by Stacy Henrie
“Perhaps he’s come with more promises and opportunities.”
“He likely has.” Tommy was forever coming up with schemes.
She looked at him at last, though her expression was strained. “Then you had best go hear him out. And while you do, try to make certain he doesn’t leave a water mark.” Her smile was fleeting and noticeably lacking in actual joy.
“You don’t think I would actually take him up on another of his schemes, do you?”
“I don’t know what to think, Gerald.” Did she really doubt him that much?
What reason did she have not to, though? He’d nearly left her at the train station, after having left her— at least in her view— all those years ago in Ohio.
“I’m not going to abandon you,” he said. “You can trust me on that.”
“Will you ask Tommy if he means to stay for supper?” Mary asked. “I’d like to know how many places to set at the table.”
This, then, was his new task. Not counting place settings, but showing Mary that he was dependable, that he wouldn’t fail her, that she needn’t fear his desertion. It was a tall order to fill considering their past. But he had never been one to shy away from a task simply because it was difficult.
He pushed the kitchen door open once more and stood in the threshold facing the outer room and his brother, dripping at the other end. “Are you staying for supper?” he demanded.
“You wouldn’t toss me out without at least a meal, would you?”
Gerald looked back at Mary. “He’s staying.”
She gave a quick nod as she stirred the pot of stew.
He left her to her work and the peace of the kitchen. “Do you have any dry clothes?” he asked Tommy.
His brother shook his head. “All my belongings are in a wet bundle on your porch.”
“You can change into something of mine. C’mon.” He motioned him down the hallway.
“I’m touched by your concern for my health.”
Gerald didn’t look back; he could hear that his brother was following him. “I’m not overly worried about you catching cold. But I’ll not have you dripping mud and water on Mary’s clean floors and making extra work for her.”
“What happened to you, Gerald? I’d’ve never imagined I’d see you so easily whipped by a woman. And Mary, of all women. I don’t know how it is you got stuck with her.”
Gerald threw open his bedroom door. “I didn’t get stuck. What I got was lucky. And if you’d like your luck to hold, you’d best rein in that tongue of yours.” He jutted his chin in the direction of the small bureau on the far wall. “There’s a few things in there. Hang your wet things on the nails so they’ll dry.”
“I’ll be on my best behavior,” Tommy promised. “Wouldn’t want to upset the little lady.”
Gerald pulled the door closed behind him. He’d all but forgotten what a pompous windbag his brother was. It was, he feared, going to be a long night.
“And this fellow’s cousin has already made a fortune in cattle down in Texas.” Tommy had finished his second helping of stew and was filling his bowl with a third. “It’s the greatest opportunity of our generation, Gerald. All we need is a few head to start a herd, which I know you have, and we could be rich.”
“Where’ve I heard that before? ‘Colorado is set for a boom. We’ll be rich.’ And, ‘The Dakotas are dripping in gold. I’ll be rich.’ In case it’s slipped your notice, Tommy, neither of us is rich.”
Tommy was undeterred. “But this is just the thing. You’ve already learned about cattle, and I know the right people in Texas.”
“This fellow’s cousin?” Gerald made no attempt to hide his disbelief. He’d heard similar promises before.
“I know you’ve become domestic”— Tommy spoke the last word as if it were a bit of vulgar profanity— “but I can’t let you pass this up. This is a sure thing.”
Nothing with Tommy was ever a sure thing. “I’m happy where I am with what I have.”
Tommy wagged a finger at him. “I’ll convince you. I always do.”
“I’m done following you around,” Gerald said. “So save your breath, eat your supper, and make plans to set out on your own.”
“Help me convince him, Mary.” Tommy grabbed Mary’s arm and tugged it a bit. Before Gerald could object, Mary snatched her arm free. “Just say”— he put on a high voice— “‘Dearie, I’d like to be wealthy. I want you to buy me fancy things and pamper me.’ C’mon. We’ll talk him around.”
“No, thank you.” It was the first thing Mary had said all night, and she spoke without enthusiasm and without looking up at either of them.
“Now isn’t the time to turn wishy-washy, Mary Contrary,” Tommy said. “Nag him like you used to do.”
“Do not call me that,” she said firmly.
Tommy shot him an amused look, though why the man thought he’d enjoy a jest made at Mary’s expense, Gerald couldn’t say. “We’ll convince her.”
“Eat your supper,” Gerald muttered. His brother was driving him mad.
“I’ll convince you both.” With that declaration, Tommy tucked in to his stew.
Gerald attempted to catch Mary’s eye, wanting to convey if he could that she needn’t worry about Tommy, that he’d find a way to take care of the problem. But she didn’t look up. Her posture spoke of both worry and defeat.
Gerald didn’t like it one bit.
Chapter Seven
“I talked all night, and he wouldn’t budge.” Tommy stood beside Mary as she hung the wash on the line. He hadn’t given her a moment’s peace since Gerald had left to tend the herd. “And though he said he wasn’t interested, I know him better than that. Though he acts the part of staid and prudent husband, he has the Smith blood in his veins. He’s itching for an adventure, I know he is.”
