by Renee Ryan
Good. She’d wanted to surprise him. She’d come to an important decision last night and needed to put her thoughts into action before she lost her nerve. “Good morning, Pete.”
He gave her a feeble smile. “Good morning, Rebecca.”
She liked how his voice shook over her name. It meant he was feeling more emotion than he was willing to admit.
The thought added a cheery note to her own voice. “I’m glad I caught you before you left this morning. I have something I want to say. But first, sit.” She nudged him toward the table. “Breakfast is ready.”
“Rebecca, I—”
“Sit.”
Scowling at her with a mixture of confusion and masculine frustration, he plopped into his usual chair.
She quickly spooned oatmeal into a bowl and set it on the table in front of him. He didn’t eat. Well, then.
“I’ve made a few decisions about our marriage,” she said.
He eyed her cautiously. “What sort of decisions?”
“For one, we can’t keep going on like we have been. It’s not good for either of us.”
“Rebecca, I—”
“No, let me finish.”
He nodded. She could see him creating distance between them, in the way he held his shoulders stiff and unmoving. Ah, but she also saw a flicker of hope in his eyes, as well. That alone gave her the courage to continue. “Neither of us came into this marriage willingly. Gossip, rumors and the evil-minded Tullys forced our hands.”
The regret on his face, and the sorrow that followed, nearly had her rethinking her decision. She pressed on instead. “Of course, the how and the why aren’t important anymore. We’re married now.”
She paused, nearly losing her nerve as she stared into Pete’s severe gaze. No, she’d come this far. She had to say the rest.
Pete spoke first. “Rebecca, I’m sorry you were forced to marry me. I know I’m not an easy man to live with.” He looked deeply concerned, and genuinely apologetic.
Her next words came out in a rush. “Do you remember when we were in your storm cellar and I told you about my parents, how they banded together when the hard times came?”
He nodded, cautiously.
“In my mind, if not in my heart, I’ve come to understand why they left me out. I know it wasn’t intentional. Nevertheless, I led a lonely childhood. Pete—” she swallowed “—I don’t want to be lonely in my marriage, as well. I want us to be close. But I also want more than friendship and camaraderie. I want a real marriage.”
He opened his mouth to speak. She stopped him. “No. Don’t respond. Not yet.”
He lifted an eyebrow, waiting obediently for her to continue.
“All I ask is that over the next few days you think about what I’ve just said.” She stepped closer to him, touched his shoulder with a gentle hand. “Think about what you really want from me and our marriage. And then give me an honest answer when you’re ready.”
She leaned over and kissed him on the top of his head. She tried not to linger. Nearly succeeded. “I’ll see you tonight.”
His long intake of air and then fast exhalation was the last thing she heard as she rushed out of their house.
Chapter Seventeen
Several hours later, Rebecca washed dishes while Bess dried them quietly beside her. Used to the girl’s silence, Rebecca took the opportunity to mull over what she’d said to Pete in their kitchen that morning.
She didn’t regret giving him what boiled down to an ultimatum. She wanted her husband’s love and affection and figured it was up to her to nudge him in the right direction. And if he didn’t come around?
Not worth considering.
Her next step was to provide him with a real home. She’d started the process this morning. She’d stopped at the mercantile and ordered material for new curtains from Mr. Johnson. Matilda and her mean daughter had been nowhere in sight, so Rebecca had taken the time to pick out wallpaper, as well. Both items were in stock, but because of Mr. Johnson’s workload she would have to wait a day or two for delivery.
More confident than she’d been in weeks, Rebecca handed a wet dish to Bess for drying. Picking up the next dirty plate, she let the words of one of her favorite hymns flow softly from her lips.
It felt good to sing. Bleakness was not in her usual nature. Reverend Preston was correct. The people in this town needed to focus on the future. Rebecca needed to focus on the future. And she only knew one way to do that.
By focusing on the Lord.
She called to mind one of God’s promises in Jeremiah. I will turn their mourning into joy.
It was time to take the Lord at His Word. Time to tap into her characteristic joy rather than allow sorrow in her life. Time for singing rather than weeping.
