Maggie cast a scornful look at him. “What barn work? Pa put all his apples in one bushel, Beau. That still was his livelihood. The animals were only there for what he could get out of them. He used the horses to haul his whiskey barrels on a sledge, and made Mama take care of the chickens and milk the cow. The damn stalls wouldn’t ever have been cleaned if I didn’t do it, nor the chicken house mucked out. I grew up with a pitchfork in my hand, back when he had four stalls full of livestock.”
“And now what?” Beau asked. “Is there a cow out there, waiting to be milked?”
Maggie’s jaw dropped. “I didn’t even think of that. She must be in misery by now.”
Chapter Sixteen
“What am I supposed to do with two cows?” Beau asked in bemusement, watching as Joe led the rescued creature into the big barn.
“Maybe you can find someone needy enough to take her in,” Maggie suggested. “I have a notion Mama won’t be going back to the farm. It looked like Emily and Roberta gathered up every blessed thing she owned when they took her to town.”
“Probably the smartest thing to do. As for the cow, we’ll check around,” Beau said agreeably. “Let’s get a bite to eat first, then we’ll go to Green Rapids and see to burying your pa.” So sleekly he slid in the words, and Maggie waited for an aching to commence. Burying Pa held no pain for her, only the knowledge that from now on she would know freedom from the bygone fears she’d harbored for so long.
And Mama would never again suffer at his hands. That alone was cause to rejoice. Maggie’s step was firm as she walked beside Beau to the house. He would tend to things. And she would let him. Leaning on a man’s strength was getting to be easier by the day.
Sophie spent long moments helping Maggie prepare for what she deemed would be an ordeal. “Let me fix you up a little, girl,” she said firmly, and without waiting for permission, she began. Standing behind Maggie, she brushed her hair until it shimmered. Then, beginning at the crown, she worked the long locks into an intricate braid. Then, winding it into a circle at the back of Maggie’s head, she pinned it in place.
“Now you look like a dignified lady,” Sophie announced, standing back to view her work. Maggie’s hands rose to investigate, and her fingers splayed wide over the arrangement.
“It feels pretty.”
“You look beautiful,” Beau told her, aware that his words spoke the truth. She was a beauty. Even with the evidence of cruelty apparent, she looked every inch a woman to be proud of. Perhaps the tilt of her head, or the erect posture she’d gradually assumed over the past weeks made a difference. Or maybe the clear honesty of blue eyes that met his without hesitation. She bore little resemblance to the ragamuffin he’d taken into his household.
Her strength amazed him. Not just the physical stamina she possessed, but the maturity with which she met obstacles and surmounted them. She was ready now to comfort her mother and bury her father. Even the distress she would face in the day ahead was not enough to bow her head. No doubt her fertile mind was already awash with arrangements to be made.
Sophie retied the sash at Maggie’s back, then stood back. “Turn around,” she said gruffly, her narrowed gaze taking in her handiwork. “Hate to see that pretty dress covered up with your coat,” she said after a moment. And then shot a look at Beau.
He’d forgotten. In the confusion of the past days, the memory of the package in the storeroom had fled from his mind. “Wait a minute,” he said, turning to retrieve the bundle from where he’d stowed it. “I want your mama to see you this time as Mrs. Beau Jackson. She needs to know I’m taking care of you.”
And then he winced as he thought of the black eye Maggie sported. There was no help for it. At least he could present her with a flourish upon arrival at Emily’s house. No doubt Verna wouldn’t take much notice of a bruise, so inured to the condition herself.
The package fell open once he tugged the string from place and brown paper scattered as Beau lifted a cloak from the wrappings. It swirled through the air and settled in folds of maroon wool, the fastenings of black braid accented by velvet of the same hue, lining the hem and front facings. Maggie looked at him, ignoring the gift, her eyes focused on the giver.
“You spoil me, Beau. I don’t feel worthy of all this.” Tears gathered, then overflowed and she allowed them to fall, unheeded. “I have so much, and Mama always had to get by on less than nothing.” Her mouth twisted, her lips folding tightly as she lifted her hand to touch the soft fabric. “Maybe…” She was hesitant, and yet he knew her mind, knew the intricate path her reasoning took.
