Rancher's Woman

by Sarah Christian

  Esther’s hand still gripping her skirt ached from the force she was squeezing with and she was certain she'd leave little wounds from her nails in her own palms. The more they spoke, the more it sounded like they wouldn't be happy unless she left town entirely.

  “What do you want from me?”

  “Why, we want to know if you plan on marrying Mr. Marek, dear,” Emma said. “And if so, you really should move out of here until the wedding. He's far too virile for anyone to be comfortable with this.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “Not that I mind the work, but this really isn't the sort of thing you should ever have to hire out for,” Mack pointed out quietly as Jachym helped him pull boards from the wagon.

  He was right, which Jachym hated. Everyone else, it seemed, had people capable of doing their work properly. Most everyone else in Sweet Town had small enough operations that they could rely on family members or one or two hired hands, though, while he'd been inexperienced enough at dealing with beef cattle he'd been certain hiring on a full crew was exactly what he needed. Yet day by day it seemed as though most of them were either as inexperienced as he was, or cared so little it hardly mattered what experience they had.

  “What's going on over there?” He nodded toward the women to change the subject.

  “Oh, a few women from town wanted to check up on your housekeeper. They can be terribly nosy in this town, I'm afraid.”

  Esther didn't look like she was simply being checked up on. She looked rather upset. “Excuse me,” Jachym said.

  “I just want to work here, that's all,” Esther was saying as he came close enough to hear. There was a weariness to her voice, as though she'd had to say the same words repeatedly.

  “But what sort of work?” the tall, skinny one asked. Jachym didn't like her tone.

  “What is this?” he demanded.

  All three women turned to face him. Even a toddler who'd been playing at his mother's feet looked up at him with serious brown eyes. Despite it being his own ranch and his own housekeeper, he felt as though he were intruding somehow into the realm of those who truly held power.

  “We were asking Esther how she was doing out here and whether or not there was anything romantic between the two of you,” the shorter one with a large belly no corset could hope to contain said.

  “Why? What does it matter to you?” Jachym looked from the two visitors. The one he recognized as the pastor's wife—and Mack Coffman's sister-in-law—while the other was the wife of a city councilman. “It might be odd for a man to marry his servant, but I don't recall reading anything against it in the Bible.”

  Mrs. Leonetti frowned, looking genuinely perplexed now. “It's not servants we're worried about.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “Esther has a past,” Mrs. Whitney began.

  “Don't we all?”

  “Yes, every one of us,” the pastor's wife agreed, “but some pasts are a bit more of a past than others.”

  He paused, trying to make sense of what the woman had said. Perhaps he was missing some special English idiom, but it struck him that the pastor's wife was trying to say things without coming right out and saying them. The conversation was more implication and innuendo than anything else.

  “Tell me plainly what you mean.”

  Mrs. Leonetti shook her head. “How can you expect us to be anything but concerned, Mr. Marek? You're living with a soiled dove.”

  Another euphemism, but this one he recognized. It was used to describe women of no virtue, who sold their company to the highest bidder. He looked to Esther in shock, who had turned her face to the side to try to mask her expression, but he couldn't miss the pain there or the tears sparkling on her cheek.

  “You come here, to my ranch, to insult her?” It no longer mattered that they were women with important connections in the community, not to Jachym. He pointed to Coffman's wagon. “You can go. I will tell your husbands of what vile lies you say.”

  “What do you expect my husband to do? Send me to bed without supper?” Mrs. Leonetti retorted. “He knows where I am. He's not as concerned as I am, but he should be.”

  “Why are you concerned at all?” He shook his head. “Just leave this innocent woman alone.”

  “But she's not innocent,” Mrs. Whitney protested.

  “You expect me to believe this sweet girl is some painted jezebel?” Jachym turned to look at Esther, whose hair was neatly braided, her face clean, her clothes demure. She never went near the ranch hands and while he felt drawn to her, she certainly hadn't so much as hinted he'd be welcome in her room.

  Esther squeezed her eyes shut. “They aren't lying.”

  Cold washed over him. “What?”

  “They aren't lying. I'm not... I'm not a soiled dove any longer, but I had been. It was the only way to survive all alone.”

  A thousand questions ran through his head. How had she ended up out here alone? How did she end up this way? He couldn't ask them, though. Not in front of these women he didn't know, who had already pushed themselves far too deeply into Esther's private matters. It would only give further ammunition to whatever agenda they had. And it would expose far too much of his own worries, his own feelings.

  He turned to walk off instead. He stopped only long enough to get his horse ready, then rode off hard to the outer edges of his land.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  After the ladies left with Mr. Coffman, Esther tried to soldier on. She cooked a supper of beans and cornbread that she took the bulk of to the bunkhouse. But as the day slid toward night, Jack had still not returned. Esther moved the pot of chili to a cooler spot on the stove and turned the wick up on a lamp she had placed near a comfortable chair. She would use a pair of Jack’s trousers for a pattern to cut a new pair, and begin sewing while she waited for him to return.

