“I had a drinking problem in Cheyenne. She didn’t go because of my days spent robbing. She went because I had a thing for the bottle. It’s why I don’t drink now. Not one drop. I can’t trust myself with the stuff.”
“Oh.” Thea stepped closer and put her hands on his chest. Her fingers splayed out there, rising and falling with his breath.
“Thank you for telling me,” she said. “It must be hard running a saloon, being around all that drink.”
Wakefield shrugged. “I manage. Running a bar is the thing I know how to do best.”
Thea looked down at where her hands rested on his chest. “Did you ever hear from her after she left?”
“No.” He took hold of her wrists. “This isn’t a good thing to talk about.”
Thea’s lashes fluttered. “Oh. All right.”
“It’s not...” His throat thickened. “It won’t take us anywhere good. She left because of my drinking, and I never heard from her again. Story over.”
Wakefield could almost see the question in her eyes. But why were you drinking?
“We don’t have to talk about it,” Thea said.
Wakefield dropped a quick kiss on her lips. “Come on now. Supper’s getting cold. Esme’s bread probably is as well.”
They took their seats, and Thea cut slices of the bread to go with their meal. Wakefield’s appetite had vanished, but he kept taking bites and chewing. If he didn’t, Thea would think something was the matter. She’d have more questions.
And questions were the last thing he wanted.
Chapter 19
only one way to find out
19. Thea
Chapter nineteen
The cake was nothing special, but it was a cake. Thanks to the chickens and the general store, Thea had been able to collect the ingredients necessary to bake one. She covered it gingerly with the same cloth that Esme had brought the bread in and looked to Wakefield.
“Ready,” she said.
Wakefield nodded and extended his arm, telling her to go through the door first. Side by side, they began walking down the road.
“I won’t wait there for you if you don’t want me to,” he said.
Thea looked at him in surprise. “I thought you wanted to.”
He lifted a shoulder. “I know you don’t want me always breathing down your neck. And it’s right down the street. Just promise me you’ll come over to the saloon soon as you’re done visiting.”
“I promise,” she answered, deciding not to point out that everything was “right down the street” in Whiteridge.
“I won’t be more than an hour,” Thea said. “That way you’ll know when to look for me.”
“Good.” Pulling her to his side, Wakefield kissed the top of her head, never breaking his stride as he did so.
Esme had not been exaggerating. Mr. Zimmerman’s house was very, very big. At the foot of its walkway, Thea stopped and stared at the tall windows and white panels of wood. Seven windows. That’s how many she counted on the two sides she could see.
“How did they build such a house up here?” she asked in awe.
“With a lot of work and a lot of money.”
Wakefield continued to lead the way, taking them to the front door. After one knock, it opened.
Esme’s eyes and mouth both went wide in surprise. “Oh! Mrs. and Mr. Briggs!”
Wakefield tipped his hat. “I’m not staying, ma’am. Only dropping my wife off.”
“No tea?” Esme asked.
“Another day.”
“I’ll see you soon,” Thea told him. She had to cast the words over her shoulder, as Esme was already ushering her down a hallway. Thea hardly had time to take in the grandfather clock and the photographs on the wall before she found herself in a kitchen.
“I say,” a familiar voice trilled. “What have we here?”
Jenny sat at a table against the back wall, a cup of tea in front of her. At the sight of Thea, she stood and came over to kiss her on the cheek.
“What are you doing here?” Jenny asked.
“I brought cake.” Thea held the dessert up. “I’m afraid I hadn’t the ingredients to make any icing,” she apologized to Esme.
Esme dismissively waved her hand. “It will be delicious. Icing or no icing, the little ones love cake.”
“Farrow and Peter are out there,” Jenny explained, nodding at a window looking onto the backyard. Through the glass, the two children stood near a line of trees. Farrow clutched her doll, and Peter talked and pointed with a stick, looking like he was giving instructions.
“Sit, sit,” Esme urged.
“Thank you,” Thea said, taking the seat next to Jenny’s. “I am glad I caught you at a good time.”
“We come over here when we can,” Jenny explained. “The children love Esme. And I think Mr. Zimmerman is quite fond of them, as well. Though I’m not sure he would ever admit it.” She winked at Esme.
“He has a soft heart,” Esme laughed, setting a cup of tea in front of Thea. It was a china saucer, so delicate Thea was almost afraid to touch it.
“How is your husband?” Jenny asked, placing a hand on Thea’s arm. “How are you?”
“We are well, thank you. I am going to be helping out at the saloon some, actually.” Thea sipped the tea, and its sweetness coated her tongue.