She passed off the next plate to Bess. “What do you say we go on a picnic? Neither of us has eaten yet. It might be nice to do so outdoors.”
Rubbing the plate with slow circles, Bess looked pointedly at the ancient clock mounted on the wall above their heads.
Right, Emmeline was due any minute. “Not a problem. We’ll ask your sister to come with us.”
Bess’s hand stilled, as though she was thinking over Rebecca’s suggestion. Then she nodded.
“Will you finish these dishes while I pack our food?”
Bess moved into Rebecca’s spot. Rebecca continued humming as she gathered the picnic food. Emmeline arrived just as she closed the lid to the basket.
“Bess, honey,” Emmeline called out. “Are you ready to go?”
Forgetting all about the picnic, Rebecca studied her friend with concern. Emmeline’s eyes were red-rimmed and ringed with lines of worry. Poor Emmeline. She’d probably been up all night crying over the missing twins.
Rebecca drew in a breath, recognizing the pain in her chest as anxiety she herself felt over the lost children.
“What’s that?” Emmeline asked, pointing to the basket.
Rebecca shook off her sadness, only just remembering her promise to turn her sorrow into joy. “We’re going on a picnic.”
“Who’s going on a picnic?”
“The three of us. You, me and Bess.”
“What a lovely idea.” A shadow of regret flashed in Emmeline’s eyes. “But I promised Cassandra that Bess and I would help her clean the schoolhouse this afternoon.”
At the mention of Cassandra, Rebecca thought of Clint Fuller. She had no doubt the cowboy was a good man under all his gruff ways, far better than that snooty Percival Walker. But did Cassandra agree? Why not find out?
“Cassandra can join us, as well,” Rebecca offered.
“I suppose it couldn’t hurt to ask her.” Emmeline’s voice was quiet and contained, but her gaze lit with excitement.
Inspired by her friend’s change of heart, Rebecca pulled Emmeline into a tight hug. “Now, that’s the spirit.”
Emmeline clung longer than usual before stepping away and looking over at her sister. “What do you say, Bess? Want to go on a picnic this afternoon?”
Bess set the final plate on the stack she’d been building, put the dish towel on top of the pile, then picked up her bonnet. She tied the ribbons under her chin as she moved toward the back door. Hand poised on the doorknob, she waited for Emmeline and Rebecca. Mild impatience flickered in her eyes.
“I suppose we know her answer,” Rebecca said, smiling.
“I suppose we do.” Emmeline joined her sister at the door.
Now both young women looked eager to go.
Rebecca couldn’t have been more pleased.
As they made their way to the heart of town, the heavy breeze carried a faint scent of sawdust and tar. Given the hour, Rebecca wasn’t surprised to hear the sound of hammers pounding nails.
As if to add its own profound statement, the schoolhouse stood bold and unflinching against the backdrop of the clear blue sky, telling all who cared to look that it had withstood the tornado without a scratch.
Smiling at the reminder, Rebecca followed Emmeli
ne and Bess up the front steps. They found Cassandra dusting an empty shelf in the back of the building.
The pretty schoolteacher wore a lilac dress in a simple striped pattern. The soft color complemented her dark hair and light eyes, making her look beautiful but still approachable. It was no wonder two men were vying for her affection.
“Want to join us for a picnic?” Emmeline asked, looking more lighthearted than she had when she’d first arrived.
Cassandra’s hand stilled. “Now? I—” Her eyes widened as she scanned the rest of their group. “Oh, hello, Bess, Rebecca. Did you do the cooking?”
“I did. With Bess’s help.”
“Well, then, count me in.” She set down her duster and proceeded to put on her bonnet and gloves. The four women exited the schoolhouse wearing matching smiles.
As before, the streets were filled with the activity of a typical summer afternoon. Along with the sound of hammering, the lazy clip-clop of horses’ hooves mingled with children’s laughter. A dog yapped in the distance.
Cassandra linked arms with Emmeline. “Where are we eating this picnic of ours?”
