cassidy Hanton

  Genevieve lacked the strength to argue with the old woman’s folk remedies. Instead, she took the tray that Gertie handed her, noting the mug of water to drink and the basin for washing. A stack of neatly folded bandages sat on the corner of the tray, ready to be applied.

  Upstairs, the men moved back to wait against the walls when Genevieve entered. She was desperate to know what had happened, what they’d seen, how they’d found her son, but that would have to wait. She unbuttoned Matthew’s shirt and felt his arms, both relieved and dismayed that the only injury was to his head.

  “Has he spoken much?” she asked quietly as she lifted his head and placed a towel beneath it.

  “No, ma’am, only long enough to see us and know who we were,” one of the men replied.

  She nodded. Soaking the rags in the porcelain basin, she began to wash the blood from Matthew’s hair, stifling a cry when it ran in red streams to the floor. It took a few minutes of work but she finally found the gash on the back of his skull.

  “Help me turn him, if you please. Gently now,” Genevieve said, calling the men forward. They stepped back in place as soon as they’d situated him on his side, but Genevieve said, “There’s no need of disturbing your rest tonight. Thank you for your help, but you may go. Please though, if one of you will wait at the porch until the doctor arrives, and tell him where to go?”

  “Yes ma’am,” one of the men mumbled, and the three of them shuffled out of the room, leaving her to tend to her son.

  Genevieve was struck with a sudden memory, one that nearly choked the air from her lungs. It was from a time years before but in a room like this one, sitting at a man’s bedside, washing him with cool water from a basin… and waiting for him to die.

  No! That won’t happen this time! I won’t stand for it, I can’t! Genevieve brushed away the tears that betrayed her. You’re not going to leave me here!

  Chapter Twelve

  With each passing day, Lucy grew more and more numb to the silence inside the house. Her heart, while still far from healed, slowly became hardened against the pain of losing what little family she’d had. Seeing so much as a forgotten book or a lone toy could still bring back a surge of fresh tears even after these few weeks had passed, but it became easier to face each new day.

  Still, she clung to the letters from her rancher acquaintance like a lifeline, a symbol that there was something more out there for her than the loneliness of Shortcrag. Lucy had come to anticipate the letters as the only bright spot in her dreary world, and more than once she’d had to wonder: is this what books and stories meant by “love?” The excitement one feels at hearing from a special person, and the feeling that wells up in one’s chest when their kind words arrive?

  His latest letter, in fact, delivered only that day, had upended her entire world.

  …I feel we have had ample correspondence, and I therefore have no misgivings about inviting you to Tuckerrise… my mother welcomes you as well and will gladly serve as chaperone for your proper lodging… it would be my pleasure to finally meet you in person, and if you feel so inclined, to make an offer of marriage…

  Marriage! Lucy had been taken aback when she read the word, but then again, what had been the purpose in writing all these weeks if not to become better acquainted? Had not the intention been for both of them to find their match?

  Mr. Miller’s—no, make that Matthew’s—letter had included not only instructions on how to find passage and at what appointed time, he’d taken the liberty of making the arrangements himself and paying the fare. He’d even requested that she wear the brooch she’d mentioned in one of her letters, the one that remained as her only possession of her parents, so that he might know her when he saw her in town. Lucy need only pack her few meager belongings, make her goodbyes to Mrs. Mayhew and Mr. Popwell, and close the door to the schoolhouse on her way out. It was that simple.

  So why was she so frightened?

  “Girl, you have to go,” Mrs. Mayhew assured her sweetly. “There’s a whole world waiting on you out there! There ain’t nothing but sadness and an empty building—and soon, an empty belly—waiting for you here.”

  “I know, deep down I know you’re right…” Lucy said, but she hesitated, unable to bring herself to say the words. Finally, she took a deep breath and whispered through her tears, “But what if the children come back and I’m not here? What will they do?”

  “Oh, honey. You know we’ll look after ‘em! And we’ll send word the second we can!” the older woman said, knowing that there was no harm in telling her these things since there was no chance it would come to pass.

  Lucy sniffled but smiled gratefully. “Then I guess there’s nothing more to think about. I’m gonna do it. I’m going to Utah!”

  “That’s the way to do it! Just jump in feet first!” Mrs. Mayhew said, clapping her hands. “If you’ll hurry and speak to Mr. Popwell, he can tell you whether the wagon of supplies is still coming tomorrow, and where it’s headed. Go ask him, he can tell you the best way to get passage to your new home.”

  “Home…” Lucy repeated to herself. A real home? One that could actually be hers, and that no one could ever take from her?

  “Can I even hope that this whole adventure turns out the way I pray it will?” she asked.

  “What do you mean, child?” Mrs. Mayhew replied, confused.

  “I don’t know… maybe it’s just the daydreams of a silly girl. But in all the stories I’ve read, the heroine who faces unspeakable adversity manages to overcome it all and find happiness. She finds love, even. You know more about these things than I do, Mrs. Mayhew. Do any of the ladies who reply to an ad find something more than just a respectful partnership? Are they… are they happy and fulfilled?”