Mary refused to believe it. Gerald had promised her he wouldn’t walk out, that he wouldn’t abandon her as he’d done four years earlier. He had promised.
“But he would listen to you,” Tommy said. “If you told him it was a good idea—”
“I won’t lie to my husband, Thomas Smith.”
“It’s not a lie.” His voice snapped behind his usual jovial tone. “This is his opportunity. He left home for this. He’s been working toward this for years.”
She pinned a long bed sheet to the clothesline. “It seems to me he has invested in his land the past two years. Perhaps that is why he isn’t taking you up on this grand opportunity.”
“He’d leave this place in a heartbeat if he were free to do so,” Tommy said.
She glanced at him. “What are you implying?”
“Nothing. Nothing.” He shrugged a little. “I think it’s odd, though, how hard-nosed he’s being about this. Even when I left for Dakota, he spent some time thinking about coming with me. He won’t even hear me out this time.”
“He’s put down roots,” she said, grabbing her empty laundry basket and moving back toward the house.
“The Smiths don’t put down roots. We’ve been wanderers for as long as anyone can remember.” He followed her into the house. “Keep us trapped in one place, and we go mad.”
We go mad. She had been a plague in Gerald’s life once. She hated the thought of being that again. “Gerald may decide to go with you, but he’ll do so because he wants to, not because I pressure him into it.”
“Come now.” He leaned against the table, his arms folded across his chest. “You can’t convince me you didn’t ‘pressure him into’ marrying you. The way he celebrated being free of you four years ago, I can’t believe he jumped at the chance to have you back.”
“He wasn’t exactly overjoyed.” She set her basket down and crossed to the sink. “But things have worked out well. He hasn’t complained.”
“Saint Gerald wouldn’t complain. Not out loud.”
She looked back at him. Her heart lodged firmly in her throat. She forced her voice past it. “He seems happy.”
Tommy shrugged a single shoulder. “Ma
ybe he has been. But he’s trapped here, working land he didn’t want and supporting a wife he didn’t choose. I’d hate for him to come to resent either one.”
He wouldn’t resent her. Would he?
“Your uncle felt trapped. I saw it in his face all the time. I don’t have to tell you what that resentment did.”
Uncle Bill had hated living with them but had refused to leave. He’d insisted Mother needed him, Mary needed him, everyone needed him. He’d stayed because he had to; that’s the way he’d explained it. And the ‘having to’ made him hate them. That hatred had quickly turned to unbearable bouts of anger.
“Gerald isn’t like Bill,” she insisted.
“I doubt Bill was always like Bill.” Tommy’s look was a pitying one. “I don’t want to see you hurt again like you were before. Think this through. I don’t want either of you to regret any of this.”
With one backward glance, Tommy left the kitchen. I don’t have to tell you what that resentment did. Again and again she heard those words. Uncle Bill had stayed because he’d had to, or at least felt he did, and she had paid the price for that for years.
She wrapped her arms around her middle in an attempt to comfort and reassure herself. Tommy’s declaration was replaced by one from Gerald the night before. I’m not going to abandon you. You can trust me on that.
But wasn’t refusing to abandon her exactly the problem Tommy was pointing out? He would stay because he felt obligated, but he would feel trapped and stuck and resentful. He had also promised on the day they were married that he wouldn’t hit her. He had promised.
“You can trust me,” Gerald had said.
She wanted to. She truly did.
Gerald hated to leave Mary with Tommy, but heavy rains like they’d had the night before had been known to wash out the fences at the upper pasture. He had no choice but to check on them. He saw to the barest, most essential chores around the place, then returned to the house.
Tommy was on the sofa. “You’ve been gone for a while.”
“I was working.” He didn’t see Mary. Maybe that meant Tommy hadn’t been bothering her. “What’ve you been doing?”
“Mostly waiting for you. I did watch Mary hang up the wash. That was as dull as expected.”
Gerald peered out the small side window. The wash was still hanging on the line, and Mary was nowhere to be seen. “Did you at least offer to help her?”
“I was too busy helping you.”
That sounded ominous. He turned back, bracing himself.
“I don’t want you to be trapped here, and I don’t think she wants you to be, either.”
“What did you say to her?”
Tommy assumed his most innocent expression. “Nothing, really. We just chatted about life and opportunities. We spoke a little of her uncle and what being tied down to his female relations had done to him.”
“Her uncle?” The very man Mary refused to talk about. “What about him?”
“I got to know him a little back in Ohio. He was a lowlife. All he ever talked about was how much he hated being stuck there, but he needed the money he hoped her mother would leave him when she died.”
Which was exactly what had happened in the end.
“He was why she followed you around everywhere,” Tommy said. “Bill Carlton was short-tempered and violent, but he was a little afraid of you.”
“What do you mean ‘violent’?”
“He didn’t beat on her when you were around, so she stayed close.” Tommy spoke so casually about this, as if he wasn’t undoing every assumption Gerald had made about Mary, as if he wasn’t revealing information Gerald ought to have been told four years ago. “It’s why she begged me not to take you away. With you gone for good—”
“— she would never be safe.” Good heavens. It was little wonder she’d clung to him so much. She’d been beaten, hurt. She’d asked him the day they were married if he would promise not to hurt her. He’d thought it a reflection on him, but it was a plea from her past. “And you told her that I would treat her the same way her uncle did if I didn’t go with you to Texas?”