  The repetitive activity of sewing gave her mind the freedom to wander and where it went was not good. She worried over Jack’s opinion of her, and if she would still have a job on the ranch when he returned. The last stitch tied off, she stood and held the trousers out to admire. He would cut a fine figure in the dark fabric. She’d noticed he wore nicer clothes than many of the men in the area, and the ones she had just made were of the same quality. A loose thread was visible along the waistband, and she picked up her tiny sewing scissors, not the sturdy ones she used for cutting fabric, to carefully snip the offending thread just as the door opened. She warily watched him come in, his face worn and tired.

  “I kept some dinner warm for you.” She folded the pants and lay them over the arm of the chair.

  “That sounds good. Sorry I’m so late. I needed the time to think.”

  She nodded but said nothing. What could she say? Of course he would need to consider what his next actions would be. He likely felt she had deceived him, though she had never lied. If he’d asked her straight out, she would have answered truthfully as to what her work had been before taking the job in Bridget’s laundry. At first she thought he knew about her past. She had assumed everyone knew about her, but that was obviously not accurate. It was best to let him lead the conversation, she decided, and set about spooning hot beans into a large bowl.

  Jack sat at the table in the kitchen and toed off his boots. “It’s getting colder out there. It started raining but that’s turned to sleet and snow now.” He picked up the spoon she’d laid before him and began eating.

  Esther buttered a large square of cornbread for him. Setting it on a plate she pushed it across the table to him. Though he murmured his thanks, he never raised his eyes to her and her heart sank. She was sure she knew what his decision was. There was nothing to lose, except his respect, and she feared that was already lost.

  Slowly she untied her apron and hung it on a hook by the back door. She had taken a step toward the other doorway, that led to the parlor and the hallway to the bedrooms, when he finally raised his head.

  “Don’t go yet. Sit with me while I eat. Please.”

  Her heart
was hammering in her chest, but she slid into one of the chairs and folded her hands on her lap.

  “I need to understand, Esther. You are everything a woman should be; smart, beautiful, talented. Why would you have done this?”

  “Done what?” she asked, genuinely confused. “Come here to work for you?”

  His smile was sad. “No, I would hope that working here was a good choice. What I wonder is why you sold yourself to men? How did you come to that place where it was a choice?”

  She scratched a nail across a speck stuck on the tabletop. “Do you really want to know or are you just looking for a starting point to lecture me?”

  He put his spoon down and reached out to grasp her hand. “When I was in the cavalry I did things I am not proud of. And later, to get the papers to leave, I had to say things that are not true in my heart. Do you understand?”

  “You mean as a soldier? Everyone knows that men have to suspend their morals on the battlefield.”

  He shook his head, his thumb caressing the back of her hand, lazily making circles across her knuckles. “When you are in the service, your commanding officer owns you. He tells you what to do and you must do it. Some of the things he told us men to do were not the right things. When I left, I had to sign a paper saying I gave up all my rights to anything I owned in the Bohemian Kingdom, and that I would never speak of those things my commander ordered.” He leaned his head a little to the side, trying to look into her face. “I am not proud of these things but I did what I had to do to survive.”

  Esther could relate to that. Though she hadn’t been in a war, and she took full responsibility for the choices she’d had to make, she knew the feeling of struggling to survive. “I came west with a man. He’d been my beau back in my hometown and he talked me into running away with him. He said we’d get married and settle down, make a claim and start a farm.” Those girlish dreams hadn’t been unrealistic but she’d chosen the wrong man to pin her hopes on.

  “What happened, Esther? What went wrong?”

  “We got as far as Sweet Town and he up and left me. He said he was going to Deadwood to work in the mines and would be back for me but the days turned into weeks and I had no word of what had befallen him.”

  “Did you ask for help from anyone in town? The church or the mayor?”

  She smiled sadly. “Back then it was a much smaller town. There wasn’t a mayor, or even a town council. It was just a spot where people had gathered to live, and there was a store.” She swallowed, and ran her tongue across her lips to wet them. “I was living in an abandoned soddie at the north end of town. One day a miner came walking past my place. I stopped him and asked for word of my beau. I had no money, nor food, and winter was coming. I suppose I looked desperate and he made me an offer. He must’ve put out word that I was willing because soon I had visitors showing up with coins, gold dust, gifts of food and other things.”

  Jack put one large hand against her cheek and she leaned into the comfort of it. It had been so long since she had allowed herself to cry, but suddenly the floodgates opened. She sobbed, tears gushing from her eyes, and she turned her wet face into his hand, her cries muffled against his skin. She realized that she was grieving for the girl she had been, that starry eyed young lady who thought she was off on a romantic adventure.

  He leaned forward pressing his cheek against the side of her head and whispered into her hair, “The important thing is we both survived.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  They stayed like that, awkwardly embracing across the table until Esther’s cried subsided and she pulled away to wipe her face on her skirt. Jachym sat back, too. Her face was blotchy from crying but he hoped the burden of the past was relieved somewhat from having shared it.

