by Sarah Thorn
Just before dawn she had made the acquaintance of the ever gentle Clara, Clayton’s mother and a petite brunette who regarded her with sleepy eyes and a prim, gentile smile.
“Good mornin’, Miss MariAnne,” she greeted her, adding as she engaged her in a cordial handshake, “I’m Clara, Clayton’s ma. I simply cannot wait to get to know you and your little one.”
As if on cue a spirited, well rested Ellie raced headfirst into the clean lined, sun drenched kitchen that distinguished the far corner of Clayton’s ranch house; racing headfirst into the waiting arms of a welcoming, chuckling Clara.
“Good mornin’, Miss Wonderful Woman Who Has Been Carelessly and Cruelly Pulled from Her Bed at the Crack of Dawn to Care for a Child She’s Never Met,” MariAnne returned with a smirk, adding as she pumped the hand of a laughing Clara with no small degree of aplomb, “If you have not yet earned your place in Heaven, Ma’am, then rest assured—that particular place will be good and secured by the time this day is done.”
Clara guffawed outright, a familiar pair of sea blue eyes crinkling adorable with the effect.
“I like her already,” she told a smiling Clayton, clad today in a sculpting pair of ultra-tight blue jeans and a smart white cotton shirt.
Nodding in immediate agreement with his mother’s assertion, the rancher now moved forward to claim the hand of his beloved new guest.
“So do I,” Clayton assured his ma, squeezing MariAnne’s fingers as he led her to the double front, brass knobbed doors that would lead them to their daily work space. “Believe me Ma, so do I.”
Soon the joyful couple ran hand in hand across the length of a lush emerald leaved meadow; arriving finally at a field that seemed to boast the ranch’s signature crop.
MariAnne gasped outright at an ebullient vision that seemed like something out of a dream; a field simply brimming with luminous, golden hued roses that grew in fragrant stands as nurtured and illuminated by the rays of the Texas sun.
“The yellow rose of Texas!” she identified immediately, adding as she rushed forward to get a closer look at the full silken blossoms that distinguished her host’s sun drenched ranch, “I haven’t seen these since I left home—my real home, that is.”
Emulating the moves of her wonderstruck daughter, a jubilant MariAnne ran forward between fragrant rows of gleaming golden blossoms, twirling around and around as her favored florals flew like a twirling kaleidoscope before her admiring eyes.
Finally coming to a stop direct by the side of her laughing host, she gaped as he presented her with a shiny, dew glistened bouquet of her favorite florals.
“Why thank you Clayton,” she told him, voice barely above a whisper as she took the florals in hand and inspected in full their velvety radiance. “I reckon that you’re the first man who has even given me flowers.”
Clayton looked at her for a long moment, then retrieved a nearby hoe as he moved to take his place beside her at the center of the rose bed.
“Well if a simple bouquet of roses is all it takes to bring that beautiful smile to your face,” he told her, “Then rest assured that you will receive at least one bouquet for each and every day that you plan to spend with me.” He paused here, adding as he struck a deep courtly bow before her, “Consider me at your disposal, Madame. I plan to spend every day healing your precious heart—all the while claiming it for my own.”
Finally setting to work at the heart of the rose garden, the couple worked side by side to pull weeds, plant seeds and harvest the richest and most robust blooms; flowers that they would later take to market, to exchange for coins at a fair rate.
Expressing endless appreciation of MariAnne’s spirit and work ethic, Clayton watched with wonder as she took to her duties with a professional, very workmanlike approach; transforming and enhancing the overall look of his field while harvesting its most beautiful blossoms.
“You’re a natural at field work,” he praised her at one point, adding as he inclined his head sharp in her direction, “Where did a pretty little filly like you pick up the skills of a ranch hand?”
MariAnne shrugged.
“Back at home on my family farm, everybody who expected to eat Mama’s supper that night would have to pitch in the day beforehand—being sure that the work got done before we even thought about eating, playing chess, reading the Bible, or listening to Ma tickle the ivories of her beautiful black piano,” she revealed, adding quickly as she released a particularly tough weed with a hard sharp tug, “Now I don’t mean to imply, of course, that my parents were hard and mean.They are in fact wonderful people who raised us in the church—who raised us right!”