“I imagine they need your help.” Jenny nodded knowingly. “It is very busy there.”
“We need more than saloons here,” Esme huffed. She flitted around, grabbing plates and a knife. “We need a schoolhouse. A church. When are we going to get those things?”
Jenny chuckled. “Believe me, Esme, as a mother, I want those things quite fervently.”
“They will come, I am sure,” Thea said. She went to take another sip of tea, but a sudden wave of nausea rolled through her. Putting the saucer down, she clutched her stomach.
“Thea?” Jenny asked. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.” Thea attempted a reassuring smile, despite the sickening feeling crawling into the pit of her stomach.
“She is hungry,” Esme inserted. Coming to the table, she set fat slices of cake in front of the women then went to the door leading out back. “Farrow! Peter! Mrs. Briggs is here.”
“This cake looks heavenly,” Jenny was saying. “How did you make it this light? Mine always come out dense as wood.”
But Thea could not answer. The nausea had only increased and was coming to a terrible head. Pushing her chair back, she rushed past Jenny, past Esme in the doorway, past the children coming in from their play, and to the trees at the edge of the yard.
She made it not a moment too soon. Thea bent over as she was sick in the bushes.
Her stomach heaved, expelling all of its contents. When there was nothing left to dispose of, the convulsions stopped. Swiping the back of her hand across her mouth, Thea stood shakily.
“Are you sick?”
She turned to look at Peter, who watched her warily, hands in his pockets. He looked ready to bolt at the slightest notice.
“I suppose I am,” Thea answered. “Although I felt fine waking up this morning. Perhaps I ate something that did not agree with me.”
“Uh-huh.” Peter wrinkled his nose. “Like blueberries when they’re not ripe yet. That can make my stomach ache awfully bad.”
Thea felt quite fine now. Whatever had been the matter, a little bout of sickness had taken care of it.
“Peter!” Jenny called from the doorway. “Leave Mrs. Briggs alone. Come and have some cake.”
Thea looked at Peter. “I am feeling much better. I will walk in with you.”
She cast a look at the second-floor windows, hoping Mr. Zimmerman wasn’t home—or, if he was, that he had not seen her be sick in the bushes on her first visit to his house. It was embarrassing enough already that four people had seen her in such a state.
“Are you ill?” Jenny asked as Peter pushed past her and into the kitchen.
“I’m feeling better now. I don’t know what
it was.”
Jenny clicked her tongue. “Could be the heat. Come and sit down for a spell.”
“I’m terribly sorry.” Thea cast them all, the children included, apologetic looks.
Farrow and Peter, seated at the table, munched on their cake and stared at her.
“Did you eat green blueberries?” Peter asked.
Thea took the chair next to him. “No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Peter,” Jenny said. “Honestly, now.”
“It’s fine,” Thea said. “Really, I am...”
She could not finish the sentence. The nausea was back. This time, she was ready for it and ran a few feet deeper into the woods to be sick. At least this way there would be less of a foul smell pervading the area and less likely that Mr. Zimmerman could see her.
Thea wrinkled her nose at the grim thought and pressed her palm to her forehead. It was time for her to leave. She needed to inform Wakefield she was ill and then go rest, either at home or in the saloon’s office.
Esme met her halfway across the yard with a glass of water.
“I’m sorry,” Thea said. “Clearly, I should go home. I don’t understand why I’m still getting sick. There is nothing left in my stomach.”
“I have a question for you,” Esme said.
Thea swished some water around her mouth. “Is it whether or not I ate green blueberries?”
“When is your woman’s time?”
Thea stilled the glass halfway to her mouth. “It’s… why...”
Esme waited.
Anxiety clamped onto Thea. Was Esme honestly suggesting…?
“I… I don’t know,” Thea admitted. “It is usually the first week of each month, but that changes. The lengths of the months change. Sometimes I change. It is not always the same.”
She was blabbering, filling the air with words so she would not have to face what Esme was saying.
“I can’t be with child,” Thea said, the strange words sounding as if they came from someone else’s mouth, her voice so did not sound like her own.
“Then you’ll be right as rain tomorrow,” Esme said with a bright smile. She turned to go back to the house.
“Wait.”
Esme turned back around, eyebrows raised.
“Maybe I… maybe I am pregnant,” Thea whispered, afraid of the children in the house hearing her. “How else would I know?”
“When was the last month you had your time?”
Thea bit her lip so hard she drew blood. It had been a long while. A very long while. She’d been so distressed after Jeb’s death, so worried about her future, that her body had begun acting in odd ways. She had assumed it was the stress of her life. How had she been so silly to not think it might be a pregnancy?