  “Well, child, I can’t say as I know too many girls who’ve taken this path.” The older woman looked very serious, intently thoughtful. “And I’m sure there are some that are miserable with their choice, who’ve lived to regret it—after all, that’s why the agreement must be made that the man pay for your passage home. But I don’t think girls would still be taking such a chance if it never worked out happily for some.”

  “But I could be one of those unfortunate girls!” Lucy said, her face clouding.

  Mrs. Mayhew reached for her hands and held them tightly. “But you could also be the other kind, the kind who meets a wonderful man and has the happiest of marriages! My own dear husband was no saint on this Earth, but there were so many more wonderful days than difficult ones! That is what I want for you, Lucy.”

  The older woman hugged her close, then shooed her out the door to go inquire about the coach. Lucy spoke with Mr. Popwell as she’d been instructed, then hurried to her room behind the kitchen to gather her things. It took some time for her to find a bag suitable enough to carry what few things she had, and for a moment, she felt a sense of panic well up inside her. Matthew Miller seemed humble enough in his letters, but his descriptions of his ranch left her wondering if her appearance was too meager.

  What would she do if he found her clothes—only two homespun dresses of thin calico and a small collection of delicates—or her one pair of shoes lacking? She knew nothing of style or fashion as there was no chance to observe these things in the little town. Would he be displeased by her simple looks and dress?

  For a moment, Lucy considered digging into the small pouch of coins Mrs. Alexander had given her. She’d been loath to touch it until now, viewing it as a blood payment of sorts in exchange for taking the children from the school. Now, though, she wondered if it wasn’t a blessing in disguise. Could there possibly be enough in there for a new blouse and skirt from Mr. Popwell’s, or at least a pair of shoes that hadn’t been patched a few times? They didn’t have to be stylish, but something where the sleeves reached the back of her hands instead of ending too-small at her bony wrists would look nice.

  No! Lucy set her shoulders firmly. She wouldn’t use that money, however much there may be, for something so silly as a more pleasing o
utfit. If Mr. Miller didn’t like her as she was, then he wasn’t the man she’d hoped he would be. A shirtwaist covered in mother-of-pearl buttons or sleeves with billows of fabric at the shoulders weren’t worth risking what little money she had.

  “Besides, I might need every penny to get away from there if he turns out to be the wrong sort of man…” she muttered aloud, looking around the room. “I mustn’t be tempted to spend any of it!”

  This new resolve only led Lucy to be struck by another thought. What would she eat along the way? She hurried to the kitchen to look through the meager stores. She came up with a few stringy scraps of leftover smoked goat meat, some shriveled potatoes, a little bit of flour, and the sugar Mrs. Mayhew gave her. Everything else had been picked over until it was just pieces and crumbs.

  “Still, there’s enough here for some biscuits, and I can whip up some jam with this sugar if I fetch some berries, assuming there are any left, that is,” she muttered in the emptiness absently. “The potatoes and the meat can make a thin soup, unless I can stretch the flour enough to thicken it.”

  What I wouldn’t give for just a bite from the Christmas dinners the Aid Society used to bring! Lucy’s mouth nearly watered at the memory of her first taste of glazed hams, whipped potatoes that swam in fresh sweet butter, and string beans that had been cooked in beef stock until they nearly fell apart under her spoon. She shook off the memory, determined to be content with whatever the Lord provided.

  While Lucy planned for enough food to carry her through what might be a journey of a week or better, she retraced her steps through the old boarding school, soaking up the memories it had to offer and tucking them away.

  “I may return, or I may not,” Lucy said out loud in the empty house. “But I know this much… I will tend to myself first and foremost while also following where the Lord may lead. It’s up to me now. If any prayers are answered in this world, it will be that Matthew Miller is the kind, attentive, and loving man his words make him out to be.”

  Lucy paused, remembering the way his letters made her feel. She’d always been content at the school, but his words made her feel something new. Was it hope? Or could she already believe that it was something much more?

  * * *

  The journey to Tuckerrise had been strange, to say the least. After learning that her only chance to leave Shortcrag was the following morning, Lucy had packed up all she had and prepared some food to take with her along the way. There had been no time to send a return letter to Matthew before she had to leave, so Lucy had taken the time to pen a quick note and leave it at one of the stagecoach stops.

  She’d also been unprepared for the need to stay overnight, having never ridden the coach before. When the driver had announced they were stopping for the night, the other two passengers ambled over to a small, one-story hotel of sorts. Lucy had looked around for her options, unaware that she’d need to pay for lodging during her trip.

  “Did you hear me, miss?” the driver had asked, gesturing for her to get out. “We’re stopping for the night. There’s a hotel over yonder that way.”

  “Um, yes. I see. Thank you,” she’d replied, looking uncertain.

  “Oh dear. You didn’t know about the delay?” he’d asked. “Well, if you’ve got the money, the hotel isn’t too costly. But if you don’t, you can ask right over there if the minister and his wife can put you up for the night. It happens from time to time, and they’re very generous people.”