Clayton said nothing at first in response to these words; just regarded her for a long quiet moment before returning to his work.
“With all due respect, Ma’am,” he told her over his shoulder, “Why on earth would two loving, wonderful, God-fearing people sell their daughter to a monster?”
MariAnne froze.
“Look, I am certain that Ma and Pa had no idea that their longtime friend was an out and out scoundrel, and perhaps worse,” she insisted, adding as she shook her head from side to side, “Aside from that fact, Clayton, a body can’t really fault desperate people—folks who need a great deal of money, and fast, to keep their ranch.”
Her eyes flew wide then, as her host surged upright at the center of the patch and turned to face her in full.
“I personally do not care if the law came on to your parents’ property and threatened to foreclose it, before sunset that day,” he insisted, adding as he pointed a strong finger straight in her direction, “No woman deserves that brand of horrendous, inhumane treatment. Especially not—“ he paused here, adding as he looked her straight in the eyes, “Especially not you, MariAnne.”
MariAnne thought a moment, then nodded.
“You are right,” she conceded finally, adding as she balled her fists beside her, “I am angry at my husband. I am angry at Ma and Pa. I am angry at any world and society that allows a gal to be treated this way.”
Throwing aside her own hoe, the now enraged woman stomped her feet in the dirt and raised her delicate fists to the sky as she declared, “I am not a cow or a mule, something to be bought and sold to support the family farm. I am not a ranch hand, and I am most certainly not a slave.” She paused here, adding as she pointed an affirming thumb straight in her direction, “No man ever should feel that he has a right to strike me with his fists, or belittle me with his words. Beyond these basic rights, I also feel like I should be taken to dinner once in a while, and at a nice restaurant. And I want to go to a barn dance or a cotillion—I want to dance!”
She fell silent here, realizing with a jolt that she had just burst out with what her mother would in all likelihood call a fit; an out and out tantrum that did not and would not befit a proper lady.
Refusing to apologize for her heartfelt—if a bit emphatic—statement, MariAnne immediately retrieved her hoe and bent her head low above her work; the sight of radiant rose blossoms lending succor to her addled psyche as she suppressed a rough sob—one that threatened to shatter and pierce her carefully kept composure.
She froze seconds later, as the sudden presence of a strong but gentle hand on her shoulder brought further comfort to her troubled soul.
“MariAnne?” Clayton asked her, tone soft and whisper smooth. “Would you dance with me?”
Rising slowly from her place in the field, MariAnne said nothing; just opened her delicate arms to the man who now rushed to fill them.
The ethereal song of bluebirds and hummingbirds soaring high up above supplied the ideal soundtrack for a sunlit dance; one in which the couple moved and swayed together between rows of radiant roses.
Their arms entangling between them, MariAnne and Clayton stared deep into one another’s eyes as they danced and moved in beautiful communion; sharing a secret smile as he swirled and dipped her in broad circles across the breadth of his flower strewn field.
“I don’t care how many dances,
how many kisses, how many floral bouquets it takes to wipe that man from your mind—to wipe away all the pain,” he whispered, adding as he ran his hands like warm water down the length of her weary back, “I aim, my darling to love away the hurt; to make you feel like the princess that you are.”
Chapter six
Following up on these words a few days later, Clayton asked MariAnne if he could escort her to a barn dance scheduled to take place that weekend at a nearby ranch; one that each Saturday seemed to form the very focus of the Austin social scene.
Taking her into town to visit the shop of a premiere dressmaker, he promised not to look as his lady friend purchased a gown for the event; yet when the night of the dance finally arrived, he knew that the rather extravagant purchase had been worth every coin.
Shining resplendent in a glorious hue of sweet pearl pink, the glowing gown was culled from pure cotton calico and boasted a fitted bodice, a full hoop skirt, and an elegant trim of braided lace that lined its sleeves, bodice, high collar and flowing skirt.