“We’ll get her one just like it, if you want to. I had Mrs. Lewis make it for you. She can sew another in a few days, I’m sure.”
“You had it made up special for me?”
“I wanted a long cape to keep you warm. Cora, at the Emporium, told me Mrs. Lewis sewed nicely. I’m glad you like it, Mag. Let me help you put it on.”
Her gaze was hungry, her nod hesitant. “Maybe I’ll just wear it to town, and take my coat along. We can give it to Mama and you can order up another for me, if you want to.”
“Will that make you happy?” he asked, knowing the answer even as he spoke.
Her nod was quick. “Happier, Beau. I’m already about as full of pleasure as a body can get, and seeing Mama in this will make it overflow, I’m sure.”
He wrapped her in the garment, showed her the intricate braided fastenings, and watched as her fingers brushed the surface of ebony buttons and fancy black loops. Reaching for the hood, he drew it over her head, settling it with care, so as not to muss her hair. Then, extending his arm, he gestured toward the door.
“We need to be on our way, Maggie. Pony’s got the buggy waiting.” He snatched her coat from the hook and carried it over his other arm, then led her from the house.
He’d managed to insert some small amount of happiness into this grim undertaking, and he reveled in Maggie’s quiet joy as they traveled the road to town. She was silent, and he glanced at her, recognizing the depths of her fears for her mother’s well-being. Yet, even that could not spoil her pleasure in the gift he’d offered. Her fingers brushed the fine fabric, her eyes took full measure of the enveloping folds surrounding her, and she nestled beside him, chin held high, defiant in the face of despair.
A quick burial suited the family. Since her daughters decreed Verna unfit to walk behind the undertaker’s wagon to the churchyard, the three sons-in-law trudged along in their stead. There was a certain irony in the whole thing, Beau thought, that such a heathen be buried in the hallowed ground, and yet it was Verna’s choice. Perhaps there was some spark left of the love she’d borne him in the beginning. Whatever, he would not deny her any small amount of comfort this ceremony might bring.
Back in Emily’s kitchen, the womenfolk settled around her table. The upright, well-starched Wilhelmina Bryant became as one of them in that hour, her stern visage a thing of the past as she took on the guise of friend. Reflecting on the future they would face as four women freed from the tyranny of Edgar O’Neill, the sisters drank tea from china cups and ate cookies baked in the parsonage kitchen.
Verna ate slowly and Maggie knew her pain, her own mouth still painful. “Will you come home with me?” Maggie asked, seeking her mother’s gaze. “Beau has room enough, and you’d like Sophie.”
“She can stay here if she wants to,” Emily put in.
“Amos won’t care if she stays in our spare room,” Roberta said stoutly. “I’ll bet she’d like it here in town.”
Verna shook her head. “I need to go back to the farm. The cow and chickens will need tending. I only came to get your pa put in the ground, decent-like.”
“Beau went out and got the cow already, Mama,” Maggie said. “He fed the chickens plenty for a couple of days. You don’t need to worry about going back to the farm.”
Wilhelmina stood and reached for the tray of cookies she’d brought, replenishing the plate on the table. “Sounds to me like you’ve got a slew of c
hoices, Verna. You’re lucky your girls all want you close at hand. I’m not even going to offer my extra bedroom. I’ll just fix you a cup of tea now and then and have you come to visit.”
So quickly they had drawn together, Maggie thought. Five women, sharing tea and planning for the future of one who had lived without hope. Verna looked around the table and she sighed. “Mercy sakes, I don’t know what to tell y’all. With so many places to go…” Her voice trailed off and she brushed her hand across her mouth.
“Paul said he thought he could sell the farm for you, Mama,” Emily said quietly. “I, for one, don’t think you should go back out there. Roberta and me brought all your stuff along.”
Verna nodded slowly. “Maybe I’ll go home with Maggie. She’ll need help with her chickens and I can still milk a cow. I’d feel like I was payin’ my way.”