  Relieved, Lucy followed his instructions and knocked on their door fearfully, only to be greeted by warm embraces and kindly words. She enjoyed her stay very much and felt a pang of regret when it was time to leave them.

  “Maybe there’s hope in this world after all,” she said as she left their cabin the next morning and waited for the coach. “If only Matthew and his mother are so dear, I won’t have anything to worry about.”

  The entire trip was a blur of coaches and drivers, passengers and landscape. At times it felt as though the swaying of the carriage compartment would never cease, and Lucy was sure she could still feel the movement beneath her legs when she walked on solid ground. It was both extremely bothersome and yet the most exciting adventure she’d ever had.

  Finally, the day came that the coach stopped moving and Lucy was to disembark.

  “Miss? We’re here. Are you awake?” a kindly woman beside her said, tapping her shoulder lightly. Lucy startled awake and looked around, confusion clouding her mind.

  “We’re here? You mean, we’re in Tuckerrise?”

  “Why, of course! Where else would you expect us to be?” The woman laughed and climbed down from the coach, leaving Lucy to stare in wonder out the windows.

  She’d never seen so many people or so many buildings in her entire life. From stories she’d read, she knew there had to be large cities that were even bigger than this one, although she could scarcely imagine them.

  Everywhere she looked, men, women, and children walked the wide street, some in a hurry and some content to mosey to their destinations. Laborers carried their supplies and vendors rolled great carts laden with wares. The stench of a hundred horses hung in the air, but Lucy found it wasn’t as unpleasant as it had first seemed. Unlike Shortcrag with its one main thoroughfare, side streets and alleys branched off in different directions, leaving Lucy to wonder how anyone didn’t get lost.

  More than anything, the noise of the small city made Lucy uncomfortable. At every turn, men were shouting, shopkeepers called out their wares, the team of workers at the blacksmith pounded their tools against iron bars, leaving her ears ringing.

  Taking refuge outside the storefront of a shop that sold ladies’ hats and dresses, Lucy stared in wonder at the busy town for a few minutes, taking it all in. She felt the breath leave her lungs as she tried to look at everything at once.

  Fingering the brooch at her throat nervously, Lucy waited in a shady spot out of the heat of the sun. Tendrils of hair that had escaped the pins began to stick to the nape of her neck, whether from the heat or from her frayed nerves, she couldn’t say.

  “Think,” she muttered softly as the minutes ticked by into nearly half an hour. “Where do I go from here? Matthew’s letter said he’d meet me at the depot. That’s where I should wait then. But where is it? What if he walks right past me as I’m heading that way?”

  Lucy looked around until she spotted a man watching her, eyeing her from across the road. He stood leaning up against a post, casually watching the crowds of people move past. Every time she met his eye, he was looking at her as if trying to place her.

  She had to make a decision. I won’t be the one to approach him, it’s not fitting. He’ll just have to come over here if he wishes to speak.

  Lucy waited a few minutes longer, intent on not looking at the man. He seemed to fit the description Matthew had mentioned in his letters—tall, brown hair, the build of a rancher who works his land all day long—but she had no way to be sure. Finally, he began to walk towards her, and Lucy thought her heart might stop from the trepidation.

  “Hey there,” the man said in a soft drawl. “Are you Miss Jones?”

  “I am,” Lucy replied, trying to remain composed. “And who might you be?”

  The man looked around and cast a glance over his shoulder, then said, “Matthew Miller. I’ve come to fetch you.”

  “It’s nice to meet you in person,” she replied, feeling the rush of disappointment that came from Matthew’s haughty demeanor. While his letters had never been flowery or overly romantic, he had at least seemed kind and interested. Now, though, he seemed almost… inconvenienced.

  “Likewise, ma’am.” He tipped his hat to her then turned, and Lucy only presumed he meant for her to follow him. She picked up her bag, noting that he’d made no move to carry it for her, and trailed after him.

  “Is it far to your home?” she asked, making small talk as Matthew led the way. Instead of answering, the man merely shook his head. Lucy had nothing else to say but, “I see.”
<
br />   Until they reached his horse, that was. Lucy looked around in confusion to find that Matthew was untying a lone horse rather than a team and wagon. Far from having expected a gilt carriage or some other fancy transport, she had at least thought there would be somewhere to sit that was a polite distance from a man she barely knew. She held her tongue though, but when he turned and offered her a leg up into the saddle, she didn’t know what to say.

  Mutely, Lucy accepted his help and sat as best she could atop the horse, immediately reaching for her long skirts and trying in vain to arrange them over her legs. She was even more taken aback when Matthew hoisted himself up into the saddle in front of her before instructing her to hold on tightly.

  Instead of reaching around his waist, Lucy held tightly to her bag with one hand and gripped the back of the saddle with the other, uncomfortable with the proximity to this man. She was struck by how little she really knew him, despite their handful of letters back and forth. Could she have been so easily taken with him only because he was her savior of sorts?