“No. We simply talked about the importance of not being... trapped.”
“So help me, Tommy—”
Shock filled his brother’s expression. “I didn’t do anything. We talked.”
“Where is she?”
Tommy shrugged. “I don’t know. She left about a half hour ago.”
Gerald pulled open the door to the kitchen. She wasn’t in there. He moved down the hall and opened the door to her bedroom. Empty. She really had left.
“Did she say anything? Where she was going or when she would be back?”
Tommy shook his head. “I don’t think she’s going to stop you from going to Texas, so that’s good news.”
“I don’t want to go to Texas. I have never wanted to go to Texas.” He opened the front door. “And if you have driven Mary away, you had better pray you reach Texas before I reach you.”
“What has crawled under your skin, brother? She’s a mail order bride.”
“She’s Mary.” He yanked open the front door. “She’s my wife, and I—”
“Good heavens, you love her.”
He buttoned his coat up once more. “Of course I do. And we have a chance at happiness. I am not going to let you take that away.”
Tommy sputtered a moment. “I didn’t know. I—”
“If you need a place to stay, you remember where the sod house is. You’re welcome to stay there as long as you need. But I am going to find my wife and bring her home, and it would be best if you weren’t here when I get back.”
“Do you want me to help you look?”
“No.” He stepped out onto the porch, the wind picking up. They were in for more weather, it seemed.
Mary, where are you? If only he could find her and reassure her that he was nothing like her uncle, apologize for not realizing her situation when they were younger, promise to never let Tommy back in the house again, if need be. He would settle for begging her to give him another chance.
He’d told Tommy the truth: he loved her. It was a new and fledgling sort of love, but it was real. She was the best part of his life. He wanted her back.
She’d been gone thirty minutes or more. Even on foot she could have covered a considerable distance in that amount of time. He would reach her faster if he took the horse. Chances were good she’d made for the train depot.
He rushed to the barn, then pushed the door open. If he hurried, he might catch her in time to convince her to come back before the clouds burst. He could—
She was there, feeding his horse a carrot and rubbing its neck.
“Mary?”
She looked up at him and smiled. “You’re back early. Did the rain wash out the fence like you feared?”
She hadn’t left. Mary hadn’t left.
She rubbed the horse’s nose, then slipped from the stall. He stared— he couldn’t help it— he’d been so sure she’d left him.
“Did something else happen? You look worried.”
“Tommy said you left.”
She snatched a basket from nearby and hung it over her arm. “I came out to fetch eggs, but your horse looked so lonely. We visited for a while.”
He stepped closer to her. “I didn’t know about your uncle.” It was not the most elegant introduction of the topic. “I didn't know what you were living with.”
Her smile was a little sad. “We worked very hard to keep all of that hidden.”
“I should have noticed. I should have realized something else was happening. I shouldn’t have left you.”
She reached out for his hand. “You’re here now.”
He held fast to her fingers. “Tommy tried to convince you I wouldn’t be.”
“I trust you far more than I trust him.”
He brushed the fingers of his free hand along her cheek. “I swear to you I will live worthy of that trust. I will do all I can to ensure you are safe and happy. Only,
please, give me a chance to earn a bit of your love as well.”
She leaned in to his touch. “Oh, Gerald. I have loved you since I was fifteen years old.”
“Oh, Mary. My Mary.” He pulled her up to him, pressing his forehead to hers. “My dearest, loveliest Mary.”
“That is a vast improvement over your response to seeing me on the train depot all those weeks ago.”
He cupped her face in his hands. “I was an idiot. I have been an idiot about so many things.”
“It is a good thing I love you anyway.”
He sighed. She loved him. His Mary loved him.
She set her hands on his chest and closed her eyes. He leaned closer and brushed his mouth over hers. Her breath tiptoed warmly over his lips.
“Oh, Gerald,” she whispered.
He kissed her fully, deeply, holding her tightly to him. She clung to him with equal fervor. He’d lost her once to his own blindness, a mistake he did not mean to repeat. Fate had given him a second chance. Mary had given him a third. He wouldn’t need a fourth.
“I love you, Mary Smith,” he said as the rain pelted the barn roof. “I’ll love you forever.”
Click on the covers to visit Sarah’s Amazon author page:
Sarah M. Eden is the author of multiple historical romances, including the two-time Whitney Award Winner Longing for Home and Whitney Award finalists Seeking Persephone and Courting Miss Lancaster. Combining her obsession with history and affinity for tender love stories, Sarah loves crafting witty characters and heartfelt romances. She has twice served as the Master of Ceremonies for the LDStorymakers Writers Conference and acted as the Writer in Residence at the Northwest Writers Retreat. Sarah is represented by Pam van Hylckama Vlieg at D4EO Literary Agency.
Visit Sarah on-line:
Twitter: @SarahMEden
Facebook: Author Sarah M. Eden
Website: SarahMEden.com
Chapter One
Boston, 1885