“I know a place, just on the edge of town.” Emmeline swung her gaze to Rebecca. “Unless you have somewhere else in mind?”
“I’m sure your spot will be perfect.”
The day pulsed hot, but Rebecca didn’t mind. It felt good to be outside with her friends. Breathing in the thick, sticky air, she looked to the cloudless sky and smiled. Nothing bad could happen under such pristine, unmarred blue.
Humming softly, she kicked aside a rock just as Cassandra released Emmeline and slowed her pace to match Rebecca’s.
“So.” Cassandra peered at the basket in her hand. “What are we eating this afternoon?”
“Scones and blackberry jam.”
“That sounds wonderful.” She clutched Rebecca’s arm with glee, but then stopped abruptly. “Oh. Hello, Clint.”
The cowboy’s chest rose and fell in an uneven rhythm. His mouth worked, but no words came forth. Rebecca could feel the tension in him, even as she willed him to say something.
Unaware of the awkward moment, Bess scooted to his side and gave him a look of pure adoration. When he didn’t acknowledge her, she tugged on his arm. He dropped a quick, paternalistic smile, then locked his gaze onto Cassandra once again.
A pretty pink colored the woman’s cheeks in return.
“Hello, Clint.”
He grinned. “Cassandra. You’re looking mighty pretty today.”
Her blush deepened. If Rebecca had any doubts as to how her friend felt about Clint, she had her answer now.
“The four of us are going on a picnic.” Cassandra pointed to the basket in Rebecca’s hand to punctuate her statement.
He nodded, but then his eyes widened in alarm. “You’re planning to stay close to town, right?”
“And if we weren’t, what would you do?” She blinked rapidly at the man, while her tone was a mix between teasing and goading.
What game was Cassandra playing?
Clint’s tone took on a hard edge. “Promise me, Cassandra, promise me you’ll stay in sight of town.”
“Yes, of course we will.” But her eyes said differently, and her stance dared him to force the issue.
Shocked at her friend’s behavior, Rebecca waited for Clint’s next response.
“Right.” He shook his head as if to clear out the mush. “Remember to stay close to town,” he yelled after them.
Cassandra tossed him a dismissive wave.
Once they passed the last building, Cassandra’s nonchalant expression changed. She looked frustrated one moment, pleased the next, and then her face scrunched into a scowl. The scowl stuck.
Studying Cassandra with an amused grin, Emmeline directed their group to an idyllic spot under a large cottonwood tree spitting white, fluffy wisps into the air.
Rebecca spread their blanket over a flat patch of grass under the tree. A soft breeze rustled the leaves overhead while the musical sound of water bubbling over rocks tickled the air.
She loved this land. The harsh beauty charmed her. She tolerated the heat, welcomed the cold, appreciated the fertile land and generally enjoyed the frontier. This was home.
With Clint’s warning fresh in mind, she forced her attention back to town. They were close enough to see the church. The boardinghouse was visible, as well.
“Emmeline, you were right,” Rebecca said with satisfaction. “This is a perfect spot for a picnic.”
Emmeline’s grin turned smug. “I know.”
Bess smiled.
Cassandra, however, made a strangled sound in her throat. If possible, her scowl deepened as she proceeded to march around the blanket. After completing a full pass, she pitched out a huff, spun around and retraced her steps. This time, her arms flapped at her sides in obvious frustration.
“Is something wrong?” Emmeline asked innocently.
Head down, arms pumping, Cassandra glowered. “That man makes me so mad.”
Rebecca and Emmeline shared a meaningful look.
“And what man would that be?” Emmeline asked.
“You know what man. Clint. Clint Fuller.” She stalked around the blanket. “Did you see him back there?”
“Oh, we saw him.” Still grinning, Emmeline took the basket from Rebecca and set it on the ground next to her feet. “But I don’t remember him doing anything wrong.”
“Ha. The man treated me like a child, ordering me to stay close to town.”
“He was concerned for your safety,” Rebecca pointed out.