Arranging her dark hair in a graceful mass of ringlets that served to frame her heart shaped face, MariAnne thrilled as her doting date presented her with a pair of shiny pearl earrings; her gaze illuminating as it beheld his own brand of evening wear finery—one that seemed far removed from the shirt and jeans he generally wore in his role as a country rancher.
Dazzling her in a sleek ebony duster coat with a cotton surface and corduroy collar and cuffs, the gentleman also boasted matching frontier pants with a high waist and a button fly, along with a smart black cinch. A form fitting white cotton shirt completed this distinguished look, along with a sharp bolo tie.
“You’re beautiful,” he praised her, leading her by the hand into the tall apple red structure that would serve as the site of that evening’s dance.
“Um, so are you!” marveled a dazed MariAnne, wondering at the transformation that had morphed her gentleman rancher into a frontier prince.
Soon the couple engaged once again in a genuine lover’s waltz; this time moving in radiant tandem across the surface of a heather strewn dance floor.
Their public surroundings dissolved around them as their bodies moved closer together; swirling as one across the floor as they stared deep into one another’s eyes.
“You make me feel like a princess,” MariAnne praised Clayton, wrapping her arms around his muscled shoulders as she rested her head on his hard massive chest.
Clayton shook his head.
“You are a princess, MariAnne. You always have been—you just needed someone to bring it out in you,” he told her, adding as he clutched her tiny waist between his hands and seared her with a meaningful glance, “And I am so blessed to be that man. You make me laugh, you work so hard by my side in the fields and the house, and you challenge me every day to think and to learn.” He paused here, adding as he pulled her closer still, “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known, in every way—and with your kind consent Ma’am, I would like nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with you.”
“Now that I have found my princess, I’ll be dag gummed if I ever let her go,” he declared, adding as he leaned forward to touch her lips with a tender kiss,“I want to marry you, MariAnne.”
“So sorry to tell you, Deputy, but that won’t be possible. This lady just happens to be married to me.”
MariAnne froze in Clayton’s arms as she heard the voice of nightmares; the low, cold tones she’d hoped against hope never to hear again.
“Leon,” she breathed, raising her head to behold a being who seemed more a demon than a mortal man; a short, stocky man with oily hair and menacing bloodshot eyes.
“It’s been a good bit since I’ve seen you, dear wife,” Leon sneered, reaching forth to clamp down a hard possessive hand on the surface of MariAnne’s slender shoulder. “I’ve been searching for you day and night, and now—finally—we are reunited.”
Clayton had heard enough.
“Do not touch her!” he screeched, knocking Leon’s hand from MariAnne’s shoulder and stepping hard and fast between them. “Leave her alone!”
Leon stared at him for a long, quiet moment; his gaze turning mocking and depreciating as he told the younger man, “She is my wife, Boy, not yours. And as much as you might try to play the role of the pathetic white knight, saving MariAnne from her scoundrel of a husband, you cannot come between a man and his property.”
Clayton shook his head.
“No man’s wife is his property,” he reminded Leon, adding as he held up a firm for emphasis, “And when a man breaks his marriage contract by abusing and mistreating his wife, then he surrenders all claim to her.” He paused here, adding as he pointed his authoritative finger straight in Leon’s face, “The contract that bonded you to this magnificent woman is null and void, Mr. Campbell. And, speaking frankly, you were a complete and total fool to let her go.”
Leon frowned.
“Stop spoutin’ nonsense, Boy,” he barked, adding as he pulled himself up to his admittedly impressive height, “I do believe that I could take you in a fight, you varmint—any day of the week. And if you do not step aside immediately and allow me to take what’s rightfully mine, then that is exactly what you will have on your hands: a fight.”
Clayton grinned.
“Well if you want a fight, my good man, then you will have one. Just remember that I’ll be bringing both a gun and a badge to this fight—and I am trained and licensed to use both of them,” he pronounced, opening his coat to reveal both in a single smooth flourish.