So easily it was solved. Maggie drew in a deep breath. There was only one more question to be asked, and she dreaded it being voiced aloud. But, it could not be helped. So long as the sheriff thought Beau suspect, the person who pulled the trigger and blasted a hole in Edgar O’Neill must be identified.
“Mama?” she asked, drawing four pair of eyes in her direction. “Did you see Pa get shot? Do you know who it was?”
Verna’s pale skin grew even more ashen, the purpling of her cheek a vivid hue. She glanced away from Maggie, her gaze seeking the floor, and then she rose from her chair and walked slowly to the window, lifting a hand to touch the glass pane.
“I never thought to see so many windows in a house,” she murmured. “All these bitty little panes, all shiny in the sunlight. It brings the world right inside, don’t it?”
The women at the table watched her, a hush enclosing them. Maggie’s heart fluttered in her chest as a thought awakened within her, and she stifled it quickly, rising to go to her mother. “You don’t have to talk about it now, Mama,” she whispered. “But, when the judge holds a hearing, he’ll want to know what you saw.”
“Don’t you think they’re about done with the burying?” Verna asked, looking past Maggie to where the women waited.
“Maybe so,” Wilhelmina allowed. “I doubt there was a lot to be said. I know my husband wasn’t looking forward to this.”
“Why don’t we get your things packed up?” Emily said brightly, rising from the table. She clasped Verna’s hands and led her from the room, casting a worried glance behind her.
“Does she know what happened?” Maggie asked softly. “You went out there, Roberta. What did she say?”
Roberta shrugged, shaking her head. “You wouldn’t believe it, Mags. She acted like nothing happened at all. We walked past where Pa got shot, and the snow was all messed up and she didn’t even give it a second glance.” Her eyes swept to the doorway and beyond as she leaned forward, speaking quietly. “Do you think she’s tryin’ to forget? Maybe she knows and maybe she doesn’t. I don’t think she’s about to tell us, either way.”
“How did you manage it?” Beau asked, settling between the sheets, his sigh of contentment muffled against Maggie’s forehead.
She snuggled closer, fitting herself to his masculine frame, delighting in the strength of his body. “She just packed her duds. The fact is, she’d barely taken things out of the pillowcase she brought them in, so it didn’t take long.”
Beau’s hands ceased their motion against her back. “You mean to tell me that everything your mother has in this world is in that sack I carried in?”
Maggie nodded, her head moving against his shoulder. “Everything she’ll need from the old place. Just her clothes and house shoes.” She leaned back, seeking his face in the darkness. “She never had much. Just a change of clothes. Sometimes not even that.”
“She’ll have more here, Mag,” he vowed. “We’ll let her pick out clothes at the Emporium, maybe next week. In the meantime, if she needs anything, Sophie should be able to put something together for her.”
Maggie smothered her laugh and hugged Beau, winding her arms around his neck. “Poor Sophie. You keep giving her strays to tend to and she’s liable to quit.”
“Not a chance, honey. Didn’t you see how she took to your mother? They’ll be old friends in no time flat.”
Maggie’s eyes felt moist, imagining her mother, even now half buried in the thick feather tick, in the room across the hall. “She’s never had such beauty around her, Beau. Mama always had to make do, and Pa never gave her much, always just enough to get from one day to the next.”
“Why did she put up with him?” Beau’s voice was gruff against her ear, rumbling in his chest. “You’d think she’d have been fed up a long time ago.”
“Where would she go? And what would she do when she got there?” Maggie asked sourly. “There’s no place for a woman in this world, lessen she’s got a man to keep her in food and clothing. We’re all beholden to whatever man is willing to take us on.”
She held her breath as Beau seemed to digest her words. Then with a quick movement, he rolled her to her back, looming above her. “Is that how you feel? That you’re beholden to me, because I’ve taken you on?” She heard the abruptness he made no attempt to soften, caught the trace of pain in his words and rued the harsh reality of her words.
Lifting her hand to his cheek, she breathed a denial. “Not you, Beau. Never you.”
As if deaf to her concession, his pain spewed forth. “You own half of my ranch, Maggie. Does that sound like I’m trying to make you bow down to me? As if I’m keeping you under my thumb?”