She’d been preoccupied. That was the answer. And maybe a part of her hadn’t wanted to believe she could be pregnant. Being a widow was one thing, but being a widow with a child on the way was something else entirely.
“It’s been at least a few months,” Thea said.
She looked down at her stomach. She’d gained a little bit of weight over the last couple months, and her appetite had increased. Again, she had simply told herself the changes were a normal reaction to a rapidly changing life.
“Oh, how could I be so stupid!” Thea buried her face in her hands.
“No, no,” Esme cooed. “Do not speak of yourself in that way.”
“I ignored all the signs,” Thea sobbed. “My mother had six children after me, and still I was not smart enough to see what was happening.”
“This will be fine. Your husband will be happy.”
At the mention of Wakefield, agony flooded Thea. “It’s not his child,” she choked out. “I only just arrived here, Esme. It is my late husband’s.”
Thea shook her head, her body and heart hot and painful. This could not be. Maybe she was dreaming, and if she closed her eyes and opened them she’d find herself in bed, Wakefield slumbering next to her.
“Oh, my.” Esme pressed her hands to her heart. “Mrs. Briggs.”
“I know,” Thea gasped. Her breathing increased, and she felt a tightness against her chest. This could not be happening.
Esme’s lips tightened. “It cannot be changed now. He knew what he was marrying. He knew you had a husband before. I believe he will be more understanding than you expect.”
“No, I do not believe that.” Thea paced across the yard, wringing her hands. “He does not want children. That’s what he told me when he first wrote.”
Esme was likely trying to hide her discomfort, but it still showed. “Oh.”
“How will I tell him?” Tears fell down Thea’s cheeks.
“What is going on?” Jenny asked. “Is everything well?”
She’d come outside without Thea noticing. Wiping her face, Thea sniffed. She almost lied and said everything was fine, but what would be the point of that? Nothing was fine. The truth could not be denied.
“I am with child. It is my late husband’s, and my new husband does not wish for children.”
Jenny’s eyes went wide.
“I know,” Thea said. “It is unfortunate.”
“What has Mr. Briggs said?” Jenny asked.
“Nothing. He does not know. I only now realized the… the situation.”
“What do you want?” Jenny asked.
“What… what do I want?” Thea repeated.
Jenny looked between the two women. “A woman has a say in this as well.”
Thea interlaced her trembling fingers. “What I wish for does not matter.”
“Of course it does. How many months along are you?”
“I do not know. More than a few.”
“It can’t be that much more than a few,” Jenny said, matter-of-fact. “You’re not showing yet.”
Thea lightly touched her stomach. “I never had a strong preference about children. I always thought that if God blessed me, I would be happy. If He chose not to, then I would be equally as satisfied.”
“And now?” Esme asked.
Thea’s fingers trailed across her lower abdomen. There was a baby growing inside of her—a baby! A miracle of God. What’s more, she was surprised to find she did not care that it was Jeb’s child and not Wakefield’s. She already loved her unborn child with all her heart.
“This is my baby,” Thea confidently said. “And I will welcome it into the world with open arms.”
“What will Mr. Briggs say?” Esme asked.
Thea looked at the woods alongside the house. On the other side of them, the road let down to the saloon, to where Wakefield waited for her.
“There is only one way to find out,” Thea answered.
Chapter 20
introduction to the saloon
20. Wakefield
Chapter twenty
Wakefield looked at the saloon’s front door for what had to be the twentieth time in an hour.
“Thea’s fine,” Noah said, coming around the end of the bar with a stack of dirty glasses. “She got to talking with Esme and forgot the time.”
“She said she wouldn’t.” Wakefield turned away from Noah, embarrassed to be all worked up. Thea had told him she wouldn’t be more than an hour, though, and they’d passed the sixty-minute mark.
So where was she?
Huffing, he rested his forearm on the bar and flexed his fingers. The Outpost hummed with talk and laughter. It was a day like any other, but it all felt different to Wakefield. Unease crackled in the air.
Or maybe only in him. He couldn’t really tell.
His gaze drifted to the corner, where Vang and Lyman sat at a round table with two miners, Johnston and Welty. Wakefield’s eyes narrowed. Vang had taken to coming in the bar on a regular basis lately. Though he hadn’t stirred up any trouble, his presence always put Wakefield on guard.
“Wakefield,” Noah said. “Wake up.”
Wakefield glowered at his friend, who went right on washing glasses.
“You’re gett
ing yourself all worked up for nothing.”
Her Silent Burden_Seeing Ranch series Page 12