His beady eyes widening substantially as they beheld his rival’s polished ivory handled six shooter, Leon stood frozen for a full moment before finally turning away.
“Fine then, go ahead and take her. Considering the fact that I’ve been biding my time as of late with a couple of lovely saloon girls, I shall be more than pleased to give her the divorce that she so desperately seems to want,” he snapped, adding with a rude gesture in MariAnne’s direction, “The little whore isn’t worth it anyway.”
Now MariAnne had heard enough.
“You cretin!” she exclaimed, racing forward to draw back her arm and ball her fist in a threatening manner.
She swore she’d remember and cherish forever the look of abject fear that now crossed her husband’s features; a look that came accompanied by a strangulated moan as she crashed her tiny fist across his jaw—sending him reeling backward through the sheer force of her unleashed, unmitigated rage.
Regaining his bearings with a pathetic attempt at a moan, a stunned Leon clutched at his bruised jaw as he winced with evident pain; swearing beneath his breath as he straightened his posture and turned dejected in the direction of the door.
Looking after him with a satisfied smile, MariAnne further reveled in the round of raucous applause that met her bold action; a response delivered by a crowd that obviously shared her poor opinion of her soon to be ex-husband.
“Feel better now, Sweetheart?” Clayton asked her, taking her hand in his as he graced her with a warm, encouraging smile. “Well I hope that this will make you feel better still.”
Without further hesitation he took her hands in his, dropping to his knees before her as he reached deep into the pocket of his fine tailored trousers; withdrawing a gleaming diamond ring and holding it upward for her appraisal.
“My dear MariAnne,” he addressed her, tone both loving and respectful as he asked, “Would you do me the honor of being my wife?”
MariAnne nodded, her public surroundings dissolving around her as she squeezed Clayton’s fingers between his.
“I will, my prince,” she told him, adding as she returned his smile, “I love you Clayton, so very much.”
MariAnne showed her love a few months later; returning with her groom to the barn that served as the site of their grand proposal.
The organizers of the barn dance offered the use of their site as the setting for their nuptials; adorning the barn’s interior with lustrous arra
ngements of pure golden roses.
Standing at the door of the barn, MariAnne’s admiring gaze cast down the length of her beautiful handmade wedding gown; a luxurious dress of ivory satin that sported a rich jacquard pattern, a fitted, lace lined bodice, wide sleeves and a high collar accentuated by streams of rich ebullient lace, and a plethora of elegant ruffles adorning the length of its shining satiny surface.
“I never did think that I would live to see this day,” she mused in silence, reaching upward to pat the upswept, diamond studded strands of her luxurious ebony hair. “The day that I married for love.”
Stepping inward into the barn that had morphed into a wedding chapel, she watched with a smile as a laughing Ellie—dressed this day in a formal dress of lilac patterned calico with puffed sleeves and a long full skirt—ran before her on a makeshift aisle layered with a long sheath of scarlet red carpeting, enacting her designated role of flower girl by showering a rain of golden rose petals across the sleek fabric of the carpet. Then she nodded toward the assembled family members who had gathered that day to witness her nuptials; including the parents who had begged her forgiveness for passing her into the hands of a madman like Leon. Now they looked on with quiet pride as their resplendent daughter walked down the length of a second aisle; this time venturing forth to meet the man of her heart.
Dressed that day in a glorious silver jacquard vest with a matching long string tie and a high brown hat, Clayton also wore a smart, form fitting shirt of white cotton and black silk pantaloons; sporting a luminous white toothed smile to enhance and complete the look.
And as the hero and his princess joined hands at an altar blooming forth with their favorite yellow roses, both knew that they would never let go.
*****
THE END
An Unexpected Gift – An Amish Romance
Though she had been through a lot in the past few months, nothing could prepare her for how she felt now. Yoder was going to be her new last name, and she hated it. She felt like she was going to have to become a different person. And her new first name, Sarah? It just sounded so old-fashioned. Her entire life was about to be old-fashioned.