  “You may have heard that I’m a hard man, not gentle or soft.”

  “No, I had never even heard of you until you offered me this job.”

  He thought about that a moment, and smiled at his own foolishness, imagining others talking about him. “Good. I’m glad you didn’t come here with the expectation that I am cruel.”

  She smiled gently. “You are anything but cruel.”

  “Ah, but I saw your face when I struck my old foreman. You were upset,” he chided.

  “True, but I know you had your reasons. I trust you to be fair and kind. The reason I was so upset is because it reminded me of the times men hit me in the past.”

  He half stood abruptly, causing the chair to skid backwards with a scream of wood on wood, as if he would avenge her mistreatment. “They hit you? What would they gain by such behavior?”

  “I don’t know,” she said wearily. “But the final straw was when one of them stabbed me. I was lucky to survive. So, violence frightens me, and yes, I was scared when I saw your altercation with the foreman, but I know you are a good man and would only become physical with provocation.”

  He sank back into the chair. He was glad she trusted him. He only hoped it wasn’t misplaced. “I’ve seen much that isn’t fair. Those in power often lord it over others, imposing their will. I admit I can’t abide by it anymore.”

  “What have you seen, Jack?”

  Somehow the Americanized version of his name wasn’t quite so irritating coming from her lips. “My commander sent us into villages with instructions to take things of value from the people there. Some of the other men also did unspeakable things to women they encountered. I never did,” he was quick to point out, “but I demanded payment from people, monies that I turned over to the Bohemian rulers.” He looked at the darkened window, lamplight reflected in the glass, rendering the scene outdoors invisible. “To this day I cannot abide by anyone telling me what to do, especially if it means hurting someone solely for the advantage of another.”

  “I can understand that,” she said.

  “When I came here I thought, I will marry a young Bohemian virgin and raise sons on my American ranch. My wealth would grow and it would gain me power to be immune from the whims of rulers and despots. My children would know the old ways and my wife would cook our traditional food.” He laughed quietly to himself. Such foolishness. Where had he thought he would find that bride? Briefly he’d considered Therese but the only thing that had made her attractive to him was her heritage. He thought she was far too restless to ever be happy with him. He was happy for her when he found out she was marrying the blacksmith.

  Perhaps he could have a girl from his home country come to America to marry him, but for what purpose? To hang on to his past, instead of marching forward into his future? There was more to a marriage than a shared language or culture.

  “And what do you think now?” Esther’s nose was still red from crying, her eyes luminous with tears. He imagined she would be critical of her appearance but to him, she was beautiful. She looked honest and real.

  “I think America is a place where many people from many places have come. We all bring our histories but instead of remaining true to them, or giving them up entirely, we must change, adapting to our new environment.” He stood and walked to the window, looking out but instead of seeing the farmyard he saw the kitchen reflected back at him. Esther sitting at the table watching him. His abandoned meal, simple beans and cornbread, as American as anything he had ever eaten there, now cold. He saw the exact moment she stood, and he watched as she slowly moved closer to him until she stood directly behind him, the heat of her body radiating into his flesh, warming his back. “I will not ever be as American as you, born and raised on this land, but I am no longer as Bohemian as I once was, having absorbed the culture of my adopted home.”

  She stepped closer until he felt crowded, not by her body, but by some other emotion, something that wanted to break free inside him. He turned to face her and she was near enough that her bosom brushed his chest.

  “The fair and honorable thing for me to do is to marry you. It will end this talk once and for all.”

  Esther nearly fell down as she backed quickly away from him. She shook her head until silk
y strands came free from their pins. Wordlessly she turned and went to her room.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The storm of the night before left several inches of wet snow on the ground but when the sun rose, much of it melted. Jack’s wagon rolled slowly over the ground, creating a little rooster tail of muddy slush as the narrow iron wheels turned. After one particularly large bounce Esther looked back into the wagon box at the two large bags of laundry she was taking into town.

  When Jack had mentioned he was going into Sweet Town to pay Mack Cofman for the work he’d done the day before, she asked if he would take along the laundry.

  “Why don’t you come along. You can choose that fabric we talked of.”

  “You mean for a dress? Are you sure you still want to do that?”

  “Of course,” he’d said forcefully. “Get your things and meet me at the wagon in five minutes.”

  She’d had to rush to get everything together in time but now, several minutes into the journey, she was uncomfortable with his silence and regretted accompanying him.

  If only his proposal the night before had included mention of love, she might have considered his bid for her hand in marriage. Now they were stuck in this alliance, knowing each other’s secrets.

  She scrambled for something to say to fill the silence. “Did you try on the trousers I made you yesterday?”

  He didn’t even glance in her direction. “Yes, they are fine. Thank you.”

  “I can alter them if they don’t fit perfectly,” she offered.

  “They are fine,” he repeated firmly.

  “I can make more. You could pick out some fabric, maybe something lighter in weight for the coming warmer weather.”

  He raised and lowered his arm in a quick chopping motion. “Enough about the pants.”