She shook her head, rebuking his words. “I was raised by a man who was cruel and mean and hateful. But that’s not reason enough to lump you in the same pot—and God help me, I didn’t mean to.” She gripped his nape with a strength honed by long hours of toil, dragging him from his position above her, catching him off guard. His mouth was before her, tempting, yet narrowed with a residue of anger she could not fault.
In the darkness, she caught only glimpses of deep-set eyes and ridged cheekbones. And then as she lifted her head, she inhaled the masculine essence he wore. She would recognize it anywhere. Given a roomful of men, she would scent him out, as would any female creature when offered her choice of mates.
Her mouth claimed his and for the first time she sensed a withholding in his kiss. His lips failed to part, his jaw remained tense beneath her fingertips, and against her cupped palm his nape was firm, with taut tendons that refused to obey her command.
“Beau—please, Beau.” She’d thought never to beg for anything in her whole life, not even mercy at her father’s hands. And now, here in her marriage bed, she beseeched the man she’d married, asking for a softening, a warming of his harshness. This was a side of Beau Jackson she’d never been exposed to, for when he turned his rage upon Rad Bennett she had not suffered for it.
Tears slipped from her eyes and she closed her lids, hoping to contain them. Deep within, she knew it would be unfair to ask for sympathy, and she prided herself, above all things, on the innate fairness by which she judged her actions. Her fingers released him, sliding from the dark hair, brushing against his neck, across his jaw and finally resting against his broad chest.
“I love you.” It was all she had to offer, more than an apology for her thoughtless words, yet perhaps not enough to dispel the pain she’d inflicted. “I love you, Beau.” Barely whispered, they were the cry of her heart. He hadn’t moved, and from that fact she found comfort. Surely, if his anger did not abate, he would roll aside, turn from her, rise from the bed and stalk away, perhaps to gaze from the window into the starry sky.
Yet he held himself above her, for long moments only the harsh sounds of his breathing marring the silence. And then he bent his arms, resting against the mattress, hands on either side of her head, elbows enclosing her. She felt the soft whisper of his sigh, and then her name, spoken with an intonation she recognized.
“Maggie…Maggie girl.” He bent his head, barely an inch, his mouth gifting her with the sweetest of caresses, lips touching
and tasting with tenderness, and all the while the soft, subtle speaking of her name. “I spoke harshly.” Barely audible, his mouth touched her ear and the words were like manna to her soul. “I love you, sweetheart.”
He rolled with her, tucking her against himself, his face against her hair, his hands filled with its dark length, holding fistfuls, then spreading it behind her. “I love everything about you, Mag. Your blue eyes, the way your hair hangs down your back, the way you smile at me, and the magic way you touch me.”
“I’m sorry, Beau. I say mean things before I think—”
“No, it’s not that, honey. It’s a matter of trusting me to take care of you, knowing that I’ll always share everything I have with you. You haven’t learned that yet. But, so help me, if it takes the rest of my life, I’ll make you understand that I’m in this for the long haul. And I don’t do things halfway.”
“I know all that,” she whispered. “I do trust you, Beau. You’d ought to know that by now. It was just for a minute there, thinking about my mother and…”
“Hush.” His fingers found her mouth and he pressed them there, stilling her protest. “We won’t talk about it, not ever again. I jumped on you.” His chuckle was low, his words humble. “I caused you pain, Maggie. As much as you hurt me, I returned the hurt, and that’s not fair. You needn’t ever beg me, not for anything. Not ever again.”
“My mother won’t know what to make of you,” she whispered, her lips moving against his fingers. “She’ll think she’s died and gone to heaven, and you’re one of the archangels.”
“You know about archangels?” he asked.
She nodded. “Mama told us about angels when we were young enough to believe in such things.”
“You don’t believe now?”
He expected an answer, and Maggie searched her heart for the right words. “I didn’t, not for a long time. I about made up my mind that Mama was wasting her breath, praying every day for something that was never going to happen.” She closed her eyes and knew a sense of profound sorrow as she remembered the words her mother had whispered only days past.
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