“Well of course he was concerned.” Cassandra slapped her thighs. “It wasn’t what he said, precisely. It was how he said it, all bold and demanding…and…and…brotherly.”
Rebecca hid a smile behind her hand. “And brotherly is a bad thing?”
“It’s awful. I already have a brother, I don’t need another one. I mean, really. Would it kill Clint to show a little more interest in me? Would it hurt him to treat me like, say, Percy does?”
Cassandra sank to the ground on a huff. Emmeline lowered to the blanket, as well, carefully arranging her skirt around her feet. “Not to state the obvious, dear, but Clint’s not Percy.”
“That’s right,” Rebecca agreed. “Clint is kindhearted, full of integrity and—”
Cassandra’s gaze whipped to Rebecca. “How do you know Clint so well?”
Raising her hands in surrender, Rebecca adopted what she hoped was a nonthreatening expression. “I don’t know him well at all. He comes to eat at the boardinghouse occasionally.”
Cassandra did not look happy at that answer.
Nor did Bess. The girl dropped to a spot on the edge of the blanket. A lone tear escaped her eye. Rebecca twisted her lips into a frown. Unrequited love was an awful business. She knew all about that sort of pain firsthand. Her morning discussion with Pete was still fresh in her mind.
Deep down, she’d expected him to proclaim his love right there in the kitchen. But when he’d looked at her with that stunned expression, she’d known she’d pushed him too far. So she’d given him a few days to think about what she’d said. Had that been a mistake? Probably.
But now was not the time for her to dwell on her problems. She’d made a conscious decision to champion Clint in his bid to win Cassandra’s hand. There might not be another chance.
“Cassandra, I think you should know that Clint asked me to give him manners lessons.” She swallowed her nervousness. “Mrs. Jennings is helping, as well.”
“Manners lessons?” Cassandra rose and started marching around the blanket again. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp.
“Why would Clint care about manners?” Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. “And why would he go to you and Mrs. Jennings? Why not ask Emmeline? Or her mother, for that matter?”
Rebecca thought over her answer while she unloaded the picnic basket. She had no idea why Clint had turned to her. The Lord often used unlikely vessels to accomplish His work.
“I don’t know wh
y he asked me,” she admitted. “But, Cassandra, his only goal is to impress you.”
She stopped in midstomp. “He told you that?”
Rebecca nodded. Bess sniffled. Loudly.
Patting the girl’s hand, Rebecca continued, “He was at the boardinghouse on Tuesday when you and Percival arrived. The sight of you with another man made Clint miserable.”
“It did?”
Rebecca nodded again. “Very miserable.”
“Oh. Well. Hmm…” Her scowl relaxed. A little.
With a shuddering sigh, Bess rose from the blanket. She wandered away from their group and then leaned her shoulder against the tree’s trunk. Hugging her arms around her waist, she dug her toe at an exposed root.
The poor girl looked so unhappy that Rebecca’s heart clunked against her ribs. But she couldn’t stop now. “Cassandra, Clint really likes you. He told me so.”
“Well, I wish he would tell me how he feels.” Cassandra wore a frustrated expression. “I can’t read his mind.”
“Like I said earlier, he’s not good with words.”
“He’s like your husband,” Emmeline offered with a cryptic note in her voice. “Isn’t that right, Rebecca?”
Rebecca opened her mouth to deny the comparison, then shut it just as quickly. Why hadn’t she made the connection before? Clint Fuller was very much like her husband, a little rough at times, often soft-spoken, but inherently kind—deep at the core, where it counted.
And both men had too many unspoken words in them, words they couldn’t seem to say to the women they cared about.
In that moment, Rebecca realized the truth. Pete cared for her. He just didn’t have the words to tell her. Was it enough to know her husband cared for her?
The answer, sadly, was no, she couldn’t live like that. She needed to hear the words. Because no matter what Pete felt, if he wouldn’t open his heart to her, if he wouldn’t at least show her he cared, they could never have a fulfilling marriage.
Rebecca feared she was losing Pete. One silent, unspoken word at a time. She sympathized with Cassandra’s frustration.
